The Whip, The Rope, And Me
by F.E. Campbell


I 

The Retreat 

The inhabitants of Lesser Blessing were divided in their verdicts only by 
ability to articulate. There was no approval anywhere for the new owners of 
"The Retreat." Disapproval ran all the way from Miss Willowby's "the brazen 
hussy ought to be horse whipped!, " all the way to the more considered 
judgment of the Duck and Drake: 

"Barmy, they are, if you ask me about it, that there fellow sporting his 
imagine lady around in them there 'andcuffs. Where's 'em like a bracelets, 
so she does. Don't bother her none at all to be 'andcuffed like a ruddy 
criminal. That there girl's been in the lockup more than once, if you asks 
me." 

The public Bar applauded this verdict and added. "Doin' it for a lark, most 
likely, 'aving 'er bit o' fun. Got money, they 'as. They're la-de-da folks, 
they are. Thinks we're for them to laugh at." 

It was left to the Reverend, Mr. Amnesty the Vicar, to approach a possible 
daughter of Satan in her liar. He made the ritual visit for afternoon tea 
under the dictates of his cloth and was met at the door of The Retreat by 
the smiling lady herself who flashed shining handcuffs at him in total 
insouciance. He admitted afterwards he had found it extremely difficult to 
take his eye away from the nickel circlets about her wrists. It was all most 
unorthodox and appeared to have no precedence in the scriptures. 

It was most excellent tea. The Vicar sipped, grateful for the stimulant. "I 
really must admire those unusual bracelets you wear, Mrs. Tremond, they have 
aroused a considerable interest in the village." 

"Oh, these?" The Chatelatine of The Retreat held up her chained hands as 
though noticing them for the first time. "Yes, they're nice, aren't they. 
Trevor bought them for me, he also bought something similar for my ankles." 
She laughed with a silvery tinkle that was delightful to hear. "The people 
at the shop called them 'leg irons,' isn't that silly?" 

With no precedence to fall back upon, the Vicar was at a loss, he dived 
manfully into deeper water. "We have not been formally introduced, but your 
name is Tremond, is it not?" 

"Well, actually, my name is Modesty Blair." Again the silver tinkle of 
laughter. "I hope you don't mind." 

The Vicar, realizing himself in the present of Sin, countered it bravely by 
offering his empty cup, "May I have another cup of tea, it is most 
excellent." Then he added, after his cup was taken for refill, "No, I do not 
mind. Miss Blair." He controlled his voice to only faint reproof. "These 
matters are not for me to judge." 

Lessor Blessing allowed these judgments to rest. They refused to allow their 
lives to be effected by a girl with chained hands, especially since she 
appeared delighted to have her wrists thus joined. The new owners of The 
Retreat were obviously extremely wealthy and that explained and justified 
many things. After a few weeks they simply failed to notice the linked 
bracelets Modest Blair so unashamedly flaunted before their eyes. The 
Retreat, clothed in the respectability of wealth, remained only as an 
interesting subject of conversation when there was nothing else to talk 
about. 

The Retreat had been built in centuries past when the cost of labor allowed 
the indulgence of a high stone wall surrounding the entire circumstance of 
the twenty or thirty acres comprising the small Estate. An extremely modern 
and forbidding steel gate had been provided for the only driveway to the 
house. This gate was operated by an electric eye which could reject or 
accept callers as it saw fit. It was generally agreed that the handsome man 
and beautiful girl living behind the wall were a bit odd. 

Modesty Blair hummed a gay little tune as she arranged flowers in the vases 
of the sunlit room. She performed this task with the handicap of handcuffs 
as easily as she had served tea to the Vicar. Modesty herself was amazed at 
the adaptability of arms and hands she would once supposed helpless in the 
condition she now enjoyed. There was hardly any service she could not 
perform for herself or for the lord of the manor. Trevor Tremond did for her 
what she could not do herself. It amused him to often bath and dress her 
from the nudity in which she had shared his bed. For both of them the 
shinning steel upon the maiden wrist poses no more than a challenge for 
fresh postures in the making of their love. 

Trevor's fingers took the last of the flowers from Modesty's hand and set 
them aside with the air of calm authority she knew so well. "Sit down. 
Modesty my love, I want to talk to you. No, I don't want a drink, it's far 
too early." 

Modest Blair always thought of her obedience to these demands as "arranging 
herself." She did so now, obediently and without haste, and asked, "Am I to 
be lectured, darling?" 

"We're comfortably settled here now. Modesty, and I want to get things 
started. What about those handcuffs?" Trevor walked slowly up and down 
several times as though in thought before seating himself to face the amused 
and shinning eyes of the maiden who had posed Lessor Blessing with such an 
enigma. Modesty raised joined hands in a gesture now familiar. "Yes, what 
about my handcuffs? I've worn them obediently for you, haven't I?" 

He was a handsome brute of a man, alive and powerful, moving easily and with 
purpose, somewhere in his mid-thirties. He brushed her question aside with a 
wave of the hand. "You know that's not the real question. I want a proper 
answer." 

Modesty sighed and lowered the handcuffed wrists to her lap. "Oh, Trevor, 
must we here? It's such an awful decision and I'm not sure I'm really it." 

"You're as ready as you'll ever be, sweetheart, you've simply built the 
decision out of proportion. You've come a long way now, don't stop now." 

"But for always! It's sort of a life sentence.. . " 

"Come on now, you're just heating yourself between your legs, you little so 
and so. You don't have to tell me how handcuffs affect you. I know!" 

Modesty gazed fondly at the silver bands upon her wrists, her voice 
plaintive. "But I adore these, Trevor. Those ones you've told me about scare 
me to bits." 

"They're far more beautiful than what you wear now. I've had them made to 
your exact measurements. When they close around your wrists they do so with 
an unbroken band of metal and there'll be only one key and I'll hold it. I 
want you to make up your mind." 

Modesty knew she was delaying the inevitably, deliciously savoring an event 
to change her life. She was in love with Trevor Tremond and made no bones 
about asking, "Trevor, why don't you marry me and put a ring on my finger 
instead of keeping me chained?" 

The man swept that aside also but his voice had the cheerful carelessness of 
true intimacy. "We've gone into that one before. Modesty, I may marry you 
sometime. But even if I did, I'd still keep you chained. You know damned 
well so stop that and answer the question. " 

"But I don't want to, Trevor. I don't see why you don't use force. You 
handle me so terribly easily, you could lock those things you're talking 
about on my wrists and that would be the end of it. I wouldn't have to make 
this awful decision." 

Once more impatience wave of the male hand. "We've talked of that also 
before, you tiresome creature. You know damned well that's not the way it 
has to be. It's essential to the relationship we contemplate for you to make 
the decision voluntary and hold out your hands in loving longing. I won't 
accept anything less. In your purse you have the key to what you're wearing. 
There's nothing to stop you from going upstairs, unlocking your wrists, 
changing your clothes, and getting into your car and driving out of my life 
forever. Go ahead, it's a free choice." 

"Oh, Trevor, don't be so brutal. I'm simply being feminine. Can't you make 
allowances?" Modesty pouted and rummaged in her handbag to product the tiny 
key that could unlock her hands. For her to possess it for those weeks had 
been a concession to make the impossible barely possible and plausible. She 
conceited the point, she had no complaints. As though savoring every moment 
of this delicious time with this most omnipotent male, she knelt before 
Trevor Tremond, offering the key, and saying with sweet simplicity, "All 
right, you hulking brute, you get your way with me every time. I surrender. 
Unlock these irons I wear and replace them with whatever monstrous things 
you've had made for me. Go ahead! Surely now I'm being submissive enough for 
any man." 

It was with an air of reverence that Trevor performed the task, taking his 
time and savoring every moment as did the girl. When he put away the metal 
bands, warm from Modesty's flesh, and drew from his pocket the expensive 
things by which she would become his always. The kneeling girl gasped in 
delight at the unexpected. The irons which were to join her hands for life 
were unquestionably beautiful, even their serious intent subtracted nothing 
from the beautiful craftsmanship. In a choked voice. Modesty managed, "Oh, 
Trevor, I hadn't expected anything like.. . " 

"They look like bronze, sweetheart, but no hacksaw or bolt cutters will 
touch them. Hold your breath." The open jaw slid around her wrist so easily 
and closed into a snug band upon her skin, no joint or lock was visible. 

Heat flared in the belly of the girl as she exclaimed. "But darling, they 
must have cost a fortune!" 

"Two fortunes, my pet. Now the other hand." 

This was it! The final moment, the point of no return. Modesty Blair 
swallowed hard, then placed her wrist where it should go, there was another 
click of intense finality as to cause Modesty's breathing to quiver. As she 
gazed down upon the metal circlets rounded at their edges and an inch and a 
half wide, joined by two links of formidable chain which, in common with the 
cuffs, contrived to appear exquisitely feminine, a girl could wear such 
bracelets with pride.. . Providing she could get them off. But these would 
not come off, never. 

Pouting again. Modesty said, with insincere acidity, "Well. I hope you're 
satisfied. You've got me. I bet I'm going to regret this. But.. . . ! " 

"But what? Come on, out with it!" 

Modesty flushed. "Well, damn you, you're right, these things have made me 
horny as hell. Really! I'm impossible." 

"No you're not. You're Modesty Blair, and you've started something the two 
of us are going to see through together." 

"Trevor? Please take me to bed?" 

"Down girl, down! You can quench that little fire between your legs, I want 
to talk to you some more." 

"Oh, all right." Modesty was playing with the new bronze bracelets in utter 
fascination. "What now? Do I have to call you master or stay on my knees?" 

"No you don't. What you have to do is go and sit down and stop being a 
bitch. You're only playing at it, do you think I can't tell?" Trevor laughed 
at her annoyance. "Those lovely things you're wearing will be no different 
from what you wore before. The difference will be in your mind and your 
knowledge of who holds the key. Love 'em and be grateful." 

"But what will the village think! Little Blessing had a bad enough time with 
those other handcuffs." 

"If anyone asks, you can tell them your handcuffs have gone to the laundry. 
Don't worry about the village, you and I have got them properly conditioned 
already." 

Modesty laughed at a recurring vision, her chained hands forgotten. "You 
really are an optimist, Trevor, if you think the sight of me in handcuffs 
will inure them to a vision of naked beauties bouncing around the grounds of 
The Retreat. . . . " 

"Come of it. Modesty." Trevor's tone was patiently tolerant. "They won't be 
bouncing around, they'll be decently chained. And what's more, they'll be 
behind a ten foot wall and they won't be playing out in the sun all the 
time, cither. You've forgotten why they'll be here." 

"Discipline!" Modesty laughed gaily. "It's a delicious word, it makes me 
quiver. But, darling, how do you expect me to impose it wearing these?" She 
held up the bronze beauties on her wrists for him to see. 

"That's your problem. Modesty. You'll deal with it, you conquered Lessor 
Blessing, so I'm sure you can get the best of a giggling girl." 

"They won't be giggling, they'll be mad as hornets or scared to death." 

"You can call those bronze bands you're wearing your badge of office. 
There's not much they've stopped you doing these past weeks. You're a damned 
sight better in bed with 'cm than without 'em. Admit it now. you love the 
challenge." 

The two of them adored these exchanges of repartee which were never quite 
meaningless or without a message. They communicated perfectly well. Modesty 
knew the new irons snug upon her wrists made her an interesting experiment 
for the man she adored. Trevor Tremond was instituting an insolent new order 
of things within the walls of The Retreat and the thought of Modest Blair 
being the high priestess of his Cult was an unfailing excitement. They were 
a man and a woman who, to an unusual degree, were a perfect foil to each 
other. Their deep, dark love was almost incidental to their intellectual 
union. 

Trevor Tremond and Modesty Blair had weaned themselves from London society 
in a strange purpose. They had glimpsed one of the rarely mentioned secrets 
of mankind, a secret similar to the way they lived themselves. Trevor had 
conceived a brilliant concept to supply to those who could afford the luxury 
that which society denied. Within the high stone walls of The Retreat he and 
his love would sequester a stable of suitable female material to supply the 
diversity of male preference and desire. The stable was open to any maiden 
wishing to place herself within and accept its disciplines. There were those 
who did, but to maintain the stable at an even and continuing strength, it 
would be necessary to simply kidnap as required. Trevor Tremond had no 
intention of doing the kidnapping, there were plenty willing to do that 
task, a task surprisingly easy in a modern world in which most are isolated 
to a degree they scarcely realize. 

Trevor and Modesty had discussed the ethics of the enterprise 
dispassionately. Their conclusion was that every inmate of their stable must 
inevitably find herself in circumstances after her sale so vastly superior 
to anything she had previously known as to cause her to feel only gratitude 
to her abductors. 

Modesty mentally labeled the whole affair a "fun thing" spiced with 
adventure for all. But Trevor Tremond kept something secret he shared with 
no one. He intended to make a glorious human experiment that he would admit 
to only when the time was right. With the closing of the bronze bands upon 
the wrists of his beloved he had successfully brought chapter one to its 
conclusion. Modesty Blair was his possession. She might struggle within the 
web of his desires but she could not escape. He toyed idly with words: Wife? 
Mistress? Accomplice? He decided lovingly on one single word, the word was 
"Slave." 

2 

A girl can always be wise after the event. I can blame myself all I like but 
the way that gate opened and the way that truck went through was almost an 
invitation. And, anyway, the book about ancient monuments mentioned "The 
Retreat" in glowing terms, it was something to see. I allowed the truck to 
roar ahead of me up the driveway and followed on foot at a more sedate pace, 
the park around me was lovely, why waste it? 

To the cute maid who opened the big door of the house I said, bashfully, "If 
it's not visiting day or I'm a nuisance please tell me and I'll go away." I 
delivered my best touristy smile. "This is the The Retreat, isn't it? Do 
tell me if I'm a nuisance." 

The cute maid opened the door wide. I walked on in. 

That's how it started. 

She had the kind of loveliness envied by beautiful girls and I'm a beautiful 
girl, I know I am. It carried that wonderful assurance of being pleased with 
herself and her condition. Her voice was honey, "I'm Modesty Blair, and 
you'll be Amy Marchmond, we have you letter." He smile was the warmest ever. 
"You're ever so welcome and the first of the volunteers." 

I didn't bother to dive right in correcting her misconception. I was staring 
in fascinated wonder at the hands she was holding out to me in greeting. 
They were chained together with some strange, attractive metal, and when I 
offered my own, they were clasp in both of hers as naturally as if she had 
offered only one. Modesty's handshake was as warm as her smile. 

"What marvelous bracelets," I exclaimed. I was fishing. 

"Do you like them?" She sounded pleased. "I have another pair, they're not 
quite the same but if you would like to try them on?" 

I had to wonder if I had strayed into the lunatic asylum by mistake or is I 
was the victim of a harmless practical joke. I declined the offer and got 
back to the nub. "My name isn't Amy whatever it was you said. My name is 
Gentian Rothwell. I'm just a tourist, and I didn't write anyone a letter." 

"Oh, dear, are you sure?" The resident beauty of The Retreat eyed me oddly. 
"Amy was suppose to arrive today or tomorrow and here you are. I suppose you 
know you're a very beautiful girl." 

"So are you. I've always been grateful for being nice to look at." 

"You will stay with us, won't you?" Modesty Blair sounded anxious. "We're 
all ready for you and this is such a wonderful adventure." 

"But I've checked in at the hotel at Stretting a few miles back. I was 
exploring on my bike." 

"Don't worry, dear, we'll get your things and pay the bill." Smiling, she 
came up with the cure for all ills, "And now how about a nice cup of tea?" 
Once more I fell. I must be a congenital idiot! 

It was very English, the maid, the tea trolley with its little sandwiches 
and cakes, and then the fragrant brew dispensed from a magnificent English 
pot by the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in my life. It was so damned 
normal I stopped worrying. 

Did I say normal! I did and there's the mystery of The Retreat in a 
nutshell, it was not normal at all. My tea was served to me by a pair of 
chained feminine hands which did everything with the grace and dexterity of 
total freedom. I tried hard not to look at the metal bands and joining links 
but it was a loosing battle. Miss Modesty Blair was not, strictly speaking, 
handcuffed, nor was she exactly chained. The obviously functional bond the 
wore upon slender wrists was an undeniably erotic and femininely lovely as a 
pair of expensive bracelets. Perhaps that what they were, bracelets, and the 
links joining them was just the latest fashion designed to shock the unwary 
and test tolerance. If the expensive things pleased her. well it was none of 
my business. 

"I'll show you around The Retreat after tea," Modesty promised. 

"It's a darling place, you'll love it. Do try these watercress sandwiches." 

I was think up a suitable reply and reaching for the plate of sandwiches 
when there happened the incredible thing, after which my life would never be 
the same. It was the demure maid servant who's hands, suddenly relentlessly 
strong, came over my shoulders from behind to clasp my wrists in jaws of 
steel. It happened so quickly and with such neat dispatch that I managed no 
more than a startled exclamation as I looked down at my own hands mostly 
firmly handcuffed. The only scary thing about what had been done to me had 
been the swift scream of the ratchets as the metal circlets bit tight on 
female skin. I sat there in pure shock, watching the maid collect an empty 
plate and leave the room. I looked from my hands to Modest Blair and all I 
could manage was, "What the hell!" 

"There, now we're both the same. Gentian." The surprising Modesty Blair 
smiled winningly. "It may interest you to know, I myself wore the handcuffs 
Daisy has just locked on you for weeks and weeks." 

We stared. Modesty with bright earnestness, myself indignant and dismayed. I 
was aware of the beauty and the lovely room, I was aware of my teacup and 
the lovely little sandwiches, but most of all, and possessing me almost 
totally, was an awareness of the handcuffs on my wrists. I had never been 
handcuffed, associating such things with criminals. Ordinary girls would 
never possibly wear handcuffs, why should they! But Modesty Blair wore them 
with a distinct flair and now I wore them, too. The sensation of them 
pervaded every crevice of my being with the most vivid, sensuous feeling I 
had ever felt. I fought back hysteria and groped my tongue towards rational 
speech, "I think you had better take these off." I held my joined .hands for 
our mutual inspection. "I expect this is some sort of a joke, but it's gone 
too far. I find having my hands locked together like this frightening. It's 
scary." 

"Well, maybe I'll remove them when we've had our little tour. But I do think 
it's rather nice for both of us to be in the same fix while I show you 
around. Don't you?" 

"No. I don't!" 

"Well, never mind, dear, but I'm afraid you'll have to indulge me in this 
little conceit. But come alone, please don't feel embarrassed." 

Modesty Blair had a way with her. I would never have been so damned 
submissive had her wrists not been fastened the same as mine. 

But I'd been watching her do some many damned things just as though they 
were not chained at all, and I was discovering I, too, could do a lot of 
things I would never have dreamed possible. The thought crossed my mind as 
to how silly it was to use handcuffs for the restraint of criminals, but 
then I remembered, a criminal's hands were behind his or her back whereas 
mine were in front. There was a world of difference, a world of difference 
in intent as well as physical handicap. 

Quietly I said, "This whole thing has to be nuts!" before taking my place 
beside my guide to view something I had lost interest in seeing. But The 
Retreat was beautiful. Whoever owned it was a lucky man or woman. When we 
were sitting on deck chairs on the lawn. Modesty slipped me the next 
installment of shock. 

"I adore the place, Gentian, you will, too. I didn't bother to take you 
downstairs to view the dungeons and the cells. They've been done over and 
modernized and there's lots of heat to make them comfortable. Or should I 
say bearable?" She laughed gaily as at a joke. "I've told Trevor he's wasted 
his money and they'll never be used." 

"Who's Trevor?" 

"Trevor Tremond? Oh, he owns the place. I'm his idea and so are you. You'll 
fall in love with Trevor, all the girls do. I'm so in love with him since we 
first met, I'm positively ashamed of myself. Trevor bought me these lovely 
things around my wrists and, if you're going to be around here a long while, 
I'll talk to him about getting a set for you." 

Once more the almost girlish giggle, "I didn't tell you, did I? But Trevor 
positively adores handcuffed girls. It's a Thing he has. He's converted me 
completely." 

"So I gather," I told her in stiff British disapproval. "And now, if you 
don't mind, you can unlock these your maid put on me, I've worn them quite 
long enough. I don't like them. I think we're both being very silly to 
tolerate what I suspect is a sexual deviation." I held out my linked hands 
and flatly stated, "I'm sure you have the key." 

"Well, actually, no I don't, dear. Darling Trevor keeps all the keys in his 
possession. He's very much the master in his own house." 

"You have to be kidding!" 

"No, really, I'm not. But don't panic, darling, he'll be back before too 
long and the three of us can have a really wonderful dinner and get to know 
each other. He may tell you some of his plans." 

"I don't wish to hear them. I am having dinner at the hotel. If you know 
what's good for you, Miss Blair, you'll get these things off my wrists 
without delay." My voice was firm but I was trembling. 

"But. darling, I've just told you, I can't!" 

"Very well, then. Thanks for the tea and the tour, I can walk back to the 
village and I'm sure I can find someone to deal with this problem you've 
thrust at me." 

I got to my feet, but that was as far as I got! Daisy, the maid, had come 
from nowhere and suddenly grasped a handful of my hair, jerking back my head 
and throwing me off balance. First thing I knew I was flat on my face and 
there was some more of those screaming, clicking sounds as other metal bands 
bit into my ankles. Suddenly I was free and, shamed-faced, got slowly to my 
feet. I gazed down to find, with disgust, my ankles were joined by a length 
of hobbling chain and two snug, shinning bands upon my skin. The shackle, or 
whatever it was called, was simply a bigger set of handcuffs with a longer 
chain. I took a tentative step which was instantly snubbed. I needed no 
further test to tell me I would walk very slowly and could not run at all. 

"They look positively darling on you. Gentian. I don't have a key, so please 
don't ask. Do please sit down again, you look so flushed and angry. I'm 
sorry about Daisy, but what could I do! I couldn't possibly let you go to 
the village and make a fuss, could I now!" 

"Are you telling me I'm some sort of prisoner?" 

"Well, yes dear, I thought you knew. I'm not a bit sure you're not Amy 
Marchmont." 

"Damn your Amy Marchmont. Let me go!" 

"I can't, darling, and anyway you'll feel much better when you met Trevor, 
he's so charming." 

What we were doing was bandying. Resolutely I determined to do the best I 
could with shackled feet. I took a number of short, controlled silly little 
steps towards the driveway and then tripped and fell flat upon the grass. I 
got back up, feeling an idiot, and resenting the seeming freedom the bits of 
chain dangled in front of my face like the donkey's carrot. I just could not 
believe I was nearly helpless. I tried once more and this time got a dozen 
steps before disaster. Ashamed, I made my slow paced return to Modesty and 
the waiting chair. 

"You'll feel better now that you've tried, dear." Modesty was the sole of 
sympathy and helpfulness. "You had to try that little run of yours but it 
won't earn you any demerits. It's just part of the settling down process." 

"I don't want to settle down, I want to go home!" 

"That's understood, darling, let's not mention it again." 

"I don't see why the hell you can't free my feet and come away with me," I 
told her angrily. "I'm damned if I would stay with a man who kept me 
chained." 

We might have snapped away at each other all afternoon had there not been an 
interruption, the appearance of Daisy and a bright-eyed maiden at her side. 
The maiden walked ahead while Daisy returned to her duties. The newcomer 
looked at me and my chains and smiled as though we shared a secret and then 
turned to Modesty. 

"You're Miss Blair, aren't you? I'm Amy Marchmont. Sorry if I'm a bit late." 
She giggled. "But it will be for the last time, won't it?" 

I stood there, feeling flushed and untidy, while they exchanged the 
pleasantries of greeting. I was well aware of Amy's eyes on my cuffs and 
anklets and chain, but equally aware of her interest, a far keener interest, 
in the bronze loveliness joining Modesty's hands. As though it was the most 
natural thing a girl might do. Amy fished around in her large bag while 
saying, "You two are ahead of me but just a moment while I catch up." She 
produced a pair of handcuffs and handed them to Modesty, along with two 
keys. She then knelt and extended her hands. I watched her breath quicken as 
Modesty locked the shinning steel on the eager wrists. This had to be a 
nightmare. I prayed I would soon wake up. 

Amy was beautiful, but I gathered that was required of any female at The 
Retreat. She clinked her handcuffs back and forth like a pair of old friends 
and said, gaily, "I missed tea, didn't I? Would you mind if I went to Daisy 
and begged a cup? I'm very thirsty." 

We watched her go, a gay and swinging walk, the same as Modesty. Evidently 
Amy was to be trusted not to run away. Modesty Blair laughed at what I 
suppose was clearly written on my face, "I own you an apology, darling, you 
weren't Amy, were you?" Her silvery laugh disarmed anything she said. "I 
think it's absolutely wonderful the way you strayed in here, totally 
unaware. It's fate and a good omen. Trevor's going to get a big charge out 
of you. Do sit down." 

There was authority in Modesty's invitation, I sat. I told myself I was 
saving my strength for a better opportunity. I would leave this place 
without delay, but in the meantime, I was not going to demean myself by 
tripping over chain, making ineffectual motions, or indulging in treats and 
dire predictions. My breasts were heaving but soon quieted under the 
influence of Modesty's feminine loveliness. There was about her a power, a 
force, something hard to define. It was probably no more than me being 
helpless and she free to do as she pleased. In a sense, she now possessed 
me. It was the damnedest feeling. 

Amy returned with a cup of tea in one hand and a sandwich in the other. It 
was impossible not to note the graceful way in which she did the impossible 
with joined hands. Amy and Modesty must have practiced with handcuffs for 
ages to obtain this total easy and absence of self-consciousness. Modesty 
waved to a third chair invitingly. Amy sat down and never spilled a drop. 

"Did you capture Gentian or is she a volunteer?" Amy inquired with her mouth 
full. 

I felt an ill-placed exhibit as Modesty made the introductions and added. 
'"Gentian sort of dropped in. Gentian is in a class all by herself, aren't 
you. Dear?" 

"I'm an unwilling prisoner, if that's what you mean." I glared and turned to 
the cheerfully busy Amy. "If you've got any sense, you'll turn and run out 
of here as quick as you can before your feet get fixed the same as mine." 

"I'll have to have a talk with Gentian." Amy spoke to Modesty as though they 
were alone. 

"Miss Blair, do you have another set of leg irons for me. I've always wanted 
a pair but they're so damned expensive. If you do have an extra pair I think 
you ought to have them locked on my ankles." She laughed and added, with 
obvious insincerity, "Before I change my mind, y'know. and make a run for 
it." 

I could now understand why Modesty's handbag was so large. It now produced 
more shining steel which, in the space of moments, was locked fast upon 
feminine ankles happily thrust forward to receive the kiss of chrome. The 
girl who's feet were now joined together admired her new bonds, said how 
absolutely gorgeous it was, and then finished her sandwich and drank her 
tea. I longed to slap her silly face. 

I sensed this whole thing as something new, even to Modesty. She and I 
watched Amy happily hobbling her limited steps back to the house to deliver 
her empty cup. It was a slow progress but she did not fall. 

I could well imagine she had practiced such a captive walk. 

"Isn't she a perfect dear," Modesty infused. "She's going to be a pleasure 
to have around. But then, you'll be sensible, too, won't you, darling?" 

"No, I won't," I affirmed rashly. 

"Well, you must tell that to Trevor," Modesty pouted. "We'll make all sorts 
of allowances but you mustn't push too hard, I don't want to have to have 
you punished." 

"Punished!" I sat up in alarm. "What on earth are you talking about?" 

"Well, there does have to be some discipline, dear. I thought you would 
understand that." 

"I don't understand anything. I'm beginning to think I'm in a mad house." 

"Well, Trevor will explain to you, he's so good at explaining things. And. 
if you have to be punished. I'd rather he did it. I've never tried but I 
don't think I'd be very good at that sort of thing." 

Once more Amy saved the day. She hobbled back, snubbing her ankles at each 
step, but smiling in a sort of enchantment all the time. She had the same 
gift as Modesty of doing graceful things with her hands and arms without 
overemphasizing their captivity. You might say she wore handcuffs well and 
they became her. Once more seated, she gave me the benefit of her full 
attention. "You're interesting. Gentian. You're a real, honest to-goodness 
prisoner and you don't want to be handcuffed or have you feet chained, is 
that right?" 

"Of course, it's right. No girl in her right mind wants such nonsense." 

"Well, I do, darling. I adore this whole thing. This is the happiest day of 
my life. I'm so glad I met Mr. Tremond and had that first talk with Modesty, 
it's changed my whole life." 

"I don't want my life changed," I told her. "And everything you say is 
nonsense, it makes no sense." 

Amy gave her attention back to Modesty. "She's actually for real. Miss 
Blair. She hates being restrained. Does she know what's going to happen to 
her?" 

"I haven't told her yet and the poor dear is all upset. She actually did 
walk through our front gate without having a clue. I think I'll have Daisy 
make you share a bedroom for the night. You can talk to her." 

"I don't want to be talked to. I want to be set free." I addressed them both 
so there would be no misunderstanding. "Don't you understand. Amy. I've been 
kidnapped. I suppose you have been, too. It's against the law!" 

All that got me was a pair of silvery tinkles of laughter and Amy's, "But 
Gentian, don't you understand, this is private property. We're behind a high 
stone wall and if I choose to be handcuffed, it's nobody's busy. There's 
nobody going to make a fuse about you. not now, maybe not ever. Relax and 
enjoy." 

By that time I was taking things seriously. I was doing a lot of thinking 
and refraining from using hands or feet. Strangely enough my main concern 
was what to do with my hands. I had them resting in my lap and I had tried a 
number of other positions for them, but they never felt right, they always 
felt shameful and conspicuous. I certainly wanted everyone to know my 
loathing at having to wear them but also was ashamed be seen in them. While 
I was deciding whether to rattle them in Modesty's face or hid them as best 
I could, Trevor Tremond arrived. 

Trevor Tremond was indeed a handsome chunk of maleness, I wish I had met him 
elsewhere and under different circumstances. Despite his powerful build he 
shared a natural grace with Modesty and, when the introductions were over, 
he raised Amy's hands to his lips and kissed them both gravely. When he 
turned to me I wanted to follow the instinct which told me to withdraw from 
his grasp but I'm ashamed to say I never carried through. First thing I knew 
my handcuffed members were raised to male lips to receive the same grave 
courtesy bestowed on Amy. I'm ashamed further to admit how good it felt. 

"This is a gala day for The Retreat," Trevor assured us both. "You probably 
have no idea how pleased Modesty and I are to have you with us." 

I could now feel the full focus of his gaze turned upon me. "Since you 
appear to be an unwilling guest. Miss Rothwell, I hasten to assure you of 
the same preferred treatment Miss Marchmont will enjoy." 

"I don't want preferred treatment, I want release and freedom." 

"Naturally, but you will get neither. Gentian." He lingered almost lovingly 
on my name. "Have you ever been whipped?" 

Coming out of a clear sky, his question was as impossible as all the rest. I 
tried to hide the tremor it send up and down my spine and profess only 
irritation. "I think that's a silly thing to ask a girl. I was punished as a 
child. I forget the various ways. I would prefer to pretend you did not ask 
that question." 

Trevor let it drop, flowing easily into small talk as through we were a 
normal quartet upon an English lawn. He was a good talker but I sat and 
fumed in my frustration, finding nothing I could do or say. My best bet was 
to learn what I could and to avoid fighting useless battles. I was still 
half hoping the whole affair was a joke being carried much too far. 

I got through dinner in the same muddled frame of mind. I simply could not 
adjust to handcuffs. I felt clumsy and awkward and was sure everyone was 
laughing at me. Amy used her hands with the same composed competence as did 
Modesty Blair. In walking to the house I had made such a mess of shackled 
steps that Trevor picked me up bodily and carried me in. I did not struggle 
or protest, it was as though I was borne forward on an irresistible tide. 
There was nothing frightening about these people, they were in fact charming 
people. Without the metal restraints I would have enjoyed myself. 

The going to bed process took me a giant step forward. After a couple hours 
of brandy in the lounge. Amy and I were kissed good night by the lovely girl 
and the handsome man who had imposed captivity upon us. We followed Daisy 
meekly to our room, in my case knowing that I would be picked up and carried 
bodily if I made a fuss. 

Amy stood uncertainly awaiting direction. It was a nice bedroom, charming 
like everything about The Retreat. If there were dungeons far below, I 
refused to think of them, this delightful bedroom banished all such morbid 
thought. "I'm not all that keen on these metal things." Daisy informed us 
brightly. "I'm going to give you a change. You first, Miss Marchmont." 

I watched, avid for anything I could learn. There was now an undoubted 
rapport between Daisy and my fellow captive. Amy accepted the freedom of her 
hands and performed a curious act in response to Daisy's curious order, 
"Bare shoulders. Miss Marchmont, I'll let you do it yourself." 

A summer dress and the straps of a bra are easily dealt with. Amy disposed 
of hers in swift compliance. I could see she was breathing hard and in the 
throes of a growing excitation as she stood erect, head up. and allowed 
Daisy to gathered her arms in back, cross her wrists, and tie they tight 
with cord. I realized I was privileged to watch a ritualistic approach to 
something Amy desired. When her wrists were tightly bound, the girl who held 
the rope turned her attentions to me. "Are you going to make trouble. Miss 
Rothwell, when I unlock your handcuffs?" 

What a question to ask a girl! I was busy computing chances of escape with 
shackled feet when Amy's voice became warmly urgent, "Darling, please do as 
Daisy says. You can't possibly escape with your feet chained together and I 
think we'll be punished if you rebel." She turned to Daisy to inquire, "We 
will be punish if we act stupid, won't we Daisy?" 

"Yes, Miss Marchmont. I'd be grateful if you will tell Miss Rothwell what to 
do." 

Once again the tide worked its will with me. I got my hands back for long 
enough to bare my shoulders as Amy had done. I don't know if I looked as she 
had while my hands were bound behind my back by a girl for whom I bore no 
hatred and who was painstakingly polite with me. I tried to hate the whole 
thing but could not ignore the excitement. This was not the end of putting 
us to bed. Something else would happen. 

Daisy backed away, regarding us with an a cocked eye. What she did then 
should not have shocked me but it did. Calmly, with sure swift motions, she 
stripped Amy naked, leaving her with nothing, exposing all. When she turned 
to me, I said instinctively, "No you don't! Keep away from me or I'll kick!" 
Considering my chained feet it was a stupid threat. Daisy proceeded to make 
me as bare as Amy except that in my case she had to deal with my futile 
struggles on the floor. I was almost helpless but I flopped around in 
violent protest over a nakedness I had never shared with anyone and didn't 
want anyone to see. If this made me odd, then OK, I was odd. It was only a 
minute before I stood, panting like a racehorse and as bare as a billiard 
ball. 

"Really, Gentian, I would have thought you would have had more sense," 
admonished Amy. "Don't punish her, Daisy, not this time." 

I was not punished. I was laughed at. I was enjoyed as a curiosity, the 
better features of my figure were noted and commented on as though I was in 
an auction ring. When Daisy produced a collar with a long, trailing chain, I 
allowed her to lock it about my neck, without protest but with bitter 
feelings. I recalled some saying somewhere about if you couldn't beat 'em, 
join 'em. I watched the end of the chain padlocked to the bedpost and then 
turned my attention to Daisy as she treated Amy in the same way. The whole 
damned thing was nuts! 

"I'll leave your leg irons on, darlings, they won't bother you none in bed," 
Daisy assured us earnestly. "I guess that's about all for now." She giggled 
delightedly. "Be sure and be good girls." 

I looked disgustedly at the closed door. Daisy didn't even bother to lock 
it. There was no need. Chained by the neck as Amy and I were, we weren't 
going anywhere. I looked at Amy with her shining eyes and asked, bitterly, 
"Would it bother you if I screamed as loud as I can?" 

"You poor darling." There was plenty of chain, so Amy circled the bed to 
come and kiss my rebellious lips. Laughingly as she asked. "Have you ever 
tried this. Gentian?" She frictioned her breasts against mine, it was a 
girl-girl thing, taking the place of the embrace for which we had no arms. I 
saw Amy as something of a traitor to our cause. I wanted to break away but 
strangely didn't. I was soon pushing back hard and the two of us ended up 
laughing in unison over a sort of happy ending. Delightedly she asked, 
"Don't you adore being tied like this, darling. It's yummy, yummy, so much 
more personal that cold steel." 

Whatever I might have said was interrupted by Daisy's return. She held 
pliers and a length of wire by which she proceeded to make the cords around 
out wrists doubly secure. Each knot was looped with the wire and cinched by 
the pliers' eager jaws and then cut off short. 

"You'll be tied a long time, darlings," she assured us gaily. "And I can't 
have you getting loose. I know you're going to try. Night-night." And she 
was gone. 

I had never in my whole life be bound or restrained in any way. The tight 
cords on my wrists, and the wrists themselves, so neatly crossed, was 
something new and frightening and yet something to be savored and explored. 
Amy was twisting and turning delightedly against her own confinement, but 
suddenly she stopped and looked at me with sympathy. "Darling, you don't 
like it, do you? You hate being tied. I'm so terribly sorry. Here, let me 
give you a little comfort." 

I stood quietly, breathing heavily, as her lips explored not only my own but 
the rest of my body. It was a new experience. No girlfriend I had ever known 
had been this intimate. I was terribly ashamed of the ardent responses I 
could not hide. I suppose it was simply a case of my flesh being weaker than 
my will. I allowed Amy to have her way with me, not that I could have done 
much else, and she brought me to orgasm, a thing which had never happened to 
me before in this way. I flung myself helplessly on the bed to bury my face 
in the covers and weep out my battle with life and The Retreat. Amy 
contented herself with letting me sob while her lips kissed my back up and 
down from my bottom to my neck in silent sympathy. I suddenly realized how 
awful it would be if I were imprisoned all alone. 

We were two girls in the same boat, two damsels in distress. If I was more 
distressed than Amy it was simply because we approached this imprisonment 
from different paths. Essentially we were the same, a couple of young, naked 
females in bondage and with our necks tethered to the bed in which we would 
sleep. We entwined our nudities together and talked. 

"It's been with me since the beginning," Amy told me musingly. "I can't ever 
remember when I didn't want to be tied up. My memories go back to the age of 
five or six, beyond that I know nothing. Darling, don't tell me you haven't 
felt it, too." 

"Never, not even a whisper of it. Right now I'd give anything I have to get 
myself free and away from this place. Oh, Amy, I'm so sorry I can't share. . 
. . What do you call it, a dream?" 

"They use the word fantasy mostly." Amy giggled and wiggled her nakedness 
closer still. "Every girl has a fantasy, you know. We all dream of being 
raped or abducted by a handsome pirate, or being purchased on the slave 
block, or something like that. There's no end to the things girls dream up 
for themselves." She sighed reflectively. "Mine's so terribly simple. All I 
ask is to be tied up. Best by a very handsome, young man or by a very 
beautiful girl." Her voice gained a fresh vibrancy. "Modesty is the most 
beautiful girl I've ever seen. I've got my heart's desire." 

"But it isn't Modesty who's tied you up," I pointed out reasonably. "She 
doesn't soil her hands with stuff like that. She hands us over to Daisy. 
Daisy's sort of sweet but I still wish I was free." 

"I won't complain about Daisy, darling. She ties beautifully. Have you 
tested her cords? I've been trying to get loose every since she tied me but 
no way! All I've done is chaff my wrists. But it's not the first time I've 
done that. Gentian, dear, can you believe I'm happy like this, really and 
truly happy?" 

I had to believe. Amy was living proof of an emotion and desire utterly 
foreign. I found myself wishing I could share her bliss but all I could 
think of was myself as a tied up, naked girl who couldn't ever get free and 
who didn't know what was going to happen to her. I suddenly asked, "But, 
Amy, I can't feel the way you do. But there's something else, isn't there. 
They're going to do something with us. Are we going to a brothel?" 

"Of course not, what a shocking idea. Get it out of your head quick. No, we 
are not going to a brothel. We are going to be sold to some rich man as his 
personal possession. Possibly as his wife. He will be very, very rich and 
give us a wonderful life. There, do you feel better now?" 

I didn't answer too hastily. Amy was so obviously enraptured that I had no 
wish to spoil her happiness. I coldly examined the proposition of being sold 
to a man I'd never seen in my life and who would probably have a pot belly 
and a bald spot. And this man would keep me prisoner and make me do whatever 
he wanted. I couldn't see it as a good deal, not anyway I looked at it. I 
told Amy so in no uncertain terms. 

"Darling, that's negative thinking. He doesn't have to be the way you 
describe, he could just as easily be a most attractive male like Mr. 
Tremond. Doesn't he really get to you?" 

"Well, yes, he does. But he belongs to Modesty. Neither of us are going to 
get him in the luck of the draw." 

"Gentian, dear girl, I can see what sort of a trauma this is for you. You 
make me ashamed at being so happy at this captivity. I suppose it's hard for 
you to understand how I answered an ad, had an interview with Trevor 
Tremond, and then promised to go home and think about it. I mean, I wasn't 
that crazy that I went off half cocked. I thought about it a great deal 
before I wrote them that letter telling them that I would be her yesterday 
or today. Here I am, I don't regret a thing." 

"I'm enormously grateful to you. Amy, I couldn't have borne this without 
you. I'd have been frightened and hysterical and probably got myself into 
some of these punishments they talk about." I paused thoughtfully to add, 
"Will they really punish us, I mean are they just threatening? Just fooling? 
Or are they dead serious? Mr. Tremond asked me if I'd ever been whipped. I 
mean, what a crazy question!" 

"Yes, they told me that. Gentian-look, darling, would you mind very much if 
I called you Genn? Gentian is such a mouthful even though it is such a 
lovely flower." 

"Go ahead. Amy, from now on I'll be Genn. I got called that a lot back when 
I was free. But you were telling me about being punished." 

"Trevor was beautifully frank about it. He explained how, without 
discipline, everything falls flat. He explained some psychiatric principles 
about how girls need to be whipped to make them sensible. I'm not a bit sure 
about all he said but there's one thing I do know, if I was given a choice 
between being whipped and obeying an order. I'd obey that order damned 
quick. So maybe he's got a point." 

I felt myself quivering, Trevor asking about the whip had really got to me. 
Now, with Amy talking about it matter-of-factly, the thought of it became 
reality. I could be whipped! It was not something hypothetical or a doubtful 
promise. With my rebellious nature I was almost certain to run afoul of 
authority and" feel its bite. I shuttered in a strange deliciousness which I 
understood coming from impotence. There was simply nothing I could do. 
Things would happen and I would have to put up with them. I bent closer and 
bit Amy's ear, something I'd never done before, not to any girl. 

"I've read up on this a lot," Amy told me sagely. "Quite early on I 
discovered there was only someone like me just here and there. When I was 
thirteen I ran into a girl who talked me into allowing her to strip me naked 
and tie me to a tree in what we thought was a private sort of place. At 
first it was absolutely gorgeous. She used her hand and her fingers and I 
had orgasm after orgasm without knowing what they really were. All I knew 
was the rainbows and the hot, wet wonder of being possessed. But we hadn't 
chosen our place too well. It wasn't long before her mother came on the 
scene, grabbed her by the ear. and led her back to punishment, leaving me 
tied naked to the tree." Amy stopped and I heard her sigh. "This was still 
right up my alley. The girl had tied me ever so tight and there was just no 
way I could get loose. I always try to get free, it's a very necessary part 
of the whole thing because if you can't make it. it tells you that your 
being tied up is real and for sure. That was for real, all right! It wasn't 
until I'd been basking in a lovely erotic glow for an hour I realized my 
folks were away over night and. if no one discovered me. I'd stay right 
where I was a long, long time. I didn't have much hope that girl's mother 
would come back and let me loose. She would simply figure it served me right 
to stay the way I was." 

I found myself utterly absorbed in Amy's bizarre tale of maiden tribulation. 
Once again I was foiled in the most urgent need to embrace the nudity 
thrusting against my own. Breathlessly I asked, "But what happened?" 

"I stayed tied to that tree all night, that's what happened. And it wasn't 
until the next morning the girl could get away from her mother's eye long 
enough to come and cut the rope. Can you understand, darling, how this 
turned out to be the most awful and yet the most wonderful event of my life 
up to that time. That's the only way I can describe it." 

We slept. Neither of us bothered about getting free, we knew we couldn't. We 
did not even test the tolerance of the chain tethers on our necks. An eye 
measurement told us they would snub us short of the door, the window, and 
anything else other than the bathroom. We were a pair of exquisitely 
confined damsels, and if only one of us was in distress I could at least be 
happy for the girl at my side in whom I found so much comfort. The two of us 
were going to be sold as some sort of slaves. It was crazy! 

Everything was practical. Amy and I had been closely confined during the 
hours of darkness but. in the following morning, we could do nothing and go 
nowhere without being seen so the collars were taken from our necks and the 
cords from our wrists. We were allowed to revel together in the bathroom 
with no other constraint than the hobbles on our feet. We were handcuffed 
for breakfast and I fumbled my way through the meal while everyone else 
talked brightly of current topics. Captivity was not one of them. At the end 
of the meal, Daisy changed our linked hands from front to back. We stood, 
helpless and naked, to receive the strangest of orders. 

"You won't be needed today, darlings." Modesty informed us brightly. "The 
weather's lovely so you may as well amuse yourselves out in the park. It's 
lovely out there, so enjoy yourselves but be sure to be back in time for 
lunch." 

"Like this! Naked and helpless?" I faced Modesty and the incredible aghast. 

"Of course. Gentian dear, you won't be wearing clothes much any more so you 
might as well get used to being without them. As for the helplessness, well 
you might as well get used to that, too. You're not really helpless, you 
know, you can do all sorts of things the way you're chained. You can 
certainly walk even through your steps may be a little short. Run along, 
sweeties, I'm a little busy." 

Amy took nudity as a matter of course, but it was far different with me. To 
sit naked at the breakfast table had been one of the greater ordeals of my 
life. Now, to go out in the sunshine totally unclothed was one more blow at 
normalcy. 

"No one will see you. Gentian," Modest assured me, laughingly. "You can walk 
in the park all day without a prying eye." 

"Mr. Tremond saw me at breakfast," I said defensively. "I thought I'd die. 
I've never been so embarrassed in my life. Modesty, couldn't we call a halt 
to this, I've had enough?" 

"Gentian!" It was Amy who made the exclamation but it was Modesty who 
produced the slim length of a riding crop. She grinned and admitted, "You 
really must be punished every time you say things like that. Genn dear. You 
really must be more careful." She looked at the wicked instrument in her 
hands and grinned disarmingly. "Genn, I don't mind admitting this is the 
first time for both of us. I've never whipped a girl and you've never been 
whipped. I feel sort of silly about this." 

"Don't do it then," I said firmly. "And anyway, you don't have the right." 

"It would be best if you sort of bend down, dear." Modesty suggested as 
though I had not said a word. "I'll just use your bottom this first time and 
maybe you'd best raise your hands out of the way. I don't want to hit them 
instead of those two pretty round cheeks you've got." 

I think unreality possessed the other two almost as much as it did me. The 
three of us stood looking at one another as though about to begin something 
momentous, I looked mostly at the riding crop and felt my skin crawl on that 
portion of me most likely to receive it. "You're not going to use that thing 
on me and I'm not bending over or standing still for it. Forget it!" 

"I'm so sorry, dear. I'll call Daisy." Modesty sounded patient and amused. 
She had been making practice swings with the crop and producing some 
alarming sounds as it cut the air but she now lamented, "It's crazy but I 
can't use this properly with my hands the way they are. Oh. damn! I so 
wanted to." She handed the limber horror to a smiling Daisy. "Daisy, dear, 
please give Miss Rothwell five strokes on her bottom with his thing, will 
you please?" 

I backed slowly away from the grinning girl who now held the instrument I 
was to be punished with. Once more I affirmed. "Forget it. I absolutely 
refuse!" 

Daisy subdued me so easily I felt a child. A rope noose swiftly tightening 
around my neck then dragged down to the back of an ornate chair and fastened 
leaving me bending over, scarlet faced and helpless. I wished now I'd had 
more sense, it would have been better to meekly accept the strips than to be 
bound thus. But I'd sort of asked for this and there was nothing I could do 
about it now except to draw my hands up to leave a clear field of my private 
skin. There was no way I wanted that horrible thing cutting the fingers of 
my hands. 

"Well that looks after that, girls," Modesty assured us briskly. "Go ahead, 
Daisy, she's to have five strokes. Give them to her across her bottom anyway 
you like. The way Daisy liked was hard! Inexperienced as I might have been 
in the matter of whipped girl flesh I was pretty sure the horrible explosion 
of agony across my behind must have been all out with all Daisy's young 
strength. I yelped in shock, I twisted and tugged at my tied neck until I 
was in danger of strangling myself, I kicked and kicked at nothing to make 
the chain of my shackled feet sing. I was beautifully fixed, I couldn't do a 
thing. My control wasn't much better for Daisy's blistering second assault 
upon my skin. The other three strokes were sort of a jumble in which I did 
everything I could including scream. Having my neck tied down to the chair 
was something I vowed I'd never risk again. The whole affair had the 
damnedest effect on me. When it was over and the agony subsided to a burn, 
there was something almost pleasurable about the tremendous relief I now 
felt that it was over. I didn't want any more but I was strangely grateful 
for what I had received. Like I said, the whole thing was crazy. When 
Modesty asked me, "Are you going to be a good girl now, darling?" I believed 
every word of my, "Yes, I will indeed be a good girl and an obedient young 
lady." I caught Amy's sly grin and felt ashamed. 

"You needn't have had that." Amy chided as we emerged into the sunlight from 
a side door. "I'll bet that really hurt, and you've got the loveliest marks, 
all scarlet with a tinge of purple. I wish you could see." 

We clinked our carefully controlled steps out to the grass and the traces of 
dew on our bare feet. "I want to look at the front gate." I said 
determinedly. "If there's anyway to get out of here I'm taking it. Come on 
Amy." 

"But, Genn dear, it's a long walk, and the way we're hobbled.. . ! " 

"I don't care if my ankles are bleeding by the time I get there," I 
asserted. "There just has to be some way." 

The pain of my cropped bottom plus the humiliation of such a childish 
imposition gave me strength and purpose. Amy tagged along in valiant support 
of a project she predicted would end in defeat. But the rattle of our chains 
in the sunlight kept us in giggling amusement the length of our journey. 
Reaching the gate, I despairingly conceded defeat. What we beheld was not 
the steel bar gate I expected. No doubt that gate was still there but it was 
now hidden by wooden panels the full height of the wall. No doubt they, too, 
moved back and forth from an unseen command but that didn't do us any good. 
We kicked it and shouldered it without effect and then wondered, pink 
cheeked, if any one could see us. Perhaps another electric eye was 
transmitting our chagrin to a laughing couple in the house. We grinned at 
each other in wry disgust as we resumed our chained walk at a slower pace 
along the wall. After a while we happened upon a bench and sat down, me 
painfully, Amy obviously enjoying herself. Disgustedly I said, "So, OK, we 
can't escape. Amy. tell me some more about why you're so damned happy." 

She grinned wisely and then, with unexpected vigor, fought the handcuffs on 
her wrists behind her back, she tugged and twisted and pulled against the 
circling steel until, red faced, she stopped to laugh at my concerned 
surprise. "Do you believe I adored every moment of what I've just done? I've 
fought a bond placed upon me by someone else, a bond I cannot possibly 
escape. Their hand will be upon me until another hand turns a key. It's the 
same with any bondage or restraint. Can't you see, darling, how intensely 
personal this is, and when I'm naked the way we are now it adds an unspoken 
dimension to helplessness. I can be used, I can be punished. Anyone can do 
as they please to me and my best bet is to be submissive for fear of being 
punished more." Amy gazed at me earnestly. "Do you see what I mean, darling. 
There is something there, isn't there? I'm not just beating my gums?" 

I could some of it. "If someone you love puts on the handcuffs or ties the 
rope. I could sort of understand that," I admitted slowly. "But I suspect 
you and I are prisoners for life, surely you don't get a kick out of that?" 

"Yes, I do! Genii, something like that intensifies the whole deal. And the 
way you look at me as though you can't really believe I'm for real. The 
whole thing is very erotic. And the punishments.. .I thought I'd burn up 
between my legs when Daisy whipped your bottom." She made a small sound of 
apology. "It's not that I'm cruel or a sadist or anything, but watching you 
whipped was an intense, sexual experience. It made you twice as attractive 
and desirable. Before Daisy did the things she did to you, I saw you only as 
a beautiful girl. But as I see you now, you are a simply gorgeous girl with 
those marks across your ass. Jeepers, I'm getting radiations out of you like 
you wouldn't believe. Stand up. Genii." 

Amy had me going. I stood up without question but was wondering why a 
whipped girl was more beautiful than one who's skin was innocent of marks. 
When she came and rubbed her breasts against mine, as she had done once 
before, I almost melted with desire. Maybe there was something to what she 
said but ail I knew was that I was a captive who could never escape. 

"If I rubbed you tit to tit after getting myself all excited trying to 
explain the way I am, I'm going to have the damnedest orgasm ever," 
explained Amy as she backed away to leave me gasping and wanting more. "You 
see how wonderful it is, you see it as being absolutely helpless the way we 
are. But that isn't so-we could make love any time we want to! I could 
scratch your nose or you could scratch mine. It's a beautiful game!" 

Amy was so damned beautiful. All she had said was animating her into a vivid 
radiance of life. Seeing myself mirrored in her planes and contours, in her 
swellings and curves, I stopped being ashamed of my own nakedness. And, 
anyway, we were just two girl who, if it hadn't been for the wall and the 
irons we wore, might have been having fun in the sunlight of an English 
park. 

The fact was. The Retreat had me in a dither. I should have been hysterical 
and back there beating frantically against the gate which bared sight of the 
outside world as did the wall. I should have hated Modesty and Trevor 
Tremond and held poor Amy in contempt. But it wasn't like that. Even the 
burning of my bottom had failed to paint any of those three as more than 
amusing enigmas. But, on the other hand, this could be the pretty prelude to 
a game not yet properly started. I was still prepared to be set free with a 
laughing admonition to be more careful of the houses I chose to visit, or 
sold down the river to a male owner I might detest. In the meantime there 
was this lovely park and there was Amy. 

"I'd love to walk all around the whole park." I suggested doubtfully. "But 
how are your ankles." 

"Protesting." 

"So are mine. But we're neither of us what you could call 'wounded' as yet. 
If we walk very, very slowly, sort of idling along, and if we get to the 
further limits and can't make it back, perhaps they'll come and fetch us. 
After all it was their idea to chain us like this." 

"If they have to come and fetch us from anywhere, we'll certainly be 
punished. I don't want five more like I just had and I don't suppose you do, 
either." 

"Darling, I can hardly wait to get them." Amy laughed at my puzzlement. "I 
just don't want to be too obvious in provoking Modesty into giving them to 
us. So long as it's only our bottoms and five strokes at a time, it's a 
breeze." 

It was a game, a thing I might never understand. Daisy's whipping of my 
bottom had not been entirely devastating. I mainly felt ashamed and untidy. 
I remembered Modesty's embarrassed admission of inadequacy. For a moment it 
seemed to me that, if I could by some magic, shed my chains and make an 
escape, I would refuse to do so! I told myself that was because I wanted to 
see what happens next. The Retreat was beginning to take hold of me. 

"It's dull walking besides the wall, Amy, and we know it's there. So why 
don't we wander through the woodland. It should be a lot more interesting." 

We wandered cautiously, watching our steps. It would be beastly to have to 
wear these leg irons if there were wounds beneath the metal. If we were 
careful, we might get by our exploration with nothing worse than a chaff. In 
unconscious effort, our hands worked busily against our handcuffs. We would 
probably do that even in our sleep and we would never know. 

The park was a lovely place, I envied Tremond this little bit of England. 
But there was more to it than trees, as Amy and I laughed our hobbled 
progress into the sun dappled greenery and the hot summer scent of fecund 
soil and lush growth we discovered paths leading off to either side and 
obviously maintained. But we stayed upon the main course until we reached 
what must have been the center of the park, an open circular glade, in the 
middle of which were sinister reminders to make me gasp and Amy tinkle with 
laughter. 

"Oh, darling, this is priceless!" Her tone told of her longing that I share 
her joy. "Just see how ancient and weathered they look. A pillory, stocks 
and a bench, and a wicked whipping post." She turned upon me, eyes sparkling 
with desire. "Genn, wouldn't it be wonderful if they used them on us?" 

I didn't bother to answer. Instead we clinked our suddenly anxious steps to 
where we could closely inspect these awesome relics of a darker age. It was 
instantly evident that, while the wood was old and of ageless oak, it had 
been recently crafted to fit only the less dimensions of the female. The 
holes would fit Amy's and my wrists and ankles, not those of a male. In the 
still summer air these solidly constructed engines of punishment radiated a 
dark power as though alive and waiting to clutch Amy and I in their cruel 
embrace. I shuttered and said, "Let's carry on, Amy, these things give me 
the willies." 

We left the sunlit glade. Amy with obvious reluctance, our restricted steps 
finally brought us with confrontation with the wall and the knowledge we had 
reached the limit. Our ankles told us. thankfully, it was time to retrace 
our steps. Taking a different route back through the woods we discovered The 
Pond. We stopped with exclamations of delight. Like most small lakes 
confined by woodland, it had an air of mystery. Once again the hand of man 
was clearly evident, this pond had been deepened and its banks secured by 
human hand. Almost instantly we saw the structures by which The Retreat 
owners could put this pleasant place to good use. Amy was ecstatic. "But. 
darling, look it's a ducking stool! You know about ducking stool, don't 
you?" 

I replied that, yes, I did indeed know and disliked what I knew. Crossly I 
admonished, "Amy, don't tell me you want to be strapped into that damned 
thing!" 

"But think of the thrill, Genn, to sit there and be unable to move and to 
know what was going to happen! Oh, wow!" 

I wished I could share Amy's love of this sort of thing but all I got was 
shivers up my spine. Surely these things would never have been put here 
without some one intending to use them. The next thing we saw was a cage, a 
quite small square of bars suspended over the water from a heavily braced 
arm of timber. 

"They put a girl inside that," Amy informed sagely. "Then they lower her 
down and back up until she says that she'll behave and she is sorry she was 
naughty. Oh, Genn, surely that grabs you! Just think of being locked inside 
and watching the water rise! I bet I'd confess to anything." 

"It will serve you right if they do it to you," I told her severely. "I'm 
going to pretend these things are just on display and won't ever be used. 
Good gosh, let's get out of here!" 

Amy lingered regretfully but I was glad to go. Fortunately the natural 
beauty of the place revived my spirits for the rest of the increasingly 
painful hobble back to The Retreat. Trevor Tremond was not with us for lunch 
but I could tell Modesty was seething with amused expectation to learn our 
discoveries in the semi-freedom she had granted. Like I said, the whole 
thing was nuts! 

"And everything is so authentic!" Amy was lavish in her praise. "You made 
such wonderful use of that old wood and it looks so grim and promising. 
Modesty, dear, would you try one of those things out on me.. .please?" 

"It would be a lot more fun to try one out on Genn," Modesty rebuked. "Genn 
would hate it but you'd just get a big charge out of the whole thing. You 
would hate it, wouldn't you Genn?" 

"Beyond words," I agreed. "Please don't put me in any of those things. 
Modesty, I'd die! I'm behaving myself and don't deserve to be punished." 

"There's such a thing as punishment by caprice, darling," Modesty suggested 
softly. "When a girl is owned her punishments don't always follow strict 
logic." 

"You mean you'd torture me for fun?" My tone was shock and bitter. 

"You have a gift, Genn, for making things sound worse than they are. 
Properly used there's not a single thing you saw would do you harm. None of 
them would hurt as much as those five strokes on your bottom this morning." 

The lunch was marvelous, Daisy was gifted far beyond the simple caning of a 
naked girl's seat. If the conversation was macabre I was hardly in a 
position to complain. Amy's hands and mine had been changed from back to 
front and I was beginning to acquire dexterity with knife and fork while 
handcuffed. 

After lunch I got my first proposal of marriage. 

I could understand the convenience of our metal bonds. Handcuffed and 
leg-ironed, a girl was available for almost anything. My courting pose was 
classically simple, a tether from the ceiling of the lounge came down to 
snap at my cuffed wrists and lift them up above my head. I stood there 
helpless, naked, exposed, and burning up with shame. A man was going to look 
at me! Think of it . . . a man! 

"I haven't stretched you, darling, you can move freely. And I want Mr. Hawks 
to satisfy himself about everything you've got. You are terribly beautiful, 
y'know, don't you? I've put Amy in one of the little cells, she's exploring 
the bars and loving every moment of it." 

"Why does he want me and not her?" 

"Men are so silly, dear. He looked at the photographs and picked you, so 
here you are, aren't you lucky?" 

"No, I'm not," I said sulkily even though it is hard to be sulky with 
Modesty. "I don't want to be sold to anyone and anyway you don't have any 
right to do this to me. Modesty, please let's call it quits, please let me 
go." 

"Don't be silly, Genn, dear." Modesty kissed me. "Mr. Hawks is a very 
wealthy man, he'll give you a wonderful life. He promises not to whip any 
girl he buys unless her behavior is absolutely impossible. There, does that 
make you feel better?" 

"No it doesn't. His idea of impossible behavior could be simply my tripping 
over my chain. I've heard about how most men like whipping girls. There's a 
lot of literature on the subject. And Amy's been telling me how she gets a 
thrill out of it. Modesty, please don't sell me into something like that." 

It was there Daisy announced the arrival of Mr. Hawks. Mr. Hawks was not the 
fat, bald-headed, cigar-smoking banker I envisioned. He was large, 
big-boned, with stern eyes and jaw to match. His voice was faintly 
Yorkshire. He must have met Modesty before, he showed no sign of surprise at 
her braceleted wrists nor any embarrassment at my nudity. He was brisk and 
businesslike as though he didn't have all day to waste on the purchase of a 
girl. 

"This is Gentian Rothwell, Mr. Hawks. Isn't she lovely?" 

"O'aye, she is that. What's her price?" 

Modesty mentioned a sum of money I couldn't believe. Mr. Hawks pretended he 
couldn't believe it either. "That's a damn silly name to give a girl, 
'Gentian,'" he said. "I'll have to change that first off. As for that price 
of yours, there's no way you're going to get it." 

"But. Mr Hawks. I thought you understood-these girls cost a fortune. Think 
of the risk and the trouble. And there's always an oil sheik who'll buy them 
if no one else will. The money isn't much when you consider you own her 
totally. She'll have to do whatever you tell her and she'll make you happy." 

"How do I know that?" 

Modesty's tinkle of laughter chided him. "Surely you have a whip, Mr. 
Hawks." 

"O'aye, that I have! Any girl I buy is going to feel it just to smarten her 
up and get her minding her Ps and Qs. Mind if I feel around a bit." 

"Please do." 

Mr. Hawks' "feeling around a bit" comprised an examination of my teeth, the 
testing of my breasts, the pinching of my nipples, and then helping himself 
to a handful of my sex. He had a large hand! There was nothing I could do 
except stand there and take it. It shows how crazy the whole thing was that 
I felt any protest would be disloyal to Modesty. I didn't even tug at my 
raised arms. 

"Nice bit of stuff," Mr. Hawks conceded. "Prime and ready to be bedded." He 
turned a fierce eye upon me to demand, "How about I marry you girl? That 
make you feel any better?" 

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

They considered my polite rejection, each in their own silence. I shivered, 
feeling sure of punishment. Mr. Hawks was undismayed. 

"You'd say 'yes' soon enough if I whipped your ass, young lady." 

"I expect I would," I admitted modestly. "But please don't do that, I'd hate 
it. And I'd hate you, too. Right now I don't hate you at all." 

I had hit the proper note. Mr. Hawks nodded as though in sympathy then 
helped himself to another handful of my pubic hair. I stood while I was 
mauled, avoiding Modesty's eye, until Mr. Hawks palm was sufficiently wet 
for him to wipe it upon a cheek of my red marked bottom and to announce a 
hardy Yorkshire rejection of my price. Modesty assumed a face of cold 
affront that any man could value money ahead of ME. They went away chatting 
animatedly and left me standing with my hands chained above my head and 
wondering how Modesty would evaluate my performance. But my mind was 
principally concerned with the concrete knowledge of The Retreat's promise 
being all too real. 

Some time I would be sold. There would be other such Mr. Hawks! 

Modesty was sweet about the how thing. She told me Mr. Hawks refused tea but 
accepted a double scotch. She said he was impressed by the handful of ME he 
had twice held, and would most likely be back. She said our efforts had not 
been wasted and that my behavior was a perfect as though rehearsed. All I 
could think to reply was. "Oh. Modesty, please don't sell me to anyone, 
please keep me here with you." 

"You want me to keep you, darling, not let you go?" 

I flushed guiltily as her finger tilted my chin. "Gentian, dear, I'm 
flattered but I'm afraid Trevor won't let me have a slave girl all my own." 
She kissed me lingeringly. "But thanks anyway, darling." 

Amy was more critical. Once more out in the park in the afternoon sun, she 
listened to my account of the strangest proposal of marriage a girl had ever 
had, then vouchsafed a flat opinion, "But, darling, if you're sincere about 
wanting escape, if you're serious about wanting to get out of these lovely 
chains and this lovely park, you should have accepted his proposal. Don't 
you understand. Genn, our only possibly of escape is to let one of these men 
buy us and let him do with us as he will. If the idiot wants to marry you, 
that's all to the good. Think of the possibilities of escape when you walk 
up the aisle to the minister. You can't possibly be married while bound and 
gagged, and as long as you can speak, you've got it made. Oh, sweetheart, 
you've missed it." 

I suspected Amy was right. But I also suspected Mr. Hawks would sample the 
wares before he took me to the altar. I did not wish to be ravished by Mr. 
Hawks even though he might, in his honest Yorkshire voice, insure me of good 
intentions while he bound me to his bed. I was satisfied to go back on the 
shelf as rejected merchandise which had found no favor. I was still wishing 
I could think of this whole adventure as something other than just plain 
crazy. 

"There's not use longing for something tall, dark, handsome and rich," Amy 
advised me seriously. "Neither of us are going to get that. A guy with all 
those things doesn't have to purchase a girl from Modesty and Mr. Tremond. 
Girls simply hang around their necks imploring them to marriage. What we're 
going to get is a reject with cash. What I want is for his cash to reach 
eight figures." She giggled, "The extra digit is for inflation." 

The next day we met Bridie Ross. 

The introduction was informal. Modesty had Bridie Ross in a cage downstairs. 
Amy and I were privileged to make her acquaintance by walking cautiously 
down a stairs and being led to a room previously undisclosed. It contained a 
cage. In the cage was a naked young woman who's hands were cuffed behind her 
back as were our own and who was pacing up and down and testing bars as 
thought truly believing that one must give way under the thrust of bare foot 
or shoulder. She stopped this useless effort to stare at Modesty and 
Modesty's pair of chained and naked maidens. Vehemently she exclaimed, "I 
don't believe any of this, it simply can't be true!" 

Modesty was always unruffled. Sweetly she told the caged girl, "This is Amy 
and this is Gentian, Bridie. I'm going to leave them here to talk. Please do 
ask questions." She flitted away and slammed the door. I felt sure the heavy 
slam of the bolt outside was for effect. "What the hell's with you two 
dopes!" Bridie surveyed us through the bars with disgust. "You going to a 
imagine dress ball or something?" 

Bridie was magnificent, a bounding beauty of a girl who was straining 
defiantly at the handcuffs behind her back as though assured of tearing them 
apart. Then, catching up with something in her own mind, she exclaimed, 
"I've been kidnapped!" As though in sudden revelation she demanded, "Is that 
why you two are fixed the way you are, I mean like a pair of old time 
convicts?" 

We assured her we were valid, even turning to display handcuffed wrists then 
turning back and kicking a foot to snub our ankle chain. Bridie looked at us 
doubtfully. "This whole thing has to be some kind of a put-on. Someone has 
to be pulling my leg. I was grabbed at a quiet spot in Wandsworth Common, 
tied up and stuffed in a lousy bag and then delivered here. Where the hell 
am I?" 

Amy and I explained the facts of The Retreat, Bridie listening in disbelief. 
When our explanations trailed away she returned to square one. "Look, I've 
got to get out of this damned cage. Can you two help? I mean, kick some bars 
loose or jar open the door?" 

We explained the limitations of bare maiden feet and of hands cuffed behind 
our back as where her own. It was easy to see Bridie supposed us to be 
making excuses to leave her to her fate. She kicked a bar and uttered an 
instant, "Ouch!" She then sort of deflated, leaned against the bars and wept 
bitterly. 

Iron bars have no power over maiden sympathy and maiden lips. Amy and I used 
both lavishly until the prisoner in the cage obviously felt better. But with 
the defeat of her crying jag. belligerency returned. "Some one is going to 
pay for this." Bridie avowed darkly. "I'll have the police on them and, if I 
ever get my hands free.. . ! " She returned to tugging and twisting in a 
gorgeously revealing struggle of female curves. Amy and I made interested 
spectators, neither of us had ever fought out handcuffs with this vigor-not 
that it was doing Bridie any good, she would chaff her wrists horribly and 
still be helpless. But I was almost as much a novice as she so I watched and 
admired. Bridie obviously was thinking of freedom as something possible, I 
did not. 

When the clank of the bolt turned us to the door, it was Daisy with a laden 
tray. She grinned at us and smiled at Bridie. "You haven't been fed. Miss 
Ross. I'm going to give you breakfast. I'll free your hands for it but first 
I'll chain you feet." 

Bridie Ross stood in the center of the cage and glared silently, reserving a 
judgment. When Daisy had put down the tray, opened the door, and approached 
with the gleaming leg irons. Miss Ross used the opportunity to lash out with 
one still free foot to connect with Daisy's crotch. Moments later she was 
flat on her face and the scream of ratchets announced the subjugation of her 
feet. She sat up, staring almost in disbelief at the new bond and still 
voicing, "If only I'd had my hands!" 

"I'm going to give you your hands so you can eat your breakfast," Daisy told 
her. "I'll cuff them in front of you, but I warn you, don't play tricks." 

Bridie played a trick. No sooner was one cuff free than she swirled around 
to lash out with a fist. It connected with Daisy's cheek to send her reeling 
sideways. Bridie, leaping forward to cement her victory tripped on her leg 
irons and fell flat. She never regained lost ground. Moments later she 
stood, panting and furious, to gaze upon her joined hands with the same 
disbelief she had used upon her feet. 

"You shouldn't have done that. Miss Ross," Daisy assured her seriously. "I'm 
afraid you're going to be sorry." 

It was the first glimpse Amy and I had had of real discipline, of punishment 
properly provoked. Neither of us had known it. and to date its only 
demonstration had been the five scarlet bars placed across my rear. Those 
scarlet strips were trivial and in sonic quaint fashion I cannot understand, 
appropriate to the occasion. But this was punishment with a capital P. 

There has to be something Amy and I don't understand about Modesty. Modesty 
has all the authority of The Retreat, she seems almost on wife-like terms 
with Mr. Tremond. Daisy obeys her totally. And yet Modesty's hands are 
chained by those beautiful bronze bracelets which even I envy her. No matter 
how agile a chained girl may be, there are limits to her ability to fight or 
physically subdue. Why Modesty was thus handicapped I did not know and Amy 
could only make a wild guess. But Modesty's decision was firm and 
swift-Bridie must be punished and Amy and I must watch. Laughingly and 
looking forward to what was soon to come, Daisy led us through the woods to 
the pond and fastened us to a single tree by a chain padlocked to Amy's 
neck, twisted around the trunk, and then locked to mine. Amy and I were 
indeed a captive audience. 

"Isn't this exciting?" Amy breathed. She was panting heavily, eyes 
sparkling. 

"I'm scared," I admitted soberly. "Today it's Bridie but tomorrow it could 
be us." 

Modesty's contribution to dragging a furiously struggling Bridie Ross to her 
fate was the use of both of her joined hands to hold and subdue a young, 
bare arm. Daisy did the rest, her hand in Bridie's hair was the deciding 
factor in dragging the fresh, young captive to her punishment. The 
struggling girl lacked Amy's erudition and, as she was strapped tight to the 
fatal chair, demanded, "What the hell . . . ! Do you expect me to go 
fishing?" 

Daisy was now in complete control. Modesty standing slightly to one side and 
as intently interested as Amy and I. The ease with which one girl was able 
to handle the cumbersome balance of the long bar and ducking stool was a 
tribute to the modern skill, the ball bearings and the oil we could not see. 
It was not until Bridie Ross found herself helpless above water of unknown 
depth that she understood what her punishment was to be. We saw her strain 
against the straps at wrist and ankle, waist and above her breasts. Except 
for her head she could not move but she tossed her hair wildly in demand. 
"You don't dare do this! You don't think you can get away with something 
this awful, do you! If you dump me in that water, I'll make sure you go to 
prison for the rest of your lives!" 

Bridie Ross might have saved her breath. Waiting, Daisy looked at her 
mistress for the signal. It was a simple nod and the quiet command, "Yes, 
dear, you may do it now." 

I can't remember all the things Bridie said or all the implications and 
utterances of alarm she made on her short journey down into the waiting 
pond. I don't believe she truly believed what was happening until her 
strapped feet were in the water and it was rising to engulf, first her 
pussy, then her breasts. With only her head above water she uttered her 
final threat, "I'll kill you for this." Then Bridie Ross was gone. 

Amy and I had not even bothered to test the chain upon our necks. We were 
satisfied to be prisoners of the tree, expecting no escape. We watched 
breathlessly a tableau in which we had no part but which was probably 
intended to be a stern object lesson to us both. And, of course, to Bridie, 
too! I gazed fixedly at Modesty's serene features and wondered if she was 
counting. Bubbles were rising to the surface of the pond and I could only 
think of the agonies of the girl below who was struggling for breath and for 
all she knew for life. When Modesty gave the authoritative nod, Daisy used 
the levers and controls to bring the delinquent head above water, then the 
breasts and then the pussy. The fingers of each strapped hand were furiously 
straining in useless motion as their owner spit out a mouthful of pond water 
and frantically gasped to regain her breath. When she had done so it was 
evident she had learned but little. 

"You rotten bitch. . . . You rotten bitch!" Bridie looked back over a bare 
wet shoulder at Modesty's serenity. "I'll use your guts for garters," she 
vowed. "Get me out of this. Don't you dare put me in there again. If you 
kill me it will be murder and see what that gets you!" 

Modesty gave the punished girl a good time to sit above the water and fight 
the straps holding her firmly in the ducking stool. When Modesty once more 
nodded to her waiting assistant the dripping nakedness included us all in 
her vows of retribution. A stream of bubbles followed her decent-quite 
probably she still was talking. 

Even Bridie had her limitations. It was a much subdued and very sodden young 
woman who reappeared the second time and spent most of her period of grace 
in coping with the physical disabilities of partial drowning. This time 
there were no treats but only a wail of anguish as her face once more 
approached the surface of the pond. This time 

I doubted she had a word to say to passing fish or for the venting of her 
spleen. She was a long time under and the bubbles traced a new pattern as I 
looked at Modesty and prayed for her to say the word. It was a long time 
coming but finally permission was given for Bridie to reenter the world. 
After all the gaspings and truly horrible sounds she was asked if she was 
prepared to be sensible and stop fighting. Bridie contrived to utter the 
single affirmative. The battle was over, The Retreat had won. 

Four girls had watched the ancient punishment. While Bridie still sat 
strapped above the pond, I tried to gauge the reactions of each of us. I 
knew my own. Modesty's serenity defeated analysis, Daisy was obviously 
delighted with her role and its success, Amy's breasts were heaving in pure 
sexual excitation. I suppose that about summed it up. There were four girls 
viewing the maiden in the ducking stool from four different view points, 
none of which would rescue her from the fate awaiting Amy and I. When she 
swung around and the stool was lowered to ground level, its occupant 
remained satisfied with catching up with her breathing while the straps were 
removed from every part of her body. When Modesty asked in direct challenge, 
"Will you obey us know, Bridie? Will you stop fighting us?" the only 
response was a whispered, "Yes." Then, as an additional assurance the 
defeated voice added, "I'll do whatever you tell me, honest I will." 

The proof of any pudding is in the eating. Bridie provided all the proof 
authority might wish. She stood, pathetically naked, while her hands were 
bound tight with cord behind her back. Then her elbows were bound. I 
recognized the elbow bondage was an added punishment and admonition to obey. 
Then the leg irons were added, of course. Amy and I were unleashed from our 
tree, a bond we had never bothered to test, and Modesty, her assistant and 
the three captives made our painful, hobbled pathway back to The Retreat. I 
don't know why Modesty and Daisy were satisfied to keep us hobbled and 
condemn themselves to the same slow prisoner's walk, but that's the way it 
was. 

There were now three of us. Amy, Bridie, and me. The Retreat now had an 
inventory from which clients could make a choice. I think by coincidence 
only, us three girls were different types, a client had a choice. Bridie 
said nothing on the way home, I'm sure she had much to think about, and 
certainly, for the time being, her submission was totally sincere. From time 
to time I stole a sideways glance to remember the maiden who had been so 
belligerent a short time before. 

As we made our way back to The Retreat, I toyed with the thought of how leg 
irons dictated the speed at which everybody did things. Modesty and Daisy 
were forced to slow their pace to match that of their captives. I would have 
become impatient and free their feet, but I was beginning to glimpse how the 
hobbles were a more effective remainder of captivity than chained hands. If 
you hurt yourself against handcuffs, it was your own fault. But the constant 
snub of chained steps forced upon us a pain we did not desire. We had walked 
a great deal in a couple of days and our chaff marks beneath the steel bands 
were red and angry. But a girl who's skin was daily marked by the grip of 
irons might soon long to be sold to escape them. But would being sold 
release us from anything! I did not know. 

Reaching the house. Amy and I were told to follow downstairs to catch our 
first proper glimpse of the arrangements for securing abducted girls. For a 
little while we forgot our anklets in this fresh curiosity. We watched an 
unresisting Bridie pushed into a cell and the door locked upon her. It was a 
tiny little cubicle and would have given me claustrophobia but Bridie 
clinked her chain against the hard bench. She spared Amy and I a brief smile 
and an shrug of bare shoulders. She sat down to reflect in naked solitude. I 
could not believe she was broken, I was sure she was not. Bridie Ross was 
prudently abiding her time. When we left I noted that Bridie still had her 
arms bound with rope behind her back, elbows linked tightly. I wondered how 
long it would be before her arms were in pain. By morning she would be in 
agony, and I was sure that our keepers intended to leave her until morning. 

Amy and I were taken to shiver our way through or passed a number of bare 
and empty cells awaiting girls. They were variously furnished, mostly with 
things to hold or hurt a girl. There was also a truly magnificent dungeon 
which would have done justice to any movie set. It was too good to be true 
and Modesty freely admitted it was of recent origin and made to 
specifications. There was also a much larger room I didn't even want to 
think about. It was a room I just couldn't associate with Modesty, with 
Trevor Tremond yes, but not with the serene beauty who wore her bronze 
chains with such grace. 

At dinner that night Trevor was very much the male presence in The Retreat. 
He was an amusing conversationalist and between he and Modesty there ran a 
current of something hard to define. I was pretty sure they were lovers. 
Modesty's authority was absolute when he was gone but his presence 
overshadowed us all including her. It was a forceful chunk of masculinity 
Amy and I would never dare to offend. I thought of Bridie down in her cell 
and wondered if Trevor Tremond would want to punish her more. I was certain 
he wanted his captive maidens submissive and obedient, he would instantly 
detect falsity or subterfuge. His approach to the two chained and naked 
maidens who shared his table was one of teasing raillery, to which a glass 
of wine helped us suitably respond. With brandy in the lounge he asked 
Modesty her plans for our night. 

"I had intended to chain them in the bedroom the same as before," she told 
him without hesitation. "Chained the way I had them, they can't possibly get 
loose." 

"Sure they can't get loose," he agreed. "But why not have a bit of fun with 
them. Give them a bit of fun, too. Turn 'em loose in the park for the night. 
Be a new experience." He chuckled, "If we have enough fun with them, they'll 
welcome the next client who wants to buy their pretty little persons." 

There was an uncomfortable silence broken by Modesty's protest, "But. 
darling, they'll freeze out there, even if it is a warm night." 

"Give 'em a blanket," he beamed at Amy and I as though we ought to be 
pleased. "Better than being chained up in a room, isn't it?" 

"But, Trevor, people belong in bed when it's dark, not wandering around in a 
park," Modesty complained. 

"There's a full moon, they'll probably see fairies." 

"Well, you do it then, Trevor. The poor darlings have been so well behaved, 
I'd be ashamed to kick them out all night." 

Trevor Tremond did exactly that. But first he linked our necks with 
padlocked chain, maybe three feet of it. to compel us to stay close. His 
masculine touch was harsh compared to Modesty or Daisy. I knew that if he 
was the buyer who purchased me, I'd be frightened. He opened the little 
kitchen door, patted our bare bottoms, then draped a folded blanket over my 
handcuffed wrists behind my back, telling me to do what I liked with it and 
that if I dropped it, it wouldn't be too difficult to pick it up. Amy and I 
took a few short steps outside. Trevor Tremond closed the door and we heard 
it lock firmly. 

We turned again to look at where we must spend the night. The park had a 
strange, unearthly beauty in the pale radiance of the moon. It was beautiful 
and mysterious and, somewhere in the depth of the woodland, the pond would 
be waiting. We shivered. 

3 

Hobbled 

"Isn't this exciting!" said Amy delightedly. "Just think of us, 
darling-naked and chained in the moonlight! I wouldn't have missed this for 
anything." She took a blithe step forward, forgetting the chain by which our 
necks were joined. "Oops, sorry, I forgot. Oh, Genn dear, isn't that man 
Tremond simply marvelous!" 

I could never share Amy's enthusiasm for captivity, so I didn't try. "Let's 
roll ourselves in the blanket right here and save wear and tear on our 
ankles," I said disgustedly. "We're going to be as uncomfortable one place 
as another." 

"What! And waste this lovely moonlight? Come on, let's go into the woods. 
I'll bet we see ghosts and satyrs and.. .well, simply everything!" . 

"Bats and beetles," I said morosely. 

But the enchantment of the night had infected me with some of Amy's own joy. 
I would remember this night the rest of my life, It would be too hauntingly 
incredible to forget. I remembered Richard Hallaberton's story of spending 
the night at the top of one of the Nile pyramids. If we had not been so 
severely chained, it might have been fun. 

The collar of links and pendent padlock and its three foot span joining us 
was a surprising handicap. Goodness knows what impulse had caused Trevor 
Tremond to lock it on our necks, but there had grown between 

Amy and I an invisible bond of rapport in our strange captivity. In the 
moonlight we made our slow clinking progress toward the trees. 

"What will we do if there's something in there?" Amy asked breathlessly, "I 
don't know what but simply something?" 

"Run!" 

"We can't run, darling, you're forgetting! I don't think there's anything 
that keeps me so sexually excited as these leg irons. It's because they bite 
at us with every step." She heaved a big sigh. "Darling, I do hope you and I 
never get sold." 

"What brought that on?" 

"I don't know. Maybe someone walked over my grave. Or maybe I'm not as brave 
as I thought I was. Darling, it's a darn right shame that you don't love 
captivity the way I do. I've just been thinking, if one of us falls, the 
other has to go along, too. Isn't that cute?" 

I wanted to make an irritable retort and tell her that there was nothing 
cute about it at all, but I could never be angry with the little sweetheart. 
Instead, I said, "Let's not go near the pond-that place scares me. If 
Modesty chained me to a tree there all night, I think I'd go mad. Let's just 
stay on the main path and forget about that place." 

We had forgotten about the circular glade. It came suddenly into sight with 
its grim reminders of another age. The pillory, the post, the stocks were 
all there waiting, and for a moment we scarcely believed our eyes. In the 
pillory was a girl. I began to see Trevor's purpose in putting us out here 
for the night might be for a reason of his own. A girl can't quicken her 
pace when she's hobbled, but we did our best. Coming close, we beheld the 
listless droop of head and hands held in the oak boards. We saw the hank of 
blonde hair falling down beside her head, glinting in the moonlight with a 
silver sheen of its own. 

When the clink of our chains awoke the girl she looked up, startled, and we 
saw her tense and surge her strength against the massive bulk of the 
pillory. "Don't be frightened, we can't hurt you," Amy assured earnestly. 

Standing within the wooden clutch of a pillory no girl looks her best. But 
this one was a beauty, The Retreat was running true to form. Shocked, the 
ash blonde said, "You're chained! You're chained and naked.. . ! " 

I had been holding the blanket all this time, now I let it slip to the 
ground and followed Amy in a circle tour of the pillory and its lovely 
occupant. The occupant, sensing absence of hostility, pleaded, "Can't you 
get me out of this thing? I've been standing like this for simply ages." 

The links between our necks made everything Amy and I did a joint affair 
much like handcuffed hands where you must do everything with both hands. We 
solemnly examined the device but the heavy oak yokes were latched and 
padlocked tight upon the new girl's neck and wrists. They really were tight, 
the thing had been made strictly for girl. Interrupting each other 
constantly. Amy and I acquainted the captive with the facts of life and The 
Retreat. She probably did not believe a word of what we said but was 
bursting to tell us of her own kidnapping. 

"They walked right into my own apartment and took me when no one was 
around," she said in an outraged tone. "They trussed me up with rope and 
cord so I could hardly breath, they put me in a box, and I must have been in 
that box a hell of a long time. When it was opened up there was two girls 
and an man, all grinning at me like Cheshire cats, remarking on the way I'm 
built. When they untied me, I had enough life left to kick the man square in 
his nuts and get in a good swipe at one of the girls, but that was as far as 
I got. They jumped me and said, 'My, my, wasn't I a little spitfire who 
needed a good lesson!. ' They brought me out here and fixed me like this. 
I've been here every since, I haven't seen a soul. Tell me I'm dreaming. Get 
me loose, please.. . " 

Amy and I went over and over the facts of life as they now applied. Little 
by little comprehension dawned within the ash blonde head. She told us her 
name was Marjorie Ware, she was a fashion model and the police would soon be 
hot on her track and we'd all be rescued. She spoke condescendingly as 
though, wouldn't it be fun when Trevor, Modesty and Daisy were hauled off to 
prison by the cops. In the meantime she was very sick of the pillory and 
wanted OUT. 

When we explained about obedience being the first virtue at The Retreat, she 
simply snorted and said we were a pair of sissies, and surely there was 
someway we could wiggle free of the handcuffs. Our assurances about how 
handcuffs were a very permanent fixture on a girl's wrist met with only an 
impatient snort. It was easy to see why Marjorie Ware was in the pillory 
instead of a comfortable bedroom in the house. Feeling guilty about our 
inability to aid the suffering maiden. Amy and I contrived to wrap ourselves 
in the blanket in a sort of a cocoon effect and go to sleep. 

We are in the room I wish I'd never seen. We are here in force but strangely 
arrayed. Bridie's wrists are tied cruelly to each side of the whipping post. 
Marjorie Ware stands exposed with her hands crossed and drawn above her 
head. Amy and I stand like butterflies against the stone wall, arms out 
spread to either side, wrists shackled to make us seem victims of some 
monstrous spider. The clothes Daisy and Modesty wear accentuate the 
nakedness of the four captives. Amy and I have been told we are there as an 
audience to learn a lesson in deportment. We have been left to guess at the 
fate of the two nudities more stringently fastened. Bridie has already been 
sufficiently shrewish with her tongue to earn a gag. Beholding the strapping 
of it within her companion's mouth has cautioned Marjorie to be prudent with 
her speech, she is tense but awaits quietly. 

The man is handsome and raises a flutter in the breasts of all of us, he 
could model for men's fashion magazines, and his manner is direct and 
brutal. With Trevor hovering and Daisy and Modesty more or less in the 
wings, he circles to scrutinize each of the two naked maidens displayed for 
his approval, he and Trevor remarking upon their better features or points 
of interest. He unblushingly palms and kneads the sex of each, they cannot 
kick at him, they arc hobbled. Amy and I watch them cringe and know just how 
they feel. I am praying Pretty Boy won't turn his attention to either of us. 

"Nice collection of stuff you've got here," the visitor said as he turned 
his back insolently upon the merchandise and looks around the walls, his 
gaze gliding over Amy and me as through we were not there. "Do you have to 
use it often?" 

"Only when they ask for it." Trevor's tone is light, after all what's a rack 
or a few thumbscrews between friends. "You'll notice it's mostly designed 
for immobility, we prefer not to injure or mark." 

"Mind if I try out a whip on these two? A whip tests a girl's quality." 

What do we matter, we are only girls! All Trevor says as he hands out the 
hateful thonged instrument of pain is a casual, "Don't cut the skin." 

Marjorie is first. She screams in shock as a scarlet line forms across her 
back. We stare in fascinated horror. I had never seen a girl whipped, let 
along be so ill-used myself. All the stuff about the whipping of girls 

I had ever read flooded back into my mind. I looked sideways at Amy, she is 
entranced and breathless. "Marks nicely," conceded the prospective 
purchaser. "I'll try one across her ass." 

Marjorie was still striving for breath and composure when the second stroke 
lapped full across her twin cheeks and snapped wickedly across one hip. The 
sounds she made were frightening as she actually lifted herself off the 
ground in agony to impose all her weight and the force of her struggles on 
her cross bound wrists above her head. The client stood by, assessing her 
motions with the eye of a connoisseur of female pain. When Marjorie failed 
to turn and twist to present a portion of herself in which he held 
particular interest, he moved a step this way or that or made a complete 
circle in the simulation of a buyer in a farmer's auction pen. He nodded as 
though having made a mental note, then turned his attention to a wide-eyed 
Bridie who's efforts to tear loose from the whipping post had failed to make 
it even shiver. There was sounds coming from behind her gag, they were 
decidedly negative. The post held her where she stood, she could evade 
nothing. The thong wrapped itself around her waist with a resounding snap. 

I felt unexpected shame. Along with disgust and fear I felt the unmistakable 
glow of sexual arousal within my loins. To be vulgar about it, I would have 
to admit that watching the whipping of a naked girl made me horny. I knew 
Amy was well ahead of me, leaving me to wonder what strange depths of 
emotion lay within us all. 

The buyer made Bridie dance to the tune of three vicious strokes then asked, 
suddenly, "How much?" 

It was Modesty who answered. The price she mentioned was startling. Amy and 
I exchanged glances. If we were worth such sums then certainly we would 
never be allowed to escape either from The Retreat or from a buyer's 
custody. We pressed ourselves back against the wall, breathless. 

"Hmmmmmm." The buyer raised a quizzical eyebrow and turned his attention to 
the wicked furniture. His retort was abrupt as ever. "You're high." 

The vendors of captive girls stood their ground, saying nothing. Running the 
thong through exploring fingers, the man who had used the whip turned a 
casual attention upon Amy and me. His glance lingering longer than before. 
Had I been able to claw my way through the wall and out of sight, I would 
have done so. 

We found only limited praise. "They both submissives, aren't they. That's a 
pity. If they didn't cost so much I'd prefer the one's I've whipped, they've 
got more fire in them. One of these two is getting herself wet from watching 
and the other wouldn't say boo to a goose. What do you want for them?" 

"No less than the others." Modesty's voice was unruffled. 

"Keep 'em." He turned his attention to the two girls he had whipped. "Mind 
if I whip this pair a bit more?" 

"We'd rather you didn't." Trevor's voice was firm. "Let's go up to the 
lounge and have a drink. He chuckled, "The girls won't miss us while we're 
gone." 

Marjorie was quietly crying and wiping the tears away upon her raised bare 
arm. Bridie was dry eyed and furiously striving to disengage the gag which 
kept her silent. She, too, used a bare arm as her only aid. 

"This can't possibly be true," Marjorie sobbed brokenly. "They can't 
possibly sell girls. I don't want to be sold to that horrible man, he's 
cruel." 

"He's damn handsome and knows how to handle a female," Amy vowed ardently. 
"If he bought me, I'd die of shivers up the spine." 

Bridie and I said nothing, she couldn't speak and I had nothing to say, all 
I was seeing and thinking about was the thud and impact of the whip upon 
virgin skin. 

A sale had been made. Trevor's drink had worked its magic and the buyer was 
actually smiling. On his way to his new possessions, he took the opportunity 
to grasp a handful of my sex, a painful handful he did not relinquish 
quickly. He did the same with Amy, no doubt on the basis of being privileged 
of taking a freebie while we were so handy. I endured the clutch, staring 
straight into his eyes, hoping to shame him. But he had no shame. He tilted 
my chin with a heavy finger and kissed me on the lips. He must have 
considered submissives good for something! 

Marjorie was swiftly gagged. It was not until the strap was harshly buckled 
behind her neck that she realized the full impact of that action. But Bridie 
knew and the effect upon her was much the same as the trauma of the ducking 
stool, she ceased to fight, convinced she could not win. But her eyes 
flashed a sympathy at her companion who was straining at her bound hands. 

"I can wedge 'em both in the trunk of the car," the pleased purchaser said 
as though speaking of a couple of bundles from the store. "All we have to do 
is truss them up good and tight so it hurts to struggle. I don't know why 
some people have all the trouble they do in handling girls. It's simple." 

I wished I could be angry with Amy, but I couldn't. She was tremendously 
involved and breathing heavily. The visitor's statement about trussing up 
two girls so it hurt to struggle touched the fire forever burning down 
below. All I thought about was the pain but Amy was sensing the 
deliciousness of hurt helplessness. Maybe someday I'll understand. 

The two girls were not given much chance to struggle. Their feet were tied 
tight before their hands were freed. With a hand grasping their hair they 
were forced to stand rigid while their wrists and arms were bound behind 
their backs. It was a very thorough binding. I wondered how far they had to 
go. Poor darlings, I scarcely knew them, yet they were the first of the lush 
harvest The Retreat would garner from the sequestering of girls. 

When the two poor girls were immobilized so that Amy and I could see the 
bulge of flesh around the cords by which they were so unkindly bound, Trevor 
picked up one and the visitor the other and carried them away. Modesty and 
Daisy followed. Amy and I were alone, still chained to the wall. Fortunately 
it was not hurting but it would have been nice to sit down. 

"That's going to happen to us," Amy exclaimed, eyes shinning. "I can hardly 
wait. Darling, think of belonging to that terrible man. A girl would have to 
be so damned obedient.. . " 

"She's be busy counting her whip marks," I consoled irritably. "Amy, stop 
wanting such awful things to happen. The best we can hope for is for things 
to stay the way they are." 

"Well, never mind darling," Amy said, recognizing our emotional divergency. 
"But isn't this a yummy way to be chained, it doesn't hurt and I bet we look 
really beautiful. That idiot doesn't have any judgment or he would have 
bought us." 

Daisy was first to return. "Two down and two to go," she said cheerfully. 
"How did that whip business affect you?" 

"It was wonderful," Amy breathed reverently. 

"It was horrible and awful," I lied. "What about you?" 

"It sort of curled me up inside," she admitted modestly. "I'm sure glad it 
was those two and not me." She looked from one to the other of us and spoke 
more seriously. "There's things you could do to get yourself whipped, 
y'know. Please make sure it doesn't happen, I might get the job of whipping 
you." She gave a sigh and shrugged. "I've already been told that if that 
happens I'm to whip you real hard and not just on your bottom, either. I bet 
it hurts horribly on a girl's back." 

How strange it all was! Novices and novices, with always hanging above our 
heads the threat of punishment. Perhaps in an hour Amy or I would be 
whipped. I tried to envision the agony of the lash upon my bare skin. At 
least I had had the advantage of Amy in memory of the five strokes with the 
riding crop on my bottom. It the whip was worse that that, I didn't want it. 
We went through the ritual of assuring Daisy that, yes, we would behave when 
our hands were freed. She could bind us any way she chose. We were not being 
as stupidly submissive as we sounded, we were still hobbled and could not 
have won any battle we undertook. It was only moments before our wrists were 
clasp in cuffs behind our backs. But at least our necks were free. We 
prudently kept silent about the absence of collars. 

"Yes, he bought both of them," Daisy informed us happily. "Miss Blair is 
ever so pleased and so is Mr. Tremond. They're going to give me a raise." 
Her eyes twinkled mischievously. "They've also put your price up, darlings, 
you're getting to be terribly expensive." 

"It won't be long before someone buys us if we're all that is left," Amy 
moaned. "Gentian and I want to be sold together, we don't want to be 
separated. What's the chances, Daisy?" 

"How would I know! I'm as new to this as you two." She giggled confidingly. 
"Miss Blair told me they could sell me, too. That is if I wanted to be sold. 
She said they could split with me and give my half to my family while I went 
off into slavery. Isn't that something!" 

"What did you say, Daisy?" 

"Why, yes, of course!" Daisy looked surprised at our question. "All that 
money! Why even half of it would set my family up in good shape. And as far 
as I'm concerned, I could escape from anyone in a month or two." Her manner 
became arch. "I could always wear him out in bed so he'd be glad to get rid 
of me." 

I was about to ask her how she could be that crazy when my attention was 
distracted by the way I was being handcuffed. Amy already had her hands 
cuffed behind her back and now Daisy thrust one of my hands down inside 
Amy's looped wrists before handcuffing me in the ordinary way. This left Amy 
and I joined, back to back, my hands inside hers and hers inside mine. We 
could walk together only by one of us yielding to the other. As far as going 
in opposite directions, it would be an immediate tug of war. 

"Miss Blair said I should give you a change," Daisy said earnestly, "so see 
how you like that. To compensate I'm going to let you have your feet. No 
more leg irons, not for now anyway." 

The first thing Amy and I did was kick. We kicked out at nothing in deep 
satisfaction but there our pleasure ended. To stand side by side each one of 
us had to sort of donate her outer arm. Daisy was entranced. "You both look 
like a bird with one wing," she said cheerfully. "Look, darlings, I'm going 
to turn you loose in the park so you can go for a real honest-to-goodness 
run and get yourselves accustomed to the way you're fixed now. Miss Blair 
says you ought to get some exercise so you'd better run and run good or I'll 
be after you with a riding crop." 

"It's a good thing we like each other," Amy said morosely as we were ejected 
from the familiar door. "Talk about togetherness.. . ! " 

At the end of an hour we had chaffed wrists. It was glorious to run, and we 
had done so until exhausted. But try as we might we could not avoid a series 
of tugs at our handcuffed wrists. It didn't matter which one of us was 
guilty of the tug, the bite of steel against our skin was the same. We 
decided to ask Daisy if we could be tied with cord instead. We never got 
loose from her rope bondage so what was the difference? In spite of all our 
impediments to freedom of movement, this new method of keeping us helpless 
did give us the freedom of the park. Our leaping limbs carried us ten times 
the speed of feet confined in leg irons. We were infuriated and could 
imagine Daisy laughing back at the house, for when we discovered a secluded 
spot in the wood, we sank to the grass and tried to make love. But we 
couldn't, no matter how we twisted and turned our arms were always wracked 
painfully as we approached our goal. We agreed that except for the glorious 
run we preferred to be chained the way we had been. 

That night we slept close together on our tummies and woke up from time to 
time in an irritating tangle of arms and chains. Maybe Daisy wearied of 
feeding us with a spoon for the next morning after breakfast she did things 
to us which left us shocked and uneasy. She refused to answer questions and 
maintained that irritating air of knowing something you did not. It began 
with Amy. 

My feet were ironed, my wrists handcuffed behind my back, so I was safe and 
made an interested audience of one when Amy was pushed face down upon the 
bed, her leg irons removed and her ankles bound tight with rope. When her 
handcuffs joined the leg irons on the floor. Amy's hands were crossed behind 
her back and most stringently tied with cord. If it had been me, I'd have 
been squealing both in indignity and at the pain of ropes cutting into my 
limbs. But Amy stole a sideways glance at me to show me sparkling eyes and a 
wicked little wink to tell me she was enjoying the whole thing. But Daisy 
was not through. She threaded fresh rope between bound feet and bound hands 
and drew it tight, then tighter still. The result was to bow Amy back in the 
joining of hands and feet in what I suppose would be called the hogtie. so 
often spoken of. When Daisy stepped back with a pleased smile at her 
accomplishment, poor Amy heaved and struggled without avail. She relapsed 
with a sigh to murmur. "Daisy, darling, you do the most beautiful ties. I'll 
never get out of this one." 

We left her there, me in uncomplaining obedience to Daisy clutch on my bare 
arm. In the passage Daisy picked up a small bag before leading me out into 
the sunlight of the park. As we made my hobbled, slow progress towards the 
trees I thought longingly of the freedom of yesterday, but did not complain. 
A girl who has become merchandise and who is up for sale must not expect too 
much. 

"You'll love what I'm going to do to you," said Daisy. 

"It's not that awful pond, is it?" 

"No, darling, you're not being punished, you just being.. Well, sort of 
sequestered all by yourself." 

"That is a punishment. Daisy." 

"Well, it's all in the point of view. Don't howl until you're hurt, darling. 
And don't ask questions, it's all a lovely surprise." 

My first surprise was Modesty Blair. We had gone up one of the lesser 
pathways and there she was, sitting on the grass and leaning against the 
trunk of a tree. When she saw us she got to her feet to say, "I think this 
one, Daisy. It's just about right for the effect I want. You can take 
Gentian's chains off, she won't fight the two of us. Will you, dear?" 

I said, "No." I would not fight and felt silly the way I always do when 
being too submissive. But I was curious and there was an atmosphere of fun 
in the air I could not ignore. And I hated the idea of fighting Modesty, she 
was a sweetheart. She still had on the lovely bronze chains which left me 
wondering. Modesty was a beautiful enigma. 

I stood before them, naked and expectant. Something was about to happen. 
From the bag Daisy withdrew a white silk, shortie nightgown which I put. It 
only made me feel more naked that before. I was then pushed back against the 
tree, my arms gathered in back and my crossed wrists tied. It was all done 
very slowly and carefully with an eye to some desired effect. I began to 
share their absorption in the task. The next item was a length of heavy 
chain, wrapped around my middle and the tree to be fastened with an equally 
heavy padlock. The chain clashed with the pretty nightgown but I said no 
word. 

Neither girl said a thing but studied me intently as they circled me and the 
tree they had chosen. Without warning Modesty's joined hands stretched out 
and tore the silk from my shoulder. She tore it savagely, to leave ragged 
ends. Evidently I had to look as though stripped by force. Daisy and her 
mistress debated this tear and that, sometimes they used scissors to start a 
rent in a desired spot. When they were done with me, one of my breasts was 
completely bare and the other only half hidden. The tore nightwear drooped 
sadly from one shoulder, and I was assured, laughingly, that my pubic hair 
was in that condition were first you see it now you don't. They gathered up 
my discarded chains, put them in the bag, and said goodbye. They went away 
laughing. 

I was not perturbed, I was puzzled. The manner of my binding to the tree was 
unusual, the chain and padlock cinching my middle would keep me there 
forever, there was no need for my hands to be tied behind the slender trunk. 
But I suppose there night be nothing significant in both these facts, my 
hands would always be chained or bound in some way as a matter of course. 
But it did occur to me that I was attractively displayed. The tied wrists in 
back stuck my breasts out a little more than normal. And the chain and 
padlock might be to keep me safe against the tree in case strange hands 
sought my release. I shrugged the whole thing off, nothing was likely to 
happen in this safe park. Modesty and Daisy were having fun with me and 
probably chuckling at my expense. I settled back and hoped I could think of 
enough interesting things to fill the lonely, boring hours which are the 
principle discomfort of such punishment. 

He had crept silently up the path and had probably been studying my for 
several moments before I snapped out of my dream world to stare back at a 
ferret-like little man in a business suit. I disliked him on sight. 

"You're name's Gentian, isn't it? Nice name, nice girl. I've been watching 
you." He drew close to envelop me in the disgusting odor of alcohol and 
cigars, his breath was foul. "How'd you feel about my taking you home with 
me?" he said. 

Without thinking I snapped a brief, "No thanks. Do you realize you're 
trespassing on Mr. Tremond's property?" 

"He's the guy who sent me to have a look at you. Damn it. I think you're as 
good as he said you were." 

My heart sank. Modesty surely would never have sent this despicable creature 
to view me so helpless and nearly naked. But. if ferret-face had Trevor 
Tremond's blessing.. . ! I couldn't think of a word to say except for, "Did 
Mr. Tremond give you the key to my padlock and permission to untie my 
hands?" 

"No, he didn't. And I like you the way you are. You any good at fucking?" 

He was of the dregs. If he actually had enough money to buy me, he must have 
won it in a lottery. A creature this uncouth could not have properly belong 
in the business world. He followed up his use of the hateful word and the 
beastly question by stepping close and helping himself to a handful of my 
sex. I couldn't stop him. It is at times like this a girl really and truly 
knows what it is to be bound and helpless. Previously, when I had been thus 
used, by feet had been hobbled, but now they were free. Instinctively I 
lashed out and connected a hard heel squarely on the spot ferret-face would 
like it least. He doubled over, cursing. But when he recovered, he stood to 
one side where I could not kick and once more went to work with beastly 
intent. His tobacco stained fingers penetrated me to their full length and, 
when withdrawn, were held before my face. "Suck it clean, sweetheart, see 
how you taste." 

It was all happening too swiftly for me to think. I let him get his finger 
well into my mouth before I bit hard, as hard as I possibly could. His howl 
of agony, plus my own repulsion, parted my jaw and he quickly jerked back to 
nurse his wound. I shivered against the tree, knowing my vulnerability. I 
struggled hard and fruidessly against the ropes on my wrists. They held me 
effortlessly for what ever attention ferret-face might wish to bestow on me 
next. I thought of muttering an apology but I wasn't the least bit sorry for 
what I had done. But now I'd be punished, punished for sure. 

Ferret-face took his time, stopping the slight flow of blood with a white 
handkerchief wrapped around the injured finger. With his other hand he began 
stripping me of the tattered remains of the nightgown. He tore at the bits 
and pieces of silk in a venomous determination to examine the goods he 
intended to buy. He pawed at my breasts and every other curve and crevasse 
of my person he could reach. He even went to the trouble of plucking the 
last part of silk from under the tight chain to leave me stark naked. He 
kept a cautious eye out for my foot, but I had no courage to kick again, I 
was in enough trouble now. 

"Please don't buy me," I pleaded. "I'm sure we wouldn't get along." 

His voice was almost gloating, "I'm buying you for sure, sweetheart. The 
only way I can whip you properly for what you've done is to take you home." 
He leaned one hand against my tree to give me the full benefit of halitosis. 
"Think of it, honey, I'll string you up by your thumbs and lace into you 
proper. When I'm through with you, you'll do no more biting and kicking, I 
promise you." 

Strangely ferret-face left me alone, contenting himself with a knowing 
sneer, no doubt envisioning me in some horrible torture of his contrivance. 
His eyes positively burned into my skin as though he had not seen a naked 
girl before. Probably he had not. 

When he went away, muttering promises of purchase and punishment, I stood 
against my tree in the depths of a despair beyond desperation. I was vividly 
frightened. 

It was Modesty who came for me in early evening. They had given me plenty of 
time to imagine and conjure up vivid horrors. She eyed me with raised 
eyebrow and pursed lips. "Darling, you really have got yourself into 
trouble. You must learn to use more judgment." 

"Have you sold me to him?" 

Modesty laughed outright at my fearful question. "No. Trevor considered it 
but I talked him out of the idea. That horrid little man should never have 
been let loose on you." She noted the torn remains of the nightie on the 
ground and asked, "Did he give you a bad time?" 

I told her the way it was, and then waited for sentence to be pronounced. 
Modesty was her usual darling self. She acknowledged gravely that, yes, I 
had indeed been bad and needed punishment. She stood there with her lovely 
bronze bracelets and managed to look far sadder than I remembered. "It's me 
who has to punish you. darling. Trevor said to that hateful little creep 
that I would have the job of teaching you a lesson. He told me what to do to 
you. It isn't a bit nice." 

There was never much need to say things with Modesty, we understood each 
other, we were two girls. I often wondered if she was as much a prisoner as 
me. I loved her too much to make trouble and so stood quietly while she put 
the leg irons back on my ankles and unlocked the chain. I moved away from 
the tree that had kept me prisoner. It felt good. 

"Come alone. Gentian, dear. Let's get this over with." 

We might have been two girls out for a stroll except I was naked and was apt 
to make little hopping jumps to keep up my hobbled feet. Modesty might love 
me but she was taking no chances. Upon releasing me from the tree she had 
turned me about and tied my hands again the way they had been. I didn't 
expect much else, I was a bad little girl who must be punished. Modesty kept 
up an animated conversation, avoiding all reference to ferret-face and I was 
so busy trying not to trip that we came into sight of my punishment before I 
could guess it's nature. 

It was the pond! 

4 

The Awful Punishment 

"No, oh no!" I heard my voice as from a distance. "Oh, Modesty, I can't bare 
it, I simply can't!" 

"Its not what you think, darling." Modesty's voice was as serene as ever. 
"I'm not going to strap you in the ducking stool. But there is something 
else." 

I couldn't do anything. Even if I could have kicked Modesty I could never 
have brought myself to do it. Modesty, even in what she was now about to do, 
was an adorable creature who owned me utterly. Unhappily I walked beside her 
to the cage. We eyed the grim, square thing of iron bars in silence, my 
spine curling up. I didn't have to ask if I would be locked inside, I knew I 
would. But my own concern was what happened then! I watched Modesty unfasten 
and then lift the top which came up on hinges. Not until then dare I ask the 
fatal question. 

"If I get inside that thing. Modesty, what happens then, what will you do 
with me?" 

"Don't ask silly questions, darling." Modesty nodded at the open cage. "In 
you go. You know you have to. please don't make a fuss, darling." 

The "darling" got to me. It might sound odd as applied to a girl facing 
punishment, but Modesty spoke it with sincerity. Timidly I said, "Oh, 
Modesty, I'm frightened." 

"Of course you are, darling. But I'm not going to answer any questions until 
you've been a good girl and got inside and sat down so I can close this lid 
and lock you in. Gentian.. . Please.. . " 

It hurt my thighs while I sat on the upper edge of the damned bared box and 
swung my ironed feet up and over. I sat down inside and was instantly 
afflicted with claustrophobia. My knees came up under my chin and I longed 
for my tied hands to clutch at the bars. I don't know why I wanted that so 
badly but I did. The way I was chained up made me feel like a package within 
a crate. Modesty gently closed the barred lid and snap the padlocks shut to 
keep me prisoner. An elephant couldn't have gotten in or out of that damn 
cage, it could hold me a prisoner forever. 

Modesty lifted her bronze braceleted hands to place a finger on her lips, 
enjoining silence. "Darling, we both know what's going to happen, don't 
let's be silly about it. If you feel you have to scream, I won't be able to 
stop you, but it will sound awful echoing across the water. Gentian, dear, 
please try to take this like a.. . lady." 

Modesty easily managed the controls, they were electrically operated. All 
she had to do was push the right buttons. The arm from which my cage was 
suspended rose to lift me and the cage easily as though we weighted nothing 
and then gradually swing us out over the water. By the time the arm had 
reached its maximum extension, I was petrified. I gazed down at the black 
water beneath in the surety of it being bottomless and containing a monster 
who would smash the cage and eat me without delay. It was fanciful. I know, 
but I was oh so close to the surface of that beastly pond and I could only 
sit, crotch, within the bars and await my fate. When the cage began its 
descent to the awaiting depths, I screamed. I screamed and screamed in 
panic. 

My descent was halted. When I paused for breath. Modesty's voice came to me 
with an urgency all its own. "Gentian, dear, please don't scream. I want you 
to know that what I'm about to do is by Trevor's orders. I have to do what 
Trevor tells me, you don't have to know why, I'm not sure I know myself. But 
he was angry about that rotten little man who spoiled the delightful effect 
Daisy and I created with you. We'd expected someone else but Trevor says you 
still have to be disciplined." He tone became almost yearning. "Darling, 
please trust me." 

I was in no mental state to consider the enigma of Modesty and the man who 
appeared to be her master. The cage was once more gently moving down towards 
the surface and a moment later made contact. I held my breath as water came 
through the bars, covering my feet, and then wetting with a cold hand my 
pubic patch. When my navel was submerged and the descent continued I could 
not contain my fear, my screams pealed out across the water in the darkening 
evening. When it lapped my breasts I remembered crying out, "No. . . . No! 
Modesty, don't!" 

I could have saved my breath, nothing halted. I was tugging and twisting 
feverishly at bond hands and chained feet, but it was a pointless effort 
from which I had not the faintest hope as little by little the curves of my 
breasts sank below the surface and then my nipples and then the upward slope 
to my shoulders. Despite my love for Modesty and her demand for trust, I 
could not contain the screams I sent in wave after wave of awful sound 
across the stillness of the pond. I had never known such fear or such 
terrifying impotency, mine was the last sight of the earth and sky for 
someone condemned to drown. When the water reached my neck the decent 
stopped. For moments I could not believe in a halt in my progress towards a 
fearful death but finally I realized I had at least a brief reprieve. And 
discovered I was breathing painfully and harshly as if I had been under for 
a long time and was just brought up. I remembered saying in a choking voice, 
"Oh, Modesty.. . Oh, Modesty!" 

"It's all right, darling, you're safe." 

Her assurance bolstered my courage enough for me to take stock. I was not 
drowning, I would not drown unless something went wrong. If I dipped my chin 
it would touch the water. I looked out over the surface, silver in the 
moonlight, at a shimmering picture of serenity in which I was the only note 
of discord. Across, on the other shore, the ducking stool stood like an 
malignant growth. 

"I have to leave you now, darling." There was no mistaking the sincerity of 
Modesty's loathing of what she had done and was about to do. So I blamed her 
for nothing, she was a symbol for something I did not yet understand. In 
this most shocking predicament of my life I still loved and trusted Modesty. 
Exclamations like "goodnight" or "please don't leave me" would seem trite. 
While searching for something appropriate to say. I watched Modesty walk 
slowly into the trees and out of sight alone. 

I suppose most of my punishment was of my own making, gencrated within a 
mind frantic in apprehension. My first thought was of some control slipping 
while Modesty was gone, causing the cage and me to drop into the depths 
forever. Thinking of controls that probably were not delicate at all, I 
scarce dare breath at all for fear of precipitating such a disaster. If I 
move or struggled I just made waves and wet my chin. Half my hair was 
already soaked and made a wet mat beneath the surface. I remember how rope, 
when soaked, tightened and shrank to a point where my hands would be in 
jeopardy. My feet where OK but the leg irons were heavy on the ankles. Had I 
been free of my cage, they would have prevented my swimming. I sat within 
the clutch of cold water and iron bars and shivered myself mentally into a 
frightening fate. 

I had no doubt I would be left where I was for the night, but as time passed 
and I adjusted to terror, I became increasingly aware of a creeping cold. If 
you were swimming, the water would not be so cold. But if you are bound and 
forced to stay still, the water saps the heat right out of your body. I 
became prey to a spreading numbness which set afire in me once more a memory 
to provoke a panic about the effect of lowered temperatures which slowed the 
vital organs until the subject died. 

Damn it! Within that cage I could think up more reasons for believing myself 
condemned to death than enough. 

It must have been seven pm when Modesty left me alone in the cage. It was 
midnight when she returned. By that time I was shivering in wet misery and 
wondering if I could hold out until morning. The pond mocked me, the ducking 
stool gave promise of other punishments. At first I thought Modesty a ghost, 
a figment of my over-strained imagination. I think she was scared, too, of 
what she had done. She lost no time with the controls, I was quickly 
swinging over to the solid soil of the bank. The thud with which it planted 
itself upon the grass was a thrill I'll always remember. 

Modesty's voice came to me as if from afar, "Oh, Gentian, darling, darling, 
darling.. . Are you all right?" 

I wanted to tell Modesty I was all right now that she was back, but with the 
departure of the enveloping water I was now simply a wet bundle of female 
with chattering teeth. In the night air the cold intensified and I made a 
poor job of assuring Modesty that I was all right now that she was back 
again. She was obliged to almost lift me bodily from the cage and then 
support me. She clutched my nakedness against herself to impart warmth, her 
joined hands raised over my head and descending to my back where they 
clamped my fast to her lovely contours and body heat. I felt life return and 
soon my teeth ceased to chatter and my flesh to shiver. It was a wonderful 
few minutes which cemented Modesty to me with a female bond more ardent then 
before. When she lifted her bronzed, linked bands back over my head, she 
first unlock by leg irons. "I'll get these off you. Gentian. We'd better run 
back to the house to get your circulation going and then pop you into bed 
with Amy. You won't mind if I leave your hands tied?" 

It was glorious to run. Modesty kept a hold of one arm. more to assure 
herself that I would not stumble rather than to compel. She ran beside me 
and when we reached The Retreat we were breathing fast and my circulation 
was back to normal. We sped to the bedroom where Modesty locked the collar 
upon my neck and pushed me beneath covers already heated by Amy's waiting 
flesh. Since either of us had hands, we contented ourselves with the ardent 
contact of lips and breasts and thighs. I went to sleep almost instantly and 
it was morning before I could tell Amy of what happened to me. In that early 
morning twilight we made love. 

I suspect Trevor Tremond was one of those who are all things to all men. He 
had shown me several of his faces and his concerns with Modesty Blair were 
still a mystery. I stood before him in his office, very much the naughty 
girl, the punished delinquent who must express repentance. I did so with all 
the sincerity I could muster. I suppose the pond had broken me, being more 
than I could take, but I stood there, humbly and nakedly before the master 
of The Retreat, my hands still bound behind my back as Modesty had tied them 
the day before. I remember finishing my outpourings of good intentions with 
the words, "Oh, Mr. Tremond, I'll be obedient, I promise I'll be obedient." 

It appeared I was to have an early opportunity to demonstrate my intensified 
humility. In an hour's time a gentleman would await me in one of the 
bedrooms, a room variously equipped but basically a bed. I was to be pushed 
in at him, stark naked, the door locked behind my back and I would be 
expected to please him to a point where he would purchase me without 
quibblings. I promised I would do this, which shows how far down the latter 
I had gone. 

The intervening hour was occupied by Daisy making me what she called, "A 
real knockout." Looking in the mirror after being bathed and worked on, I 
had to concede her point. I saw a very beautiful girl and the girl was me. 
"I have to leave your hands tied behind your back, miss, it's orders," Daisy 
assured me. "Come on, Genn, now's the time to strut your stuff." 

It was one more moment to remember when Daisy opened the door just enough to 
insert me within and then lock it behind my back. I stood naked and 
beautiful and without the protection of hands to confront something quite 
unexpected. He was not exactly tall, dark and handsome. He was young, 
blondish and charming, all six foot of him. I judged him at only a few years 
older than I and had to wonder how he had made enough money to purchase 
something as expensive as ME. 

"You're Gentian Rothwell, aren't you?" he said pleasantly. "Please call me 
Jim." 

"How do you do, Jim?" I said lamely, feeling like a young whore meeting her 
first trick. "My name's Gentian but everybody calls me Genn. Please call me 
Genn." 

"And you're for sale, Genn?" 

"Yes, I'm for sale." I tried to make light of the incredible. "I'm afraid 
they want an awful lot of money for me. I'm terribly sorry." 

"Don't be sorry. It's nice to meet you informally like this." He motioned to 
the waiting bed. "I hope this is all right with you?" 

If he had been Dracula or Caliban I would still have said, "Oh, yes indeed, 
it's all right with me," but not with the same sincerity that I said it now. 
If I had to be sold, goodness knows I could find no better person to buy me. 
I figured I had better make the best of this opportunity. And, anyway, the 
submission of the pond was still vividly upon my mind. 

"I haven't done this before, Genn. I mean.. . Well, I suppose I mean I've 
never purchased a girl before in my life." He blushed. "I don't mean just 
put her on the bed but what we're talking about here is to buy all of you 
and take you home. I'm finding the whole thing hard to adjust to. I only 
just recently found out about the existence of this place." 

"Oh, it exists, all right." I turned my back and wiggled my bound hands at 
him in demonstration. "You see. I'm helpless." Then I turned back to give 
him a full frontal view. I was no longer ashamed either of being naked 
before a man or of those portions of myself most interesting to him. I told 
myself that this could not possibly be true but I played it for all it was 
worth. 

"Would you like me to untie your hands?" he asked, unexpectedly. "Or is it a 
house rule?" 

"I've been tied or chained ever since I came here, I don't even notice it 
any more. It's probably some sort of rule but I don't know if it applies to 
you. I've been told you can do whatever you wish to me." 

The young man called Jim almost staggered beneath my frank admission. 
Hesitantly he came out with the missing piece in his jigsaw, "Well then, if 
you wouldn't mind terribly I'd like to leave you as you are. You are very 
beautiful like that. I've never seen a live naked girl with her hands tied 
behind her back. You've no idea what it does for you." 

"Oh yes, I have. It makes me sexy and appealing, and leaves you with a nice, 
masculine assurance of being able to untie me if you wanted to. Don't worry 
about me, Jim, I know where I'm at." 

He digested me slowly, a nice young man a bit out of his depth. I suppose 
the nicer they are the more difficult it is to face their longing to bind 
and whip a girl. Jim came right out with it. 

"All my life I've had these yearnings, it wasn't until I inherited a 
sizeable estate a while ago that I realized it was something actually 
possible to anyone with money. Then I met Mr. Tremond who was kind enough to 
invite me here and tell me about you." He laughed boyishly. "I don't know if 
you're nervous but I sure am. For me this whole thing is too good to be 
true." 

"You mean, being able to tie me any way you like and to whip me as you 
please and to keep me naked?" 

"I think you're trying to embarrass me, Genn, but, yes, that's about the way 
it is. Am I as despicable as I feel?" 

"No, you're just a man. Most men want to do these things to girl but they 
don't have either the money or the courage." 

"You're very wise, Genn." 

"It's probably The Retreat speaking through my lips." I laughed at his 
earnest features and, even though nothing had changed, felt a flood of 
freedom sweeping over my whole being. 

He smiled. "If I buy you and take you home, I'll whip you. Are you sure you 
wouldn't hate it?" 

Poor chap! He sure was a novice. I laughed straight into his face and told 
him not to take it all so seriously. I did my best with the explanations. "I 
don't think any girl can take the pain of being whipped, it's such a fierce 
and terrible pain but, after the last blow has fallen, everything soon 
returns to normal. And at the start, when we know we're going to be whipped 
but it hasn't started yet, there's a anxiousness and apprehension you'd have 
to be a girl to understand." 

Jim had told me to make myself comfortable but, instead of accepting the 
offered chair, I knelt to face him in the submissive pose Modesty had taught 
me. It got to him all right. If I had to use The Retreat's arts and crafts 
to get this man to buy me, I would use them without shame. The thought of 
being owned by a man as innocent as this, and never again to be put in a 
cage and immersed in a pond, overwhelmed me with great thankfulness. I said, 
simply, "If you will buy me, Jim, I promise I'll be an obedient slave, I'll 
do everything to please you and I'll try not to scream too hard when you 
whip me. Please buy me." 

It must have been the right note. Jim picked me up with an unsuspected 
strength and threw me on the bed. There was nothing innocent about the act, 
he was one hundred percent male, but one more inhibition prompted a pause. 
"I suppose they've been doing this to you all the time you've been a 
prisoner here." He blushed again. 

I blushed, too. How could he believe me if I said that, as far as The 
Retreat was concerned, I was still a virgin! But I didn't want to start 
lying to this man this soon, I made a sort of wry admission, "No, they 
haven't done it to me here at all, they want to keep their merchandise as 
intact and immaculate as possible." I rolled onto my face and lifted my 
bound hands to reveal the full expense of the twin cheeks below. "Those 
marks you're looking at on my skin are about the only violation I've had." I 
rolled back over and grinned companionably. 

Jim was almost gasping. "They did that, they caned your bottom!" 

"Modesty used a riding crop, I think a cane is considered old fashion now. 
It hurt more than I dreamed possible." 

"But why.. . ? " 

"I was a naughty girl." 

Jim was suddenly throwing his clothes in all directions. His body revealed 
itself as good as his features. He was also demandingly erect. Suddenly I 
realized I was about to be technically raped, Realized, too, I was not all 
that experienced in the arts of making love with a man, all I'd had so far 
had been experimental adventures into the unknown, none had been anything to 
remember. But this was undoubtedly it! I'd always suspected rape being 
better than the socially acceptable way, now I'd find out! 

Jim had climbed upon the bed and was kneeling to gaze down at me with 
absolute reverence. I had enough sense to arrange my bound arms comfortably 
behind my back, this is actually possible, and then to raise my legs and 
allow my bend knees to fall to either side to leave me wide open. 

"Don't do that!" Jim was staring at my pussy as though not believing what he 
saw. "Please. . . . " 

Under the shocked masculinity my knees closed and my legs clamped together 
tight. I was about to ask if I could give him pleasure in the other way 
possible between a girl and a man, but before I could speak my astonished 
eyes beheld the shrinking of his erection. What had been huge was huge no 
more. I gazed up stricken and said, "Have I done something wrong, Jim." 

He got off the bed and began to dress, leaving my world shattered and in 
ruins. What mattered was for Jim to buy me and take me from The Retreat, now 
I'd screwed it up and did not know why. 

"It's not your fault, Genn," he said, stuffing his shirt into his pants. 
"I've never whipped a girl. I've never tied a girl, I suppose you've guessed 
. . . I've never done much of anything with girl." 

"That's all right, Jim." 

"But I mind." His tone was hurt and vehement. "But it was the sudden sight 
of.. . of.. . " 

"My four letter word?" I inquired archly. "Or would you like me to call it 
what everyone else does?" 

"Yes, your cunt," he spate the word out bitterly. "I've never actually been 
that close to one before and I hadn't realized.. . I'm being ridiculous." 

I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed, I felt better. I looked 
up at my possible purchaser to inquire, "I suppose a girl's pussy can be a 
bit of a shock if you haven't seen one before." I grinned. "Mine's about the 
standard model, but I do have a lovely, thick patch of pubic hair." 

We were suddenly laughing and everything was OK again. He bent down and 
kissed me. a nice brotherly kind of kiss, and then raised me erect. His 
hands felt good, they were strong. 

"I'm going to buy you, Gentian Rothwell, and I'm going to take you back to 
my place and tie you with rope to my heart's content. And whip and whip you. 
What's more, I'll make love to you every night. I won't always go limp like 
today." He paused for a touch of drama before demanding, "You have only to 
say no and I'll walk out of here and leave you as you are. In a way I'm sort 
of proposing. If you say yes, I'll go and make the arrangements with 
Tremond?" 

"Yes!" I met his eyes squarely. 

I got hugged very tight and kissed deliciously hard before this young man 
who would be my master inquired, "Do I leave you as you are?" 

"Oh, sure. My hands are still tied behind my back. No girl ever escapes The 
Retreat. Go and buy me now and thank you for wanting to. You make me a happy 
girl." 

Jim departed to pay a vast sum for a girl he had never seen. I remembered 
the old adage about marrying in haste and repenting at leisure. But Jim 
wasn't marrying me, if I failed to give satisfaction all he had to do was 
whip me until I conformed. It was all very simple! 

They took the longest time. But I supposed maybe they were making out bills 
of sale or writing checks or making phone calls to the bank. I suddenly felt 
immensely valuable and treasured. Amused, I considered how easy it was for 
men to pick up girls in bars or social gatherings. A few drinks and the guy 
gets her for nothing. So why would any fellow pay these vast sums to Trevor 
and Modesty? But. of course, the girls they pick up casually can't be 
chained or bound or kept safe in a basement without a terrific amount of 
fuss and risk. And I can understand a man's desire to own us. Women kick men 
around outrageously. I thought of all the theatre tickets and dinner tabs 
men had picked up for me and realized Jim would never have to do that. He'll 
own me always and I'll have to do whatever he says. I shivered delightfully. 
I was beginning the greatest adventure of a girl's life. 

Modesty and Amy treated me as though I was a bride at a wedding. Perhaps I 
was. They swept into the bedroom and pounced on we with hugs and kisses and 
all the girlie-girlie stuff we indulge in at such times. Amy's hands had 
been changed from back to front. There was sadness in both our hearts at the 
separation but we had known it would come and she was glad for me to be 
bought by someone like Jim. She said she hoped she would do half as well. 
Modesty assured, "He's ever so nice, Genn, dear. We checked up on him and 
he's everything he says, a lot of money and an estate recently inherited. 
He's very civilized and frightfully well educated. Oh, Genn darling, please 
don't feel disappointed if he whips you. He will, y'know, but that's 
something slave girls have to put up with." She kissed me again, hurriedly, 
as we heard the male steps approach. 

"Got yourself sold, huh Gentian! Damn lucky girl." Trevor was heavily into 
humor. "Be sure and whip her regularly, Jim, a girl needs it, they'll start 
to twist you if you don't." 

Jim's stature suffered nothing compared to Trevor Tremond. They were 
different types but Jim appeared on even terms with Trevor, exchanging quips 
and heavily loaded with advise on the care and keeping, and above all, the 
punishment of slave girls. I'd never been talked about in my own presence 
like that before. It made me tremble and quiver in the realization of what 
was happening. 

"I'll toss in a set of leg irons for her, Jim," Trevor said with mock 
generosity. "They'll stop her running and that's sometimes useful. You can 
buy your own handcuffs." 

Jim had ideas of his own. "For the trip home I want her ankles tied good and 
tight. But she can sit beside me in the front seat. With hands and feet 
properly bound there's nothing she can do." He gestured with a handful of 
silver chain. "I'll use this differently for now." 

I liked the way Jim went about things. He was not overawed at Trevor's 
weighty personality. Laughingly he locked the leg irons on my arms above my 
elbows where they served no real purpose but found a neat disposal. Jim 
picked me up and carried me to his car. When I was comfortable in the front 
seat. Modesty performed her parting act of binding my ankles tight with cord 
so they'd hurt if I struggled. She and Amy kissed me and Trevor patted my 
cheek with the admonish to "be a good girl." I was now officially a slave 
and on my way to my master's house. 

"I've all the dark desires I told you about," Jim said without preamble. 
"I'm repeating this because all those hugs and kisses might make you forget 
I'm real. I think you're a wonderful girl, but sometimes I'll treat you 
cruelly." He grinned. "There, no false pretenses, you know where you're at." 

"I like where I'm at. I'll put up with your 'dark desires.'" I laughed in 
his face. "You had best take good care of me. I'll escape if I possibly 
can." 

We talked so naturally I forgot about bound hands and feet and being naked. 
He told me his name was James Bancroft and how I'd be a big help to him in 
settling into his new affluence. When I laughed and said I couldn't be much 
help to anyone tied up all the time he turned serious. "Gentian.. . Gee, 
that's a beautiful name. I understand a prisoner's right to escape whenever 
she can. But the way I figure it, I'll keep you tied all the time or in a 
cage until I truly believe you are ready for freedom within the confine of 
my life. Then you'll be done with chains and rope except when I punish you." 

"Why couldn't that time be right now?" 

"Because I don't think you're ready. I don't see how you could be. The way I 
see it, your kidnapping is still recent enough. You're remembering your 
prior life and your freedom in it. I think you just naturally have to escape 
if you have the chance. So I won't leave you having to make the choice, I'll 
keep you fixed so you can't escape at all. That make sense?" 

"I'm afraid it does," I admitted sadly. "I'll put up with that, too, I won't 
complain." 

Jim was partly absorbed with driving, so I flexed deliciously against the 
ropes around my wrists and ankles and thought how Amy would adore being in 
my place. And wondered why Modesty and Trevor had sold me to him instead of 
her. Unless there was a concealed kicker in the works. If not, I was damned 
lucky. Crazy or not, I was tremendously thankful for my present 
helplessness. It would frazzle a girl to shreds if she were forever on the 
alert for a chance to run. Because I had no chance, I was happy. 

"Which do you prefer, sweetheart, being chained or bound?" 

"I don't have a preference," I admitted slowly. "You may as well keep me 
fixed in whatever way turns you on." I giggled and hated myself for almost 
simpering. "We have to remember I'm designed for your pleasure." 

We shared a laugh over that, too. The rapport between us was again growing 
and I again wondered how I could be so lucky. I knew I would escape if I 
ever got the chance because freedom is better than slavery, or I suppose it 
is! But right then, even though freedom was all around the car, I thought 
little about it. I snuggled safely within my tight ropes and thought about 
Amy and how she would adore being tied this way. I thought of suggesting Jim 
buy her, too. But I was suddenly female and flaming with jealousy. I kept my 
thoughts to myself and silently prayed for Amy to become as happy as I was. 

"I've been thinking about sort of an inevitable awkwardness in the entry to 
my house. I'll sort of have to carry you over the threshold, like a bride." 
my master said thoughtfully. "Then it will be a case of'what will we do 
next.' Well, I've decided to whip you first thing." 

There was a silence between us. Jim was waiting to see how I'd react. I 
decided to be feminine. "It's a marvelous idea, Jim. I'll hate it, of 
course, but it's something I'll have to put up with. So let's get it over 
with. If it's a nice, humble slave girl you want, I'm much too brash and 
bossy right now, but I've never been whipped the way you propose and I'm 
certain it will cure me after I've had.. . " I gave him a wicked sideways 
glance, "The hundred strokes, that's the usual number, I believe?" 

"Good gosh, no! A hundred would kill you!" Jim was genuinely disturbed. "I 
was thinking in terms of about twenty. We're not going to play at this, each 
one is going to hurt. Forgive me, but that's the way it is." 

I could forgive Jim anything. I thought of ferret-face and Mr. Hawks and 
that other brutal male who had whipped Bridie and Marjorie. I shuttered. If 
to be whipped as an introduction to my new slavery was the only price I had 
to pay, I'd pay it gladly. At least I was certain I would when viewed from 
my helpless security within the speeding car. Vibrations were bombarding us, 
each from the other, to cause me to wonder if and when my master would take 
me to his bed. I wasn't a bit curious about the details of my fresh 
captivity. Jim, and being whipped, filled my whole horizon. 

It was another lovely old house like The Retreat. It did not boast a park 
but had spacious grounds all around. I hadn't the faintest idea where we 
were, I'd quite forgotten to look at passing signs. I was lifted out of the 
car and carried up the several steps to the front door, through a charming 
large hall and into an equally charming huge living room. There Jim stood me 
erect in the middle of the floor to stand unsteadily with my tendons 
protesting against the tightness of his cords. He then repossessed me in his 
arms and kissed me with an usual tenderness. His voiced was apologetic. 

"I'm afraid I don't have facilities," he told me regretfully. "I'm not all 
that keen on dungeons and cells and torture chambers and things. You and I 
can do it just fine in this old house just the way it is. Look, Genn, I'll 
make you a bit more comfortable before standing you here to be whipped." He 
flushed, "This is where it's going to happen, right here in the living room. 
I terribly sorry." 

""Don't be." 

Jim saw me in a chair then knelt to untie my feet. It was the posture of a 
shoe salesman, and it made us share a giggle while he unwound the strands 
from deep within my skin. Modesty had made certain I was not going to run 
away. When he had my feet freed, he said thoughtfully, "I suppose this is 
were I use those leg irons Trevor gave me. I've heard of them but never seen 
them before. Here, turn around." 

I lost the biting bands from my elbows. Jim clasped and closed them, 
immensely interested, upon my ankles where they belonged. Mockingly I told 
him, "Now it's safe to untie my hands, I can't run away." 

"Untie your hands? Why would I do that?" 

"Well, aren't you going to raise my arms up in the air to whip me? If you 
raise them up behind all that happens is I have to bend over-or do you just 
want to cane my bottom?" 

"Of course, I was forgetting. This is a tremendous moment for me. Gentian, 
I've envisioned it all my life to be exactly the way you describe. You must 
have read my thought." 

He busies himself with Modesty's knots, breathing heavily. I did not tell 
him it was the accepted way for fastening a girl to be whipped. My mind was 
seeing visions of Bridie and Marjorie thus made helpless and vulnerable. I 
was soon going to find out what it was like. When the rope fell away from my 
hands, Jim gave me only a few moments to message my wrists before crossing 
them in front and binding them every bit as tight as Modesty's tie. Jim had 
ceased to be apologetic, he was a man with a purpose. His touch was tender 
but inflexible. I kicked my ankle irons to assure myself it would be foolish 
to resist. It was more or less an apology to myself for not following the 
instinct to fight during my brief possession of free hands. The things a 
girl thinks of at a time like this.. . Really! 

I could easily understand how it was for Jim, no matter what emotion he felt 
for the girl of his choice all else would be set aside in his desire to whip 
her. And to do it ritualistically as one reads about in books. 

It's amazing how many of our hang-ups have their origin in something we read 
as a child. When he positioned me as he desired and pulled the rope down 
from above to tether my bound hands, my heart started to thud in the sudden 
realization that this was the moment for me, also. It's funny but it hadn't 
hit me until them. 

"Scared, aren't you? I can hear your heart." 

Jim had backed away to view this newly created posture for his slave girl. 
It occurred to me how we were both novices, both feeling our way into 
something for which we held high hope. He did now what he should have done 
upon the bed, his hands finding me to cause his fingertips to make traces 
upon my breasts, my belly and my pubic hair. Unblushingly he possessed 
himself of that moist part of me which had previously defeated him. 
Presumably it was OK so long as it could be felt but not seen. I said 
nothing, I just stood in pure ecstasy. It took him only a few seconds to get 
me totally aroused and responsive beyond my fear of the whip. Perhaps this 
young man was wiser than he seemed. To excite a naked girl to the point of 
orgasm but then to whip her.. . ! 

I was panting and twisting at raised arms and tied hands, not in an effort 
for freedom but as an expression of sensations too acute to bare motionless. 
Jim was breathing heavily, too, and came out with the ancient classic, "You 
are very beautiful. Gentian." 

"Yes. And you're going to whip me." 

"I want you to kiss the whip. It is an old ritual. Will you do this for me." 

"Yes, of course." 

Jim raised the leather thong by which I would be marked, holding firmly 
against my lips. I kissed it fervently. 

5 

The Thong and I 

Jim and I stood facing each other. He had not stretched me, my bound hands 
were just above my hair but I could not possibly reach them with my lips, I 
was beautifully available. He was holding the whip he would use upon me and, 
seeing it like that, I wondered how I had contrived to kiss it so lovingly. 
I heard my voice, driven by an awful need, "Jim, please whip me! Please get 
on with it, please don't keep me waiting. I'm curling up inside." 

"Turn around. Gentian, you can." 

The simple words, "You can," forced me to present him with my bare back and 
bottom, making me come to him and not he to me. It sent a tremendous flare 
of heat in every direction from my crotch. I wondered what Jim would think 
of my sex if he could see it now! 

I looked back timidly over a bare shoulder and raised arm. I wished I 
hadn't!! ! 

I don't think a girl can properly describe her own whipping. My mind was 
flooded with visions but no coherent thought other than not to scream even 
though I must. I can't imagine how I managed to bare the first strokes in 
silence before screams surged out of me in a flood of protest, not so much 
against Jim as at against the institution of agony. Somewhere in this welter 
of emotion I vowed I'd never kiss the whip again. 

Jim did not speak, he made no laughing apologies. Stealing one more backward 
glance, I beheld his intense absorption with his task and realized I was 
seeing a man enthralled by heart's desire. It almost made me humble to think 
my whip-marked skin could give such happiness. After I started to scream, I 
looked back no more. 

Jim whipped me rhythmically and methodically from shoulder to thighs. He 
also, and without words, used his whip to wrap my legs apart to the full 
extent of their irons. He then gave me a pair of truly horrible cuts up 
inside my thighs to splat wetly upon my open crotch and spend itself in a 
vicious snap across my belly. The second of these made me scream so hard in 
shock, I lifted myself by my bound hands off the floor and kicked wildly 
before again delivering my feet to the floor and my nakedness to the whip. 
The excoriating scald of each impact took me higher and higher in a rising 
crescendo of anguish until I was certain I would loose consciousness. But 
nature was not that kind nor were the ropes. They made me stand until number 
twenty had marked me well. I bared my face against bare arm and wept out the 
relief of knowing it was over. I heard the closing of the door and knew 
myself alone. 

I should have hated Jim but all I felt for him was gratitude for his 
sympathy in leaving me alone in my grief. A man's hands feeling and patting 
at me in concern would have been unbearable. But Jim was a gentleman and I 
felt faintly comforted. I wanted to cease my weeping, dry my eyes, and 
compose myself before he returned. He gave me lots of time. Perhaps he 
peeked. It was not until I was dry eyed and beginning to feel the stress of 
raised arms that he returned. He did not say a word, but clasp my open 
armpits to hold me firm while he gazed deep into my eyes. 

"Bad, eh?" 

I nodded and managed a wry little pixie grin. Everything I wanted to say was 
in my eyes for him to see, but I managed, "Yes, terribly." It sounded 
inadequate so I added, without sarcasm. "Thank you. . . . " 

It was then Jim took me in his arms, holding me exactly right so I started 
to cry again from overwrought emotions. But now I could dry my tears on his 
jacket and sniff pathetically in his ear. Without words or warning he let me 
go. untied my hands, and let me gently down to the rug. I must have been 
outrageously wet, he entered me with astonishing ease, after that I ceased 
to be aware of anything but his clasping arms, his long, deep thrusts, and 
the rainbows and the smell of both of us. I remember a fleeting thought of 
how wonderful it would be to be whipped everyday if it terminated thus. 

Jim had taken away my leg irons, so when we finally stood up and laughed 
sheepishly at each other, I was completely free of restraints. I did not ask 
for any or remind Jim I should be tied or ironed. I just stood before him, 
stretching and twisting in an ecstasy of release and gingerly trying to feel 
the whip marks on my bottom. My master watched, amused, but finally asked, 
"How 'bout coffee, sweetheart?" 

Both of us were naked, Jim led me to the kitchen were we made coffee and 
arranged cups and saucers. He deliberately sat down and watched me fuss with 
cups and spoons and things. We were intensely aware of each other, could 
smell the sweat from each other's bodies, delighted in the intimacy. Jim 
made me stand straight, showing him my back and raising my arms to give him 
an unobstructed view of the punishment he had placed upon my skin. My heart 
was leaping about like crazy because I was now intensely aware of Jim as a 
very real male. In things that mattered he was not shy. He told me to back 
up and when I obeyed, he inserted his forearm between my thighs and grasped 
a handful of my secret place which had received only two strokes of the 
twenty. I suppose his clutch should have hurt but it didn't, I gasped with 
pleasure and realized this was probably the way it was when a fellow and 
girl were married. I wondered how many young wives offered themselves to the 
whip to double their husband's potency. I knew if I had to offer myself, I 
would! 

Jim and I knew I would be ravished again, and soon. But we sipped our 
coffee, enjoying the intimacy of the moment and giving me the opportunity to 
shyly admit a deficiency in my education. "Yes, it really was my first time. 
Master. And it's had all those effects on me usually quoted. The pain was 
ten times my expectation. But now it's gone, only a tenderness is left and 
it's a pleasant tenderness as though each whip mark wants to tell me it 
won't hurt any more so long as I'm a good girl. Isn't that silly!" 

"But, Gentian, you couldn't be silly if you tried." 

I basked in Jim's approval. Timidly I asked, "Jim, do you want me to call 
you Master? I don't want to call you Master if it sounds like I'm crawling." 

"Yesterday I would have said no. but today I say yes. You make the word 
plausible." Jim raised a querying eyebrow. "Do you hate me for whipping you, 
Genn?" 

"No. I suppose I ought to, but being at The Retreat taught me a lot of 
things. A man has to want something awful bad if he'll pay the price you 
paid for me. Such a price puts it in the class of heart's desire, lifts it 
out of sadism and cruelty or ugliness. A wish that strong surely has to mean 
a lot to any man and woman sharing it." I gave him a shy, quick glance. "But 
goodness known I'm not a masochist, believe me I'm not!" 

"I'm not a bit ashamed of doing it, y know It was a glorious thing. Whatever 
it did for you, it did for me, also." 

"I'm sorry I wasn't more.. . with you. I wanted to look over my shoulder and 
smile and I did not want to scream. But the pain was so instant and 
demanding I could think of nothing else. Maybe I'll do better next time." 

I made a sad little gesture. "I suppose there will be a next time?" 

"Of course, many times. Can you take it?" 

"I'll make up my mind to take it." I allowed a pause to lengthen before 
adding, slyly, "Master." 

We had both gained stature. Jim had dropped his diffidence and I had no 
uncertainties to ponder, I knew where I was at. When our coffee was 
finished, Jim said, "Come on, sweetheart, we'll do it on a bed this time." 
Without waiting for a reply, he picked me up and carried me up the stairs. 

But before reaching the top there came a thunderous knock at the front door. 
Jim said, "Damn!. " and told me to sit right were I was and be a good girl 
while he disposed of the visitor. 

It did not occur to me to do anything else. I sat as ordered and let my mind 
rove happily on what was to come. I was completely free but thought of 
escape did not enter my head. I listened idly to the murmur of voices below. 
I could neither sec nor be seen but tensed in sudden recognition of the 
voice of Trevor Tremond. There was a brief exchange before Jim invited him 
into the living room. The closing of the door left me puzzled and stranded 
on the top stair. I couldn't hear a thing and it was only a few seconds 
before an awful premonition prompted me to go down and listen. 

It was when I was stooped over with my eye to the keyhole and my ears 
picking up a dull rumble of voices, that someone slipped a hood over my head 
and drew it tight to place me in utter blackness. I was quickly tripped and 
taken down to the floor where a practiced knee in my back kept me still 
while my arms were gathered and tightly bound with thin cord that bit and 
cut at me viciously. The fingers were as practiced as the knee and I was 
soon very helpless. There came a snap on my collar to tell me I was leashed. 
Then I was dragged erect and compelled to follow my new captor by a series 
of tugs at my neck. I was quite helpless. It did not occur to me to scream 
until too late and, anyway, the hood would have muffled sounds. When I was 
growing faint from lack of air, the fastening was loosened to enable me to 
breath but I was still in darkness. When I dug in my heels and refused to 
follow, a finger and thumb grasped one of my nipples and pinched hard enough 
to make me yelp and follow obediently. It was easy to recognize the back 
seat of a car and once more the strong, clever fingers had their way with 
me. I was turned face down, struggling and tearing like crazy at the thin 
cord on my wrists, to have my ankles tied even more cruelly tight. I wept in 
frustration, tossing my head in a frantic effort to get rid of the blinding 
cloth, but warning fingers and thumb gripped my nipple again and a warning 
voice commanded. "Do sit still, darling. Be a good girl and I won't have to 
hurt you any more." It was the voice of Modesty Blair. 

I had been brutally tossed upon a bed, Trevor Tremond stood gazing down at 
me in satisfaction. He had taken away the hood and untied my ankles but my 
wrists remained painfully bound behind my back. I was compelled to lay 
across one forearm while gazing up at the man who should have been Jim 
Bancroft but was not. Trevor's voiced swept my angry words into limbo. "I 
must have been crazy to sell you. Genn. Consider yourself repossessed. I've 
dealt with young Bancroft and I don't want his name spoken within my 
hearing, understand?" 

"You've hurt him, haven't you? Is he all right.'" 

"Forget him! Next time you mention his name. I'll hurt you. So save yourself 
some pain." He surveyed me dourly. "There's been a change. Accept it. you 
have not other choice." 

I sensed I was about to feel his thrusts within my sheath. Trevor Tremond 
was in the grips of one of those male compulsions a girl must recognize. He 
desired me carnally and would take me. The pain of the twine around my 
wrists bespoke helplessness. But my mind was filled with other things, 
uncomprehendingly I asked, "You mean.. . I'm not for sale? You're going to 
keep me the same way you do Modesty?" 

For answer he held up Modesty's beautiful bronze bracelets, dangling them 
from one finger for me to see. "This tell you anything?" 

"It tells me how Modesty was able to help you kidnap me and tie my hands the 
way they're still tied." 

Trevor was methodically tossing aside his clothes to reveal all his 
masculine features, which made me feel tiny and helpless and very, very 
female beneath the threatening rod I had supposed was for Modesty alone. It 
was a wicked thing with which to pierce an unloved girl. 

I need not have worried. Trevor's fingers were wise and very patient. They 
transported me through the valley of doubt and fear into the wonderland of 
erotic excitation which those who know no better describe as love. Soon I 
was panting and jerking against my tied wrists and imploring this great hunk 
of male to untie my hands. He appeared not to hear but gathered me into his 
arms, bound arms and all, to gently make his entry and thrust slowly on and 
on. And up. I thought of Jim and was bitterly ashamed at my arousal. From 
then on I was most competently ravished. All and every thought banished from 
my mind by what Trevor Tremond was doing to me. I was vanquished utterly, my 
tied wrists no longer mattered. I was torn apart by explosion after 
explosion until I lay there upon the bed, unaware of the world or of 
anything save the intensity of my own sensations. I knew I was now alone but 
did not open my eyes. It was easy now to understand Modesty Blair. 

I drifted into sleep, it was perhaps an hour later I heard Trevor's command, 
"Wake up, Genn, I want you to stand." 

Obedience, once imposed, is a habit hard to break. I groped my way back into 
the world, twisted against my cords to make sure I was still bound, then 
stood erect as ordered to gaze in mute question at the man who's property I 
now was. Trevor smiled at the mixture of emotions in my eyes. "Turn around." 

I stood, suddenly breathless, as my hands were untied. And Modesty's cords 
peeled from my skin. Once more I was turned about to face my owner. "You're 
completely free, Genn. Why don't you run away?" 

"Because you'd catch me and punish me," I stated my case simply. 

He nodded approvingly. "Your punishment for any serious escape attempt will 
be one hundred strokes with the whip. Gentian. I want you lo know this." 

"Very well. I understand." 

"Hold out you hands." 

Trembling, I obeyed, knowing instinctively what came next. I should have 
felt elation but was conscious only of a dark grief for Modesty. But I was 
panting as the lovely bronze circlets were fitted on my wrists and carefully 
closed to clasp me snugly as might a man's hand. Fancifully. I could imagine 
I could feel Modesty's heat. "There is no ordinary key, Genn. Only I can 
take these from your wrists. Think girl, you might wear them for a decade or 
for life. Hold them up so we might both admire them." 

The bronze circlets and their connecting link were as beautiful on me as on 
Modesty. I looked Trevor straight in the eye to say. "Thank you. They are 
beautiful. But Modesty wore these with authority because she loved you, they 
were right on her but not on me. Please let Modesty wear them again. You can 
easily keep me helpless with handcuffs or a bit of rope?" 

"I like them on you." His tone was once more abrupt. "You'll wear them and 
like it. In the meantime I've things to do and you can wander around as you 
please. I'm giving you 'Mistress Status.' as of now." 

"But Modesty was always clothed!" 

"You'll stay naked. I like that, too. Now, no more complaints." 

Alone, I continued to examine the lovely coppery bonds upon my wrists. They 
were undeniably beautiful and would hold me as securely as any ancient 
shackle riveted by a blacksmith. But the whole thing was crazy, there's just 
no way I could ever take Modesty's place. And there's no way I could ever 
imagine Modesty being sold the way I was. Trevor did not love me. Having me 
around, naked and chained as I have been, simply built a sexual appetite 
within his masculine libido, that was all! He would tire of me as he had 
apparently tired of Modesty, and then another girl would wear the bronze 
bracelets instead of me. I longed for Jim and cursed Trevor and the brutal 
way he had jerked me away from Jim. And just as I was about to be raped 
again! I wondered if he had killed Jim. I could believe him capable of such 
an act. But if Jim were still alive and functioning, he would find me. I 
knew he would, but there was a how and when and an if from which I drew no 
comfort. Uncomfortable in my new status. I went in search of Amy. 

I could not find her in The Retreat. I dare not invade Trevor Tremond's 
quarters, and she was scarcely likely to be there, anyway. I tiptoed past 
the empty cells, the bars and the concrete mocking me. The door of one cell 
was open and I went inside in much the same spirit as the child who invades 
a dark room to beard its ghost. It was easy to imagine the slamming of the 
door which would keep me there always. Shivering, I hurried out of the harsh 
metal cage and explored the rest of the downstairs until some feminine 
intuition told me where Amy was. 

Promotion brought at least one reward, it was pleasant and exhilarating to 
walk the green fields of the park with feet unshackled. I could now scorn 
the hobbling frustrations of my earlier excursions and make my way directly 
to the pond. Sure enough, the ducking stool held the tight-strapped figure 
of a naked girl. As I torn at the leather and buckles, I narrated the sad 
little story of my sale. 

"The guy's gone round the bend," Amy affirmed as she hugged me ardently. "I 
haven't done a thing or disobeyed anyone but he was going to duck me anyway. 
He strapped me in the chair this morning and told me I could look at the 
water until he got around to me later. She shivered. "The straps in that 
chair are simply super, darling, but looking at that water and thinking 
about going under the way Bridie did drove me up the wall. Darling, are you 
sure he won't punish you terribly for letting me loose?" 

We kissed and made love. It was so sweet and simple and innocent there in 
the grass beside the pond. No men, no harsh demands, no concern about 
obedience. Amy was a completely free girl but I was not, neither of us was 
unaware of the bronze upon my wrist. In a way, they were as much an enigma 
as when Modesty had been wearing them. We drowned each other in kisses, not 
all of them upon our lips, and were oblivious to the world in a glorious 
girl-to-girl happiness at our reunion. It ended with a stern male voice. 

"Figured I'd find you here," said Trevor Tremond. 

Our failure to turn and run showed the degree in which obedience had become 
a part of us. Amy and I got sheepishly to our feet and surveyed our master, 
a pair of delinquent damsels caught in a sinful act. 

"Who the hell told you to let Amy loose?" Trevor demanded without rancor. 

"It was the natural thing to do, the proper thing to do.. . " My assertion 
trailed itself into silence. 

Trevor turned his attention to Amy. "You're free, girl, why don't you run?" 

"Because I can't get out of the park and I don't want to be punished any 
more than I will be now," Amy said matter-of-factly. "But please don't 
punish Genn, she was only trying to be kind." 

"Sit yourself in that chair again." 

The world seemed to stand still for moments until Amy shrugged hopelessly 
and resumed her shameful seat on the ducking stool. I watched in horror as 
the straps circled wrists and ankles and waist and were drawn wickedly 
tight. I knew the straps wouldn't bother Amy, she'd get her usual kicks from 
them. But what would follow would be terrible for any girl. I placed a 
tentative chained hand on Trevor's arm and pleaded, "No, please! Don't 
punish Amy, punish me. If you want to punish a girl, surely I'm the one." 

"Stand and watch. Don't give me any trouble. I'll get to you later." 
Trevor's voice remained without anger but was firm with determination. I had 
no thought of flight. Amy had summed up the possibilities, instead I watched 
in dull misery as Trevor fingered the controls. The ducking stool lifted 
from the ground and began its gentle quarter circle out and around until its 
long arm was posed by the surface of the pond. I remembered my own travail 
in the cage as I had watched the water creep up to cover my breasts. I bled 
for the girl who was about to suffer something much, much worse. Amy looked 
back over a bare shoulder to plead, "Please . . . please, don't do this to 
me. I don't deserve it, I haven't done anything. . . . " 

I shared Amy's agony, gasping as she gasped when her feet went below the 
surface and then the awful immersion of her sex. When the water crept up and 
covered her nipples and her breasts, her cry was pitiful, "Please, please.. 
. " It was a cry abruptly halted as Trevor lowered the lovely head beneath 
the surface. I stool in disbelief that this could happen. 

"Does any girl a world of good," said Trevor, conversationally. 

I did the only thing I could think to do. I flung myself at Trevor's feet, 
clutching his leg with my joined hands, to plead, "Let her up! Let her up! 
You're killing her! Do it to me.. . Do it to me.. . " 

"You mean, instead of.. . Or just to keep Amy company?" Trevor's query was 
insolently casual. 

"Instead of. . . oh, instead of! Let her up, oh, let her up!" 

Amy emerged, still firmly strapped to the ducking stool, her breathing a 
series of heaving gasps for air. From its fresh elevation, water ran and 
dripped back into the pond from the suspended chair and its half drowned 
captive. Amy was fighting the straps with all her strength but could hardly 
move. Her cry of agony should have melted stone. "Not again.. . Oh, not 
again!" 

I watched in mute agony as the chair with its pitiful naked occupant sank 
slowly beneath the surface of the hateful pond. Convinced of impotence, I 
simply kneeled there on the grass, my chained hands resting there on my lap. 
I had never felt more useless in my life. 

"That's a pretty pose, Genn, stay that way," Trevor ordered in good natured 
approval. 

I knelt, dismally, and watched Amy's second return to the world and to life. 
She was visibly distressed and finding it difficult to recapture her lost 
breathing. But Trevor gave her time and remained oblivious to the pleadings 
she poured out when breathing returned to normal. Once more, under the 
control of his fingers, the hateful stool and its lovely, frightened burden, 
sank from sight. 

"You'll kill her, you'll kill her," I pleaded. "Oh, please.. . ? " 

When Amy was brought up for the third time, her head was slumped and she 
coughed out a great deal of pond water. Her agony and closeness to drowning 
was unmistakable. Even Trevor considered she had had enough and shifted her 
back to solid ground. He unstrapped her and went through a few of the 
motions of resuscitation to bring Amy back into a consciousness of things 
around her. She stared, dull and with little comprehension, while her lips 
spoke words of total abnegation. "Oh, please don't do that to me again, I'll 
obey you always, I promise I will. I'll obey anything you want." Her 
surrender trailed into shameful silence. 

"Your turn, sweetheart." 

For a moment I did not believe what I had heard. But Trevor followed up his 
words by lifting me erect and patting my bottom. "Go ahead, sit down." 

"But I haven't done anything!" The futile cry came too late. "Please, I 
don't deserve to be punished." 

"That's not for you to say, sweetheart. I punish at will. Do as you're 
told." 

I looked at Trevor but saw only a smiling enjoyment of my predicament. I 
turned my eyes to Amy but she was preoccupied and probably had not heard a 
word. I held up my bronzed wrists. "You'd have to take these off to strap 
me?" 

"No, I won't. Try it. you'll see." 

I saw all too well! In a daze of fear and misery I took the awful seat and 
sat in mute horror while the straps tightened cruelly around my belly and 
ankles. When done my hands did not matter at all. they could reach nothing, 
I was going nowhere except beneath the surface of the pond. 

"If it works as well with you as it has with the others. I'll have a pair of 
well behaved young women," Trevor amused aloud. "All ready, sweetheart?" 

I was as ready as I would ever be but did not say so. I was not only 
strapped but also frozen to the chair in a sort of fascinated disbelief. I 
watched the water pass as the arm swung out to its full length to hold me 
for a moment poised above the surface beneath which were monsters. I made 
the appropriate gasps and exclamations at the immersion of feet and sex and 
breasts. Then, with a swimmer's long practice, drew in all the breath I 
could before the surface of the pond closed above my head. 

I doubt if there is a more terrible feeling or any more awful thing one 
person could do to another. I understood now why my chained hands mattered 
not at all. I was reaching with them in search of something which did not 
exist, the straps held me in the chair just as they had held Amy and Bridie, 
and would doubtless hold others. I was concentrating every ounce of will 
power to ration the air within my lunges and part with it grudgingly. I 
looked up to the sunlit surface but, as though sensing my need, the stool 
sank lower into the depths By now the panic had me in its grip. 

There are legends of drowning being painless. For all I know they may be 
true of others but not of me. Had I been free it would be far less awful, 
but strapped in the chair and with chain wrists, it was fearful beyond 
description. Somewhere in another world a man could finger a control and 
leave me here to drown or raise me again to life. At that moment I believed 
only in the drowning. 

In its way my return to daylight and air was worse then being beneath the 
surface, worse because I knew where I would be returned. My agonized gasps 
were only a brief pause in a continuing punishment. Amy had been lowered 
into the water three times, but for all I knew it would be more than that 
with me. But this I did not know. I knew nothing except a terrible longing 
to be safe beyond the walls of The Retreat. At this point in fiction, Jim 
would appear to rescue me, but I did not believe that would happen. I sat 
and panted and dried my fact with shackled hands and shook my head in 
despair. I remember, that as the chair began its second descent, I cried 
out, "Oh, no, no, no.. . ! " 

It was hard not to waste my small store of breath in frantic struggles but I 
knew the straps would hold me tight, there was no escape from them. As I was 
lowered slowly into the depths, I found a strange comfort by burying my face 
in my hands as though to shut away the cold, dark, wet world in which the 
ducking stool and I were strangers. 

Trevor knew preciously how much a girl could endure without drowning. But 
when I was raised above the surface the second time, I was coughing out 
great amounts of water and finding it hard to recover breath. I was too 
frightened and hopeless to make outcry, and wanting most of all to never go 
below the surface of the pond again. But I knew I would. 

I was too preoccupied to spare a backward glance at my torturer or at poor 
Amy. I was nothing but a sad and wet girl strapped to a chair which would 
soon be once more lowered beneath that terrible, black water. I simply sat 
with my head bowed. All too soon the third descent began and I remember as 
the water reached my breasts letting loose with one horrendous scream. Then 
I gulped in all the air I could and reentered the ordeal of the pond. 

Trevor dunked me four times. I don't remember much about the last, I was 
only half conscious and well on the way to drowning when he swung the chair 
to lower it and me to solid ground. I sat and dripped water in a great 
thankfulness. Hating myself and without caring, I heard my voice making the 
same choked, fervent assurances of obedience to a man's will, those same 
pitiful pledges of enslavement I had heard from Amy and Bridie. All I knew 
right then was that I did not wish to ever be punished again and would do 
anything I must to save my skin. Whether for real or not, the increasing 
periods under the water had, to my mind, brought me very near to death. 

It was good to stand free of the stool, I looked back at the hated object 
and abjectly knew I would obey any order rather than be strapped within its 
clutches again. I turned to Amy and read within her stricken gaze the same 
sad message of subservience. For this moment we were two girls without fight 
left in us. We would obey. 

"Wanted to get you off on the right foot," Trevor remarked as though 
speaking of some innocent exercise. "I can see that stool has done you both 
a world of good. I've got me a pair of well-behaved women. If I should 
decide to sell you, I'll double the price." 

Amy's hands were already tied behind her back. Trevor now linked our necks 
with rope and we began a shameful march back to The Retreat; we had never 
felt more disorganized or disheveled in our lives. 

"I'm impressed with that ducking stool, brings a girl down to size," Trevor 
remarked. "Think I'll include it in the training of each girl who enters the 
inventory. It's a damn sight more effective than the whip and doesn't leave 
marks. What do you say, girls?" 

Amy and I choked out an ardent affirmative. The stool was our worst 
experience yet, but it was not a bit like being whipped, they were two 
separate horrors, neither of which should happen to any girl. I lifted my 
bronze bracelets and wondered what had become of Modesty. 

I was soon to know! 

6 

Submission 

There's a Gothic inevitability about me being locked inside this cage. It 
was me who thought of it all that long time ago, so it is now easy to tell 
myself I deserve what I'm getting. But if I said those words, they would not 
be true. At least. I don't think they would be true. I haven't done a thing 
to Trevor to deserve this. He's even taken away the lovely bronze bracelets 
he once said were mind forever, and tied my wrists behind my back with thin 
twine I simply have to accept because it hurts too much to twist and 
struggle. But anyway, what's the use of twisting and struggling. I know I'm 
doomed and must put up with anything Trevor wants to do with me. I keep 
looking at the calm surface of the pond, remembering the heartless way I 
dunked poor Gentian, but just the same I'm praying it won't happen to me. It 
must be awful beyond words. I could look through the bars of my cage at the 
peaceful scene, my nakedness bend and bowed in this confined space, and I 
can't believe any of it has happened-not even that first part when I was so 
gloriously happy. 

I met Trevor Tremond at a cocktail party. It was one of those cases where a 
man places his eye upon a girl and possesses her for the entire duration. 
Then he took me out to dine and captured me with speech before taking me to 
his apartment with the avowed intention of seducing me, and intent I in no 
way contested, I wanted to be seduced by Trevor Tremond more than anything 
else in the world. 

It would be easy to say I was not that kind of a girl. I wasn't until I met 
Trevor Tremond. And now that I've met him, I'm not a casual pickup or I 
would not be if I were free! Trevor Tremond holds a magic for me I can not 
fight. He enslaved me first with the dark timber of his voice, then 
consummated his victory in his bed. His phallus and his carnal skills 
dissolved me utterly. I had been Modesty Blair but he turned me into a 
palpating bundle of female ecstasy who's moans and cries were tribute enough 
for any male. I was never ashamed of my surrender, I simply wanted more. 

We, neither of us, had to work. So we spent most of each day together, and 
all of every night. Instead of becoming blase I longed more and more 
fervently for the next night still to come, and then the next and the next. 
Trevor laughed and called me a "carnal kitten." But he was enslaved, too, my 
body was a delicious trap he hungered for. And I gave it gladly. On the fact 
of it, we were a man and a woman outrageously in love. 

Trevor introduced me to "The Retreat" gradually, first referring to it in 
conversation, and then taking me down for an afternoon. The place was magic 
and presided over in Trevor's absence by a young damsel by the name of Daisy 
who looked at me with shrewd, wise eyes and no doubt concluded I was her 
master's mistress. For all I could tell, she had probably been his mistress, 
too. We had been lovers quite a while before Trevor suggested we go down and 
spend a week at The Retreat to get a feel for the place and see if I felt at 
home there. I could hardly wait. 

Remember, I used the word Gothic? Infatuated as I was, I could still not 
miss the deep, dark depths to this man. I was not concerned about those 
deep, dark depths and was, in fact, intrigued by the possibilities they 
held. I suppose I was emotionally prepared for what Trevor had in store. 

In my first visits I had not been taken downstairs to the cells, they were a 
bit of a shock. But I had to admit that, as I viewed the strange solitude 
behind the bars, I felt a tingling down my spine, I suppose you could call 
it a delicious fear or a palpitating expectation. In any way, when Trevor 
gently propelled me inside the last in line and gently closed the door, it 
was really no more than I expected. What better way was there to help me 
sample the atmosphere of this place which was a "retreat" in more ways than 
one. As the door clanged and I turned around to survey the concrete and the 
bars, I realized I had come a long, long way from the outside world. It was 
not many moments before I said, "Oh, gosh. Trevor, I wouldn't want to be 
locked in here very long. Jeepers. it's creepy!" 

"You are locked in there, sweetheart, safe and secure." 

"Yes. I know I am, but you can let me out anytime. What are these cells 
for?" 

"You." 

"Oh, Trevor, don't tease! And, anyway, I can't possibly occupy all of them." 

"They're for the inventory, sweetheart. Keeps them under control and on 
display. Daisy can look after the whole bunch comfortably." 

"But, Trevor, I'm not inventory, am I?" 

"No, you're not. But I want you to sample the other side of the picture 
before you become the Grand Mistress." 

"You mean . . . ? " I was beginning to shiver. 

"That's exactly what I mean daringly. You're going to do a bit of time as 
though caught robbing a bank. I won't tell you how long. Goodbye." 

Speechless. I watched Trevor depart. I was not a shocked as some girls might 
have been. He and I have reached a remarkable rapport in which games likes 
this were understood. But, I was immensely relieved when I heard his 
returning footsteps. But my hope of instant release was dashed. 

"Can't have you wearing clothes, darling, take 'em off." 

It shows how far we'd gone that this demand did not unduly disturb me. 
Trevor had seen me naked a hundred times, and Daisy, too, on several 
occasions. Trevor's demand seems somehow is keeping with the cells. But I 
had no choice. Slowly, and savoring every wicked moment. I removed 
everything I wore and handed it through the bars. My master said good-bye 
once more and left me to my nude imprisonment. 

It was very still and very quiet. My bare feet made no sound as I patrolled 
the limited confines of my cage. I clutched the bars and prisoners arc 
suppose to do, and looked this way and that as far as I could see. But 
Trevor was not in sight. I knew myself in a solitude far more alone than any 
normal prison cell. I thought of the dread term, "solitary" and shuttered. I 
sat on the narrow bench to survey my plight. 

To endure this captivity I must live entirely with myself. There was no 
external stimulation whatsoever, I might as well have been entombed. When 
Trevor returned, after I don't know how long, all he had with him was a 
glass of water and a pair of handcuffs. I drank the water gratefully and 
the, obediently, turned around to allow him to cuff my hands behind my back. 
He did this through the bars as though fearful of offering me the slightest 
possibility of escape. 

I adored the man so much that I was only anxious to provide him with 
whatever reactions he expected from me. I remember saying, "Trevor, it's 
been sort of exciting so far, a scary excitement but enough to wet my puss. 
Darling, please don't leave me here too long." 

Trevor reached in to pull me hard against the bars and to kiss me fervently 
to set my heart afire. I wanted him terribly, the little cell with its bars 
and concrete acting as a aphrodisiac. He cheerfully bid me to "be a good 
girl," then left me in my handcuffed loneliness. He did not reappear until 
the next morning. 

I was absolutely besotted with the man, so I suppose my reactions weren't 
normal. Some other girl might have had hysterics or torn her wrists 
struggling against the metal bands, but I had been handcuffed before, it was 
one of Trevor's principle delights with me. And even if I'd not been 
handcuffed there was nothing I could do except play with myself. And I've 
never wanted to do that because I save every bit of ME for Trevor. But I 
have to admit I might have done it in this awful loneliness of endless hours 
behind bars had I been able to. I slept a lot and by morning was so damned 
anxious for release I would have promised anything to get outside that 
barred door. The handcuffs didn't matter, I could rely on Trevor doing 
everything I might have done with hands. When my master arrived with his 
best grin to say a fatuous, "My, my, and how is our little caged canary 
today?" I was wise enough watch my tongue and just stand there in full view, 
a submissive and anxious maiden if ever there was one. "You look so damned 
sweet in there. Modesty, it seems a shame to let you out." 

I still said nothing but radiated all the sweet submission I knew how, it 
isn't hard for me, I'm a natural. But I felt myself quivering as he turned 
the lock. "OK. fine, come and have breakfast." 

My imprisonment in the cell was the highlight of that first week in The 
Retreat. It wasn't long before we moved in permanently and began our wicked 
little game of displaying my chained hands to Lesser 

Blessing. At the start it took every ounce of will power I had to thus 
display myself even though Trevor was at my side, his fingers often on my 
arm. But the fact was I enjoyed it, I loved the stares and I loved our quiet 
speculation and chuckles over what was being said in private. I was amazed 
how well I was able to handle Mr. Amnesty when he called. But mostly these 
were diversions beyond the wall of The Retreat, what took place within the 
walls themselves and within the sheltered park was far more significant. 
Trevor took his time explaining about discipline, I absorbed slowly in much 
the same sensations as within the cell that first night. He painstakingly 
removed from my mind silly notion about my having to be delinquent in order 
to be disciplined. I even laughed with him over the affirmation of 
discipline building character independently of punishment." 

"If I waited for you to disobey, you'd never get your ass whipped. Modesty," 
he assured me earnestly. "But you need the experience, we might as well get 
on with it." 

I'm sure I'm not a bit like other girls in this sort of thing. Or maybe it 
was my devotion to this magnificent male creature who owned me so totally, 
it doesn't matter, if he had wished me to swim the Atlantic. I would have 
tired. We discussed the matter of whipping my bottom as matter-of-factly as 
mowing the lawn or fixing dinner. 

"A whip or cane on your skin, Modesty, will give me the greatest possible 
thrill. Do you understand?" 

I understood. I don't how or why, I simply did know for sure I could give my 
master maximum pleasure by yielding my curves to whatever he wanted to lash 
them with. I did not mind if he did not mind! 

I was mostly naked in the house so it was easy for me to bend over and touch 
my toes before my introduction to a punishment I did not deserve. I was as 
excited as a schoolgirl on her first date, viewing the yellow, limber length 
of cane with nothing more than a vivid, erotic curiosity. When it lapped 
from hip to hip the pain was so unexpected terrible I refused to believe it. 
The agony scorched and seared and all those other adjectives used for such 
descriptions to a point where I almost did a dance as I clutched my wound 
and felt its anguish spreading into every part of me. I remember looking 
squarely at Trevor, who still held the cane, and exclaiming, "Oh, Wow.. . I 
don't believe this!" 

"I want you to see the weal form, I want you to get the full beauty of what 
we've just done together." Trevor's voice was a gentle as the hand which led 
me to the big mirror. There he turned my nakedness to the best advantage so 
I could look back at my bare bottom and could witness a phenomenon new to 
me, the birth of a weal! 

It was not a quick look. Trevor insisted I savor every moment and I was so 
absorbed in shock and curiosity that I simply stool there and watched my 
wound do what Trevor jokingly described as "ripen." He explained that at the 
moment of impact the skin turned white but when I first beheld the brand of 
the cane it was a pink rapidly changing to red and then scarlet. After a 
while there were tinges of purple. Trevor informed me that the stroke was as 
hard as I need ever expect, delivered by a full armed swing. I said I was 
glad to hear this, then stood erect, still fingering my flaming flesh. I was 
in an absolute dither of emotions. 

I was led to the room downstairs where there exists the means by which a 
girl can be suspended any way her master choices. I was in a kind of mute 
suspension already so far as my tongue and motions were concerned. I watched 
Trevor strap each wrist to the end of a two foot long wooden bar. and then 
watched them rise up until my toes were in danger of leaving the floor. I 
said, in disbelief, "You're going to whip me, aren't you, Trevor? You really 
mean it!" 

"Yes, there's other ways of fixing you but for this first time I want you 
able to kick. You're welcome move all you can but I don't want you to do too 
much screaming. I intend to check with you on your emotions and feelings as 
we progress. Get the idea, sweetheart?" 

"Yes. Is it appropriate to say 'thank you'? " 

My answer was a fearful stroke across both cheeks. I bit back a howl of 
shock and anguish to kick and twist and turn as if by so doing I found a 
different outlet for the pain. I think being bound immovably is the worst of 
all when being whipped. 

"Well?" Trevor's tone was conversational. "Tell me about it, sweetheart." 

"It's too awful, Trevor. It makes me curl up inside. It's not just the part 
of me that gets hit. it seeps in every place. Could we stop now, please?" 

"You know damn well not, and we won't." Trevor's tone continued even and 
unemotional. "Remember, darling, it's only a cane and it's only your bottom. 
A girl who really gets whipped gets it across her back." 

I felt I was somehow in the wrong and ought to be grateful. I still adored 
this man and knew his hurting me would change nothing. A girl endures 
childbirth for a man so why shouldn't she put up with the caning of her 
bottom! Next time Trevor caned me I would be better prepared for both shock 
and pain, and would not associate the caning of bottoms with school 
classrooms. 

"The marks are coming up beautifully on you, sweetheart. I'll try and space 
this first lot so you can distinguished between them. If I give you twenty 
or thirty strokes they would crisscross and make a blur. With you I want the 
artistry." 

I did not sneer at the word "artistry." Trevor watched my kicks and twists 
and struggles, then, at the crucial moment, cut hard at an exposed area 
which had escaped the cane before-my pussy. I screamed pretty loud. 

He caned me slowly after that, frequently stopping to inquire of my 
sensations and if I still loved him. I told him of the sensations and 
assured him that I loved him as fervently as ever. I got a little reward out 
of this because he took my bound and suspended nakedness in his arms and 
loved me most tenderly. After the seventh stroke he lifted me up and impaled 
me on his rod. He grabbed one globe of my wounded ass in each hand to 
support and guide my body down on his tool until I thought I would burst 
with pleasure. I had been ravished. And I knew it would not be the last 
time. Trevor and The Retreat held endless surprises for a girl. 

Surprisingly my caning continued after the sexual interlude. After the 
fifteenth stroke, the last half of them a strange combination of pain and 
pleasurable aftermath from having been driven into a crashing intercourse, 
he let me down and had me dress, handcuffed me. and took me for a walk 
through Lesser Blessing. 

That walk was my most exquisite sensation of a painful day. I burned with 
blushes and was certain the villagers would note some abnormality in the way 
I walked. My bottom burned. Trevor had insisted on my wearing panties, 
nylons and garter belt to increase the friction which was bad enough simply 
from my dress. Every time we passed someone I recalled the awful image of my 
bottom in the mirror just before I had dressed. It had be frighteningly hued 
with ridges of scolded flesh. These villagers knew! Surely they knew! I 
hugged Trevor's arm and longed to be invisible. 

"I'm so ashamed." I whispered to my lover. "I'll bet every one of them know 
what you've done to me. I'll bet they know I'm a girl who's just been 
whipped." 

"Not a single one," Trevor assured me cheerfully. "Most of them have never 
even heard of a girl having her ass whipped. And certainly would never 
associate it with the residents of The Retreat." 

"But my handcuffs, Trevor, they tell the story!" 

"It's all in your mind, pet. If we make this stroll tomorrow when your 
bottom stops hurting, you wouldn't be so fanciful. Stop worrying." 

Trevor was right. Trevor is always right! We finished our stroll and made 
another one the following day with the results he had predicted. They didn't 
even notice my handcuffs any more, we had become an institution. When Mr. 
Amnesty came to call I almost longed to tell him I was sitting on a beaten 
bottom just to see the shock on the poor man's face. You will see from this 
how Trevor owned me utterly and how I responded with affection to what he 
did. Anyway. I had been whipped and also imprisoned. I had a taste of what I 
would be handing out. And the way Trevor explained it all I would handle his 
young female merchandise with the greatest of ease. The way Trevor explained 
it there would not even be guilt. 

"You mustn't worry about their feelings. Modesty. Sure they've got them same 
as you and me, but most of them will come from the lower half of society and 
will be sold into conditions of wealth. A man has to be a rich SOB to buy 
one in the first place." He laughed. "Actually, we're doing the little 
darlings a considerable kindness. If they have to be whipped or ducked in 
the pond, it's all in a day's work. Keep that in mind, sweetheart. We're 
doing them a favor." 

We had not yet reached the arrival of our first merchandise. We spent our 
time making love, enjoying The Retreat, and expeditions to the village. What 
Trevor had done to me had effected my feeling for him no whit. I adored him 
even more and I freely and gloriously admit to a growing dependence upon the 
immense weapon with which he ravished me at will. I'm probably crazy but 
keep telling myself I am the only girl ever to know such bliss. I could go 
on and on about the specifics of our lovemaking, but such things are 
personal and if it held me more his prisoner than did the chains upon my 
hands, so what! I was very happy. 

I had been imprisoned and I'd been whipped. I didn't realize there had been 
anything more waiting. Trevor had shown me the cage and ducking stool out by 
the pond but I never associated them with myself, or with what Trevor loved 
to call "the merchandise." But, when one day he led me across the grass and 
through the trees to the pond and there unlocked the handcuffs from my 
wrists and told me to remove my clothes, my heart was pounding from the 
unexpected. We had come to stand beside that quaint, ancient relic called 
"the ducking stool," and I suddenly realized what Trevor was going to do to 
me. That realization should have driven me wild, made me run, but I did 
neither. I gave in to the sexual emotions I could not control. My desire to 
do what Trevor wanted was greater than my fear. "Sit down, Modesty." 

I did not have to ask where, I knew! I sat within the brutal confines of the 
ducking stool which was actually a heavily built chair, and inserted my all 
too willing hands into the waiting loops of strap. Trevor buckled them tight 
to leave me at a point of no return where a girl knows she's going to get it 
and there is nothing she can do. Strangely there was nothing I wanted to do! 
Trevor buckled my ankles and waist. The long arm lifted me and swung me out 
above the water and there I stayed, helpless and terribly afraid. But with 
all my fear I still knew that if Trevor asked if I wanted to be returned to 
dry land, I would have told him "No," and bid him go ahead and do what he 
wanted to me. 

It is vivid in my memory, I recall looking down at my strapped wrists and 
the way my fingers weakly struggled in futile protest. My waist was buckled 
so tight it was foolish to fight the band. Even if I drowned it would hold 
me firmly in the chair. I could not see my ankles. I sat in heart-throbbing 
wonder that this could happen, that this was actually me, that the man that 
I loved would soon dip beneath the surface of the pond. 

Trevor ducked me only once, one single terrible submersion beneath the 
surface in which I was positive I was about to die and was no longer the 
beloved of he who fingered the controls. But Trevor knew what he was doing, 
when I once more emerged into daylight and air, and as I coughed my way back 
into the world, I knew for sure the ducking stool was a sure way to make a 
girl behave. Rather than go down below the surface a second time, I would 
have promised anything. But, of course, Trevor didn't want promises or 
anything else. Trevor was training me at this, being strapped to this 
hateful chair was a lesson I must learn. When we walked back to The Retreat, 
my linked hand in his, I was about as submissive a girl as you would have 
found in a day's march. 

In the following days I wondered why he did not put me in the cage. Now I 
know the answer. He was keeping it in reserve for a purpose yet to be 
disclosed. I refused to think of it and put it from my mind. But, as the 
days passed, one thing emerged for sure, I was now the Mistress of The 
Retreat, I had paid my dues. 

Trevor never made a pretense of being anything but a sadist in his own 
muted, sardonic fashion. He hadn't much in common with real sadists like 
those in the history books. But he adored making a girl wiggle 
uncomfortably, even though her distress might be only in her mind. And to 
hear us squeal. He regarded screams as vulgar and warned me against them. I 
agreed with him in everything. 

We evolved again. It was obvious to us both that if we were to await my 
delinquencies before punishing me, we would get but little entertainment. It 
became necessary, therefore, to create artificial entrapments by which my 
feet and hands would delivery me, guilt-laden, into my master's waiting 
hands. I would even be allowed to think up my own punishments. But I found 
this task too difficult and allowed Trevor to keep me unaware of the lurking 
pitfalls of pain he would proscribe. We drew up a set of rules, some of 
which I must most obviously break, and hung it up in plain view where I 
could read it at leisure and Daisy could giggle over it to her heart's 
content. The sins were such as "arguing at dinner," or "forgetting to kneel 
and make my vows to THE MASTER each morning." With regard to this last, we 
had long since set up a small slave vow which I must recite upon my knees. 
It was a reaffirmation of my being owned completely by my MASTER and I said 
it gladly and fervently for I believed them. They were very much ME. I have 
now forgotten what rule I broke to earn the first of these small punishments 
which would give my master such delight, and which would leave me in my 
usual dither longing to scream or gasp in ecstasy. I knew I was going to be 
punished when Trevor led my out into the park. 

I was still handcuffed from our walk through the village. I was in a silly, 
giggly girlish mode and tried to pry out of this grim male what he was going 
to do to me. But he kept his silence other than to hand me a small bag of 
rope and tell me I might as well carry it since I was to be the one it would 
be used on. When we came to The Tree. I knew 

I was looking at something I was not going to like. It was a gnarled and 
stunted veteran of the cops, oddly misshapen and not nearly as large as its 
age might dictate. Well within its reach was a branch I sensed was 
especially for me. It stuck out from the main truck for several feet until 
it abruptly turned to the vertical for perhaps another foot and then resumed 
its horizontal search for sunlight. In the saddle effect just before that 
vertical turn the bark had been stripped away, leaving a smooth surface, it 
was a small wound, big enough only for a female crotch. My handcuffs were 
unlocked and I was told to remove my clothes, which I had obeyed, Trevor 
made them into a inadequate pad to soften my seat upon the branch which we 
both now understood was where I had to sit astride this uncomfortable and 
uncertain perch. I reached out for support to other branches to either side, 
and Trevor bound my wrists to one of those branches, spreading my arms wide. 
When he finished, my wrists were tied tight at a level only a little below 
my shoulders. Without warning he took away the wad of clothing beneath my 
pussy. I gasped in surprise at the discomfort which rapidly advanced to 
being plain, old-fashioned pain. I asked Trevor, "My feet.. . What are you 
going to do with my feet?" 

"Nothing, love, just let 'em go. That old tree hasn't looked this good in 
centuries. You're doing a lot for it. Bye-bye, I'll see you sometime." 

I knew there was no use pleading. I watched Trevor return to the house while 
I sat, feeling idiotic and insecure. I did what prisoners always do, took 
stock of this fresh captivity and what I could do with it. 

It took me quite a while to realize I could do nothing. I could not reach 
either hand with teeth nor wiggle them free, you could not wiggle free when 
Trevor tied you. My most pressing need was to get my crotch out of its 
horrible saddle and either sit more naturally upon the bough or see if my 
feet would reach the ground. The old tree was not large but I was high 
enough up that, when I did some mental measuring, I realized the ground and 
I would not make contact again until Trevor untied me. My feet helped in 
this computation for they hung limp beneath the bough on which I was half 
impaled and were a long way from the grass below. This left me with one more 
possibility of cautiously throwing one leg up and over to sit more normally 
and infinitely more comfortable until released. But I was not a bit sure I 
could swing my leg high enough to get over that rise in the branch. It might 
be possible but then again I might slip! I saw what must happen. 

I would fall to one side or the other and break an aim. I soon understood my 
punishment to be a quiet and painful sitting astride the tiny saddle and 
trying to take such of my weight as I could upon my outstretched arms. But 
that little bit of ease was nothing, I might as well not even try. 

I soon discovered it was best not to move and to breath cautiously, anything 
I did hurt and all the hurts centered on that part of me I sat on. As time 
passed I became convinced that my poor pussy would never be of use again and 
I would walk with legs wide spread forever. That branch became a personal 
enemy and I could well imagine Trevor having a chuckle to himself when he 
thought of me. I wondered how I could have been such a cheerful idiot when 
walking to this terrible fate, a fate I was now quite certain was 
unjustified. I had been expecting to get my bottom caned, maybe half a dozen 
strokes, or some such simple infliction, I'd never dreamed of anything like 
this. 

Trevor left me there for hours and hours. A watcher would have thought me a 
part of the ancient tree itself, so still was I and so cunningly bound. When 
he did come he was in no hurry to take me down, but walked around and around 
to enjoy the full effect of my sufferings and whatever other pleasure he 
could get from my naked form. He knew damned well I was fighting hard to 
keep from pleading or saying something terrible that would earn me an extra 
hour of punishment. He had me figured perfectly. But when he untied the 
cords and lilted me down, he place me straight on the grass upon my back, 
spread my legs, lifted my knees and entered me without waste of words. I 
could not believe it was happening or in the joyous pain I felt in my 
love-tunnel as his rod impaled me. I had supposed my pussy non-functioning 
after hours of painful contact with that tree, but a girl can take far more 
than even she thinks. It responded wonderfully! 

As we walked back to the house Trevor told me I was a very lucky girl. I did 
not disagree. 

My punishments were often sexually shaming, resulting either in orgasms or 
erotic arousals I could not appease. The last thing Trevor Tremond needed 
was a dildo, he delighted in inflicting these monstrosities within my 
sheath. One instance of this penetration aroused from Daisy's fibbing over 
something I hadn't done. Trevor and Daisy had a little thing going at my 
expense, in which Daisy could at anytime inform on me and I would be 
punished without any opportunity to defend myself. All three of us were well 
aware of the fictional nature of these accusations. But they did produce 
delicious situations which none of us were willing to forgo, least of all 
myself. I gloried in the pure lust in Trevor's eyes as I stood naked, demur, 
and firmly handcuffed to receive my sentence. When Daisy had safely betrayed 
me, she want about her affairs, happily giggling, and I was left to face my 
master's wrath. 

The dildo was so immense it had to be anointed and inserted within me with 
tender, loving care. I had been compelled to look hard at the hateful thing 
and was frankly scared. I stood trembling, my feet wide apart, while Trevor 
amused himself. When the final inch was within my unloving lips. I was 
stoutly fixed with a wide strap covering the entire pussy and buckled 
tightly. The entire arrangement secured the horrible monster within and was 
locked with a large padlock. In order that I should not influence the turn 
of events, my hands were equally securely locked behind my back. I was then 
taken, naked, to an outrageously visible portion of the back lawn wherein a 
stake, with ring attached on top. had been firmly driven to stand between my 
shamed legs and thighs, to have that ring padlocked to a similar ring at the 
lowest part of my crotch harness. 

"You won't mind standing here a while, will you, love?" 

"No, Master," I lied. 

"Good, I'll leave you to enjoy the scene. You'll be interested to know I'll 
be watching you almost constantly from the house. I'm sure you won't always 
be standing still." 

I sniffed and refrained from comment. I could think of a lot of things to 
say but kept them to myself as I watched my master's retreat. I gazed down 
at the manner in which I was secured. I could touch none of it. Normally, 
even with her hands behind her, a girl could do a lot. But with my hips 
locked to the top of that stake, I could do nothing. I tried to reach the 
stake but it eluded my grasp and finally I stood there, naked and dismal, 
with a leg on each side of the beastly thing and the dildo way up in my 
inside. I soon discovered I could aggravate the effect of that terrible 
thing by any effort I made to free myself or thrust with bare thigh against 
the wood. Sulkily I stood there and fought the loosing battle against the 
gradually increasing heat within my sex. When I finally flowered into orgasm 
and could no longer remain still, but contorted and wiggled and twisted 
under the dictates of overwrought glands. I was positive Trevor was watching 
and chuckling and perhaps making a count, "Number One!" I won't tell how 
high that count went. 

The following day Trevor showed me the gorgeous bronze bracelets and told me 
I would wear them for life. It was a wonderful, solemn moment, especially 
since I was told my tests were over and I would wear them as a sort of 
symbolic reward. Once I had willing allowed Trevor to clasp them on my 
wrist, my life become more circumspect, and I was told that once our 
"inventory" began to arrive, I would be in charge of them. With Daisy's help 
I would insure their security and dole out whatever punishments I deemed 
appropriate. It was a wonderful time and I didn't really believe any captive 
girls would show up at The Retreat. I was sure Trevor was still having fun 
at my expense. But when, much later, a girl named Gentian innocently walked 
into captivity, I began to take the whole thing seriously. I adored the 
girl, she was a real sweetheart. And for a little while I cherished the 
secret hope that Trevor would find his pleasure in her and then let her go. 
But when I thought about this, I realized its impossibility. Once The 
Retreat had possessed a girl, it must possess her always, for to let her go 
spelt disaster and the police. I didn't want Trevor behind bars and I didn't 
want to be behind bars myself. When Amy volunteered and arrived positively 
panting to be bound or chained or restrained in any way I chose, I realized 
I was still learning a lot about girls. I let them teach me and adored them 
both. 

It was about there I began to notice the change in Trevor, he became 
preoccupied, absent-minded, and took to long trips to the city on business. 
I never adored him a particle less, but it was in this period he made me 
hand out some cruel punishments to the girls. I wondered a lot but did not 
utter a word. I had received these punishments myself and wanted no repeats. 
I lived in a strange new world of curiosity about the girls captured and 
delivered to The Retreat. I realized more and more how utterly dependent 
upon him I had become, the things he did to me in bed enraptured me to a 
point of being obvious to all else. He had me in a state of emotionally 
suspended animation, in which I'm sure others saw me as being a little fey 
or out of this world and in a world of my own. Bridie and Marjorie came and 
went and left behind a profit for The Retreat huge enough to make my hair 
curl in a realization of the value men place upon a pretty girl. It was 
somewhere around here our delightful maid servant Daisy decided to become 
difficult. She decided to be included in the inventory and sold for the same 
price as we had gotten for Bridie and Marjorie, the money to be delivered to 
her family while she went her way into slavery. She was most persuasive. 

"You see. Miss Blair, I ain't a bit scared." She giggled at some delightful 
prospect in her mind. "I will get loose from whoever buys me. He'll never 
manage to keep me prisoner more than a month or two. And then think of all 
that lovely money." She sighed at the prospect. 

"Absolutely not!" I told her primly. "You'd hate it and cry your eyes out 
the first day. I feel guilty enough about the others, I don't want you on my 
conscious, too." 

"After I escape I'll come back here and work for you again." Once more the 
familiar giggle. "Maybe you could sell me twice? Or even three times.. . . ? 
" 

"Stop being silly, Daisy." 

"It ain't a bit silly. Miss Blair. You've seen me with my clothes off. men 
get a hard-on just thinking about what I got under these clothes. You could 
sell me naked or in this uniform, there's a lot of guys go for a little 
French maid effect like you got me in now," she argued reasonably. "So when 
you got a guy you think might be interested, you just put me in irons any 
way you like and I'll be real meek and obedient. I bet you I could fetch top 
price." 

I made the mistake of telling Trevor. He was all for it. He had Daisy strip 
naked for him, looked her over, asked a lot of questions, and then stated 
that she would simply have to wait until the right purchaser came along but 
not to bother him about it again. Daisy was delighted but it fell to me to 
receive Trevor's orders to "put her through her paces," which simply meant I 
would inflict on her all the tortures or semi-tortures Trevor had inflicted 
on me in what he called my "training." I flatly refused. And while he did 
nothing about it, I was aware of the first rift in our relationship. 
Trevor's moods became more dark and brooding, but our nights, as always, 
bridged any gap the day had brought. Things continued on an even keel until 
the day a pleasant young man named James Bancroft purchased Gentian. 

It was then, in one fell swoop, I learned the reason for Trevor's 
preoccupations and at the same time faced the most awful pitfall of my life. 
Abruptly and without warning Trevor said to me, "I'm in love with Genn 
Rothwell." He allowed the shocked silence to hang for moments before adding, 
Sorry, old girl, I didn't plan it this way." 

Out of the depths of shock I stammered, "But you've sold her!" 

"I'll get her back. Don't worry, I'll handle it." 

I was sure he would and that I would help him, wishing to or not. I looked 
at him, stricken, and he read the question in my eyes. "You'll be free of 
me. Modesty, I've treated you badly but you'll leave this place with a check 
for one hundred thousand pounds. Like I said. I'm damned sorry!" 

I lifted up my hands and the beautiful bronze bracelets, "But you've locked 
these on me for life, Trevor. You can't just.. . " 

Trevor did not answer. He took the funny little steel sliver and used it to 
cause the bronze to fall from my wrists. He swung them and said jauntily, 
"No more chains for you, Modesty my pet. You're young and free and beautiful 
and the world's all yours. Take it." 

"I don't want to take it. I want to stay here." 

"You believe that now. The Retreat has become a haven for you. It's a crutch 
you lean on. Take one of the cars, which ever you like and be out of here 
this evening. I'll prepare your check." 

It was worse than being fired. Worse then being suddenly widowed. It was 
also totally unexpected. I looked at my master askance and heard myself say, 
"I don't believe it. Trevor, you mustn't do this. I love you terribly. I 
simply refuse to go." 

I remember Trevor nodded as though I had confirmed his theory about 
something. "I'll always love you. Modesty, but no longer in the way you want 
or need. If you refuse to leave The Retreat with the benefits I've offered, 
I'm not going to personally dump you on the road. I'm going to strip you 
naked, put you in a cell, chain you, and sell you to whatever man will pay 
the very large price I'm going to ask. Think about it, sweetheart." 

I thought about it for sure. Trevor went about his affairs, leaving me to 
mine. I wandered up to the bedroom we had shared and into all the memories 
it held. Trevor's threat about selling me hadn't taken a hold of my 
consciousness. I was not thinking of time in the sense of an hour or a day 
in the future, I was thinking of it as only in the past. For me it was an 
impossibility to leave The Retreat and the man who owned it, and who owned 
me, whether he wanted me or not. I knew it was no use talking to Trevor, I 
needed a bit of drama. Something to satisfy my own hurt and impress him with 
the enormity of my love. 

I suddenly knew what to do. I stripped naked, found a pair of handcuffs, and 
went downstairs to the row of cells, all of them empty. Nakedly and without 
much conscious thought, I walked into the center little prison and slammed 
its door hard behind me, it had a snap lock and would not open without a 
key. I then cautiously handcuffed my own wrist behind my back, making sure 
to get them properly snug but without hurting. Then I simply stood and 
remembered that first afternoon and night when Trevor had made me prisoner 
in just this way. If this act would not impress him or touch his heart, 
nothing would. 

I had imprisoned myself without thought or reason. I was soon regretting the 
rashness of my act, I had placed myself in a position of no retreat. The 
silence and solitude of the concrete and bars brought home to me for the 
first time the possibility Trevor might keep his promise and actually sell 
me, it would be the neatest way possible to get rid of an unwanted girl. 
Suddenly I knew for sure I had not wish for this to happen, I did not want 
to be sold. Mature judgment told me I should have accepted the freedom 
offered, gone away from The Retreat with the money offered, and then dealt 
with Trevor from a position of strength. If Trevor's affections were as 
impermanent as indicated, he would soon tire of Gentian and he and I would 
pick up where we left off. I stood in that damned cell and twisted my hands 
against those handcuffs I'd clicked tight against my own wrists. And I faced 
the fact that Trevor had been very generous in his offer of freedom, car and 
money. But I could envision the possibility of him being pleased to have me 
exactly where I was and to sell me for whatever he could get. He could do 
this without guilt for he had, after all, first offered me freedom and great 
benefits. If I got myself sold into slavery, it would be by my own choice. 

When Trevor finally came down to look for me and exclaim his friendly, 
"Well, well, here you are! I might have guessed. Neatly locked up, stripped 
and handcuffed. Modesty, you are a remarkable girl." 

"I'm a very silly," I said humbly. "I did this in a tantrum. Please let me 
out." 

"No way, sweetheart. You've made your choice, you'll stay with it. I'll find 
a buyer before too long. In the meantime, this is as good a place for you as 
any." 

I cried the bitterest of tears, the tears of "what might have been." 

I tried to cry them through the bars to wet some portion of the man who's 
captive I had become. But a girl can't project tears like bullets. I simply 
wet the bars and sobbed miserably. 

"Don't carry on so, old girl, I can't begrudge you a few tears. And, if it's 
any help, I'll say again what a bastard I've been over this whole affair. 
But you made your choice, entering slavery and being part of the inventory 
of The Retreat. What a beautiful way out for both of us! Whoever buys you 
has to be a wealthy man who can probably do more for you than me. Cheer up. 
Modesty." 

There was another terrible hour of regrets before my master reappeared. This 
time he unlocked the door and entered with a trey of food and drink and a 
couple of things I found myself wanting to laugh hysterically at. In my 
mood, they simply stuck me as funny. Trevor carefully placed the trey, then 
good-naturedly explained, "Brought these leg irons and this collar along. 
They'll help you get in the feeling of your new condition, sweetheart. Stand 
still a minute." 

I stood still while my ankles were joined in the familiar irons I had often 
put on other but never myself. Erect and stiff, I allowed him to tilt my 
chin and affix the collar around my neck and padlock it snug. Neither piece 
of bondage would serve any purpose other than to tell me what I had now 
become. If any girl is dubious about a state of slavery, let her wear leg 
irons on her ankles and a metal collar around her neck. They are graphic 
remainders of lost freedom. 

"You over did it a bit. Modesty, with the handcuffs. I don't want you 
completely helpless, it's much more convenient if you can fend for 
yourself." Trevor turned my about with a clatter of chain, unlocked one of 
my wrists, then turned me back again and locked both of them together in 
front. I was uncertain whether to feel foolish or relieved. It did not 
matter. When Trevor had gone and left me chained and alone, I drank the hot 
tea and nibbled at the food. That I was later able to lay on the hard bench 
and sleep was more a tribute to my knowledge of total helplessness than to 
peace of mind. I suppose that had I been entirely new to the scene, I would 
have spent the hours of darkness striving to rid myself of irons and to find 
some way to squeeze between the bars or unlock the door. All nonsense, but 
that's the way girls are when first imprisoned. 

I was embarrassed by Daisy and this was silly because she was a delightful 
girl and The Retreat had brought us both into a considerable intimacy. But 
I, who had been the mistress, was now a slave whereas Daisy was still 
carrying on in her original occupation. It was Daisy who brought my 
breakfast. 

"Oh, Miss Blair, you're so beautiful with your clothes off." Daisy's strong 
suit was sincerity. "You're really lovely naked like that and them there 
chains sort of put an accent on the whole thing. Gee, Miss Blair, you'll 
sell for a tremendous price." 

"But I don't want to be sold, Daisy! Can you get these chains off me?" 

"Gee, no miss. Only the master has the keys, you know that. I mustn't even 
let you out of this cell." She giggled, "You wouldn't want me to get myself 
whipped, would you?" 

Daisy had brought her own breakfast, too, so me made a picnic of it. I spent 
the time trying to change her mind from disaster. "Look at me, Daisy, you 
don't want to be chained like this and locked in a cell." 

"I think it might be fun. Miss Blair. I just hope I look half as good as 
you." 

Daisy was hopeless. I simply had to write her off. She was a darling girl 
and it was a trifle of comfort to know I had a female friend on the other 
side of the bars. When she left me alone I kicked myself for not asking what 
Trevor was doing with Gentian and Amy. But that could wait. The thing 
hitting me with a sudden and tremendous force was the realization of my own 
imprisonment. I couldn't get out of this cell! Even if someone unlocked the 
door. I would still be chained in a way to make escape close to impossible. 
I hadn't wanted to escape The Retreat but now I did. I felt a sudden and 
compulsive need to get out of the cage and out of The Retreat and into 
freedom and sanity. Dismally I looked at my chained hands and ironed feet. I 
fingered the metal collar around my throat. I had to admit I had no hope of 
freedom whatsoever. Why, oh why, had I not accepted Trevor's offer of the 
money and the car. Knowing Trevor, I realized how slender was my hope of 
changing his mind and giving me one more chance. By Trevor's standards I'd 
had my chance and miffed it. Now I would be sold and that would be the end 
of me as a human entity. I didn't feel much of an entity right then, I was a 
silly little captive bird sitting in a cage. I tugged and twisted at my 
irons in anger. It was then I heard the sounds down the passage. 

"Let me go! Take your hands off me!" It was a young, female voice alive with 
anger. "It's not fair the way you're treating me, I don't have a chance the 
way you've got me fixed. Stop pulling at my hair. . . . OK, I'll come along 
if you'll just stop yanking." 

She was more beauty. What else! Daisy had her by the hair while her hands 
were cuffed behind her back. She was as naked as I. Her breasts were heaving 
with exertion and emotion and she stood looking at me and at Daisy unlocking 
the cell door as though not believing what she beheld. She allowed Daisy to 
push her within the cell and clank shut the fatal door. Daisy gave me a 
broad wink and said, "This is a new one. Miss Blair, you can tell her what 
she needs to know. I don't have the time." 

Alone, we stared. I had risen to my feet and must have made the prefect 
picture of a prisoned girl. In a flood of sympathy I reached out my shackled 
hands to touch this new girl's pinioned arms and to kiss her gently on the 
lips while she stood in total bafflement. Stupidly I said, "Don't be 
frightened, everything's all right " 

She stepped back from my reaching fingers and said, "It's not all right! 
Nothing's all right! They've taken my clothes and look what they've done to 
my hands!" She turned to wiggle indignant fingers, then turned to view me 
with suspicion. "What are you, a Judas Goat, a shill, one of them?" 

I remember sighing heavily at the prospect of trying to make The Retreat 
understandable to this girl. I didn't relish the task and wondered if I 
should even try, but she would ask questions and I could answer them, that 
would be the easy way. I dropped the first bomb by telling her my name and 
telling lier that I was being held captive awaiting sale. 

"You have to be kidding!" She was eyeing me with even more suspicion. 

We hammered her disbelief back and forth, and in the course of this exchange 
I learned that her name was Joan Peters, she was steno and had been 
kidnapped on the outskirts of Tumbridge Wells. I waved away the details, 
explaining that they were all much the same and changed nothing. All the 
time I talked Joan Peters stood, twisting and tugging at her ironed wrists 
and never taking her eyes from my face. I think it was the shackled feet and 
the collar around my neck that finally convinced her that I was not "one of 
those." Quite suddenly she melted into my arms and sobbed on my shoulders. 
She could not hold me and 

I was forced to lift my bound hands and put them over her head to hold her 
nakedness so we were two girls, breasts to breasts. After that was over 
telling Joan Peters of her new fate was a lot easier. 

I told her nothing of Trevor and I, it was still a far too private thing to 
speak about. But I did tell her about Amy's love of bondage and of how 
Gentian had innocently walked through an open gate into enslavement. I 
mentioned Bridie and Marjorie and tried to make Joan understand how easy it 
was to trade in kidnapped girls. Joan listened politely but I could tell she 
was like the rest who had entered their enslavement with a hundred mental 
reservations. She was a absolutely beautiful creature and totally exposed 
for my enjoyment. That was her first question. 

"Why must we be naked?" 

"So a prospective buyer can examine us and make up his mind, they won't pay 
all that money for a pig in a poke." 

"So, OK, I can see that. But why these restraints on us?" 

"To keep us in a proper frame of mind and make it easier for Daisy to take 
care of us. I'll bet you feel a lot more captive when handcuffed than if 
your hands were free." 

"All right. But these cells, I don't understand? There dead ringers for the 
real thing in a prison, aren't they?" 

"Sure they are. The man who owns us has a little fantasy about putting naked 
girls in prison cells, so he's made his fantasy come true, and here we are." 

"The first thing I shall do is go straight to the police. When I get out, 
that is." 

"You never will get out, Joan," I told her wearily. "You're a prisoner and 
you'll never, never see a policeman again." 

Joan Peters had not sat down. She was still busy twisting at her handcuffed 
wrists in a preoccupied sort of way while she considered my information. She 
came up with a bright idea, "Can't we behave so outrageously no man would 
buy us. Isn't that the thing to do?" 

I explained about the encouragements and watched her sort of wilt and loose 
steam. I felt a bitch as I closed every door she sought to open. 

"But this man, Trevor.. . what's-his-name? Couldn't we be nice to him, you 
know what I mean, ask him to fuck us because he's so damned handsome. 
Wouldn't that help?" 

"You're not offering him anything, Joan. He can take us any time he wants. 
We're all chained or bound and couldn't put up a fight. So when he tells you 
to lay down, you'd best lay down." 

"That's a hard one to take," Joan Peters said slowly. "I've never run into 
any situation in which offering my body to a man couldn't save me. Hell, 
I've had men give me a lot of money to use my body!" 

I bestowed a wry look on her. "That's over, sweetheart. From now on your 
pussy is free to your owner. Right now Trevor Tremond is your owner." 

"But that reduces us to nothing!" 

"That's right, Joan, we are nothings, just naked bundles of female neatly 
chained. I am absurdly obedient and you'll best be absurdly obedient, too. 
Your best bet is probably to get yourself sold this afternoon." 

Joan Peters would have had a retort for that, too, had it not been for the 
interruption. It was Trevor and another man almost his own size. The two of 
them filled the passage and emotionally dwarfed a girl by their mere 
presence. I felt like I was back in school and might be asked to hold out my 
hand for the cane. I almost said hello to Trevor but stopped in time. I was 
a slave. 

"You wouldn't find two more beautiful girl than these anywhere in the 
world," Trevor said to his companion. "The ash blonde has been properly 
trained, the other girl is brand new and probably needs a good thrashing." 

They entered the cell and the client turned me this way and that in 
examination. Suddenly he cast me into the discard, "No. Too, damned 
submissive. She's a beauty all right, but not for me." 

Thankfully I stepped aside. Being sold is a momentous thing in the life of 
any girl but I was glad to miss the honor. I was sending out wave after wave 
of adoration towards my master, but if Trevor felt them he made no sign. 
They turned their attention to Joan, who stood incredulous in disbelief. 

"Ah, this one looks better!" The client surveyed Joan's tensed muscles and 
thin lip with approval. A moment later Joan Peters lashed out with a free 
foot at his groin, but he deftly grabbed her ankle and held it up laughingly 
to display her pussy in all its naked glory, and to cause her to teeter on 
one foot. His tone was casual, "I'll take this one. That kick tells me all I 
need to know. I'll whip her ass for it when I get back home, no need to do 
it now." He gazed around the cell and. with his own authority, said to 
Trevor, "Let's you and me go upstairs and look after details. I'll hang this 
little vixen with her toes off the floor. Teach her a lesson, help her to 
stop kicking." 

These two men were so big and so strong a girl might get an erotic thrill 
out of their masculinity but at the same time be helpless in their hands. 
They might use us as they pleased with the greatest of easy. The purchaser 
of Joan Peters held her while Trevor retrieved his handcuffs and replace 
them with tightly bound thin rope, this time in front. I knew what was 
coming. There were ropes from above and it was only a minute before Miss 
Joan Peters was suspended from one of them and her naked feet were vainly 
reaching for the floor. Her new owner delivered hardy smacks upon her bare 
bottom before laughing himself and Trevor out of the cell and leaving us 
alone. Joan Peters ran true to form, "Untie me. Modesty. Get me down, I 
can't possibly endure this!" 

"Sorry, dear, I can't. I can't reach that high. But I don't suppose they'll 
be away too long." 

"You mean.. . You're willing to leave me hanging here like this and do 
nothing to help!" She sounded shocked. 

"If you know any way I can help you, you'd better tell me," I said 
dejectedly. 

There was nothing I could do except stand and watch Joan Peters' nakedness 
contort and bounce around at the end of its tether. Her toes were 
pathetically reaching for the floor and I knew how her wrists would be 
hurting from the thin rope. She was sweating from her efforts, and turning 
and twisting in the air. But her main effort was to look at me with the 
deepest reproach as though I were in some way letting her down or 
responsible for her present punishment. I made the kindliest comments I 
could at her barrage of invectives and complaints. I realized it was hard 
for her to understand my total impotence. She was sure there must be 
something I or she could do. Her struggles diminished until she hung limp, 
dejected, and sobbed. But even when the two men returned they were in no 
hurry to put Joan Peters' feet back on the ground. They walked slowly around 
the suspended nudity and made male comments about its curves and contours, 
now stretched painfully. Joan's eyes followed their every move. I could tell 
she was bursting to speak but the pain of suspension had worked its minor 
miracle and she curbed her tongue. I could tell it was in her mind to lash 
out with her feet but she controlled that urge, too, and maintained a pained 
silence until the rope was lowered. 

"I'm willing to forget this whole thing if you'll set me free immediately." 
She spoke rationally as if it were something that might actually happen. 
"But what you've just done to me is utterly despicable." 

The omnipotent males looked at each other and laughed, evidently the passing 
over of a huge sum of money had been achieved with good will. Joan Peters' 
new owner seemed in a happy mood. "You talk too much, lady. You are now a 
cute little slave girl who's libel to get her ass whipped any time and who 
might find herself wearing a gag if she doesn't know when to keep her mouth 
shut." 

For Joan it was evident enslavement was still abstract, not to be considered 
in connection with herself, she almost swelled in indignation. She raised 
her bound hands to her lips and began to tug at the rope with her teeth. The 
men were amused. In a businesslike way Trevor offered the full facilities of 
The Retreat. "I can take her out of her and give her a punishment that will 
smarten her up," he offered abruptly. "Would you like me to do that?" 

"No, but thanks. I'll break the girl in myself. It's going to be a 
pleasure." The purchaser chucked in visible enjoyment. "I may leave enough 
spirit in the little trick to warrant breaking her again and again, say once 
a week or once a month? She's a perfect product of the British middle class 
and dumb. I suppose we just as well tie her down here and carry her to the 
car. OK with you?" 

Poor girl, she hadn't a clue. Only now did it really come to me how valid 
was Trevor's training. The things he did to me would serve me well at a time 
like this, avoiding the shame of futile protest and the bruises of a 
struggle. Joan Peters indulge in both to the full extent of both lips and 
limbs. But she was a mere plaything in the hands of these powerful male 
creatures who took delight in subduing her. She was easily flipped over the 
bench, a male knee planted in her back while her ankles were tied tight with 
bitterly thin twine. Then her knees. Then her hands were taken from front to 
back where they were viciously bound again. I noted that heavier rope was 
used on her elbows, perhaps out of consideration of circulation, perhaps 
only because they were out of thin cord, but the elbows were drawn together 
and bound very tightly. Maximum security for transit was obtained by a 
hogtie joining hands and feet. I was almost thankful when the poor thing was 
tightly gagged. I had been fearing all along she would say something 
unforgivable and earn some terrible punishment. But so far as punishment was 
concerned. Joan Peters' prospects were not the best. I could well imagine 
what would happen to her when her purchaser would get her home. But at least 
she was safe from the pond, it was unlikely any other place would have such 
a punishment device. Even to think of my head going down beneath the surface 
of the water still made me shutter. 

Joan and I said goodbye with our eyes. She could not speak or scream and I 
was wise enough to know my place. I got one more shiver as the purchaser, 
holding his naked burden with the greatest of easy, paused in the doorway to 
look back at me as I stood there nude and chained and bitterly unhappy. His 
gaze roved up and down my nudity until he said grudgingly, "I could handle 
this one, too, Tremond. If she's still here next week, you might make me a 
price on her. The two of them make a foil for each other." 

Trevor said nothing other than to slam the cell door with needless vigor. 

It had been quite a day but was not yet over. When Trevor returned I lost no 
time in pleading for the deal that he had offered me and I had stupidly 
rejected. I remember how the words flooded out of me and how I finished up 
with a reiteration, "Please . . . please . . . please. 

Trevor cocked a sardonic eye my way. "You had your chance, sweetheart, I was 
playing fair with you." 

"Yes, I know. I can see now you were being fair with me. But can't you 
understand, I was in love with you, terribly in love?" 

"Modesty, my pet, did I detect a trace of the past tense?" 

"Well, yes, you did. I'm sorry. But you know in your heart I'm still in 
love. I could still so easily go back to the way we were. If you want 
Gentian in your bed I wouldn't complain. Trevor, darling, I wouldn't 
complain about anything if you'll keep me as a companion and not sell me as 
a slave." 

"OK, supposing I keep you just the way you are in this cell and enjoy myself 
with Gentian upstairs?" 

I kept silent. Trevor was merciless. I had no answer. But Trevor was not 
done with me. 

"Tell you what, Modesty, dear girl. You're at sixes and sevens with yourself 
and the world. I know exactly the thing to straighten you out. Here, I'll 
tie your hands behind your back so you can't be a nuisance when we go for a 
walk." 

I let him do it, I couldn't stop him anyway. He crossed my wrists brutally, 
discarding the handcuffs. He picked me up and, as we left the cell and 
mounted the stairs, it felt so damned good to be in his arms again that I 
forgot everything until he took me out into the park. I couldn't kick or 
struggle but I could still plead. In a terrible fear I said over and over, 
"Trevor, not the pond, not the pond! Please, darling, don't take me to the 
pond." 

Trevor said nothing, his mouth was grim with determination. Hopelessly I 
said over and over, "I love you, Trevor, I love you, I love you, I love 
you.. . " 

Trevor took me to the pond, stood me erect upon hobbled feet while he 
unlocked the cage. His voice was cruelly mocking, "You know about the 
ducking stool, darling, this will be a pleasant change." 

I didn't fight, I no longer pleaded. Like every girl prisoner who had been 
put into the little cage, I cherished the hope that it would be confinement 
only, that my master would stop short of lowering me into the pond. The 
padlocks clicked upon my curled up nudity within the cage. I stared at 
Trevor but he would not meet my eyes. I stared at the little lake that 
should have been so beautiful but was not. Where ever I looked I saw 
everything from behind bars. I twisted at the rope on my wrists but mainly 
reserved that exercise for when I would be left alone. 

I watched Trevor go to the controls and felt the jerk as the little cage was 
lifted from the grass and then the awful swing as I was moved out over the 
water. The controls clicked and there I was! Where ever I looked was water 
waiting to receive me. Above all I looked down at what seemed a dark and 
bottomless infinity. Trevor's goodbye was cruelly casual, "So long. Modesty, 
I'll be back later. But don't cherish hope. That cage and you inside will be 
going down, down, down beneath the surface. Be seeing you." 

He walked away and left me in the suspended cage. 

That's where I am now. 

7 

Handcuffed Chatelaine lr is a terrible thing for a girl to be adored by any 
man she does not love, with Trevor it was doubly so. Trevor is a Force, a 
Force I cannot brush off or easily dismiss. Even though he tells me I am now 
the Chatelaine of The Retreat, replacing darling Modesty, he keeps me naked 
and has my wrists firmly locked in the beautiful bronze bracelets which I 
will always sec as Modesty's and never as mine. 

It would be easy to say Trevor is mad, but he is simply a powerful and 
selfish man who has contrived a condition other males would envy. He owns, 
briefly, every girl who passes through The Retreat. But he loved Modesty and 
now loves me. I don't think it's love at all, it's simply that ridiculous 
male compulsion to plant his seed in as many wombs as he can find. It 
affects all men but usually without much harm. Here, where every girl is 
Trevor's slave, it becomes a terrible fate to be loved by him for when his 
loves dies he can dispose of us cruelly. I am positive he is doing something 
beastly with poor, darling Modesty. And if he can torture Modesty, there is 
no hope of any of us. Modesty loved him, I do not. 

After my promotion he ravished me again and again as though trying to catch 
up with the desires he had evidently suppressed when I believed I was no 
more than a captive and Modesty the Chatelaine. His huge male phallus 
subdued me utterly, it had made me disgustingly smug and submissive. When 
Trevor called, I laid down instantly and spread my legs wide. But I did not 
love him! 

I was forbidden to go to Modesty, she was in one of the cells downstairs, 
naked and chained, and I am sure terribly unhappy. Trevor told me she is for 
sale and will soon be picked up by an avid purchaser. I listened to all he 
tells me and complained about nothing. Whatever feelings Trevor may have 
held for me would not hinder him from inflicting any of the outrageous 
punishments upon my person. I didn't want to be taken out to the pond, I 
just didn't! Where that pond is concerned, I'm a coward. 

A girl named Joan Peters has added to Trevor's coffers with amazing speed. 
She was kidnapped, imprisoned, and sold all within twenty-four hours. I saw 
her only briefly before Daisy took her downstairs to the cells. She repulsed 
my efforts at rationalization and explanation, refusing to take me seriously 
because I was naked and my hands were chained. I resolved to talk to Trevor 
about allowing me some clothes. I knew I'd never get rid of those handcuffs 
but the clothes sure would help. 

At the moment my only confident was Amy. I don't know why she hadn't sold 
but she remained a happily constrained prisoner of the House. She assured me 
there is nothing either of us can do about Modesty and I had best make the 
most of my promotion. I rather suspected she wished Trevor would have chosen 
her-so did I! 

I couldn't manage terms of endearment but Trevor scattered them around with 
a free hand. I was Genn darling, Genn dearest, Genn my pet.. . if he gave me 
the full tide of Gentian, I knew I had displeased and would soon feel the 
cane. I had transgressed only in minor ways. He punished these instantly by 
having me bend over to touch my toes for five swift and bitter strokes on a 
bottom never entirely unblemished. I had to say please and thank you on 
those occasions. And, if I sounded the least bit sarcastic, I got them over, 
the whole damned five strokes! Modesty knew where she was, I was damned if I 
did. 

I had thought very little about escape. .The bronze circlets joining my 
wrists had something to do with that. Their effect was mostly mental, 
basically a constant reminder of Trevor and his punishments. He possessed a 
lust for my flesh but that didn't stop him from marking it with a whip. But, 
upon reflection, I thought that surely there must have been opportunities 
not present when I had been part of the inventory. There was only the main 
gate. Perhaps I would never reach it, but a growing idea took hold of me. I 
had to try. I had to escape! There had to be some way. 

"How'd you like to be sold?" Trevor beamed across the dinning table. 
"There's a client coming tomorrow, I'll give you first whack at him if you 
like." 

"I thought you said you loved me? Why would you sell me?" 

"I won't. I've got Amy in mind. Have Daisy make her as pretty as she can 
then put the spotlight on her. She'll sell." 

Amy was dinning with us and had to listen to that, but I could see she was 
pleasantly excited. Each of us had come to realize that our only escape from 
The Retreat would be through a sale, and being sold is enough of a lottery 
to quicken the pulse with hope. Innocently, Amy gazed at our master and 
said, "Oh, thank you, Mr. Tremond. Daisy makes a wonderful job of us, 
honest. I will work hard at getting myself sold. Try to get the guy to tell 
a joke and I'll laugh at it as though it was the only one I've ever heard. 
That ought to do the trick." 

I envied them the easy laughter they shared then. Amy was in a class all by 
herself, her adoration of constraint was something I could not match. 
Modesty had a sweet submissiveness in bonds and had worn the bronze 
bracelets with a tremendous flair I could not match. But she loved Trevor 
while all I could manage was to long for him in bed and be frightened of him 
the rest of the time. I knew he would tire of me and was willing to bet I 
would be sold inside of a month. But not that next day! 

Trevor beamed at Amy. "You're a wonderful girl, I wish I had a dozen more 
like you." He paused heavily before he added, "Look, sweetheart, supposing a 
couple of months after you've been sold I could make it possible for you to 
escape, would you come back here to me?" He grinned, "I'd sell you all over 
again." 

"Oh, of course I would!" Amy's eyes were shinning. 

"But supposing you'd fallen in love with the man?" 

"If I fell in love with him it would be because he keep me tied ever so 
tight. And if that were the case, I don't suppose you could help me," she 
said brightly. 

Amy was ever so practical. I truly envied them. Trevor was not a bad 
companion if he wasn't in love with you, or if you shared some interest of 
his. He was right, what he needed was a dozen Amys and everyone would be 
happy. But I shrank at the thought of being left alone, a naked handcuffed 
girl, in the shadow of his potent masculinity. After dinner and brandy and 
some remarkably bright conversation, mostly due to Amy, she got chained by 
the collar to the bed where she and I had spent our first night together, 
and I obediently followed my master to where I would be ravished into an 
even deeper enslavement. I cannot deny that the sight of his bedroom and bed 
set me to tingling in excitation. For the next several hours I would not 
escape even if it had been possible. I felt a louse for it but gave myself 
joyously. 

I had no useful function except to be seen and, hopefully, be admired. I was 
present in the capacity of Trevor's consort, that's a beautifully ambiguous 
terms that covers the distance from wife to whore. I had actually persuaded 
him to allow me a pair of panties and a tiny little vest, open all the way 
down the front to allow my breasts to constantly peek into full view to see 
and be seen. It is an oriental sort of thing, or more likely Asian, and is 
made complete by the tiniest of skirts to go with the vest. When he had 
finished dressing me, Trevor had been breathless and, had there been time, 
would have taken me instantly to bed. Men are ridiculous about things like 
this. To me the ensemble is simply cute and erotic but I was exceeding 
grateful for it. I had made the point with Trevor that, if he kept me naked 
I would be mistaken for part of the inventory and he would forever be making 
explanations. 

Amy was having a hard time not giggling over all the preparations everyone 
was busy with on her account. Daisy had made her wickedly and wonderfully 
beautiful, and Trevor had stood her in the center of the lounge where he and 
I pondered seriously about the elevation of Amy's bound hands. If we 
stretched her, she would loose some of the contours of nakedness. But if her 
hands were too low they would be untidy. We finally achieved a compromise 
where her hands were tethered just high enough above her head to be well out 
of reach of teeth but still give her a delightful posture. 

"Bring him on," she mocked us gaily. "I'm as good as sold." 

When the doorbell rang, it was Trevor who answered the summons. He had a 
quiet little smile I did not trust, and I soon discovered why. When he 
returned he was accompanied by James Bancroft. 

There was suddenly silence in the room. I know there were others in the room 
but I saw only him, and everything I felt for him came flooding back. 

"I see you're back where you belong. Gentian. Congratulations," he said 
evenly. "I hope you're very happy." 

"But you've got it all wrong," I stammered in distress. "I thought you 
were.. . I mean, I supposed you had been.. . " I broke off in confusion. 

"Gentian, keep quiet!" Trevor's voice was a command. 

"I couldn't find you." Jim was thinking out loud while his eyes devoured me. 
"I wanted to get you in to discuss the matter Mr. Tremond was concerned 
with. But you'd gone. I'd left you completely free and you'd taken advantage 
of that fact to make your escape. Trevor said you'd come back to The 
Retreat, and I see you have." He turned his attention to Trevor, his voice 
warm with friendship, "Nice little tunic you've got on her. She's a nice 
little slave girl when she not running away." 

I took a step towards the man I loved, the man who scorned me now, but 
Trevor's bark halted me. "Go and stand against the wall. Gentian. You can 
watch the proceedings but I don't want a word out of you. Understand?" 

I understood all too well. Angrily I flounced my way to the nearest wall and 
leaned against it. Trevor had chosen a humiliating stand for me, like a 
little girl told to stand in the corner and face the wall. Suddenly I was 
crying and covering my face with my joined hands in shame. Throughout all 
that followed I stood there, weeping and sniffing and using my hands and 
arms to dry my tears. Trevor would be chuckling silently at the contrast 
between myself and the girl to be sold, she was beautiful and I was simply a 
mess. I longed to do all sorts of dramatic things but did none of them. I 
was ashamed to say it but fear of the ducking stool still had that power 
over me. I watched through a blur of tears. I had thought Trevor had done 
Jim an injury, perhaps killed him. But the two of them were in complete 
accord and enjoying the bickering over Amy's price. These were two men to 
spoke the same language. I was chagrined that Jim finally agreed to a price 
greater than what he had paid for me, Trevor justifying the price by Amy's 
tractability and desire to please. He hinted that if Amy were inadvertently 
left free she would not immediately fly the coop. 

"Want to whip her first, Jim?" 

"Thanks, no, Trevor, I'll wait until I get her home." 

"It would do Gentian do a lot of good to see you give Amy an introductory 
thrashing." Trevor's tone was persuasive. 

"It would do me a lot of good to see you give Gentian a sound thrashing, 
Trevor." Jim's voice was loud with exasperation. "She fooled me, she really 
did!" 

The suggestion hit a responsive cord. Trevor had seen the love in my eyes 
and would hurt me in return. A few minutes later Amy's arms were down, her 
hands were now tied behind her back for delivery to her new owner, and I was 
put in her place. My braceleted hands were at the same height as hers had 
been, no doubt to give me enough leeway to kick and struggle against what I 
was now about to receive. I was relieved of the scanty skirt and panties but 
the vest remained, it left plenty of me uncovered for the whip. Trevor chose 
a cruel wand and, winking broadly at his guest, said, "Now I'll show you how 
this ought to be done." 

I longer to take my thrashing with cold contempt, I longed to not move and 
not scream. All I wanted to do was gaze deep into Jim's eyes and bestow all 
the reproach I felt. But a naked girl cannot best a whip, especially the 
whip Trevor had chosen for me. I was soon dancing like a puppet on a string 
and pleading for surcease. Once more I longed to die. 

It was Amy who purchased my relief. Piteously she turned to her new owner to 
plead, "Please, Master, ask Mr. Tremond to stop. It's hurting poor Genn 
terribly and she doesn't deserve it." 

Jim, surprised, focused on his new purchase. "Will you take her thrashing 
instead?" 

"Oh, yes, of course I will." Amy stated it as a fact of life. 

I was only dimly conscious of this exchange which came to me through the 
mists of agony. Trevor cut continuously and my body responded with gyrations 
I could not control. But Jim's voice came through loud and clear, "OK, 
Trevor, let's call it a day. The girl was hasty and so was I. You've given 
her a pretty good dose." 

My hands were lowered and untied. I was tossed the panties and skirt and 
fumbled with them awkwardly with joined hands. But no one offered to help 
and I felt like the outcast of the tribe as I sniffed my. "Thank you for 
whipping me, Trevor," then resumed my humiliation against the wall. 

"You've got her nicely trained, Trevor." Jim conceded in one last. 
unconscious effort to break my heart. 

Amy stood pertly to be bound. She and I both knew there was no need for the 
careful knotting of cords around her knees, ankles, and elbows. When Trevor 
started to complete the hogtie, Jim intervened, insisting he wanted his new 
purchase to sit beside him as he drove. She was very tightly and securely 
bound for such purpose. 

"OK, she's you property now," Trevor conceded hardily. "But you'd best watch 
her. I've never been completely sold on this loving to be tied up act of 
hers. She could be pulling a Sandy on us." 

They allowed Amy and I to kiss goodbye. Amy was tied too tight to offer more 
than her lips but I did the best I could until the men. with male 
impatience, separated us. "Bloody lesbians!" Trevor said with heavy humor. 
"You can't trust girls. If I was you, Jim, I'll stay with just a single. If 
you get a pair, they start nibbling away at each other as soon as your back 
is turned." 

Jim carried his slave girl to the car, Trevor and I accompanied him in a 
last farewell. I trailed along, feeling foolish, but remembering my role, a 
role much impaired by the whipping I had just received. I was grateful for 
the panties and skirt, my stripped skin would have looked ridiculous below 
the tiny vest. When we were back alone in the lounge Trevor revived the 
subject, "How about I give you the other half of that thrashing?" he asked 
with heavy, good humor. "Jim boy doesn't know how to handle you females." 

"If you wish. I can't stop you, Trevor," I said wearily but added, "I'd be 
ever so grateful if you wouldn't. That hurts something awful." 

"Can't you ever show a sign of life, why not get mad and belt me on the 
beak? Right then you sounded like a widow at the graveside. Damn it, girl, 
all I'm doing is telling you I love you and want to fuck you more than I 
want to fuck any other woman in the world! Is that so bad?" 

For once I unsuspecting did the right thing, with a tiny cry of anguish I 
flung myself against his massive chest, clutching hard where ever I could 
with braceleted hands and sobbing bitter tears against his jacket. Strangely 
his arms went around me, pressing me unto himself in a way he had never done 
before. This male reassurance was what I needed most but it did not stop my 
tears which were now of relief and gratitude. After a while I earned a laugh 
by blurting out, with a sob, "Thank you for not whipping me any more, 
Trevor. Oh, thank you, thank you." 

"Did I say I wasn't?" 

"Well.. . Not actually, but I thought.. . " 

Trevor loved me in a glorious male fashion with his arms and his lips and a 
questing knee up between my thighs. He was very masculine and very 
comforting. I could easily understand how poor, darling Modesty had adored 
the man. Perhaps men like Trevor Tremond are simply too big and virile to be 
satisfied with one girl for life! Modesty had gone her way and presumedly I 
would follow at some point in the future, but in the meantime I would be 
immensely happy to be thus owned. I would wear Trevor's bronze bracelets 
with pride. 

Later in the day, Daisy told me what Trevor had done to Modesty. 

I have crossed this same grass so many times, mostly with another girl, our 
legs ironed, our steps short and hobbled. But now my feet were free and I 
leapt toward the woodland and the park, spurred by a terrible premonition 
and Daisy's whispered confidence. The pond was the last place I wished to go 
but it was there I would find poor Modesty in a dire peril she did not 
deserve. The still, small stretch of water greeted me as though it had an 
eye which to see. The ducking stool was without a female body, I turned my 
attention to the cage on the other side of the water and a minute later was 
panting down through the bars at the features of Modesty Blair. 

"Oh, darling, I'm so glad it's you. When I heard the footsteps I thought it 
might be Trevor. Look what he's done with me!" 

I looked. The poor darling was crotched, knees up under her chin and her 
hands tied behind her back. Trevor had arranged her with a view of the pond 
into which she told me he intended to lower her sometime that evening. 

"He's really going to. Gentian, he told me so. He told me about how he would 
put me under the surface again and again so I would have something to think 
about while waiting. Oh, Gentian, can you get me out?" 

"I don't have a key, you know that." 

"Yes, you do." Modesty's voice was high with hope. "He's been too clever 
this time. Look over on the tree, there's a nail there and he's hung the 
keys there so I could look at them. You can get me out of here easily." She 
gazed up through the bars anxiously. "You will won't you? Oh, please.. . ! " 

If I thought of consequence I would be lost. I closed my mind to the 
potential results of my action and sped to the tree. It took a minute to 
unlock the three padlocks then she was free. I helped her rise stiffly from 
her overly long cramped captivity. It was a few moments before she could 
step out of her hated cage. We could not wait for the freedom of hands but 
kissed each other passionately where we stood. I was refusing to think of 
the punishments I would receive for what I had done, but Modesty's mind was 
leaping ahead. 

"Darling, we've absolutely got to escape. The man's crazy, he's not 
responsible, we've simply got to find some means of operating the control to 
the front gate." Modesty was breathless with excitement. "Never mind about 
us being naked or chained or anything else." She actually giggled. "Once 
we're out on the road someone will be sure to stop for a couple of naked 
girls." 

"But, darling, I can untie your hands, you're only bound with cord." 

"That's right, why don't you untie her hands. Gentian, my pet?" 

The male voice mocked. Trevor stood, a gigantic figure, holding a whip. 
Modesty and I stood in silent dismay, two delinquents caught in an 
unforgivable act. I wondered if he could hear my heart pounding painfully 
hard. 

"A hundred strokes, I believe, wasn't it? I mean, the penalty for attempting 
escape?" Trevor's tone was pleasantly conversational. He had us! 

We stood in mute desolation. I considered throwing myself at his feet in 
abject surrender and claiming all the blame for Modesty's release, but 
Trevor did not respond to the theatrical. And I was secretly wondering if 
this whole act had not been cleverly contrived, perhaps Modesty and I were 
doing exactly what he planned. 

"Well?" he barked at our silence. "Was it a hundred strokes or wasn't it?" 

"It was a hundred strokes," I admitted hopeless. "But a hundred would kill a 
girl, don't you understand, Trevor, you'll kill us?" 

"Oh, I'll watch out for that!" he assured us. "You two girls have got an 
interesting week ahead." He paused for effect. "But, Modesty, my dear, you 
can still correct the situation by getting back in that cage and asking me 
to padlock you in. How about it?" 

My instinct was to clutch her arm and tell her not to be so foolish but I 
suddenly realized the two punishments might be comparable. 

Perhaps some girls would prefer to go below the surface in the cage than to 
have the pain, the awfulness of a hundred strokes with a whip upon her bare 
skin. Examining myself, I wasn't so sure I should not plead for the ducking 
stool, the agony of which would be over much more quickly than the hundred 
blows with that whip he so carelessly held. But Modesty was way ahead of us 
both. Her question was firm, "If I get back in the cage, you'll forgive 
Gentian?" 

"Yes, I'll forgive Gentian. And you'll save yourself a hundred strokes." 

Modesty stepped back into the cage, she sat down and asked, unemotionally, 
"Please padlock me in, Trevor. Then do what you want with me." 

I could run away, Trevor had not secured me or even given an order, but it 
was something I could not do, I was held to that place by invisible chains 
of horror, sympathy, and a terrible curiosity. Trevor wasted no time, the 
controls were Fingered and the cage lifted from the grass and swung gently 
over the water to the full extent of the arm, it then began its slow and 
agonizing descent. I was able to watch the horror as the water crept up 
Modesty's naked and confined body, a horror reflected in her lovely face as 
it covered her pussy, her breasts, and then surrounded her neck. A moment 
later her anguished eyes had disappeared beneath the surface, her lovely 
ash-blonde hair floated for a few seconds upon the surface then were sucked 
under as the cage lowered farther. 

I had seen it before. But as the water covered all but the cable, I was 
gripped by the same fear and doubt and disbelief as to whether Trevor knew 
how much of this cruelty to impose upon the girl he had so dearly loved. I 
dared not plead. 

It followed the same agonizing sequence of a semi-drowning, of a watery 
death repulsed only at the last moment, to bring the soaked, chocking 
captive of the cage up into the air for a reprieve that would be all too 
brief. But, brief as it might be, Trevor would deem it sufficient, he would 
have no wish to leave the anguished girl above the surface long enough for 
her to gain the strength to plead. As I watched the cage and its lovely 
contents sink again and again below the surface, I felt myself in a 
nightmare and did the only thing I could think to do. I knelt at Trevor's 
feet and pleaded for his mercy. Strangely enough, he raised the cage and 
swung the huge arm in its half-circle to bring her to rest on the grass. 
Perhaps he would have done this anyway, I do not know. All I do know was my 
own pleas to, "Oh, Trevor, unlock her. Get her out of there, help her to get 
her breath back!" Then I stood to watch as he did all those things and 
brought Modesty Blair back to life. Modesty had suffered this to save me a 
hundred strokes and I would be eternally grateful. 

But it was not over. Trevor untied his former mistress' hands, clasp a 
handcuff on one wrist, then joined the two of us by forcing me to raise my 
hands over a convenient branch, then pulling Modesty's cuff up and securing 
it to my own bronze links. Thus we stood, Modesty with one bare arm upraised 
and I with both. There was no stretch or strain, but just a pretty pose we 
would be forced to hold. To make quite sure we preformed no gymnastics by 
which to free ourselves, he took another pair of handcuffs from his pocket, 
locked one cuff to Modesty's ankles and the other to mine. We were now as 
much prisoners to the tree as one of its own branches. 

Trevor waved his whip at us in a self-satisfied manner and went away. I was 
sure he designed that present punishment to force us to view the pond and 
the hated instruments by its shore. I had no hands to use but Modesty used 
her single free arm to put it around me and the two of us cuddled against 
the rough bark and as best we could against each other and wept in total 
surrender to a man we could never defeat. 

It was early evening when we were left alone. For now we were content to 
nurse our grief against each other's nakedness. Modesty had suffered 
terribly for me, but what good would it do! We had less freedom than ever, 
punishments hovered, and Modesty was still shivering in terror from her 
ordeal in the cage. Having fastened us as we were, there was no doubt Trevor 
had something else in mind. He had left us there to think. 

We explored the possibilities of our bondage. If our ankles had not been so 
joined, we might have been able to devise some way to free ourselves from 
the tree, we had no expectation of freeing ourselves from the handcuffs, 
they were on us to stay. But Trevor had done his work too well, we could 
twist and shift and even lower our arms within a small tolerance, but 
basically we remained two naked girls chained to a tree and there we would 
stay. 

"We'll never escape him, will we, Genn?" Poor Modesty was quite broken by 
her ordeal in the cage, her previous optimism flown. "Our only hope now is 
to be sold. Maybe he'll be mad enough to sell you, too. He won't forget your 
disobedience." 

Two ex-mistresses shackled to a tree! The sentence trickled through my mind 
with grim humor. Most certainly Modesty and I were two girls with little to 
look forward to. It is tiring to stand with your arms held above your head. 
Modesty and I indulged in frequent bouts of sniffles and self-pity. Two 
girls together can do much to help each other's morale, and we tried. 

Trevor left us against the tree all night. It was easy to imagine the pond 
eyeing us hungrily as we stood so close to it. If there was indeed a monster 
in the depths, now was his time. 

We could not sleep, we talked and talked until we could talk no more, and 
until the sound of a voice in the dark, silent night was an affront to 
whatever demons lurked beneath the trees. Perhaps the greatest affront of 
all was to be held so helpless by so little, a couple of steel circlets held 
us to Trevor's will. Even with the coming of morning and the sun. it was a 
frightening long time before we heard footsteps and tensed with hope. What 
we saw approaching was Trevor and a woman. 

"You wanted a bit of realism. Mrs. Benson." Trevor said easily. "Well, here 
it is. These two girls have misbehaved and are suffering the consequences. 
They're pretty well exposed so you can get a good view of them and please do 
ask questions." 

Mrs. Benson smelt of money. She was a handsome creature who might have been 
thirty-eight of forty. She wore jodhpurs and carried a riding crop but she 
was far too feminine to warrant the term "horsey." She examined us with 
bright interest. Her voice spoke of expensive schools. "Are you posing, 
dears, or has this terrible hunk of man really got you fastened?" 

We rattled our handcuffs and told her we hadn't a hope of getting free. She 
nodded, drinking us in, and then came out with a real honey. "They would you 
mind if I whipped you just a little, darlings?" 

It was just too damned much. We were tired and overwrought, and Modesty was 
still suffering the terrors of the cage. We clutched what we could of each 
other and shed tears on each other. Mrs. Benson watched with interest then 
commented, "My. my. are they always this easily brought to tears?" 

"They've been fastened here all night," Trevor told her gruffly. "I suppose 
I've been a bit of a bastard, but I wanted you to see my two diamonds in the 
rough, as it were. If you give these two girls a night's sleep and leave 
them alone with some make-up. you'll have a pair of beauties." 

"I can see that, I don't need make-up. But about that whip? Do you mind . . 
. ? " 

It was a bitter and hateful and needless addition to all the rest. I have to 
admit she did not whip us hard or cruelly, there was something almost 
artistic in the way she went about marking our skins, but Modesty and I were 
utterly depleted. To now get a woman with a whip instead of the release we 
had hoped for was all together too bitter a pill to swallow. We wailed 
dismally throughout, made no pretense of courage. We'd had a bellyful. 

"Very nice." The whipping stopped as abruptly as it had started. "I'd be 
interested in the two of them. You could play one girl against the other, 
you know, to marvelous advantage. The little dears become tremendously fond 
of each other in captivity, whereas, out on the street, they might not give 
each other the time of day. What are you asking for them?" 

We listened, we stared. Suddenly our hearts beat high with hope. Mrs. Benson 
was probably an ardent lesbian but, if her whipping was something to judge 
by, her chains or ropes or whatever else she used would be welcome in 
contrast to the overly tight, painfully harsh confines of The Retreat. The 
pond waited as silent and as expectant as ourselves. If no sale was made it 
might once again lay claim to our nakedness. 

"Why don't we go back to the house, Mrs. Benson, and discuss this over a 
drink?" Trevor was very friendly. 

"Nothing to discuss, I'll take em. But I've a quaint notion I'd like you to 
indulge me in, Mr. Tremond. But to make it practical these girls need sleep. 
If they've been standing like that all night, they're about played out. I 
want them fresh and bouncy. Can you fasten them so they can sleep through 
the day?" 

Could he ever! Fastening us was the least of Trevor's problems. In about two 
minutes flat he had Modesty's left ankle handcuffed to my right and my right 
to her left. The trouble was there was a tree trunk between us. It was only 
four or five inches thick but would hold us securely. But we were so damned 
grateful to lay down my made no protest. We simply went to sleep. 

It was early evening when Daisy woke us, we had slept nearly ten hours. She 
dealt with us by unlocking only one cuff. This enabled Modesty and I to do 
the things we needed to do and to sit up to eat and drink. When that was 
over, she fastened us again as we had been before, laying on our bellies and 
cradling our heads in our arms. It could have been much worse. 

"She's a widow and ever so rich and all the men want to marry her," Daisy 
told us. "Nobody knows what she's going to do with you, but at least you 
won't get dunked in the pond any more." She sighed a mournful sigh. "Gee, I 
wish I was going with you, I'd escape from her in no time flat." 

Our present condition made escape impossible but maybe sometime in the 
future, if this Mrs. Benson proved to be not so good as Daisy and Mr. 
Tremond.. . ? Alone again, I asked Modesty, "If she is lesbian, are you 
going to do what she wants us to do?" 

"Darling, we won't have any choice. She can make us do anything she wants 
simply by whipping us until we say yes. Or maybe she'll have some other 
horrible punishment like the pond. But be thankful we're getting away from 
Trevor, he's beginning to frighten me." 

"His love affair with me hasn't lasted too long," I complained. "He might 
just as well have left me with Jim. I'd sooner belong to Jim than this Mrs. 
Benson." 

"It was just his glands getting the better of him," Modesty said quietly. 
"You weren't nearly submissive enough for his taste. That's what he liked 
about me and why I lasted so long. I'm a natural submissive. I like a man to 
do things for me and to me. I love to obey. Anyway we're both in the discard 
so he'll have to kidnap himself another girl. 

Modesty had underrated our master. When he reappeared, Mrs. Benson was with 
him but also a giggling and radiant Daisy. Without greeting, Trevor used his 
sliver of steel to take the bronze cuffs from my wrist. Still warm from my 
flesh he clasp them upon Daisy's eager hands. They fit her as snugly and 
beautifully as they had fitted both Modesty and myself. The silly girl 
surveyed them with pure delight and came out with, "Oh, thank you, Mr. 
Tremond! Oh, gee. I'm a lucky girl!" 

Well, that got the problem of Trevor's glands looked after. I longed for the 
courage to tell him so with bitter words but I was in no position to be 
cute. Resting on my elbows I kept silent. 

Our walk back to the house was easily achieved by handcuffing Modesty and I 
together, wrist to wrist, and using a bit of rope on our necks. We really 
couldn't do much and didn't try. We were dispirited and without much hope. 
Trevor and Mrs. Benson talked the whole time, not about us but about the 
stock market. Daisy spent most of the trip admiring her lovely bronze. 

It was in the quiet of evening Modesty and I discovered the quaint notion 
Mrs. Benson had spoken of. It was one of those cute little carriages they 
use in horse racing were idiots get themselves up in imagine dress and hold 
a long whip. This one was different, it was designed for two horses, and it 
didn't take us long to realize who those horses were. They were Modesty and 
me! 

There was no hurry. It was a gala occasion with Daisy giggling in the wings 
and clinking her cuffs and Trevor, for once, helping out with something he 
couldn't believe. His, "Do you do this often?" was in genuine curiosity. 

"Of course, I've got a sizeable bit of land at Ashlands, but quite often in 
the night I'll take the little dears out on a public road. I'll be doing 
that this evening, so there's no rush. And anyway I want to get them 
properly fitted." 

Our "fitting" appeared to Modesty and I as regrettably simple. We were 
placed, one on each side of the pole, which they referred to as a "tongue." 
It was lifted to bring a crosspiece to where our wrists could be strapped. 
It was all good solid hardwood which pressed against our bottoms and was 
held there by our strapped wrists, palms up. in such a way that we could 
pull our new carriage with our mistress waving the whip. 

We were admired and commented upon as we stood there in a fresh 
helplessness. But this helplessness was only beginning. We were referred to 
now as "ponies," and we could sense that we would get about the same 
treatment as a young and spirited filly. Modesty and I exchanged glances and 
shrugged. 

Another crosspiece was fitted solidly to the tongue to embrace our tummies. 
There were the inevitable straps, which buckled around our waists to hold us 
even more captive but would make pulling the carriage easier. It was all 
very clever. 

"Hope you girls will enter into the spirit of this," Mrs. Benson said with 
bright cheerfulness. "By the way, you will address me as 'Mistress,' or, if 
you have been very good, you can call me by my proper name, which is Margot. 
Understand?" 

We assured her. in unison, of a dutiful understanding. We added a polite. 
"Thank you." The next thing was harness for our shoulders. It was a strap 
affair which crisscrossed between our breasts to a band immediately below 
them, its other ends going over and across our shoulders. It was buckled in 
back and from it ran long straps back to the carriage. I suspected its 
function was decorative. But it did not hurt. I was amused to see a growing 
admiration in Trevor's eyes. I could almost imagine he was regretting the 
selling of us. He could have purchased a carriage and had a lot of fun. 

Modesty and I moved restlessly and experimentally within and against our 
fastenings. It was a strange new sensation. Margot Benson no doubt 
considered it absolutely proper to extract two girls from their lives and 
convert them into a pair of youthful horses. And at the moment we were in no 
condition to contest that opinion. The straps were tight and accentuated our 
breasts to make them protrude attractively. Margot's voice held caution. 

"I hope you two girls are going to be sensible and not force me to use the 
whip? I can cut you to bits, y'know, every easily. And there's no way you 
can get out of that harness. Please be a well-behaved team of ponies so we 
may all enjoy ourselves." 

Modesty and I looked back to eye the whip in its little holder, its long 
length almost a banner in the wind. We just knew it would hurt and were sure 
Mrs. Benson knew how to use it. We meekly agreed we would be very well 
behaved ponies. 

By this time Trevor was almost watering at the mouth over us. But our 
assurances of good behavior were the last words we spoke for quite a time. 

The bridles were a surprise and a shock. We hadn't even dreamed of such 
refinement. In Margot's hands they seemed no more than a shapeless mass of 
leather straps. But fitted on our heads they took on a beauty of their own. 
They were very well made and must have cost a lot of money. Obedient to the 
command. "Open up, dear," I opened my mouth to accept shaped and shinning 
metal upon my tongue and a bit protruding from each side of my mouth with a 
tiny ring at each end. Tied to those rings were the reins by which commands 
would be transmitted from our mistress to ourselves. It did occur to me that 
she could have just as easily have spoken the commands, but it was now too 
late to make the suggestion, and I suspect it would have not been well 
received. As the soft leather tightened around my checks, across my head and 
around my forehead, and beneath my chin, I shook my head in disbelief and 
rebellion against this unfamiliar control. I was sharply told to keep still. 
As the busy fingers made the thing of leather and metal more and more a part 
of ME, it soon tightened to where I could dislodge nothing. I realized just 
how practical it was, not only for control but as a gag, too. It would even 
act as a tether to anything handy. 

Trevor's voice was almost reverent, "Marvelous effect, Mrs. Benson, let me 
congratulate you. Those bridles are a work of art." 

"Yes, aren't they. Took me a long time to get them just right. Can't have 
anything sloppy and at the start girls were forever getting the bit out of 
their mouths. They can't do it now." 

With the tightening of the last strap, Margot Benson climbed up into the 
seat and invited Trevor to join her for a turn around the garden. It was the 
very pit of penance for Modesty and I when Margot did the couple of clacking 
sounds, slapped the reins, and then flicked each of our bottoms skillfully 
with the buggy whip. Modesty and I looked at each other in dismay but 
stepped sharply forward. The harness by which we were secured proved its 
quality by a perfectly even stress on every part of us. 

It was frustrating, infuriating, everything a girl does not want. Modesty 
and I were almost shocked to discover the degree in which we were 
controlled. We could do nothing except what we were told and those commands 
were delivered by pressures on the steel bits in our mouths. There was also 
the whip to accent the commands. 

Even though to be converted into a ponygirl was a much easier ordeal than 
Trevor taking me to the pond, I was nonetheless furious at the indignity. My 
mind searched for some trick by which Modesty and I could overturn the 
carriage and perhaps break something by which we could gain freedom. It was 
a silly dream and quite impossible. Every bit of myself I flexed or twisted 
was completely controlled, I had no more hope of getting out of Margot's 
restraints than a canary had of getting out of its cage. For the first 
while, whenever a pressure was felt upon our lips. Modesty and I were 
inclined to throw our heads to that side for fear of hurt. But it was a 
woman who held the reins and her pressures were firm but feminine, she had 
done this before. We were in the hands of a Mistress! 

Our measured paces did not last long. There was some more clacking sounds 
and a couple for flicks of the whip to urge us to speed. Hating ourselves, 
we broke into the gentlest run we could contrive. The whole ensemble worked 
with precision so the carriage we propelled imposed no greater burden upon 
on part of our nakedness than another. Our hands were completely lost to us, 
strapped to the crosspiece behind our rumps. Another flick of the whip 
compelled us to abandon restraint. We broke into a trot and then a run so 
the whole thing bowled merrily along the driveway to the closed gate. 
Reaching it, the reins told us to turn around and do the same thing on the 
way back to the house. We were now panting but had no thought to disobey. 
There had never been two maidens less able to assert themselves. We were 
conquered, and I fleetingly remembered the term applied to horse, the word 
was "broken." Our breaking in had been without pain but was nonetheless 
implacable. Behind us on the seat, Margot and Trevor chatted pleasantly 
about our performance and suitable punishments for rebellion. It was all 
impossible, horrible, and not to be stood for. But we did stand for it and 
quite soon had the little carriage in brisk motion behind our fleeting legs. 
When Margot Benson announced herself satisfied with our performance, in fact 
delighted, she drew us up to a ring in the garage, and there we were 
tethered while she and Trevor went indoors for a nightcap. 

Once more humiliation had us in its grip. The tether were simply a length of 
rein with a snap on one end which clicked shut into the ring beside our 
mouth. Both tethers were then tied to the ring in the garage wall. Modesty 
and I stood, breathless and furious, without the slightest hope of freeing 
ourselves. We twisted and tugged in disbelief at being so helpless, and then 
gazed at each other in forlorn resignation, shrugged harnessed shoulders, 
and settled down to wait. We could not speak, we did try, but the result was 
just one added humiliation. 

Pinioned beside Modesty, each of us clothed in our own thought, I realized 
we could be much worse off. If this was the worse Margot Benson would 
subject us to, we'd be lucky. As yet, she had shown no signs of being 
whip-happy, or of bearing us malice because we were young and beautiful. It 
almost seemed impossible that we would be leaving The Retreat and escaping 
Trevor's disciplines. 

Forced to stand. Modesty and I tried to lean on each other but were foiled 
by the strictures around our waist, the best we could manage was to rub 
shoulders and strain against the straps to caress each other's cheeks. Being 
kidnapped had taught us much, we were still leaning. 

We were to start our journey to Ashlands by midnight. It was evident that 
Margot Benson had little to fear from any person encountered on the way. 
When Trevor came to view our departure, she lost no time in killing any 
hopes we might have cherished, "We won't meet a sole, darlings, not this 
time of night. And if we do, I can assure you nothing will come of it. Don't 
get your hearts set on a nice, easy escape, I've got you and I'm going to 
keep you. If you act up, you'll get the whip up between your legs." 

The gate to The Retreat opened by remote control then closed. There was a 
finality about it almost frightening. And yet. as the reins directed us down 
the road and the whip flicked us into a steady trot, I found an exhilaration 
in this silvery night of full moon, a new owner, and a new home. I had 
pretty well abandoned thought of escape from The Retreat and I gave it 
little chance now, the bit in my mouth laughed at escape and my bound wrists 
were mocked by the crosspiece to which they were fastened Whatever Ashlands 
held for us, we were on the way. 

It is not every owner of a pair of spirited fillies who can carry on a 
conversation as they trot down the highway. Modesty and I could not answer 
back but I suppose Margot didn't wanted us to. As the miles passed in a 
semi-blur of dark forest green and silver moonlight, she briefed us as to 
what we would find at Ashlands and what would be expected of us. 

"You'll be harnessed for a run almost every day, darlings, you'll be in top 
shape. 

"I insist on total obedience, anything less gets you whipped. 

"If I wish to make you available to any of my men guests, you'll be nice to 
them and do what they ask. If I get bad reports, it will be just too bad for 
you. 

"And, of course, you'll service me, darlings, whenever I give the word. And 
you'd better be good. If I find you need training, you'll get it!" 

It was not exactly encouraging. I had hoped she wasn't going to mention 
whips, but I suppose whips and slave girls go together. One good thing was 
that she hadn't mentioned a pond. 

Margot Benson treated us as she would have treated a pair of ponies, giving 
us a break on the hills, whipping us to speed on the downward slopes, 
resting us for a minute when our breathing became too labored. She prudently 
guided us from the main roads to lanes or across fields. Ashlands was a 
fifteen mile journey, and half way there we were given a rest and allowed to 
sink to our knees. It wasn't very comfortable nor much of a rest but better 
than nothing. The way we were fixed wouldn't let us sit down properly. 
Bitted and bound, we could not complain. It was a gorgeous night and I had 
to admit the exhilaration of motion took possession of us. After being bound 
and chained and hobbled for so long, this freedom of movement, instead of 
being punishment, was a delight. When Modesty and I got our second wind, we 
forgot our harnessed helplessness and were as good a pair of ponies as any 
autocratic woman could desire. The whip flicked at our bare skins just often 
enough to keep us, quite literally, "on the bit." When we arrived at 
Ashlands, Modesty and I were in far better shape that we had ever dreamed. 

The moonlight showed us a sprawling mass of masonry with a stable distant 
from the main house. It was to the stable our reins guided us. "Welcome 
home, darlings, I'm sure you're going to love it here. I'll just do a quick 
fix on you and we can all go to bed. You did very well on the journey and 
I'm pleased with you." 

The bridle harness upon our heads made argument impossible, Margot could 
hurt us bitterly with the greatest of ease. We were two tired and 
well-behaved ponies as we were led to our stalls. There wasn't much of a 
stable smell and the straw on the floor was fresh. Our disposal was simple, 
our hands had been handcuffed behind our backs as we were unhooked from the 
carriage. On arrival at the stall, a chain and padlock was raised to the 
back of the harness at our necks and snapped firmly shut. I watched this 
done to Modesty and I watched her hands freed of the cuffs. I was then taken 
to the next stall and similarly treated. The door of the stall was slammed 
shut and a silvery, feminine voice bid us, "Sleep tight, darlings," before 
Margot Benson went to the big house and left her ponies safe for the night 
or, for that matter, for life. 

My first response was elation, my hands were free, my feet were free, in 
fact all of me was free except my head. But when I tried to do something 
about the bit and all the connecting straps, especially the one around my 
neck, I discovered the padlock had not only connected the whole thing to a 
solidly anchored chain but also acted to prohibit interference with the 
harness. Margot Benson was absolutely right, I was fixed! I was also alone 
and very tired, I lay down on the straw and went to sleep. A girl does not 
sleep late when her mouth is full of bit and her cheeks and neck and head 
strapped and locked tight in leather and metal. I awoke in alarm, wondering 
where the hell I was before the stall took shape and form. A stall is 
designed to hold a horse in relative freedom, it can move around without 
getting out. That was my case, except that I wore the bit and from it a 
chain. I experimented and discovered that the chain would allow me to peek 
over the top of the door. The doors were four or five feet of wood and above 
that stout iron bars. The chain from my neck was padlocked to the outside 
brick wall, it would be an additional safeguard if someone opened the door 
or forgot to close it. I spent the next hour trying to rid my head of 
leather and steel without success. 

When I heard Modesty stir in the next stall, I thrust my hand, gloriously 
free, through the bars and wiggled it for her to grasp. It was all we could 
do, we could not speak and such noises as we could utter through the bit 
were shameful. 

It was about an hour later the door to the stall opened to reveal a teenage 
boy, about seventeen at the most. About him were the marks of the 
aristocrat, a superciliousness all his own. He surveyed me without surprise. 
"My, my, the Mater has outdone herself this time, you're a beauty!" 

My visitor was presumedly Margot's son. I started to tell him of my 
kidnapping and also plead for release but I could not speak. I started at 
him, wide-eyed, and wondered if I might ever communicate again. 

"I knew Mother was getting a couple of new girls but I didn't expect 
anything as good as you." He spoke with total assurance as though unaware of 
my nakedness and his juvenile status. "My name is Nigel. You won't mind if I 
fuck you?" 

I minded a lot but could not tell him so. The idea of ravishment in the 
straw in a stable stall lowered my social status even farther than it was. 
Instinctively I backed against the wall. Nigel laughed, he had a delightful 
laugh and told me not to be a silly girl but to accept the inevitable with 
good grace. "I could get a riding crop," he pointed out reasonably. "But why 
make me do that? If I start lacing that pretty skin you'll lay down soon 
enough." 

I was sure he was right but I was not going to give in without a fight. When 
he entered the stall I made a leap for the door, quite forgetting the 
tether. It jerked me back painfully, and before I could rearrange myself, 
Nigel had me exactly where he wanted. I suppose there is a time in the rape 
of any girl when she realizes it is no use fighting any more. That is the 
way it was for me then, I spread my legs and closed my eyes and was thankful 
it was not my first time. 

When Nigel had performed a most competent job on me (and I must say he was 
no slough), he rose to his feet, rearranging himself and paid tribute, 
assuring me it would not be the last time and I was a lucky girl to have him 
to look forward to. He then went to the next stall and, judging by the 
sounds, did to Modesty exactly when he had done to me. 

Nigel had carelessly left my door open. The sight of this portal to freedom 
was simply too much. I didn't make another run for it but I went as far 
through the door as my chain tether allowed. It was not very far, no where 
near as far as needed to allow me to peek in on Modesty and Nigel, but it 
did allow me far enough into the stable to be there in view when Margot 
Benson came from the house. The open stall door told her what I could not. 

"That young blighter of mine having it off with Modesty?" she demanded of me 
without anger. "Just nod or shake your head, sweetheart, I know you can't 
talk." 

I nodded my head. "Well, he doesn't usually take long, so we won't disturb 
them. I forgot to tell you about Nigel. Nigel is something you girls have to 
put up with. He has carte blanche to screw you anytime he feels like it, and 
at his age that's often enough, believe me." 

I nodded again as though to indicate my agreement that anyone as virile as 
Nigel should be at liberty to rape his mother's Stable, but I was 
remembering Trevor and me in bed back at The Retreat. With Nigel in the 
picture, I wished I was still back there. 

Margot grasped a handful of my sex, nodding in confirmation. "The boy's had 
you already, sweetheart, so let's get that bridle off you while we're 
waiting. Hold out your hands." 

Thankfully I obeyed. The handcuffs felt familiar, and I had to expect 
something of the sort. Margot shouted over the partition, "When you're 
through with her, Nigel, tie the girl's hands and bring her up to the house. 
We'll bath them and give them a civilized breakfast. If you let her get 
loose, I'll murder you." 

While Margot dealt with my gag with its multitude of straps, she told me 
forcibly that I might as well be sensible about my hands. Sure, she could 
have cuffed them in back, but she was taking me to bath and to breakfast and 
assumed I had enough sense not to make any stupid moves. When the sled came 
away from my mouth, I gulped one of the most sincere thank yous of my life. 
The walk up to the house was a delight in the dewy English morning. I 
considered making a run for freedom but couldn't see a hope of success. And 
since Margot wanted to talk, it behooved me to listen. 

"I ought to do something about that twerp, Nigel," she confided cheerfully 
as we walked across the grass. "But I think it's good for the boy to have 
freedom with my ponygirls. helps him grow up, helps him get it out of his 
system. If he's mean to you, just let me know." She surveyed my nakedness 
approvingly, "You're a lovely girl and the way you wear those handcuffs 
tells me something, you've worn them before. I'm glad you're not making a 
run for it. All it would have got you was a punishment. Get freedom out of 
your mind, I'll never give you the faintest chance." 

Modesty and I shared the big bath, it was a sheer delight. After our 
exertions of the night and our sleep upon the straw, we smelt strongly of 
girl. We used the scented soap and hot water lavishly. Breakfast brought the 
next surprise. 

Since Margot had a son there was no reason she should not have a daughter. 
The moppets name was Twinkle and she was wdl ahead of us at the buffet. She 
was also sulky. "Oh. Mother, they're simply gorgeous! But you let Nigel get 
at them first, it's not fair." 

"This is ray daughter. Theodora, we prefer to call her Twinkle.'" Margot 
Benson introduced us formally "My children fight continually so after 
breakfast I'm going to divide you. Twinkle gets one and Nigel gets the 
other." She laughed at our concern. "Don't worry, darlings, I have priority 
over both my children where you are concerned. But you had better obey the 
little brats." 

"But. Mummy, if I've got one and Nigel has the other, he'll forever wanting 
to use mine. He be wanting to 'you know what' to her." 

'There's nothing to stop the two of you lending your girl," Margot 

Benson told her offspring pleasantry. "Really, you do make such a fuss." 

Modesty and I exchanged frequent glances as our handcuffed hands busied 
themselves with food. It was really a delightful breakfast and a delightful 
home. Even Nigel and Twinkle might have been delightful under different 
circumstances. As though reading my thoughts, the Mistress of Ashlands 
suggested gently, "Don't worry yourself. I'll keep an eye on things. My two 
darlings aren't going to kill you or plant a brand on your bottom. I want 
you to be happy here, except for those time when you're being punished. We 
do so love punishing girt, it's such fun!" 

It was hard to relate the friendliness of breakfast with our present 
condition. Except for being naked and handcuffed. Modesty and I were treated 
with much kindness and invited to share in the general conversation. The 
maid who served must have seen enough handcuffed girls before, she didn't 
raise an eyebrow. 

It was all crazy! I watched Modesty led away by her teenager master who, by 
now, was probably ready to ravish her again. I lent my bps to the warmest of 
kisses from Margot Benson and was then suddenly alone with my new teenage 
mistress, a girl who was probably sixteen and knew too much for her age. 
But. despite misgivings, we were two girls together and sharing all the 
things girls shared. Twinkle took me to her bedroom, stood on a chair, and 
ordered me to raise my arms to have the handcuffs snapped fast to a ring in 
the wall above my head. I stood there, naked, to await her pleasure. 

"I'm going to show you around Ashlands. darling, but we don't know each 
other so I'm not going to trust you." Twinkle informed me cheerfully. "I do 
hope you understand about these things." 

I assured her I did understand about such things, that I'd been a prisoner 
long enough to know how to behave. Hopefully, I added. "I know you won't 
give me a chance to escape, but you don't have to be mean to me to make me 
behave." 

"Well, anyway, today I want some control over you, darling." The moppet 
mused thoughtfully. "There's a cute little thing I've thought up and it 
doesn't hurt that much, unless you make it hurt. Open up your legs." 

I did as I was told. My arms were not stretched too high so I was able to 
bend forward and get half a view of what was rating place. 

Twinkle's device for keeping me in line was classically simple, a ring, open 
at one end, a tiny thumbscrew to close the jaws upon whatever was desired, 
in this case the lips of my pussy. I stood breathless, fearful of real 
agony, while my juvenile mistress busied herself with closing the jaws on my 
tender part. She stopped just before they reached a point of real pain. A 
short leash was snapped on the ring and my new owner rose erect, pink 
cheeked, eyes alive with mischief. She tugged gently to make me gasp. 

"Isn't it wonderful. Gentian, all I have to do is tug and you'll do anything 
I say. You will, won't you?" 

I made a vow of obedience. With this device the little so-and-so had me safe 
and sure. All I had to do was make sure I didn't fight. Twinkle wrapped the 
tether around her hand while she took my hands down and unlocked them. They 
were quickly re fastened behind by back. "Just for this time, Gentian, we 
don't know each other and its best to be safe. You'll enjoy our walk all the 
more for not having to think about escape." 

The little so-and-so was absolutely right, I knew this from past experience. 
I fingered the cuffs on my wrists and knew I could not slip out of them. And 
the tiny burn on the lips of my pussy were not enough to worry about. I said 
thanks and that I was sure I'd enjoy our morning. Everything was crazy, I 
might as well be crazy, too! 

Ashlands was worth seeing. It would have been a show place had it not be for 
its owner's tendency to keeping naked girls around. In a quivering whisper, 
Twinkle confided, "I do so love to have a naked girl. Girls are so 
beautiful. I still have to get a few curves but I'll show myself to you 
quite soon, maybe the first time we make love. Mummy says I'm too young to 
that do, but she knows perfectly well that's what I'll do. Have you been 
whipped lots and lots and put in dungeons?" 

Twinkle was easy to talk to. I found myself telling her of how I had 
wandered into The Retreat and what had taken place afterwards. As an 
additional touch of romance I told her of Jim Bancroft and about the stern 
qualities of Trevor Tremond. She lapped it up in pure delight, especially 
the awfulness of the pond. I am quite sure I gained in stature in her eyes 
by my tribulations. As though asking if I would like some candy, she sweetly 
inquired, "Would you like me to whip you. Gentian? I do you think its the 
nicest way for two girls to get to know each other." 

Figure it! My hands were behind my back and my every motion controlled by 
the clamp upon my sex. As cheerfully as I could manage I said, "Not really, 
I'm not sure any girl likes to be whipped. But if it gives you pleasure. 
Twinkle, I won't complain." 

We were well out in the park when she asked the question. Here and there 
were trees. Twinkle led me to one of the slender trunks and there attached 
my tether. From a nearby bush ! he broke off a couple thin branches and 
stripped them. "All you have to do is stand still, darling. Be careful of 
that cord I've got on you. If I were you, I'd press my forehead against the 
tree and stick out my bottom while you lift your hands so I don't hit them, 
too. Don't worry. Gentian darling, it will soon be over." 

How crazy can two girls get! I found myself doing everything suggested. The 
fact is I was deathly scared of that clamp on my pussy and the tether cord. 
I could not bare to think of being torn down there. Breathless and 
expectant, I awaited pain. 

It came swiftly. Stripped switches are horrible instruments on bare skin. 
But Twinkle was evidently an expert. While I tried to hold still and not to 
make too many shaming sounds, she beat my twin cheeks with skill and 
judgment. It hurt like crazy but I wouldn't be cut and. if she didn't 
persist too long, I would emerge without trauma. My forehead was almost 
burying itself into the trunk in its efforts. 

It seemed to last forever the way whippings always do but Twinkle had been 
right, it was soon over and I just had to stand and pant and take my 
forehead from the bark, my joined hands striving to explore by burning 
bottom. A pile of broken and shatter twigs lay on the ground. Without 
warning. Twinkle grabbed my sex, ring and all, and squeezed experimentally 
to accuse, "See, darling, you're all wet, you love being whipped, don't 
you?" 

"All girls get wet when they're whipped." 

"Not like you have. Of, darling, I'm so pleased!" 

I cursed my secretions. If Twinkle was pleased with this, then most 
certainly I would be whipped often. The thought ran through my mind, "What 
else are bottoms for?" but I kept it inside. 

"And your nipples have gotten ever so big and hard, darling." Twinkle was 
eyeing my breasts. Her fingers rose to caress them and I was instantly 
panting. She laughed delightedly at my instant response and inquired, "Did 
you know Mommy whips me, too? I get whipped whenever she thinks I need it. 
So I know what its like and every time 

I whip you I'll know exactly what you're feeling and I'll sort of feel it, 
too. Oh, wow. darling! You and I are going to have so much fun." 

I'll never know what made me do it, but I leaned forward and kissed Twinkle 
on the forehead, a sisterly sort of kiss. I was instantly ashamed at what 
I'd done. 

"Why, darling, that was so sweet! And after I'd just whipped you! You see, 
it's like I said, two girls together have so much more fun that men ever 
have. I'm going to pinch your lips and then your nipples. I should have done 
it before but I've been so excited." 

I flowered into orgasm under the attention, just as Twinkle had known I 
would. She made me gasp and moan and twist with expert finesse. Twinkle then 
came up with, "Would it surprise you, darling, that Mommy allows Nigel to 
whip me if I've been mean to him? And I can whip him if he's been mean to 
me? It's awful being whipped by your own brother, I hate it!" 

"But he can hurt you, he can hurt you horribly!" I exclaimed. 

"Well.. . I suppose he could, but Mommy stands and sort of referees. She 
won't let either of us go all out or too far. Darling, I'm going to hate 
lending you to him, but he's bound to want you. If I were a man, I'd want 
you, too." 

We left it right there. But, by this time, enough of a rapport had sprung up 
between Twinkle and me to make me ask the inevitable. "Twinkle, darling, 
after you've had lots of fun with me, would you please let me go? I mean, 
put be outside the grounds on the public road so I can go back to my former 
life." 

I knew right away I'd made a mistake. Twinkle's face clouded as she soberly 
informed. "Oh, darling, I should have warned you not to ask that. Girls 
always ask, and to cure them of asking, Mommy punishes them terrible. I'm 
suppose to report you and then she'll whip you for real. She whipped me once 
like that and I don't every want it again, it just curls you up inside. The 
pain is terrible. If I don't report you this time, will you promise to never 
ask again?" 

I sighed, it was like being captive in a huge, loosely held net. I twisted 
against the cuffs and compressed my thighs so I could feel the ring by which 
I was controlled. 

"I really am terrible sorry. Gentian, but that's the way it is." Twinkle was 
eyeing me sympathetically. "I mustn't ever let you escape or give you the 
faintest chance. Please tell me you understand?" 

I told her, yes, I understood. I was utterly mortified by being totally 
within the control of this sparkling-eyed moppet. But there was nothing I 
could do to assert myself and there never would be. I was captive now. and 
obedient to relatively tiny bits of metal, and I was likely to stay that 
way. Anyone can pluck a girl out of her life and hold her captive forever by 
using these little gimmicks on her flesh. I mean, what else is a pair of 
handcuffs but a gimmick! They're a notched cuff and a ratchet. I've seen 
imitation ones in toy shops. There were made of light aluminum but made the 
same clicking sounds and looked surprisingly like the real thing. But the 
real thing was cold, shinning steel and needed a special key. When I thought 
of it. I could have screamed in frustration. As for the tiny clamp on my 
puss, it was purely ludicrous but, fixed the way I was, there was no way I 
could rid myself of its grip. Touched by despondency I thought aloud, 
"Twinkle, I can see your side of it and you're a lucky girl. But can you see 
it from my point of view? I've been taken out of my life and I'm held naked 
and chained, caged or bound, for the amusement of others. I don't have 
anything to say about anything. Do you think that's right?" 

"Yes, darling, isn't it wonderful!" Twinkle's eyes were bright with 
understanding. "It's so beautifully simple, I belong to the privileged class 
and you don't. I think it's always been that way. But what makes it hard for 
you is the change. You changed from what you call freedom into what you now 
see as slavery. But, Gentian dear. Mommy and Nigel will make things so 
lovely for us, you'll forget that other." She was suddenly an earnest little 
girl. "Nigel will screw you, and you and I will get up to all sorts of 
tricks, and you know what Mommy will have you do.. . ! I'll bet you could 
never have afforded to live in a place like Ashlands while you were free." 

I must truly have looked dejected. Twinkle was spurred to ask, "Darling, you 
do look down in the dumps. Would you like me to whip you a little more, just 
to cheer you up?" 

"No. thank you. I'll try to cheer up myself. By the way, where is Nigel and 
Modesty, we haven't seen them?" 

Twinkle giggled, "You ask such silly questions, Gentian. I don't know where 
they are but I'm pretty sure I know what they're doing. Nigel hasn't ever 
been given a girl for a present before so he'll be using her steady at 'you 
know what.'" 

"But they can't do that all day long!" 

"Nigel can, for a day or two. I don't know much about men but I think they 
eventually have to stop for a rest, don't they?" 

Twinkle was so sweetly naive, so wickedly wise. Twinkle was a adult child, 
if such thing is possible. Striving to match her mood. I inquired, "What 
have you got to show me next. Twinkle-or am I suppose to call you Mistress 
or something?" 

"Call me anything you like, darling, call me Miss Benson if that sounds 
right to you." Twinkle chuckled as she knelt to examine and then to tighten 
the clamp between my thighs and then to turn me around to make the same 
check upon my wrists. I considered landing a hardy kick to catch her off 
balance but it was something I could not do. I couldn't hurt Twinkle, no 
way! 

"I got something to show you in a minute but first of all there's a little 
notion I want you to be sweet about." She reached inside her frock and 
pulled out a couple little metal objects I was not sure about. "Do you know 
what these are?" 

When Twinkle compressed them to open small, cruel jaws I recognized their 
use instantly. "They're to put on a girl's nipples. Oh, Twinkle, please 
don't put them on me. Please . . . ! " 

"I want you to wear them, just a little while, as we walk on to what I want 
to show you next," she said with the total assurance of being obeyed. "The 
pain will be good for you, it will tell you how much you belong to me. Now 
please stand still and don't be silly." 

The tether on my lower lips had tightened, I could not back away. My hands 
were useless. I stood still and naked in an unhappy realization of how this 
youngster possessed me. I gazed down at what Twinkle was opening and closing 
experimentally and said, "Please don't put those things on me, I've been 
good and don't deserve them. I don't want to be punished and I'll bet those 
things hurt a girl something awful." 

Twinkle playfully frictioned a nipple, at the same time tightening the leash 
as a warning. She then raised the little jaws and indulged in a studious 
exploration of just where to allow the jaws to close upon my nipple. She 
explained that it hurt much more upon the tip and less upon the base. What 
she would strive for was to "get it just right" and io have it sticking 
straight out so it would bob jauntily as I walked. When she allowed it to 
close as she desired I could not hold back a moan of anguish, the bloody 
thing hurt like hell. Twinkle repeated the performance on my other nipple, 
tugged my leash gently and I found myself walking beside her with these two 
metal demons pointing straight ahead and bobbing merrily with each step. The 
pain was bitter and I wanted to cry. 

"Do you feel terribly helpless. Gentian? I mean, when I put those on your 
nips, you couldn't do a thing about it, could you?" 

"No, I couldn't do a thing and I am helpless, I'm so terribly helpless I 
want to cry." 

"I thinks that's terribly sweet, dear. And I do understand the way you feel. 
But I want you to feel that way. Cheer up. Gentian, I'm going to give you 
the most marvelous surprise." 

I was more concerned with pain and shame than scenery, but when my tether 
commanded me to stop I did, and there, sure enough, was something I did not 
believe. Naked and bound fast against a tree was the exquisite loveliness of 
Margot Benson. 

8 

Mistresses and Master 

I stood and stared, the pain on my breasts forgotten. The bound woman was 
quietly smiling as though in reverie, seemingly oblivious to our presence. 
The moppet who held my leash was obviously waiting for me to say something. 
But it was the mistress of Ashlands who broke the shocked silence. 

"Hello, Gentian, dear, I see my daughter is being cruel to you." The lovely 
voice trailed away. 

I drank in the incredible, well aware of factors beyond my knowledge. 
Something strange went on m Ashlands and I was now involved. Stupidly, I 
exclaimed. "That's your mother. Twinkle, untie her quick!" 

Nothing happened. Realizing I was being played with, I took stock of the 
bound beauty imprisoned by the tree. Whoever had tied Margot Benson to the 
tree had done a truly marvelous job, she could scarcely move and some of the 
cords must have hurt. Ashlands had been both artistic and unkind. There was 
no tender crevasses of her femaleness overlooked. A cunning cord was 
strictured within every possible part of her femininity. Only one thing was 
left unbound, her truly lovely breasts. Cords were tightly wound above and 
in between but her breasts were inviolate and protruded in my direction like 
pointing cannon. Margot had two of the loveliest breasts I had ever seen. 
Her pubic patch blazoned black but was bisected by cords which, as far as I 
could see, entered her pussy before traveling on to damp her loins securely 
against the bark. There was even a couple more strands circling her neck as 
though in additional admonition of authority. 

"Do I look beautiful, darling?" He gaze was fixed upon me. 

"Beautiful." 

Margot's eyes flitted to the girl who held my leash. "How much longer have I 
got, darling?" 

"Oh. hours and hours. Mommy. I'm sure you know.. . ? " 

"Well, yes, I suppose. But now Gentian has had a good look, you can untie 
me, you have my permission."" 

"Oh, Mommy, you know I can't do that!" Twinkle placed a silencing finger 
upon maternal lips. "You know the rules." 

"Very well, you little monster. I'll suffer." 

"No you won't. Mommy, you'll love every moment. Do you want me to tighten 
anything?" 

"How long has poor Gentian been wearing those nipple dips?" 

"Oh, gosh, I forgot." Youthful fingers flew to my breasts and I gasped in 
agony as the metal jaws released my nipples. I had never been so glad to get 
rid of anything in my life. "There, is that better. Gentian dear." The young 
voice was anxious. 

"I've warned you about forgetting punishments. Twinkle. You'll bend over for 
me this evening." 

"Yes, Mommy, of course. I really am sorry." 

The exchange was for my benefit, I could not doubt it. Ashlands was a nut 
house. I spoke to the woman bound to the tree, "Margot, you must be mad to 
let your children do this to you Think of the things they can get up to 
while you're helpless. I can't offer to untie you, I'm helpless." 

Twinkle was shocked, she tugged my leash enough to hurt and admonished 
severely, "Surely you don't think that of Nigel and me. We wouldn't think of 
disobeying Mommy, least of all when she's helpless." 

"You've just disobeyed her request to be let loose." 

"That's according to the rules. Mommy just asked that in order to show you 
how strict the rules are." her voice chided me "That's the difference 
between people like the Bensons of Ashlands and the Hoi Polloi. We have 
standards and we stick to them." 

I recognized I was possessed by a segiiieul of British aristocracy who's 
Code I did not know. Unwisely and in irritation, I said. "I'm sorry. 

I don't know about these things. I'm just a lower-class working girl. You 
know the kind-never had a slave girl. 

"Give her five strokes. Twinkle dear, she was damned sarcastic," said the 
Mistress of Ashlands. 

It was too absurd. The bound and naked woman, totally helpless, could 
command my punishment and I would receive it as though Mrs. Margot Benson 
was totally free and fully clothed. In a matter-of-fact sort of way, Twinkle 
attached me to a tree the way she had before and went in search of switches 
with which to punishment me. From within her own bonds, Margot advised, "You 
really must watch your tongue. Gentian dear. Just five strokes this time 
because I can see Twinkle's already given you a few. You'll soon pick up the 
dos and don'ts." 

Feeling I hadn't much to loose, I managed to turn enough to stare at the 
woman who had purchased me. I said, apologetically, "Don't you understand, 
Margot, how I feel about all this? I've managed to adjust to being 
imprisoned and bound and ordered around by two children, but this business 
of you being naked and tied to a tree is out of this world. You'll have to 
forgive me, it doesn't make sense." 

Twinkle had returned in time for her mother's fresh command, "You can give 
Gentian ten instead of five. She really must learn the proper things to 
say." 

"Shove your forehead against the bark, darling, you're not going to like 
these." Twinkle's tone was sympathetic. 

She was right, I did not like them! These strokes on my bare skin were not 
designed to give me a wet puss but simply to give pain, a pain and 
punishment I would remember. Once my cuffed hands slipped down to comfort my 
wounds but the switch bit across my knuckles and I was told the count would 
start over. By the time the two switches were shredded and discarded I was 
sobbing quietly in total disarray. When the final stroke had cut and burned 
itself into my skin, I said an abject, "Thank you. Twinkle." Then, as an 
afterthought, I looked back over my shoulder at Margot's bound figure and 
added, "Thank you, too, Mrs. Benson." 

Their "you're quite welcome, dear" came in unison. Everything was nuts and I 
let my tears flow, not so much from the hurt of being whipped but from the 
strange solitude of a stranger captivity. 

It appeared the "pony" fiction would be maintained through my second night 
at Ashlands. I had seen Modesty at dinner over which Margot Benson presided 
as though having spent a normal day. But Modesty and I could make no 
exchange in front of the family. We were reassured by each other's normalcy, 
but that was all. Nigel looked at my breasts far too often for my peace of 
mind, promising an unspoken, "I'll get you yet, Gentian." 

Two naked girls, handcuffed, the rest of the company clothed and normal. 
Daphne, the maid, smiled sweetly and served. I had a premonition that Daphne 
and I meet somewhere in the future. When she met my eye, she winked in 
unspoken promise. 

I was bedded down, if that's the proper term, for the night by the most 
youthful of my two mistresses. The stall with its straw was just the same as 
was the beastly bridle with its tethering chain and padlock. I stood, 
handcuffed and fuming, while leather and steel was deftly fitted upon my 
face and head and within my unwilling mouth. The tightening of the buckles 
in this procedure held a venom all its own. The steel in my mouth robbed me 
of speech but Twinkle did the talking. 

"I'll take my clamp off your pussy, darling, but I'm going to leave your 
hands handcuffed in front. I like the effect and you won't be using them 
anyway, so I'm sure you won't mind." She fitted the padlock in place and 
snapped it loudly shut. "There we are, darling, you're nice and safe, you 
can't get away. But you can have the loveliest sleep." 

She pretended to cock one ear to listen. ' T don't know whether Nigel's got 
you Modesty next door or not. When he's plowing away at a girl he doesn't 
always make much noise, but for all I know he may have her up in his bed at 
the house. It will take him a day or two to work off steam before he starts 
doing other things to the poor girl. He has the damnedest notions. But as 
long as he doesn't injure. Mother won't stop him. I suppose it's much the 
same with Mother and me. There's a whole list of things I'm not allowed to 
do with you. Good night, dear." 

She made the heavy door thud dramatically and locked it with the maximum 
sound possible. I heard her footsteps recede and the stable door close. This 
time I could explore my bit and harness but with hands joined by steel. It 
did not matter, the result was just the same. I was a make-believe pony, 
bitted and haltered, and hobbled, if you counted my handcuffs. I was not as 
weary as the night before. I sat on the straw and thought. I had a lot to 
think about. 

I had managed to get Jim Bancroft out of my mind but now he returned as I 
mourned the events by which we had been separated. It seemed so long ago. 
But Twinkle raised a fresh hope. She had been intrigued by the romantic 
aspects of the blonde boy possessing me so briefly before my return to 
enslavement. Jim Bancroft actually "rated" in the Ashland's calendar and 
there would be social functions in which I might actually meet my former 
owner and converse with him. Twinkle has quickly assured I would be securely 
chained so my knight in shinning armor could not romp home with me. Twinkle 
had dangled it before my eyes as a possibility. 

Considering Jim, my pulse quickened. His possession of Amy did not mean he 
was married or pledged or beyond my reach. Perhaps if I got to talk to him I 
could persuade him to do something about my present captivity. A little 
transaction between aristocrats in which a girl changed hands might not be 
beyond possibility! On the other hand, for him to see me as I was right 
now.. . ! I pictured the door opening and his viewing a naked maiden 
securely chained and unable to utter a sound. That would hardly be helpful 
to my cause. My next thought was of escape. When I considered a mother, two 
children, and one maid in a big, old house it seemed incredible that sooner 
or later a chance would not present itself. Or perhaps I should make that 
chance! I doubted I could get the best of Margot, or even Twinkle. But Nigel 
was still an unknown quantity. I had to suppose that if Modesty had found a 
weakness in his amour, she would have exploited it by now. But I had not 
been able to talk with her and didn't know what was happening. 

The strange thought crossed my mind that I should be thankful to Trevor 
Tremond. His manhandling of me and repeated ravishing had made me used to 
intercourse and that had taken the edge off my morning rape by Nigel. If 
Nigel was as carnal as his sister indicated, then surely I could persuade 
him into some situation in which I could plea for my freedom. Yes! Nigel 
would be my best bet and I would lay in wait for him. 

It showed how much I had become used to being a prisoner that it was third 
on my list. With imprisonment went punishment but it was evident I had 
fallen into possession of a zany family who delighted in making each other 
captive by some esoteric rules of their own and, unsatisfied with family 
ties, no pun intended, had reached out and diverted Modesty and I into their 
games. I looked around the stall in which I sat and realized I would be more 
comfortable in the prison cell of a jail but knew, also, I would not wish to 
make such an exchange. Ashlands treated its captive maidens very much as 
loved but delinquent children who must be punished often for their own good. 
I had gotten a sore bottom today and no doubt would get it on some other 
tender place tomorrow. But punishments such as these could be lived with if 
only there was nothing worse . . . ! It was about then I heard the voices. 

"Oh, Nigel, must you put me in this rotten stable again tonight!" It was 
unmistakably Modesty's voice. 

"Of course, it's a good place for you and I'm absolutely screwed out. I 
couldn't possibly take you to bed." 

"But couldn't we just sleep together? I mean, we don't have to do anything.. 
. " 

"Aren't you forgetting your status, Modesty, my pet? Sometimes you come 
awful close to giving orders and forgetting who you belong to." 

"Sorry, Nigel, I didn't mean to. Look, you've got me handcuffed now and you 
can tie me up any way you want in bed. Nigel, dear, I don't want to sleep on 
that rotten old straw again." 

My heart leaped, Modesty was in good form and going strong. From his voice, 
I could tell Nigel was on the verge of trusting her. Perhaps not tonight or 
tomorrow, but sometime.. . ! I was on the verge of calling across the wall 
for him to come and sleep with me when I realized I could not utter a word. 
I clinked my chain to let them know I was here but that was all. 

"That was Gentian we heard," Modesty's voice came again. "Why can't you let 
me share her box or she come in her with me? It wouldn't hurt you to let us 
have a night together." 

"Rules, sweetheart, rules. The Code of the Bensons and all that rot." Nigel 
was being masculine. 

"Please, Nigel?" 

"I know what you two want to get together for. You want to do some muff 
diving. No way!" 

"But, Nigel, I'm pretty sure poor Gentian is bitted already and, if you're 
going to put that awful bit thing on me as well, how could be do what you 
just said! Nigel, be a darling. You want me to love you, don't you?" 

That was the last of the conversation. There came some sounds by which I 
knew my poor darling Modesty was being bitted, same as me. It was not too 
long before Nigel stomped out of the stable and closed the door. I wrapped 
my handcuffed wrists against the wall and received back three less distinct 
wrappings on the wood. Evidently Nigel had not handcuffed Modesty as Twinkle 
had me. It was a sad good night but the best we could contrive. 

I suppose being able to change their playthings daily was wonderful for the 
Bensons. And it provided us playthings with change and diversion. I had not 
yet discovered which of them would be kindliest or crudest. Nigel took a 
mute and silent "pony" from the stable real early and I had to wait in 
chains before Margot opened the door. Brightly, she asked, "I've your 
mistress for today. Gentian. Are you going to be a good girl?" 

Since I could not yet speak, I nodded a fervent assurance and raised 
handcuffed hands so she would understand my helplessness. I then knelt 
obediently while she unlocked and the unbuckled the harness from my head. 
She then guided me, by a handful of my hair, up to the big house and the 
bathroom, shared by none but she and I. She bathed me herself like a child 
with a toy, loving and lingering on every private place. Then she herself 
disrobed and shared the bath. I instantly guessed why, and did not demur 
about performing the ancient female rite she had in mind. She stood with 
legs apart and had me kneel between to raise and bury my face within the wet 
fur of her muff. I used my mouth and tongue as best I could from my own 
experience, aided by her whispered commands. I did not get whipped, so I 
assumed I had given satisfaction. But I did not get a return favor either. 
No doubt my pussy was too plebeian for my lady's lips. 

On the way down for breakfast, Margot threw open a door and invited me to 
peek inside. Ashlands was full of shocks; it was a bare, bare room holding 
only a heavy table and upon that a cage. It was a cage designed for very 
large dogs or some type of animal. In the cage was Twinkle, naked, 
handcuffed, and bend over into an uncomfortable accommodation. As usual she 
was remarkably cheerful. 

"I've been a naughty girl. Gentian darling, so you can make fun of me 
through the bars all you want. I have to stay locked in this cage all day. 
Isn't that simply for the birds!" 

I was not allowed to linger. On our way down the hall Margot laughed, "I 
have to put her in there every so often, she such a bundle of energy. 
Sometimes I have to whip her too, but mostly the cage looks after whatever 
sins she's committed. I rarely have to chain her in the dungeon." 

I shivered. I had seen the dungeon on my tour. I wanted none of it and could 
scarce imagine Twinkle's high spirits chained inside that horrid place. But 
breakfast banished dolor and Margot Benson was never dull. 

"If you think the present owners of Ashlands are the results of inbreeding, 
darling, you're wrong." She handed me a second cup of coffee. "As far back 
as the records show, the Bensons of Ashlands have indulged themselves by 
tying up or chaining up or caging any desirable females they could put their 
hands on. I get the impression the hunting was better and cheaper in times 
past. But we don't do too badly even now." 

"You mean Ashlands has always been full of girl prisoners?" 

"Don't exaggerate, Genn darling. It's never what you would call 'full.' But 
it's always had a few very nice maidens in irons or ropes. And there's 
always been a cage around. And, of course, the dungeons. Darling, you have 
joined the ranks of a long and honored line." 

"I can see no one here now is the least bit odd," I ventured timidly. "But 
do you mean all these people through the centuries have been sane?" 

"Of course, darling. Keeping girl captives is one of the oldest institutions 
in the world. All you needed is money or even rank; rank enables you to get 
away with it even if you're a bit short of cash. If you've got both, it's 
that much better. I have both." 

"You also have me," I reminded gently. "What are you going to do to me 
today?" 

"After breakfast you can see young Twinkle get her 'bend over' punishment, 
the one I promised her yesterday. I'll take her out of the cage briefly so 
you can see. I insist on strict rules and strict punishment. My children are 
not immune." 

"I'm also wondering about my life, Margot, you can't keep me prisoner for 
life.. . Would you even want to?" 

"I keep a girl as long as she entertains, so long as I'm in love with her. 
Then I sell her and buy another. I've been doing it for years." 

"But supposing the person you sell her to is cruel and treats her badly?" 

"I associate only with the nobility," Margot informed me stiffly. "We never 
forget Noblesse Oblige. You were lucky, darling, not to be kidnapped by a 
plebeian." 

"Please don't be angry with me, Margot. But if you did get around to selling 
me sometime, would you please sell me to James Bancroft?" 

"Of course, I would, darling. If it was agreeable all round. He's a charming 
young man from a lesser but still acceptable family. But until then I'm 
keeping you. I'd best put some extra chains on you to make sure." 

"I'm sure he'd treat me well and pay you a great deal of money.. . ? " 

"That's quite enough, Gentian dear, don't nag. If I sell you to James, it 
will be because I want to, not because of anything you said. May I expect to 
hear from him?" 

"I don't know," I admitted. "When he lost me, he purchased another girl. 
Maybe he'll never buy another." 

"Any time you fell down in the dumps, dear, I can always give you a light 
whipping. It does wonders for the system and cheers a girl up no end. Would 
you like one today?" 

This was about the tenor of our talk. It was amiable, almost girlie-girlie 
but not quite, and it was all informative. But it changed nothing, I was 
still the prisoner of Ashlands and likely to remain so. I wished Margot had 
pleasured me in the bath, it would have made me feel more human and less a 
captive. With breakfast done with, I followed her to the room down the hall 
were Twinkle was spending her sentence. 

"Ready to bend over, dear?" 

"Yes, Mommy, I'm ready." 

It was swift, methodical, and no doubt practiced from many previous 
occasions. Margot unlocked the cage, aided her daughter to rise from the 
metal enclosure and step out onto the floor. Without a word, she bend over 
to touch her toes, knees stiff, back arched over, and without having to be 
told. 

"Ready, sweetheart?" 

"Yes, Mother." The young voice had now acquired a tremor. 

It seemed to me unusually severe. It was a wicked yellow cane and it wrapped 
across Twinkle's twin globes to bit hard at unprotected hips. Margot changed 
position from side to side as the punishment progressed. Twinkle was to 
receive only six strokes but it seemed to me more like sixty as I watched 
breathlessly the infliction of Benson justice. When it was over and the 
ridged flesh was rising proudly upon young skin in purple and scarlet. 
Twinkle stood erect, said a quiet, "Thank you, Mother," then stepped back 
into the cage and sat down. I'm quiet sure the sitting down was the last 
thing she desired, the only thing to sit on was heavy wire mesh. Margot 
closed the door and snapped the padlocks tight, then led me from the place 
of punishment. As I looked back I could tell Twinkle was quietly crying into 
linked hands. 

"Nigel tells me he's going to give Modesty her first whipping today," Margot 
informed me pleasantly as we made our way down the hall. "The dear boy tells 
me Modesty has been a bit too big for her breeches and tries to twist him 
around her finger. I'm sure you'll love to watch." 

"No thank you, I'd rather not." 

It was as though I hadn't said a word. I was swept forward, like a child 
before its governess. Margot was pleasantly informative. "It's a trouble 
Nigel has had with girls before. They're mostly quite a bit older than he is 
and think they can twist the dear boy. He always tries to reason with them 
first and thinks that the pleasure he gives them between their legs should 
make them happy. But they almost always have to be whipped at least once to 
get the proper status fixed in their minds. Personally, I don't begrudge the 
time." 

Ashlands had a lot of rooms, both up and down, I never did keep track of 
them all, and anyway they were not all rooms in which naked girls were 
punished. The one we entered now had no more furnishings that I had seen in 
the room with Twinkle and the cage. Its principle appointment was Modesty. 

Modesty stood, naked, with her feet wide spread upon a couple of concrete 
building blocks. They were not tied or fastened in any way, and the only 
reason she did not step off this uncomfortable perch was because her hands 
had been well bound and raised above her head. The poor darling had a 
choice, to stand as she was or to take her feet from the blocks and hang 
suspended from her wrists. On a little coffee table set to the side were 
displayed a thin, yellow cane and the more snake-like wickedness of a whip 
to mark her back. Until Margot and I arrived these instruments of punishment 
were the only thing Modesty had to look at it. It tore my heart when she 
greeted us with hope. 

"Oh, Mrs. Benson, I'm so glad it's you! Nigel says he's going to whip me and 
I haven't done anything, I don't deserve to be whipped." 

Modesty left her statement sort of hanging in the air. Margot soon crushed 
her hope. "If Nigel wishes to whip you, then that is the end of it, darling. 
I absolutely won't interfere." 

"But I haven't done anything!" 

"That doesn't matter, Modesty dear. If Nigel thinks you need to be whipped, 
then whipped you will be. Please don't make an unseemly fuse about it." 

"But Nigel's spent the last couple of days between my legs banging away as 
though his life depended up it. He's worn me to a frazzle and now he's going 
to whip me. It's most unfair!" 

"Men are never fair, Modesty dear, they're the most unreasonable creatures. 
That's why I no longer have one. Take your whipping like a good girl and 
you'll feel better afterwards." 

If I had not known and loved Modesty so well, I could have gotten a chuckle 
out of this exchange, it was so absurd and typical of Ashlands. 

"But I've tried so hard to please! I mean, it's not as though I don't know 
how.. . " Poor Modesty's voice rose to a wail. "I've done everything he 
wanted and he still wants to whip me. At this rate I'll be getting whipped 
every couple of days." 

"No you won't, dear." Margot's voice was silky smooth. "Gentian and I have 
come to watch your punishment. I simply adore watching Nigel whip a girl, 
he's so terribly shy about it. But you don't have to worry, I'll be here, 
and if the dear boy sort of goes overboard, I'll put a stop to it-not that 
he ever would, of course. You must remember the family he belongs to. But I 
mention it for your peace of mind. I do think it's nice for a girl to enter 
a whipping with peace of mind. Don't you?" 

"I don't want to enter it at all! It's not as though I've been guilty of 
something.. . " 

"You're being tedious, dear, would you like to be gagged?" 

No girl wants to be gagged, so the question was rhetorical. Modesty 
swallowed hard to contain her emotions. I could guess how debasing and 
humiliating this must be for her, Nigel was just a boy and she was a mature 
girl, or perhaps more properly called a woman. Soon her skin would be cut 
and welted into multicolored crisscrossings of pain. And all without a 
better reason than the carnal gratification of a teenage boy. Unhappily I 
realized this might soon happen to me, too. In Ashlands a girl might be as 
pure as snow and without sin but still get herself whipped because someone 
wanted to see her behavior under the lash. Like Modesty had said, it was 
monstrously unfair. But Ashlands did not pretend to be fair, all Ashlands 
wanted was beautiful girls. 

Nigel breezed in without a trace of shyness. "Why, hello, Mater. And our 
gorgeous Gentian who I haven't entered yet. At least not today." Despite his 
youth he eyed his mother and I as from an eminence. "Come to watch the show? 
I'm going to whip dear Modesty, she needs it so badly." 

"What do you want to whip her for?" his mother inquired without heat. 

"I suppose it's her age, mother, but she's always talking down to me. I 
suspect she's leading up to some sort of help I'm supposed to give her. If 
she only knew!" 

"You've got Modesty delightfully arranged, Nigel. Gentian is terribly 
interested in the way you whip a girl. You might as well get started and let 
her see." 

I wanted to disclaim the supposed interest in seeing Modesty whipped but 
thought it best to keep quiet. All three female pairs of eyes watched Nigel 
as he picked up the yellow length of cane and flexed it back and forth 
between his hands. It was all very familiar and a bit old hat. we'd seen it 
on the movies. But it would hurt just the same. He took a solid stance and 
lashed Modesty squarely across the bare twin bottom she could not hide. It 
was a terrible blow and, fascinated, I watch the white line, then the pink, 
then red followed by scarlet-soon purple would appear. Darling Modesty was 
trying hard not to scream, I judged she would be good for about six or seven 
strokes in silence before her resolve crumbled. 

Nigel whipped his slave girl carefully and methodically. He went from side 
to side to fairly place the cuts of the cane on either cheek of the helpless 
bottom. After the six wicked cuts, he cheerfully said, "Well, there's six of 
the best. I'm going to tickle up your private parts, Modesty dear, with the 
whip just in case you've never had that done." 

I knew Modesty had had it done. She had been "tickled" between her legs 
often enough. We hated it, it hurt like fury. It was as much a violation of 
our flesh as rape itself. Nigel had picked up" the black leather whip and 
was fingering it uncertainly, his eye upon the wide spread crotch and that 
which it contained. His mother's voice broke into his hesitation, "Well, 
what are you waiting for, Nigel, it's all there. You just have to take a 
good backhand swing and cut upward." She paused only a moment. "Don't keep 
the poor girl waiting." 

That admonition did the trick. Nigel, almost watering at the mouth, swung 
squarely at the apex of her thighs. It was a wicked intrusion into her most 
private place and she reacted accordingly. With a scream of pure pain, her 
feet jerked from the blocks to leave her hanging suspended, legs kicking 
wildly at nothing. The scream died into a pitiful wail of agony. After a 
while her feet sought to regain the blocks and were helped by Margot's hand. 
The naked woman who had been mistress The Retreat waited the mercy of a 
teenager. His mother's warning fingers cautioned Nigel against a repeat. His 
first blow had been unexpectedly successful, her response had touched us 
all. He could now advance to the more mundane whipping of a girl's back, a 
naked back well positioned for his whip. 

"Please don't hit me any more," Modesty plead with desperation. "Please, I 
haven't done anything. Please. . . . " 

The back is worst of all. I should know. I think it is because a girl offers 
more of her skin there than any other place, the lash can slash and cut and 
splat across our nakedness in a way not to be achieved elsewhere on the 
female form. My heart went out to my semi-suspended darling. Even when 
punishing me. Modesty had been so very sweet, I could not bare to see her 
thus. 

Margot must have sensed my mood for gentle fingertips were suddenly firm 
upon my lips, enjoining my silence. Now came the strangest thing of all. 
Nigel was suddenly shy. "Mater, do you mind? I don't want others watching 
while I whip Modesty." 

"Nigel, behave yourself. I don't want this lovely creature cut to bits and 
you're a lot stronger that you think you are. I'm staying right her to make 
sure you stay within reasonable limits. That girl I've given you is a beauty 
and I don't want her marred. You're in a mood to leave marks she'll carry 
for a month." 

"If I can't whip her properly, I don't want to whip her at all." Nigel had 
turned sulky. 

"Don't be absurd, Nigel, go ahead and enjoy yourself. You've got the young 
lady waiting and anxious, don't keep her waiting any longer." 

"It's no fun with you watching, you're a spoil sport. Mater. I'd be scared 
to lay it on her properly." 

"That's exactly what I mean. Your idea of 'properly' is on the heavy side. 
You need a bit more experience before I leave you alone with a girl. These 
girls cost money, you know." 

"Well, you know what you can do with this one." Nigel was in a real snit. He 
threw the whip to the floor and stalked from the room. 

"He'll soon get over it." Margot confided. "In the meantime, dear, since 
Nigel's not going to whip you. I guess I should do it myself. It's something 
I really do enjoy." 

"Please don't feel an obligation, Mrs. Benson," Modesty's voice quavered 
hopefully. "I really don't enjoy being whipped." 

"Was there a tract of sarcasm there, dear?" Margot had picked up the 
discarded whip and was caressing it lovingly. 

"No. Oh, no . . . I didn't mean . . . really!" 

I knew exactly how Modesty was feeling. 

"Just a few strokes to keep my hand in. And you do have such a lovely back, 
dear. I'll try and place the strokes so you'll be proud of your marks." 

Once more the feeling of unreality. Modesty gulped and uttered an insincere 
thank you. And turned so she could not see what was coming. I'll admit I did 
think of offering my own back instead, but, with Margot. I didn't have much 
faith in noble gestures. I would probably get myself whipped right along 
with Modesty without doing the poor girl a bit of good. 

As a study in motion, it was quite beautiful. Modesty's spread and stretched 
loveliness quivering in suspense as compared with Margot's fluidity and 
reptilian grace. The whip sang a wholly female song to imprint in scarlet an 
artistic line across Modesty's innocent back. Margot and I watched it flower 
and flame and beheld Modesty's frantic efforts to maintain balance on her 
wide-spread feet. 

"No man could mark you quite like that, dear," Margot stated. "They're 
either namby pamby or cut a girl to bits. Now. let me try another just to 
illustrate." 

I did not want another for Modesty. Modesty was far too beautiful to be 
marked. Modesty did not want it either. She was panting with the duel ordeal 
of suspense and keeping balance. But the snake-like thing sang its familiar 
song again and another scarlet line joined the first on naked skin. Modesty 
moaned and I knew it would not be long before we heard her scream. 

Margot was artist enough to know when to stop. The sixth crimson strip had 
evoked Modesty's first scream and once more the naked girl lost her footing. 
With the air of a connoisseur, Margot watched and admired the struggles of 
the nude girl before kicking the concrete blocks beneath her seeking toes. 
The punished innocent uttered a moan which I knew to be one of gratitude. 
Any girl sentenced to be whipped would be grateful if her strokes number no 
more than six. It was at this moment Nigel choose to return. 

"Hell, Mother, I could have put those marks on her just as well as you. 
Looks to me as if you let her have it all out." 

"Modesty is not to be whipped any more today," his mother ordered as though 
he had not spoken. But the teenage boy had grace enough to lower Modesty's 
arms and let her stand, passive and obedient. 

"Where's Twinkle," he asked with sudden interest. 

"Twinkle's in the cage for the day, she's being punished." 

"Why then couldn't I whip her?" The boyish interest was suddenly aflame. "I 
don't mind if you watch me whip young Twinkle, she's only a kid." 

"The two of you are about the same age, Nigel, don't be silly. I have 
already decided on her punishment. Twinkle will not be whipped." 

"Well, then, how about Gentian?" Nigel stared at me hungrily. 

"Gentian is not to be whipped, either. Really, Nigel, you've got whips on 
your mind. Tell you what, you leave Modesty with me and you can take 
Gentian. All the usual rules apply but no whipping. After the sulky way 
you've acted, I think I'm being more than kind." 

It was at times like that I was shockingly conscious of being bound. I was 
being talked about and there wasn't a thing I could do about it. The look on 
Nigel's face told me what to expect from him and prompted me to tug harder 
at my joined wrists. I gazed upon his mother reproachfully and at Modesty 
with a resigned shrug. 

"That's awfully decent of you, Mother." Nigel was all smiles again. "How 
long may I have her?" 

"Until I say differently. Don't worry, Nigel, we've got both of them for 
life, there's plenty of time for anything your carnal little mind can 
devise." 

Using needless force, Nigel grasped my bare arm and led me from the room. 

9 

Prisoners 

"They didn't need to chain us this way," Modesty said with remarkable 
cheerfulness. "They didn't need to chain us at all. Naked girls can't get 
out of dungeons." 

"These things they've locked on us aren't ancient relics," I said with 
curiosity, "they're brand new and cleverly made, they fit us like a glove. 
Don't gloom about it, darling, it's so wonderful to have each other." 

"But that awful boy!" Modesty looked at me with sympathy in her eyes. "Did 
he fuck you first thing or wait a while?" 

"First thing. He said he'd been doing it to you right alone without tying 
you down and now he wanted to experiment with a girl who was tied down and 
helpless like she'd been kidnapped and had no choice. He spread-eagled me on 
his bed and tied me so damn tight!" 

"He's not bad, is he?" 

"I've never been raped or violated or ravished or whatever else you want to 
call it, by a teenager before," I admitted. "But, yes, he's good. No 
finesse, it's all thrusts and explosions. But he doesn't need much rest 
between, he's a boy wonder!" I sighed. "Gosh, I wish we could escape!" 

"Oh, Genn, don't be silly." Modesty held up her ironed hands and kicked at a 
similar confinement of her foot. "Don't you realize there's never been a 
moment since Margot purchased us that we've been free for a minute and able 
to make a run for it? There never will be." 

I ruefully examined us. not for the first time. These were not ordinary 
chains, there was an individual locked band and from it a sizable length of 
links to the stone wall. Both hands, both feet, and as a final indignity, 
another chain to the collar on our neck. We could move around freely, the 
chains were long. We had already made love and would do so again. But the 
weight of all those iron links deterred motion, and no matter how we 
arranged ourselves, standing or sitting. We remained two naked maidens 
sentenced to a night in the family dungeon. 

"I think it's Margot's way of giving us time together without breaking their 
silly rules," Modesty said slowly. "We could have a hell of a lot worse 
mistress." 

"I never thought I'd see the day when I was grateful for being locked in a 
dungeon," I observed soberly. "But that's about where we're at, isn't it? 
Damn them, there never was a chance of us winning that race." 

Both our minds were channeled to the same memory-two naked girls, both bound 
and both pounding their naked feet upon the grass towards an unknown 
destination. The park at Ashlands dwarfed anything The Retreat could boast. 
Doubtful as me might be about the project, we spared breath to comment. 
Modesty echoed my anger, "Do you think Nigel and Twinkle really will give us 
a five minute start?" 

"What's it matter, they'll catch us in the end any how? I'll bet there's a 
wall around this place you wouldn't believe." 

"They've played this 'hunt' game a hundred times, you can tell from the way 
they go about it. All we're going to get out of it is a lot of exercise and 
a night in the dungeon." 

"We must want to run or we wouldn't be doing it." 

"They know a girl will always hope, that's what we're doing right now, we're 
hoping we'll get some sort of break they haven't figured on. And. anyway, 
they promised to whip us if we refused to play their rotten game so we 
really didn't have much choice." 

"I wonder why Margot isn't riding after us, too? I would have thought this 
was right down her alley." 

"It's a kid's thing, she's just indulging dear little Twinkle and dear 
little Nigel. Someone ought to chain them up in a dungeon and never let them 
out." 

I allowed my thoughts to rove back to Nigel, there had been a little bit 
more to him than I supposed. I remembered my protest, "But, Nigel, you've 
had me stretched and tied up to this bed of yours while you've done it to be 
three times! Girls need to move around a bit, you know. This is getting to 
be a bit like torture." 

"You enjoyed it every time you came. One way or another I made you come as 
often as I did." 

"Well, yes, you did." I moved unhappily against the ropes. "But I could make 
it so much better for us both if I was free. Look, if you absolutely must 
have me tied to be raped, couldn't you have a sort of intermission and a 
change of posture? I promise I won't struggle or give you any problem while 
you're changing me to some other position . . . ? " 

Nigel was doing what he had done many times before, standing at the bottom 
of the bed looking directly at my cruelly exposed pussy beneath which he had 
thoughtfully placed a pair of pillows as an aid to my impalement and his 
view. I don't believe any girl looks her best under these circumstances. I 
couldn't see myself, but what Nigel was looking at evidently entranced him. 
Almost reverently he breathed, "You've got the most wonderfully neat slit." 

"Thank you. Could we keep it that way?" 

"You want me to tie you different? Tell me a good way." 

"Well, if you just gave my hands and feet a bit more freedom, not enough so 
I could get loose, but enough so I could . . . well, sort of help?" 

"Not worth the trouble, Genn. You're cute as you are." 

I must have seemed cute to Nigel, exposed completely as I was. But he was 
exposed to me, also, and it was evident our conversation had a potent 
effect, his phallus was once more pointing to the sky. The damned thing 
appeared to have astronomical ambitions. 

"How about dog fashion?" 

"Don't you understand, Nigel. . . . " I found myself talking like a school 
teacher, "there's more to what you're doing that just plowing away like you 
were drilling a well. If a girl's allowed to she's able to do all sorts of 
nice things." 

Dog fashion made me wish I'd kept quiet. It consisted of tying my hands 
behind my back, flipping me over on my face then tying my ankles out to each 
side of the bed. His lordship then positioned himself between my legs, 
grasped my hips, and raised me up to the precise elevation to accommodate 
his penetration of my sex. It was uncomfortable, degrading, and made me wish 
I'd kept quiet. 

Once dog fashion was not enough. Nigel was intrigued. "Should have tried 
this before," he announced cheerfully. "Here, I'll use my hand to help you 
come." 

"I don't want to come. Just leave me alone." 

Nigel did not leave me alone. He observed genially that what I needed was a 
good whipping but, since mother had forbidden that, the least he could do 
was to make me feel good. He proceeded to do this to his own satisfaction by 
manipulating my helpless nakedness to achieve his own ends. By the time he 
had contrived to get me to moan and gasp and spasm in a climax I could not 
hide, his own forces were regenerated and the cycle started over. By the 
time Nigel announced the nature, the rewards, and the penalties of his 
"hunt" I was grateful for any diversion, anything at all, even a absurd race 
I was pretty sure I could not win. 

Twinkle had been let out of her cage for the occasion, she would go back in 
after the sporting event. She and her brother rode horses easily from long 
practice and Margot announced the rules. 

"If you can get beyond the wall, you're free for life, darlings. There's 
gates and trees and all sorts of possibilities for you. It's up to Twinkle 
and Nigel to catch you first. The prize for your winning is complete 
freedom." She gave us her sweetest smile. "I think that pretty damned 
generous. The penalty for being caught is a night chained in the dungeon. 
All Nigel and Twinkle get if the thrill of the chase and the pleasure of 
dragging you back into captivity any way they choose. I wouldn't suggest 
sitting down and refusing to play, the penalty for that is fifty strokes 
with the whip. And they'd be laid on hard, believe me." 

"We give you five minutes start," Nigel promised as though offering the 
earth. 

"And we do want you to run and hide and dodge every way you can think of, 
darlings," Twinkle added her own little bit. "To think, you could be free 
girls before evening." 

Looking back, I could see there was nothing else we could have done. We 
looked across the wide expanse of park that we could flee to and our hearts 
leapt in hope. Silly, I know, but we were only human. We began our run. 

It was altogether glorious. I forgot recapture or past imprisonment. All I 
was concerned with was the wonder of the sky and the green grass and the 
lovely trees to which we ran. When England wants to be beautiful, she is 
very beautiful indeed. So it was at that moment, which along with the rest, 
dangled before our eyes a vivid hope. I occurred to me to think that Margot 
had enjoyed her play with us and was now allowing us our return to freedom. 
It shows what blue sky, green grass, and free limbs can do for a girl. 

"We absolutely must reach the wall, darling, and see what it looks like," 
Modesty panted at my side. "Oh, darling, I wish there wasn't any wall at 
all." 

We had agreed not to look back but to cherish this freedom for as long as it 
lasted. We crossed the grass, we traversed the loveliness of woodlands and 
cops, and sure enough, far beyond, we found the wall. 

"Look, darling, there's a door!" Modesty was jubilant. 

But the pounding of hoofs could no longer be ignored. When they became too 
loud we spared a frightened glance back and there, sure enough, was the 
doughy huntsman and his hunt-maiden. Twinkle. Nigel was making play with a 
loop of rope. 

A horse may easily run down a naked girl but horses are no help when it 
comes to dodging around trunks of trees or leaping into bushes. Our pursuers 
dismounted and tethered their steeds. From the way they did this I was more 
than ever convinced they had played this game often before. 

The tactics of evasion can be many and prolonged. But Modesty and I were 
already exhausted from the run, whereas Nigel and Twinkle were relatively 
fresh and skilled in the art of capturing defenseless maidens on the run. I 
still feel ashamed at how easily Twinkle caught me. I tripped on a root and 
a moment later she was on my back, knees hard against my back bone. Despite 
my struggles it was only a matter of seconds before she had a handcuff on 
one of my wrists and then the other. As far as I was concerned the race was 
over. When Twinkle was sure the handcuffs were tight behind my back, she 
allowed me to sit up while she stood triumphant over me. 

"You did wonderfully, Genn, dear. There's been girls I've caught in half the 
time." 

I tugged at the handcuffs, I don't know why I always do this when they're 
First locked on me, it's just an instinctive act. I sat awkwardly on one 
bare hip and gazed up in a measure of indignation at the glowing teenager 
who had made me captive. There was something wrong somewhere, it just wasn't 
fair. 

"I put up a damned poor show," I admitted. "I didn't give you any worthwhile 
fight at all. Twinkle." 

"You were tired and I'm experienced," Twinkle assure me. Then added, 
generously, "I'll take the handcuffs off and we'll do it all over again if 
you want, darling." 

Strangely. I did not want. One humiliation was enough. Instead, I looked to 
where Nigel was dragging back his own prisoner. Modesty was handcuffed the 
same as I, and was being encouraged to behave by Nigel holding a handful of 
her lovely hair. Nigel was in high spirits when he asked his sister, "What 
say we take 'em to the grass and give 'em a belly brush?" 

Laughing, they refused to tell us what a belly brush was. We soon found out. 
They took us out of the trees and to the beginnings of the grasslands that 
led up to the main lawn and the house. There they told us to lay down. A 
moment later our ankles were bound together and a long length of rope 
connected our ankles to the saddle of each horse. When the march began, it's 
effect was to drag Modesty and I on our bellies across the grass. 

At first I didn't believe it was happening. But when I contrived to look 
back over a pinioned shoulder I could see our captors in gay conversation 
and quite ignoring us. Modesty and I shared a shocked glance of mutual 
dismay. That was all. 

It was the most awful sensation. I suppose Twinkle and Nigel knew there were 
no stones or sticks or anything to injure us. Perhaps they followed a path 
previously devoid of such things. But our roped ankles hurt and were 
slightly lifted from the grass by the tension. Our hands were useless, tight 
behind our backs. Our main concern was to bow ourselves back enough to ease 
the friction of our breasts upon the grass. We were franticly frighten of 
injure but no harm came, the grass, slightly damp, slithered kindly beneath 
our flesh and our disheveled hair spayed itself out to bring up the rear of 
our disgrace. I prayed the teenagers would have sense enough to cease this 
madness before we reached a graveled path. 

Visions of the skin being ripped off my belly and my poor breasts slashed to 
ribbons by the harsh ground filled my mind. But the grass was thick and 
soft. Not that the ordeal didn't hurt. For over half a mile Modesty and I 
were dragged like captured game, powerless to do anything to ease or stop 
this strange punishment. 

Margot was there waiting, and helped us to our feet when our legs had been 
untied. She listened avidly to the details of the chase and our own avows of 
not wanting a replay. As usual, I gathered what we wanted didn't really 
count. 

Dinner was a gala event. We had been formally sentenced to the dungeon for 
the night so that matter was dealt with. It gave us something to think 
about. But our hands were moved from back to front so we could eat our meal. 
The food was superb, under its influence and that of the accompanying 
brandy, we managed to share some of our captors' enthusiasm about the day. 
After all, as they reasonably pointed out, we had sustained no injury and, 
if we smelt to high heaven of being a girl, everyone found it the most 
erotically stimulating of perfumes. We were encouraged to exude all wc 
could. We could not help doing so and I, for one, could see that it made 
Nigel rather horny. It was a delightful dinner. 

After dinner we retired to the lounge were further brandies were served and 
our three owners enjoyed our chained company. I suppose there must be 
something intensely erotic about a handcuffed girl. I wish I knew what it 
was. 

Escorting us to the dungeon were we would spend the night was very much a 
shared happiness between our owners. Modesty and I would have preferred a 
bed or something along those lines but, of course, we didn't matter and were 
ushered into the gloomy stone confinement with much gusto, and then 
introduced the lovely new chains on which Margot coyly admitted she had 
spent a fortune. Three pairs of eager hands locked the metal on our wrists, 
ankles, and necks as if it were a solemn ceremony. 

Dungeons are not normally cheerful places, but this one was. Its gloom was 
modified by the joy the two of us felt at being along together and not 
chained apart. We could clasp and hug and hold and kiss to our heart's 
content. And with a whole night ahead! We made female love instantly to sort 
of put things in their place and to curb our overflowing lust for each 
other. It was wonderful to have Nigel on the other side of the locked 
massive door and out of sight. 

We then laughingly explored our chains, they really did not matter since we 
couldn't escape the dungeon itself. They told us only of our enslavement and 
warned of foolish hopes of escape. We tried them out to see how far they 
would allow us to go from the wall and then lost interest. Our interest was 
now in only two things; ourselves and escape. 

"That door in the big wall simply has to mean something, darling," Modesty 
affirmed earnestly. "I think they deliberately let us have a look at it but 
not get close enough to touch. If there is ever a next time.. . ! " 

"If there ever is a next time, it had better come soon before Nigel has me 
walking with my legs far apart," I said. "That young SOB has screwed me 
steadily every since his mother made a gift of me to his cock. Since you and 
I can't wear him out, it's hopeless. That's all we have to look forward to, 
being screwed by Nigel! It's hopeless." 

"But, darling, he only has one of us at a time." 

"That gives us a rest. He doesn't seem to need one. Oh, damn, I wish we 
could get over that wall!" 

It was glorious to talk. We had not been allowed to bath so the girl smell 
enveloped us in wave after wave of potent scent. We fed hungrily on each 
other and finally fell asleep in sheer exhaustion, our chains draping our 
nakedness like discarded clothes. We did not waken until Daphne called us 
for breakfast and took us to the bath. We did not fuss about the handcuffs, 
after a night in a dungeon, a girl doesn't fuss much about anything, she's 
so damned grateful to get out into the daylight. 

"What would you two darlings prefer?" Margot asked us sweetly after the 
second cup of coffee. "I can offer you a mild whipping, another hunt like we 
had yesterday, or a return to be chained in the dungeon until tomorrow. 
Please think about it carefully?" 

"You mean I don't get to.. . Oh, you know what. Not to either of them?" 
Nigel protested indignantly. 

"That's correct, darling. A day of abstinence will do you good. Watch that 
pout or I'll have Twinkle using a whip on you." 

Nigel subsided. I felt sure he was longing for his twenty-first birthday 
when, I assumed, he would be able to do anything he liked with any girl at 
Ashlands. Margot continued equably, "Come, darlings, isn't there something 
there to appeal?" 

"No!" Modesty and I said the single word in unison. 

"In that case, dears, you will have all of them. A modest whipping to begin 
your day. Then, later after you've spent a few quiet hours suitably 
fastened, we'll have a hunt again. It's a beautifully sporting event and, 
like I said before, you could be free girls by evening." 

I wished Margot could suffer one of her "light whipping" herself. I know 
they could be worse, but they certainly no fun to endure. She was wise in 
whipping us herself because I was quite sure neither Nigel nor Twinkle could 
exercise such restraint when confronted by an expanse of helpless female 
skin. 

After breakfast we went to the horrible room again and there our hands were 
tied and lifted above our heads to expose everything we possessed to 
whip-happy hands. Modesty and I had sort of reached a point where being 
whipped like this was just something disagreeable to get over and done with 
and out of the way as quickly as possible. 

Margot whipped first one then the other of us, the children watched, eyes 
glowing, longing to hold the whip themselves. The strokes were bitter and 
the commandsingenious. Both children were allowed to participate in the 
commands. Their suggestions were not always obeyed but they did sometimes 
point out choice targets to their mother who followed up with the whip, much 
to our disapproval. I wished the kids would have shut up. 

"There, darlings, five across each of your bottoms. But that's sort of old 
hat, isn't it," Margot said lightly. "We'll now move on to something more 
serious. What do you say, darlings, make them lift their legs?" 

Modesty and I lifted our legs to receive bitter, hateful cuts up and under. 
We whimpered in the hopeless of not knowing were a punishment ends. Believed 
me, it is the most hateful of situations in which a female prisoner can find 
herself. 

You never become accustomed to the lashes. I sometimes think that each 
successive whipping is worse than the last simply because you know what to 
expect. There is no mercy in the whip, it bites at you with a venom all its 
own. It marks the skin. And, if you do not know the number of strokes to 
which you are sentenced, each one becomes doubly hard to bare. I always 
begin my whipping by vowing to myself. "I won't scream. I won't scream. I 
absolutely won't scream!" But it does no good, I manage the first few 
hateful strokes with only pathetic small sounds, but in the end I scream. It 
is a scream of outrage, a scream of anger, it is also a scream of protest on 
behalf of the millions of maidens who have wailed their agony beneath the 
lash. I also scream because it hurts like hell. 

Being an experienced prisoner I can understand why they tie me mostly in the 
same way, naked, with my hands above my head, ail my body available to the 
whip. I cannot think of a better posture for whipping. There is, of course, 
the "X" but that result is achieved pretty much by the order to spread your 
legs, an order I hate probably worse than any other. Of course, the order to 
stick your tits out and hold the breasts as far out as possible so they can 
receive their share of cruel cuts, is pretty bad, too. 

But whatever a helpless slave girl is ordered, she will do. I know. 

Well, anyway. Modesty and I got our "light whipping." It left us thankful we 
did not get a whipping described as "hard." We were shivering and sweating 
and exuding girl scent in waves. Margot congratulated us on that potency by 
which we turned loss to profit. Brightly she kissed us both on our lips 
followed by a fleeting caress on our nipples. She told us we must now wait a 
while before the hunt will begin. Margot went away. Modesty and I stayed. 

Alone, we twisted and tugged at bound wrists, we could just as well have 
saved ourselves the time and pain. We gazed forlornly at each other until 
Modesty suggested, "If they do have a hunt with us this afternoon, let's 
head to one side and get a look at more of the wall than we did yesterday." 
There was a awkward pause before she added, "Do you hurt real bad, Genn, I 
do. I never realized how bad whipping could be until I got one myself." 

Dear Modesty, I loved her terribly and felt only anger for those who used 
her ill. Trevor Tremond must have been insane to discard such loveliness. 
But men are crazy, all girls know that! 

Once more Modesty and I were together. This business of having to stand 
naked and helpless after you've been whipped can be a trying and cruel 
addition to the punishment. We didn't talk much but the privilege of being 
able to was enough. I remember Modesty's vow, "Darling, if we ever do 
escape, you and I must stay together and sleep behind locked door and with a 
loaded gun at our side, we must never be made captive again." She had said 
it all right there. 

The hunt sent us to the dungeon with something to talk about. It was a 
ladder. We had run at a different angle and found the wall at a different 
place, soon there had been another of these mysterious doorways and beside 
it, of all things, a ladder. We headed for it instantly but our pursuers cut 
us off and sent our bare feet to pounding towards where we had been captured 
the day before. We got further this time but there were no more doors and no 
more ladders. We had to ask ourselves if that ladder had been put there for 
our benefit; a temptation, a tease, something which Twinkle and Nigel and 
Margot got a chuckle out of. But there was another day and we kept the 
ladder at the forefront of our minds. 

It appeared we could never be taken back to the main house by any ordinary 
process. Once caught and cautiously handcuffed, we were then arranged for 
another terrible trip, our hands and feet were tied tight with rope and we 
were dragged back across the grass by a tether to our bound wrists. It hurt 
and we were even more helpless than before. The annoying thing was the 
frictioning of our sex, it was not pronounced but continuing over a long 
trip eventually made itself known. Believe me, there are times when the very 
last thing a girl desires is a climax. Modesty and I suffered two of them in 
our journey back across the grass. have problems no one else even catches a 
glimpse of. 

The dungeon greeted us as old friends, it was our punishment for loosing a 
race we could not win. This night there was a difference, the lovely chains 
had vanished and in their place were four straps which our owners lost no 
time in buckling around our wrists and ankles. They were made of broad, 
supple leather that could be tightened down amazingly snug. When their last 
inch had been tugged to the limit and tucked firmly into its resting place 
there came an ominous click. The leather bands had been padlocked shut! When 
Modesty and I were snugly helpless, a final refinement made us long to weep. 
It was one more padlock to join those already fastening our wrists. It would 
keep us back to back throughout the night, preventing fun and games or 
anything else two girl might have wished to do. True, by wrenching our arms 
we could achieve a great deal of movement and even sit side by side. But we 
could not join our bodies face to face, nor invert ourselves so that we 
might enjoy oral pleasures on each other. That was Ashland's final gift of 
the day to its two prisoners. 

Twinkle and Nigel were obviously waiting for our protests, so we kept 
silent. It was after they had gone away and locked the huge door that we 
became vocal. 

"The rotten little twerps," said Modesty. 

"Let's try to do it anyway," I added. 

We were more helpless than a pair of seals or a fish out of water. All we 
could do was sort of flop around to discover how close we were and yet how 
far! Some of the positions we managed took quite a while to unravel. But 
finally we admitted defeat and went to sleep on the stone floor, back to 
back. 

"I've sent the children away for the day," Margot Benson informed us in the 
morning. "It occurred to me that I had scarcely enjoyed you myself so I'm 
having you all to myself today. Isn't that wonderful?" 

We agreed it was wonderful, and actually meant it. Modesty and I were both 
weary of childish exuberance and Nigel's endless screwing. Optimistically we 
allowed ourselves to be handcuffed in front for breakfast. Our ankles were 
completely free, which caused Modesty and I to exchange a questioning 
glance. But we decided it would be useless to try anything. Margot held a 
riding crop and Daphne was still around. And, even if we got out of the 
house there was still that damned wall. 

Over breakfast our hostess inquired, "How would you like another nice, light 
whipping, the same as yesterday, dears?" 

"We'd rather not, thank you," I ventured cautiously. 

"Don't tell me you're adverse to a little whipping everyday, darling!" 
Margot sounded genuinely shocked. 

"But it hurts a lot more than you think. Why do we have to be whipped almost 
every day? We honestly try to behave." 

"Yes, darlings, I know. But it's more a mental thing." Margot beamed from 
Modesty to me. "But you're still seeing yourselves as persons and not as 
prisoners. A whipping a day will help you sort that out in your own minds. 
It's not as though you're being cruelly flogged. 

Once more Modesty and I were up the creek. We knew Margot was playing with 
us but it was a deadly game which could end in more pain than we could bare. 
As thought by mutual agreement we said, "Oh, very well, please give us 
another light whipping and we'll try to be good sports about it. If it makes 
us feel more like being your prisoners, we'll let you know." 

"I detect a touch of sarcasm, darling, but I mustn't be too demanding, must 
I? I've got the most delightful surprise waiting for you." 

Thoughts of the "surprise" added nothing to breakfast. It would probably be 
some sort of new, horrible whip, or a new way of binding us into painful 
postures. I told myself we were prisoners and what more could we expect! I 
drowned my fears in coffee and had an extra slice of toast. Margot treated 
us like a pair of adored nieces. I couldn't believe she could be that rough 
on a daughter. 

There was no hurry in sending us to our place of whipping. Margot encouraged 
us to spend whatever time we needed for hairdos and our faces. Once more we 
discovered how m a girl can do with handcuffed wrists. When, with Margot 
chatting cheerfully, we were escorted to The Place wc looked more like a 
pair contestants in a beauty contest. Except we were naked and handcuffed 
and that would make it a pretty unusual beauty contest. The surprise was a 
low, massive table at one end of which was a sliding portion with a couple 
large, round holes. That gave me all the clue I needed. Those holes would 
exactly fit our necks. 

" I do think the way a girl is fastened has a lot to do with her enjoyment 
of her punishment," Margot observed conversationally. "Darlings, if you'll 
just insert your heads in those holes while I slid out the yoke.. . " 

It was the last thing Modesty and I wanted to do. but we couldn't see a 
choice. We climbed up on the table and placed our necks in the half circle 
created by Margot's sliding out part of the contraption. When our hair had 
been arranged to her satisfaction, she slid that part back in to imprison 
our heads and neck in heavy hardwood. To achieve this Modesty and I had to 
kneel on elbows and knees and it didn't take a vivid imagination to know 
what was coming. 

"I think that at a time like this, it is so nice for a girl to have her 
hands," Margot explained as she unlocked the handcuffs we could no longer 
see. I couldn't see any real reason for her statement, our freed hands did 
little beyond allowing us to take a little of the weight off our necks. But 
I think the effect was for Margot, seeing us completely free of bonds on 
arms and legs but still helpless and with our bottoms raised up in the air 
for her whip to find. 

"You can stay like this for the morning, darlings," she said. It was a bit 
of a surprise, and I didn't know if I appreciated the delay in being whipped 
or resented having to be in such an awkward position for what might become 
hours. 

"I'll leave you two to exchange ideas on your new condition, darlings," she 
added. "You won't know whether I'm here or not but I've got the loveliest 
cane and an assortment of straps that I'll use on you without warning. I 
don't think you'll be the least bit bored." 

It was the damnedest sensation, I couldn't see a thing with my head stuck in 
that damned hole in the table. I used my free hands to explore the structure 
a bit but that wasn't much. Modesty and I gazed unhappily at each other 
under the table. "We're never going to know, are we? All of a sudden 
there'll be a awful pain and we can't properly move!" 

"That's right, Modesty, dear," Margot's voice came unexpected from behind. 
She had not left as promised but was certainly standing there, laughing at 
our plight. She now walked round to our head end and knelt down to where she 
could see our faces and we hers. She was holding the wickedest looking 
riding crop I've ever seen and with it a supple length of strap. I didn't 
like the look of that either. 

It was not a happy morning. I remember it mostly for our senseless striving 
with our hands, we felt that surely there must be something we could do with 
free hands but found nothing. The massive wooden table held us firm, just 
out of reach of each other. Oh, we could touch and hold hands, but we were 
far enough apart so that either of us could touch a part of the other that 
would give stimulation and perhaps sexual relief. 

The slap and cut of leather whip and strap came occasionally and 
unexpectedly to keep us remembering that we were prisoners and being 
punished. It was impossible to lay down, so we had to remain on our knees 
and that forced our bottoms into the air. At one point I almost laughed when 
I considered what we must look like from above the table-a couple of curvy, 
naked ostriches sticking our heads in the wooden sand. 

But it wasn't really funny. The cuts and slashes against our offered skin 
hurt and we let out with good yells every time. It also wasn't long before 
our necks were chaffed from the sudden, pain-induced jerks of our heads. The 
holes into which our necks were locked were precisely made to our size. 
After a while we ceased to concern ourselves with Margot's presence and 
discussed our situation as if she were not around at all. 

"Let's play with ourselves," Modesty suggested boldly. "Can you reach?" 

I had no time to reply. Margot had been there and didn't like the 
suggestion. She rewarded us both with an instant slash with the riding crop. 
It made the most horrendous noise and hurt like hell. 

"That's a waste I will not tolerate," she told us angrily. "That will earn 
you something I had not intended to use." 

I could tell she was standing astride my naked waist and whipping down into 
the cleft between my thighs. Whatever it was she was using bit and scorched 
my pussy unbearably. I made some pretty loud sounds of protest and pain. 
Modesty did the same when it became her turn. For quite a while after the 
searing strokes stopped, the two of us wept and moaned and gazed at each 
other in mutual agony, totally devastated. I could have sworn Margot had lit 
a fire between my thighs and left it to burn its way into my crotch. I was 
too scared of Margot's eagle eye to even reach down to comfort the burn. 
Instead I left my pussy to suffer in a solitude of its own. 

It was not long before we began to tire and our knees to hurt. There was 
just no way we could get comfortable. When we pushed down with our hands to 
take the weight off our shoulders and neck, we were rewarded with quick cuts 
from some beastly little whip right into our opened armpits. We were 
severely told the clutching hands were unladylike and we could use them in 
some other way. But there was no other way to ease our stress, Margot really 
had us where she wanted us. 

Sometimes, while we were being slowly and methodically strapped. Modesty and 
I held hands to give each other what comfort the human fingers can transmit. 
But mostly we simply placed the palms of our hands upon the table to support 
our weight. We were a pair of very sad young women when the cane, the crop, 
the strap, and Margot were through with us. She handcuffed our wrists again 
before freeing our necks. We stood up stiffly and gratefully to feel back, 
as best we could with joined hands, to explore the morning's ravishes of our 
rumps. 

"You'll be in great shape for your run this afternoon," Margot promised us 
as she watched our efforts with glowing eyes. "You can't reach yourselves 
properly while handcuffed, darlings, but why don't you soothe each other's 
bottoms, that's quite possible? I'll wait." 

Half ashamed, we did as suggested. The feel of Modesty's fingertips upon my 
burning skin was pure delight, but the fingertips of another girl you love 
upon your flesh can have but one effect. It was so shockingly erotic as to 
be worse than playing with the forbidden part. Scarlet faced, we stopped in 
unison and followed our mistress up to lunch. Margot had thoughtfully 
provided hard chairs without cushions, it was the final blow. 

"If you're wondering about being free for the hunt this afternoon, darlings, 
I can tell you how easily we deal with the problem. Daphne will be with me 
and we'll both have whips. We will also tether your necks and have a short 
training rope by which to control you should you decide to be silly. You 
won't be silly, will you?" 

We had told her no, we wouldn't be silly. At that moment there was not 
enough enterprise in Modesty and I to say boo to a goose. Our backs whipped 
yesterday, our bottoms strapped and caned today was enough! 

"You're quite right, darlings, I can't whip and strap you everyday." Margot 
had a gift for sensing the right moment and saying the right thing. "I'll do 
something else to you, of course. For goodness sakes, stop looking like a 
pair of lost sheep. Think positively, a glorious afternoon in total 
freedom!" 

"Until you catch us," said I. 

"And fasten us in the dungeon," said Modesty. 

"Such lucky girls!" said Mrs. Margot Benson. 

10 

Run for My Life 

We were getting into condition and running better than before. The ropes 
from our necks danced a jig behind our backs as we fled. They had been 
painstakingly knotted to preclude us taking time to untie them while in 
flight. We deplored their shameful presence because they would aid Margot in 
subduing us whenever it came to the final round of this shameful hunt. But 
we cared little and spoke not at all as we speed toward our determined 
exploration of The Wall. If there was a weakness in that wall, we had to 
find it. We were two young women who's burning asses demanded escape. We 
were weary of enslavement, even beneath the loving hand of Margot Benson. We 
wanted to go home. 

The ladder was gone. It was one more let down. In tight lipped 
determination, Modesty and I sped on and on to explore areas we had not 
previously seen. We were surprised that Margot had not caught up with us as 
of yet, but for all we knew we were running to meet her head on. We knew we 
had to loose, it was simply a case of how and where. 

A few hundred yards farther along we saw the ladder. It was propped against 
the wall as yesterday. I could well have been a trap set by Margot or it 
could have been a genuine avenue to freedom. If we could climb it and drop 
down the other side we might be done with slavery forever. Modesty and I 
exchanged a glance of hope and redoubled our strides. We were almost to it 
when we beheld the unbelievable. 

James Bancroft was seated on a fallen log. He waved to us carelessly as 
thought keeping saying hello to a neighbor. A few feet to one side, Amy's 
lovely nakedness was bound with amazing artistry to a tree. She did not 
wave, she could not move, but her smile was the Amy I had always known. 
Modesty and I stopped breathless before them and totally at a loss. 

"Hello," Jim said pleasantly. "Remember me?" 

I was on the verge of flinging myself into his arms or at his feet when he 
held up a warning hand. From his fingers dangled handcuffs. "You two girls 
have a choice," he informed. "You may climb that ladder and in the road over 
there you'll find my car. In it are some clothes and some money. That's the 
way to freedom if you want to take it." He smiled pleasantly and awaited our 
reply. 

I looked at the handcuffs, so did Modesty. Never had so much of two girl's 
lives hung precariously on a few trifles of steel. Jim's voice was firm, 
"Gentian is mine." He turned his gaze to Modesty. "If you accept the 
handcuffs. Miss Blair, I will return you as a gift to Trevor Tremond. It's 
all very simple." With that he slashed the rope joining Modesty's and my 
necks. 

Modesty hesitated only an instant. Then she kissed me fleetingly and fled 
for the ladder. The last I saw of her was a pair of scarlet and stripped 
buttocks going over the wall. 

It appeared, however, that my life was more complicated. Yet I paused only a 
few seconds then went to my former master and held out my hands. "I'll 
choose the handcuffs," I said as simply as Modesty had chosen freedom. 
Alight with a great heat of longing I watched my master encase my wrists in 
shinning steel and click the circlets snugly tight. Even at that point I had 
no regret. It was not until then we heard Margot Benson's horse. 

The Mistress of Ashlands drew her horse to a halt. "Where's Modesty?" 

"Over the wall, dear lady, well on her way to freedom. I'm afraid you've 
lost Miss Blair." 

"You son of a bitch! Do you realize you're trespassing.. . And stealing my 
girls!" 

"A fair exchange, Mrs. Benson." Jim nonchalantly waved a hand in Amy's 
direction. "Have you ever seen a girl more sweet, or bonds more tight?" 

Margot spared Amy but a glance, she was in the full flood of anger and 
surprise. "I had my chance to buy Amy. If I had wanted her, I would have 
bought her then. Where's my property?" 

"Modesty is on her way to freedom. Gentian is here, as you'll observe." 

"Why is she handcuffed? She wasn't handcuffed when we started out!" 

"I have decided to divert Miss Rothwell to myself. You may recall our 
previous acquaintance." 

"Previous acquaintance, my royal ass!" Margot Benson exclaimed in fury. "Get 
off my property!" 

Margot spurred her horse, flourishing her riding crop to slash at Jim's 
smiling face. He grasped it neatly to yank it from her hand. He also grasped 
her wrist and dragged her from the saddle. It appeared he was well supplied 
with handcuffs. A few moments later, Margot Benson's hands were handcuffed 
behind her back and she was twisting and tugging at unfamiliar bonds while 
glaring angrily at Jim. "You absolute bastard. Who the hell do you think you 
are!" 

I stood, comfortably handcuffed, to watch the show. Amy was an interested as 
I. Jim proceeded to strip away Margot Benson's clothes until she was 
completely naked. She put up a marvelous fight and was extremely vocal 
throughout. "What do you think you're doing, you crazy bastard! I'll have 
your guts for garters! You can't get away with this!" 

Clutching a captive arm, Jim seated himself once more upon the log and 
draped Mrs. Margot Benson over his knee where he held her securely by her 
cuffed arms. He then proceeded to spank her bottom, going from cheek to 
cheek and making the most horrendous smacking sounds. When a man slaps the 
bottom of a girl, it's no longer kid-stuff, it hurts. I'm ashamed to say 
neither Amy or I said a word in the defense of my former mistress. When he 
had beaten the lovely bottom to a prime red, he retained his grip but said 
to me, "Genn, you can go now. Do what I told Modesty to do but stay in the 
car and wait for me." 

I obeyed instantly, leaving Mrs. Benson to my master's tender mercy. He 
resumed the spanking and was hard at it as I climbed the ladder. Dropping 
down the other side, I found myself face to face with Modesty Blair. 

It was shock on top of shock. Modesty's wrists were confined in the same 
lovely bronze bracelets she had worn when I first saw her. Trevor Tremond 
was there, too. They both seemed pleased. Before I could get into Jim's car 
to dress, we were joined by Amy who wore no clothes but was almost 
adequately covered with tight ropes. Innocently she said, "I'm sure you have 
another pair of handcuffs, Mr. Tremond?" 

I felt out of things while Trevor bundled his two new possessions, or should 
I say repossessions, into his car, locked their ankles together, and 
returned to me just in time to catch Mrs. Margot Benson as Jim dropped her 
over the wall. 

"A bonus for you. Trevor," Jim said in an unconcerned. "She's got a couple 
of brats you could pick up tomorrow, do them a world of good." 

Margot's screeches of fury were controlled by a large white handkerchief 
stuffed into her mouth. She was stuffed into the trunk of Trevor's car, 
evidently not rating the more comfortable interior. The men shook hands in a 
way that tells a woman she is forgotten for the moment. They liked each 
other. Jim stood and watched them drive away, then turned to me. "That's got 
things nicely sorted out, sweetheart." he said as though he expected no 
other ending to the day. "Now I'll take you home and whip your bottom just 
to get us started off on the right foot." 

"My bottom's already been whipped." 

"Why. so it has! Beautiful job." He looked inquiringly, "Margot Benson. I 
suppose?" 

"Don't you dare whip it again.. . At least not today!" I said with more 
courage than I felt. 

"Sweetheart, I'll give you one more chance. If you want freedom or have had 
second thoughts, just hold out your hands and I'll unlock the cuffs?" 

I held my chained hands tight against my pubic patch and wished I didn't 
blush so easily. 

My master nodded. He understood. "I won't bother to dress you," he said. "No 
use starting you over again with bad habits. If need be I can throw a 
blanket over you." 

Mr. James Bancroft took me in his arms and said, "Oh, and in case you're 
worrying about the horse, I took the saddle and bridle off and let it loose. 
It will find its way back to the stables where it belongs." 

He hugged me tight as though to weld my nakedness against himself. 
Impatiently he paused to free my hands then handcuff my wrists behind my 
back. "There, that's got them out of the way. And now, my proud beauty, let 
me deal with you." 

He dealt with me beautifully. He was so considerate. I hadn't given a 
thought to Margot's horse. 


THE END
