Anguish For Angela
by F. E. Campbell


CHAPTER ONE - CIRCLES OF STEEL 

The clientele of "Ye Olde Tea Potte" might well be politely obviously to my 
using only one hand, but I was very certain every eye and every awareness 
was forming its own opinions as to why I held the other hand beneath the 
table, well hidden by the table cloth. I hoped they were enjoying the 
mystery, I was not! I was hot and bothered. I was also furiously angry and 
just a little scared. 

"A cute trick, I picked it up in town the other day," said Reggie Tufton 
confidentially. "Here, let me show you." 

I'd known the amiable idiot half my life, so why not! I allowed him to 
possess my left hand and the first thing I knew it was firmly handcuffed out 
of sight to the table and most certainly lost to me. 

Reggie Tufton does this sort of thing all the time, we're accustomed to him 
and it's actually rather fun. Playing along, I asked, still without alarm, 
"Well, when do you produce the white rabbit?" 

"She'll be along almost any time, dear girl," Reggie assured me earnestly. 
"The thing is not to panic. Look upon this experience as just one more of my 
amusing little pleasantries." 

"Well, isn't it!" 

"Well, not exactly, Angela, dear girl. Quite soon someone will arrive who 
will explain the whole thing to you." 

Everyone loves Reggie Tufton. He couldn't possibly leave me with my hand 
cuffed under the table so I was still curious as to why he had fastened my 
hand under the table. The joke might not be on me but on someone else yet to 
appear. Testily I complained, "I'm sure this will all be very funny but 
right now that steel thing you've got round my wrist is tight enough to 
hurt. I think you'd best unlock it." 

As I watched Reggie's retreating back I realized I could add my utterance to 
other "last words." I watched him pay the bill and depart from Ye Olde Tea 
Potte while I sat stricken with irritation and a touch of apprehension. Damn 
it, I was handcuffed to an immobile object in a public place. Anything I did 
was likely to result in a shocking disgrace. Feverishly in an effort to 
maintain a simulation of normalcy, I sipped my tea and nibbled a watercress 
sandwich while bitterly reflecting that I might consider myself lucky to 
have one hand by which to allay suspension of my true condition. What I was 
thinking of Reggie Tufton should have burned his ears. 

Using only my hand and forearm I turned and twisted and tugged at the 
beastly thing locking my wrist down there out of sight. I thought of trapped 
wild things out in the forest and knew there was no way I was going to get 
out of that metal band which bit at me as though alive. I couldn't be too 
vigorous in the effort because of the clink of links and metal cuff. I 
longed to kneel and examine it but was not yet ready for that predicament. I 
did my best to appear the calm and composed Miss Angela Maberly the tea shop 
knew only as a patron not as a possible convict chained to one of their 
tables. I was reconciling myself to sitting thus until closing time, sipping 
tea and nibbling watercress sandwiches, when the white rabbit showed up on 
time. 

It was really a white rabbit. It was the honorable Mrs. Mable Wycherly, a 
lady of uncertain age but most definitely in with the right people. I had 
known Mable Wycherly just as long as I had known Reggie. She wasted no words 
but, beaming a happy smile, held up a tiny key the sight of which made my 
heart leap in thankfulness. 

"Reggie gave me this in the parking lot," she confided. "He really is an 
idiot, isn't he, but such a darling boy. I'll sit as close to you as I 
decently can and get this little matter dealt with as quietly as possible." 

I was so happy I would have agreed to anything. And, anyway, Mable Wycherly 
is very good company. When she told me to look the other way while she 
searched for the imprisoned hand, I did so without the thought of anything 
happening. Reggie had had his little joke and now I would have an extra cup 
of tea with Mable before we went our separate ways. Good gosh, looking back 
at it now I have to wonder how innocent a girl can be! 

The honorable Mable Wycherly was working in the dark, that small key might 
not find its hole too easily. When she asked me to reach my right arm down 
there also, I obeyed without second thought. There reached my ears two of 
those clicking noises with which Reggie had first acquainted me with the 
handcuffs. In stupid non-comprehension I knew myself more imprisoned that 
before. The tiny key had worked its magic on Reggie's but only on that cuff 
attached to the table. And that one was now on my other wrist, leaving me 
with shackled wrists under the table. I straighten erect, thrusting my 
joined hands hard into my lap out of sight. I glared at Mable who was now 
placing Reggie's tiny key in her handbag. I realized that she had been very 
adept at the under table work, for more so than one would expect from a 
society matron. Busily she rearranged her chair, beamed upon me with 
uttermost affection, then tossed a silken scarf across the table. "It will 
cover them nicely, darling. If you're careful no one will notice a thing. 
Please don't be angry, the game still isn't over." 

"It's over as far as I'm concerned. Mable, take these horrible things off my 
wrists." 

"Not in the restaurant, dear. Just be patient." 

"But everyone will see!" 

"Not if you use that scarf cleverly, dear as I'm sure you will. I'm afraid 
you're stuck with Reggie's little joke. Try not to hate us." 

Mable Wycherly is thirty-eight. Against my twenty-six she was almost 
maternal. She had the ability to be either girlfriend or maternal aunt at 
will. In the second roll she could get away with murder. I heaved a heavy 
sigh of discontent and fumbled with her scarf. What the hell else could I 
do! 

Cobblestone Mews are frightfully posh. They haven't seen a horse in ages but 
the cobblestones are real, a thing with the very rich. I visited the 
honorable Mable Wycherly often enough. It was the Town Residence, her 
ancestral home being Cranston Manor back from Lyme Regis in the country of 
Dorset. Cranston Manor and it Great Park were gorgeous relics of the age of 
privilege, as yet unspoiled. Cobblestone Mews tried hard to be a graceful 
replica of their eminence, it was often referred to as a back street of 
obsolete nobility. 

At any rate, Mable took me there while my mind was furiously debating ways I 
could escape her handcuffs without attracting undesirable attention. By the 
time her door closed at my back my hands were still joined and I had reached 
no acceptable conclusion as to what I could do about it. I stood in the 
familiar halls and felt foolish. "You'd like to get them off, dear?" 

"Yes, please." I was being cautiously polite. 

"This way, dear." Mable led me to the lounge and produced her tiny, magic 
key. A few moments later I was standing, more mystified than ever, with my 
right wrist handcuffed to a convenient ring in the wall. Any advantage I 
might have had during the process was lost in disbelief this could happen. I 
rattled the handcuff and ring in futile irritation to demand, "This has gone 
far enough, Mable. Unlock this beastly thing and we can still be friends. If 
this is one of Reggie's jokes, you can tell him I refuse to play." 

"It isn't one of Reggie's jokes, dear." 

It took a moment to register. I then found myself, back to the wall, my 
imprisoned hand helpless at my side, glaring angrily at a woman who had 
always been my friend. "Tell me about it," I said disgustedly. "Perhaps I 
ought to know?" 

"I collect girls, dear. I've collected you." 

"That's nonsense. Oh, Mable, please be sensible. Having my hand like this is 
awful." 

Mable came close, tilted my chin and kissed me hard upon the lips, hard and 
long enough to leave me panting. I could back no further nor leave my tether 
so stood in watchful waiting while Mable's hands reached for the fastening 
of my dress. I didn't realize her intent until she had me with one shoulder 
and one arm completely bare. Startled, I used my free hand to repair what 
she had done, my voice trembling, "You can't undress me, Mable. For goodness 
sakes, we don't have to be indecent! Anyway, you can't removed all my 
clothes with my hand fastened." 

"Poor little pigeon!" 

The honorable Mable Wycherly could not have used words more apt. That's 
exactly how I felt, a wild bird about to get it's wing clipped. This was a 
Mable Wycherly I had not previously met. I could not think if a thing to say 
that would not sound trite. I stood still and disgustedly felt myself 
trembling. 

"I've all ready for you darling. Let me show you some of the lovely things 
I've bought for you." 

I began to sense something beyond a joke as I watched her bring the box and 
place its contents in plain view. I could recognize the whip. It was not a 
long whip but I was quite sure it could hurt quite bitterly. There was a 
thing I took for a cork remover, at least that's what it looked like. And 
there was the collar and with it a chain. A collar is not a thing to fear 
and I stood hypnotized while the honorable Mable Wycherly stood to clasp the 
lovely bejeweled band around my neck. There was a deadly click and, when I 
raised my free hand to find any lock or joint to tell me it was not there 
permanently. There was then the chain. It was not a heavy chain but heavy 
enough that neither I nor six other girls could conceivably break it. It 
joined my collar with a padlock and then another padlock secured it to the 
ring in the wall. "Isn't it lovely," Mable enthused. "Here, let me unfasten 
you wrist." It was very clever and the cleverness was frightening. I stood 
there completely free except for the collar upon my neck. It leashed me to 
the wall as a dog is leashed to its kennel. What came next was no surprise. 
"Take you clothes off, Angela, darling. There's not a thing to stop you now. 
Isn't that a lovely arrangement?" 

"Mable, you're being an absolute bitch. This has gone all together too far. 
I don't know what you and Reggie have got hashed up for me but I absolutely 
refuse to play. Set me free from this medieval claptrap, it's not too late 
to stay friends." 

"Take you clothes off, Angela." It was a deadly repetition. Fascinated, I 
watched Mable pick up the limber length of the short whip, a riding crop, 
and flex it suggestively between her hands. "This little darling hurts 
horribly, dear. Wouldn't it be a lot better to undress?" I had not 
melodramatic feeling of Mable being an enemy, she had instead become a 
force, a force I could not understand. Doing a quick assessment, I wondered 
if I could grab the crop as it slashed at me, and perhaps grab Mable, too. 
But, chained to the wall as I was, I would be terribly handicapped, and, in 
any case, felt no assurance in my ability to overcome this scion of the 
nobility and extract the key to my collar from where ever she had it hidden. 
As though reading my thoughts, Mable produced the little metal object, held 
it for my inspection, before placing it on the sideboard, far from my reach. 
Now, if I did succeed in gaining the upper hand, it would be only a 
stalemate. Unless I released my grip on her she could not release me. I had 
never felt so foxed. 

As thought giving me time to make up my mind, Mable now picked up the other 
object in the box. "The bracelet fits around your wrist, dear, it's actually 
a single handcuff but on a solid stem on the grip which I hold. If I turn 
it, I can make you do anything I wish. If I turn it too far, it will break 
your wrist. They invented it in Mexico to make prisoner's behave 
themselves." 

"Mable, this is insane! I don't believe it's happening, you were my friend!" 

"I'll still be your friend, darling, once you've adjusted to your new life. 
Reggie will be your friend, too." 

"How can you talk of friendship when you're holding a whip in one hand and a 
torture instrument in the other. Mable, be sensible!" The riding crop bit 
through the air to slice my legs below the dress. A right and a left to 
inflict on me the most awful pain I'd ever known. I found myself hopping 
like a stork and reaching my free hand down to assure myself my legs had not 
been severed at the calf. Pain formed my words, "Mable, that hurt something 
awful! I can't stand it. Put that riding crop away." 

"That's right, darling, no girl can stand still for very much of this." 
Mable's tone was almost placating. "What you have to understand now is that 
I can stand away from you and whip you to my heart's content. Sure, you're 
wearing a dress, but you're legs and arms are bare and the thin stuff over 
your shoulders isn't much protection. If you refuse to be sensible I'll 
simply start whipping you and you can undress whenever you feel like it." 

"But that's barbarous! It's... it's cruel!" 

"Only because you make it so, darling. Why not be civilized and remove your 
clothes? Is it that big a deal in front of a woman?" Slowly my hand reached 
for the fastening of the dress. It wasn't me doing this, it was someone 
else, someone else I'd never met, a girl terribly afraid. I got it down off 
my shoulders to reveal my bra before stopping to say, flatly, "I can't. I 
could strip for you in a bedroom or a powder room or some such place. But 
not here, chained to a wall, for some reason I don't even know about. Mable, 
please...!" 

I had unwisely bared my shoulders and most of my breasts before speaking. 
The riding crop bit at me savagely and wickedly and there was no ways I 
could turn to shield my bare skin. This time it was four strokes and I was 
in such a dither of agony and confusion I lost no time in divesting myself 
of every bit of clothing I wore. I kicked off my shoes and did not stop to 
argue about my panties. Since Mable was having a good look at my breasts, 
she might just as well have a good look at my pubic hair. I discarded 
thought of using the wall to try to hide parts of me. What was the use? I 
defiantly stood there facing this woman who I had always liked. I was 
panting, choking in pain and embarrassment. But agony did not prevent my, 
"Here I am, have a good look! Do you want me to spread my legs?" 

"That would be nice, dear, please do." 

I spread my legs, then used my free hand to clutch the chain by which I was 
forced to stand for this undesired inspection. In some other context this 
act of baring my body for her pleasure might have been meaningless and 
without a blush but now I longed to die. 

The honorable Mable Wycherly put down the wrist-breaking device but slipped 
the loop of the crop over one wrist before coming close. "I want to kiss 
you, Angela," she said very simply. "Don't be silly, I've always loved you." 

Her lips were hot and moist. In pain and despair, and much in need of 
comfort, I flung my arms around her shoulders and kissed back hungrily. In a 
minute I was fiercely rubbing my naked breasts against hers. I was a 
frightened little girl who needed mother's reassurance. Not that Mable was 
by any means maternal, but she was very, very female and in spite of the 
pain and shame it felt good to clutch at her in my nakedness. Her arms went 
around me, too, so I could feel the riding crop dangling loosely at my back. 
Our hands were groping as were our lips and we stood thus, thrusting hotly, 
and panting mouth to mouth for a long time. Despite the burn of the crop 
marks on my skin I felt better. 

When Mable stepped back, I, unthinkingly, followed but only to have the 
chain snap my collar and neck back as though in silent admonition. I 
accepted the silent snub without a word and stepped back to relieve the 
tension on my throat, awaiting the next move in the most bizarre game I had 
ever played. 

"It's not all bad, is it, Angela?" 

" 

"No." I tried to sound ungracious but failed. 

"If you don't insist on fighting, I'll be very kind to you, dear." 

"Mable, I don't understand any of this. Something's happening, let me in on 
it." 

"I've taken possession of you. dear, that's all." Mable made it sound like 
buying a new dress. "I'll never give you a chance to get loose, so you can 
forget freedom. I'll do whatever is necessary to look after your private 
affairs while you are my prisoner." 

She allowed her words to hang heavy on my consciousness. "But that could be 
a long, long time, darling. I play for keeps." 

She could get away with it! The honorable Mable Wycherly could extract Miss 
Angela Maberly from the stream of life and divert me for her own enjoyment. 
I assured myself I would never let this planned enslavement succeed. 
Somewhere she would make a slip and I would get the best of her. I wondered 
if then I would have her arrested for kidnapping or simply extract some sort 
of humility she would hate to deliver. But for now Mable owned me, every 
little bit of me. 

"You're mind's busy, isn't it, darling? Those lovely crop marks on your skin 
are still hurting, aren't they?" Mable's voice oozed concern. "I'd feel an 
absolute bitch over what I'm doing with you if I didn't desire you so much. 
It just takes a little time for you to understand. Don't leap to hasty 
judgments, Angela, my pet." 

I didn't leap to anything, I couldn't. The sharp snug of the chain on my 
neck told me clearly the omega limits of my protest. I stood there glaring 
at this creature that held me prisoner while she snapped that Mexican wrist 
thing on my wrist and unlocked the padlock from my collar. The collar stayed 
and I suspected it would stay for quite a while. She then gave me a brief 
demonstration of Mexican cruelty to captives. It was just as well she did or 
I might have invited a broken wrist. Instead she simply exerted sideways 
pressure from the handle. I emitted a squeal and fell instantly to my knees. 
The damned thing had sharp edges and I instantly divined how little pressure 
it would take to break my wrist. The honorable Mable then turned the beastly 
thing in the opposite direction and I followed like an obedient puppy dog. 
There was no fighting it, the Mexican bracelet was frightening! Next there 
came an upward tug and I followed it to stand erect, shame faced, my wrist 
extended meekly. I was panting. 

"Get the message, darling?" 

"Yes. Please don't twist it again, Mable. Please... I won't give you cause." 
Thus I was led to Mable's bedroom. I'd been there before and supposed there 
was nothing new to see. But previously I had failed to note the rings. There 
were rings all over the place. With a second pair of handcuffs the honorable 
Mable Wycherly attached me to one of them and then removed the Mexican 
horror. I stood, secured my a single wrist, infuriating in its easy 
dominance. 

"I'll freshen up, darling, and change my dress." Mable's easy tone left me 
unsure. This still could be one of Reggie Tufton's more elaborate jokes -- 
what he referred to as "pleasantries." 

I stood, tense and vibrating, awaiting answers to questions I would not ask. 
It was a feminine intimacy with Mable doing the things all females do when 
there's a mirror around. She also changed her dress. She then picked up her 
handbag, kissed me, and departed. I stood naked in a suddenly empty room. 

It took me a minute to realize she wasn't coming back. But I heard the front 
door open and close to tell me I now had my chance. A bracelet on one wrist 
surely could not prevail against a girl's strength, determination, and 
ingenuity. I tugged forcefully at my single bond but only hurt my wrist. I 
tugged harder. Nothing happened! I was only slightly dismayed, telling 
myself I should not expect my chain to break that easily. I bend down to 
examine it, I had never seen a handcuff before, certainly not up close. But 
what I saw was not reassuring, so far as my right hand was concerned, it was 
held fast. The chrome of the cuff laughed at me to say, that as far as it 
was concerned, I could stand there forever. 

I remembered reading about bobby pins and handcuffs. But I didn't have any. 
I didn't have anything! There was a small table far beyond my reach and on 
it a number of items, one of which might be the key to my release. But the 
rug was heavy and could not be tugged. I had no sheet or even a dress with 
which to do some fly fishing to drag something in my direction. I had 
nothing! It took me no more than fifteen minutes to realize I would stand as 
I was until Mable choose to release me. I was as much her prisoner as if 
chained in the darkest dungeons. I swore and the silence absorbed my oaths 
like a sponge. I rattled my manacle and leaned back against the wall. 

I held on to Reggie Tufton as a drowning person clutches at anything. This 
had to be a joke! This standing naked and unable to leave the wall was no 
doubt part of one of this "pleasantries." Probably he and Mable were 
laughing over my shame and frustration before she came back to set me free. 
It was the only comfort I had. As time passed I believed it less and less. 

I expect a real convict girl locked in a real cell because of a real crime 
goes through all the emotions that kept me quivering like a leaf. The first 
of these was fear. Chained nakedness was not an easy thing to adjust to. The 
next thing was the loss of freedom and will. I was a nothing, just a pretty 
parcel of naked girl, checked against the wall as one might check luggage at 
a railway station. There was also the still smarting marks of that riding 
crop upon my skin. I wasn't sure of those, they might have been a necessary 
part of a charade, if indeed this was only that. Or they may have been the 
beginning of something else. Mixed up with all this was the memory of 
Mable's hot lips and the thrust of our bellies and loins... ! Surely that 
meant something. . . . Or did it! 

I then considered my nakedness. Mable and I had not discussed it. I could 
only assume she wanted me naked to make me more submissive and easier to 
handle. Surely she could use her riding crop on me to far greater effect 
that if I was clothed. I realized this nakedness did strange things to me, 
like accenting my helplessness, but also adding the color of sexuality to 
everything done to me thus far. I could easily discern this sexual arousal 
remaining a part of whatever Mable did with me or to me. My loins flared at 
that single word, of what she might "do" to me. It left me with one more 
quiver to cope with. 

I still refused to believe Mable's story about keeping me prisoner for a 
protracted length of time. Her possession of me had already gone beyond the 
bounds of one of Reggie's "pleasantries, " I had to suppose the Reggie or 
Mable had decided to go a step farther this time in whatever excitement they 
got out of scaring a girl to death. I couldn't see beyond that but, 
uncomfortably, I realized Mable might easily keep me for a week or so and 
there seemed little I could do about it. Disgustedly I looked at the bed 
which might as well have been in the wilds of Africa for all the good it did 
me. It was out of reach. Grudgingly I slithered to the rug, it would be less 
tiring than standing but it wasn't all that good because I had to hold my 
cuffed hand at a level above my head. It was simply the best I could do and 
my first glimpse at the compromises a captive girl had to make. 

Mable took her time. It was dark before she returned and I'd been sort of 
nodding with my head against my raised arm. I'd twisted and tugged at it 
until my wrist was chaffed. Common sense told me I could not withdraw it 
through that metal but instinct said otherwise, instinct told me I had to 
try. Logic aside, I still found it hard to believe a shiny little handcuff 
could keep me against the wall to await Mable's pleasure. Had she bound and 
gagged me it would have made more sense and I would have accepted it more 
easily. 

"The bathroom and something to eat, that's what you're wanting, isn't it, 
darling?" Mable was as bright and brisk as ever. 

"I want to go home -- and that was horrible, leaving me here alone all that 
time. Mable, please let me go!" 

I watched my ankles chained together by what Mable described as "leg irons." 
They looked like handcuffs but were larger. When the handcuff joining me to 
the wall ring was unlocked it was immediately relocked about my other wrist. 
I could move around but there was no way I could escape. Mable could control 
me with disgusting ease and she now had the riding crop hanging from a belt 
around her waist. 

I tried not to look at it. 

"A sensible girl, behaving much better now," Mable approved. "I expect 
you've had time to think. And handcuffs really do give a girl something to 
think about, don't they?" l refused to play. I simply said, "Mable, I want 
to go home, please free me. This farce is getting worse instead of better." 

"Go on into the bathroom, dear, and don't do anything silly." About the only 
silly thing I could do in the bathroom, which incidentally was a Arabian 
Nights decorated room, was to break the window. I could probably have done 
it with one of the array of bottles and then screamed my head off through 
the broken glass. But I did not break the window, I was still trying to 
believe myself the victim of a joke in poor taste. My chains made a 
frightful clatter as I bathed and the leg irons prevented me from stepping 
in and out properly, I had to do a sort of twisting in and out while sitting 
down. When I walked back into Mable's bedroom, the damned chain snubbed 
every step I took. If I tried to hurry, I tripped and fell. 

"You'll get used to them, darling," Mable assured. "They look so lovely on 
you. And so do the handcuffs. Come along, let's eat. I've brought back 
something from the delicatessen." 

I now had to adapt myself to the graces of the dinning table with joined 
hands, where one reached out and the other followed. It was like doing 
everything twice. I was aware of Mable watching me and enjoying every fumble 
I made. I had to ask myself why I was not in raging hysterics, but 
remembered I had known the Honorable Mable most of my life and I'd been a 
guest in her house often enough. Take away the metal on my wrists and ankles 
and give me a dress and the scene would have been entirely normal. I ate and 
drank and listened. 

"First off, I want you to understand I don't the least bit mind using a whip 
on you, darling." Mable speared an olive. "As a matter of fact, I rather 
enjoy whipping a girl. Whips and crops make the most gorgeous sound as they 
impact. It's sort of a cross between and thunk and a snap, there really 
isn't a word to describe it. If you weren't hurting so much at the time, you 
could listen and give me your opinion." 

"Something for me to look forward to, I'm sure." 

"I don't mind a few sarcasms, darling, but don't over do it. I'll make a few 
allowances because this is all new to you, but don't push your luck." 

"Mable, I'm not interested in anything except being freed from these 
horrible things you've locked on my and getting back my clothes." My words 
were ignored. 

"I'll keep you hear at Cobblestone Mews, darling, until I've got you really 
docile and obedient. I realize now, under those lovely breasts of yours, 
you're seething with resentment. And a determination to escape. You're also 
probably wondering what you'll tell the police." She smiled affectionately. 
"Forget it dear, and don't fret yourself about freedom." 

The Honorable Mable held every advantage, I held none! It was easy for her 
to guess my every thought, she had only to put herself in my place to know 
what I would be thinking and feeling. I made my voice as stiff as starch and 
as cold as ice, "I hope you're enjoying yourself." 

"After you're well trained dear, I'll take you down to Cranston. You've 
visited there often enough so I won't tell you about it. But there are a few 
things you haven't seen. Dungeons for instance. And there's a beautifully 
equipped torture chamber I call the playroom." 

"You're being ridiculous, Mable. Torture chamber, my foot! I've never heard 
such nonsense." 

I suppose one of the nice things about owning a captive girl is that you 
don't have to pay any attention to what she says. Mable ignored me. 

"One of the good things about having you at Cranston," she went on, "is, my 
pet, there is so much more to do with you there. From now on you'll exist 
for my amusement. And, what with the old part of the castle, and the Park, 
you can imagine the possibilities. Here at the Mews we are sort of limited 
to the rings around the wall. My, you did chaff your wrist, didn't you." 

She had me curious but if I asked questions that would seem as if I were 
weakening. Frigidly I retorted, "I suppose there's a pillory and a whipping 
post and a set of stocks," before remembering I had seen exactly those 
things on one of my visits. We spoke of them laughingly as relics of an 
ancient age but a memory lingered of holes for wrists and neck and ankles 
far smaller than was generally the case. Now I knew why! "Don't answer," I 
said hastily, "I'd rather not know." 

"They're a bit old hat," Mable said easily. "But I'll lock you in them 
sometime just so you'll know what it's like." She almost giggled. "There's 
so much for a girl to learn at Cranston." 

"Thanks, I've learned too much already. When do I go home?" Mable sipped an 
expensive vintage most people could not afford. "You'll stop talking about 
going home, the phase soon passed. I suppose you realize I will extract a 
tribute from you when I take you to bed?" 

"You've gone to a hell of a lot of trouble just for that," I said testily. 
"Couldn't you have asked me sensibly in a civilized way instead of all this 
nonsense? I used to be fond of you." 

"You're still fond of me, darling, even when I whip you really hard you'll 
still be fond of me. You won't think so at the time, but that's the way it 
is." 

I shivered. Mable with a whip hanging from her belt and me naked! I'd had 
four cuts from the damned thing already but I realized they probably weren't 
anywhere near as hard as she could make them. Crossly, I asked, "Are you 
expecting to whip me into submission. Nibbling your puss isn't the end of 
the world, y'know, especially with a girl you've been fond of. All these 
irons and things aren't the least bit necessary." 

Mable smiled a maternal smile. "Oh, I know all that, darling. I was just 
testing. I rather hoped you'd be angry and refuse. That way I'd have an 
excuse to whip you into obedience. But never mind, well have a lovely time 
anyway." 

The way Mable said it, I could almost feel my skin being sliced as she used 
that riding crop on me. I cringed at the thought and protested, "Oh, Mable, 
you don't have to keep talking about the whip. And you don't have to keep 
wearing it where I can see it. I'll be sensible enough not to give you 
excused not to use it on me." 

"But, darling!" Mable sounded shocked. "I love whipping you. If you refuse 
to give me an excuse, I'll invent one. You may as well make up your mind to 
an occasional whipping, it's one of the things you'll have to get used to. I 
know you'll hate it but you won't die and it won't do you the least bit of 
harm." She giggled, "It's probably good for your circulation." 

I sniffed and left it at that. I could feel the invisible web of the 
Honorable Mable Wycherly closing in on me. 

"You can do the dishes, darling, it's the maid's night out. Her name's 
Jessie and every time you ask her to help you escape, she'll report it to me 
and you'll be punished. Try to remember." 

I did the dishes, mantled in shame and a blush I could not control. 

I wondered if Reggie knew what Mable was doing to me. I took my short, 
hobbled steps with abundant caution and carried the trey in a dither of 
apprehension. Mable contented herself with watching and caustic comment. 
"Take shorter steps, darling, you're not going anywhere." Or the one about, 
"You'll bend over and touch you toes for five, darling, every time you break 
a dish. Let's call it our incentive program." 

I survived the ordeal without a single stripe. I knew Mable was disappointed 
but I had a horror of that riding crop and concentrated every effort to 
stepping within the tolerance of my chain. One thing was for sure, chaffed 
ankles. 

It appeared I was to share the bed of the Honorable Mable Wycherly. 

I walked beside her in mute acceptance but not silently. The chain between 
my feet worked busily, singing its song of triumph over the maiden who wore 
it. Mable's remark was typical, "Isn't that the loveliest sound, dear. 
You'll be hearing a lot of it." 

Naked, the Honorable Mable was a voluptuous dish. Making sure it was in 
clear view of my sight, she hung the riding crop from one of the posts of 
the four-poster and gave me the sweetest smile. "Just in case, darling, a 
mistress never knows her luck." 

I suppose that was how she saw herself, my mistress. I was not prepared to 
argue her that conceit. Already padlocked somewhere out of sight was a 
longer chain than that which had chained me to the wall. When it was 
padlocked on my collar, I was about as much a prisoner as a girl could ever 
be. Darling Mable lay upon her back, spread her legs wide apart to reveal 
the plumpest and most perfumed of pussies. "You know what to do, darling, 
get with it." 

I looked down at the plump labia my lips must lave and my tongue probe. Its 
scent wafted to make my nostrils flare in female response to potent flesh. 
Positioning my near helplessness between the hungry thighs I sought my task, 
resting my chained hands upon the hot belly above my buried face. I nibbled 
greedily as though it were a privilege. That was the beginning. 

 CHAPTER TWO - I LEARN 

My captivity at Cobblestone Mews was pure delight--for Mable, but not for 
me. For me it was an endless boredom interspersed with vivid shames and 
humiliation. There was also the whip and the riding crop. The Honorable 
Mable used both upon me with exquisite happiness, a happiness I did not 
share. The shocks Cobblestone Mews inflicted upon me were cleverly spaced 
wide apart to keep me always unaware but in vivid apprehension. For the most 
part I was simply moved from ring to ring where I sat or stood in dull 
despair to await the next chapter in the story which Mable wore .and I 
endured. After the first week I no longer kidded myself that this was one of 
Reggie's "pleasantries." The Honorable Mable was going to steal a part, if 
not all, of my life and all she wanted me for was a plaything in bed, a 
handy package of naked girl kept well secured in convenient places for her 
amusement. 

It was inevitable I revolt. In assessing my chances I reached the conclusion 
my best bet would be one of those occasions where I was totally free except 
for the leg irons. Mable was pretty well convinced that the leg irons and 
her riding crop would keep me in line and defeat any fight I might put up. 
But the leg irons gave me a tantalizing and misleading sense of freedom. My 
first opportunity when she ironed me in that fashion to take me to dinner. I 
pounced on her like a hungry lion. 

Darling Mable was caught unawares, I had my forearm thrust against her 
throat and a firm grip on one of her hands which I twisted up behind her 
back. For the first ten seconds I was doing fine and wondering if I would 
have to knock her senseless to find the key. But Mable rallied her forces 
and stamped hard on my foot with the spiked heel of her shoes, first one 
then the other. The agony was so great it made me loose my hold and enabled 
Mable to bring into play some of those karate tricks she had often hinted 
about. A minute later I was flat on my face on the rug with Mable's knee 
pressing hard against my spine and one of my own hands twisted up my back as 
I had tried to twist hers. Along with this was the truly terrible pain where 
her heels had found my feet. 

I was positive bones were broken and I was suddenly sobbing in bitter defeat 
on Mable's carpet. 

"Had enough, darling?" 

"Yes... Oh, yes! Oh, Mable, stop doing that to my ami... Please stop. And I 
think you've broken my feet." 

"Put your other hand behind your back, darling." 

The familiar bit of the handcuff announced my defeat and surrender, I was 
hurting so bad there was no fight left in me. Mable locked one of my wrists 
tight and then dragged me to the wall where it was clicked to one of the 
rings forever waiting. She backed up to survey with satisfaction the saddest 
and sorriest of captive girls as I used my one free hand to tenderly explore 
the broken skin and awful agony of my feet. I had remained leg-ironed 
throughout the battle. 

Mable wasted few words but those she used were potent. "You've earned this, 
darling. You're welcome to scream all you like." 

It was the whip, not the crop. I was crotched against the wall, one hand 
manacled above my head, my feet joined, but otherwise in relative freedom. 
Mable slashed away at me as though she was beating the dust from a carpet. 
She cared not where she struck, but seemed to prefer my more intimate 
portions to the conventional back and bottom. After a series of frightening 
cuts between my thighs, across my belly, and across my breasts, I knelt and 
thrust my nakedness hard against the wall to present only those portions of 
myself best able to bear the whip. Someone said that a girl's body and back 
were well designed by nature for the rod and thong. I won't dispute it, all 
I knew was that I wanted to put my breasts and pussy into such safety as my 
single bond permitted. Quite unconcerned, Mable lashed away at what I 
offered with tremendous gusto while I screamed and screamed and screamed and 
tried to bury my face in the one hand left to me. After an eternity of pain, 
my one time friend stopped whipping me to stand, panting hard, and ask, "Had 
enough, darling? I'd love to give you more." 

"I've had enough." I spoke the words in a pitiful sob. 

"Are you going to jump me again, darling?" 

"No. Not ever!" I meant it. 

I could imagine how pitiful I looked, kneeling there naked and chained to 
the wall. I just couldn't stop the heaving sobs fighting at my breasts. I 
was a remorseful little girl who was by no means sure her punishment was 
over. I was promising myself inwardly that I would never try such a trick 
again. Quite suddenly the impossible happened. With surprising strength, 
Mable positioned me over an ottoman she dragged up for the purpose and, 
leaving my hand cuffed to the wall, spread my legs wide apart and buried her 
face between my thighs. Shock made me silent. In a few seconds I would not 
have moved even if I could. The pent up floods of frustration and urgency 
swept me into orgasm after orgasm beneath the skillful mouth of a woman all 
too wise. When I had screamed my last climax the ottoman was thrust away and 
I was embraced in loving arms and kissed and kissed. I kissed back hard, my 
one free arm reaching to clasp a woman's body, suddenly dear to me. Mable 
wept, too, and our tears mingled on our cheeks. After an eternity all too 
short I found myself alone still with one wrists manacled to the wall. My 
feet throbbed cruelly. They were not broken. 

It had been the most vivid tumult of emotions I had ever felt up to that 
time in my life, I had been whipped and loved in the strangest union of 
emotions imaginable. I crotched there, a naked, well whipped girl, and 
pondered the unanswerable facts of a new existence. I was no longer Miss 
Angela Maberly, I was Mable's slave. At that moment I wanted only to obey. 

It did not last, of course. Nothing lasts the way we think it will. We 
endlessly delude ourselves. At the moment of Mable's leaving me, it was 
certain I would never again feel anger or know loneliness when she chained 
me as pleased, or in those brief, fierce moments when I was whipped. I 
promised myself I would stop dreaming and embrace my captive state with 
whatever gratitude I could muster. I would keep Mable's love for me alive. 

Euphoria lasted a day or two in which I nursed hurt feet and wealed skin. 
Both made me hot between my thighs in a way I would never have dreamed. 
Girls are strange creatures and I was learning fast. I wondered if Mable had 
ever been whipped, I cherished beautiful fantasies of her nakedness tightly 
secured while I marked it with a thong which sliced the air and cut at her 
in vicious joy. But that's all it was, a dream. By the third day I was once 
more alert to possibilities with escape an ever present purpose in my mind. 

We did not mention my dereliction or its rewards. The Honorable Mable had 
always spoken to me in terms of endearment, giving me no excuse to think 
other than that she loved me fondly. I knew, sheepishly, that if only she 
would stop my imprisonment and punishments, I would fall in her arms most 
gladly. It would have been nice if the story had ended right there but it 
did not. Darling Mable now kept me for days and days with my wrists chained 
to the ring in the wall or a ring in the floor. There was even one in the 
kitchen. She knew as well as I the awful frustration of being held by so 
small a bond yet have no key. The metal circlet was always tight and 
frequently inspected to make sure of its dominance of my flesh. Mable took 
the leg irons from my feet as thought to emphasis the frustration of the 
single steel band which denied me freedom. I was unquestionably learning my 
lessons. 

Mable never felt urgency about me. She had me safe and could play her little 
games with me at leisure. The first of them came about ten days after my 
abortive attempt at escape. I was sitting in my familiar pose against the 
wall with my shackled wrist above my head, quietly dreaming, when someone 
entered. I supposed it to be Mable and was slow in opening my eyes and 
raising them. But when I did so I absurdly sprang erect and covered my pussy 
with my free hand in a silly, coy gesture left over from childhood. The 
woman regarding me with an enraptured gaze was not Mable. 

It was Rosalie Morton. 

"Hello," said Rosalie. "Mable has told me all about you. Isn't it 
wonderful!" 

"Help me get out of here, Rosalie!" The words burst from me like a bomb. 
"I've been kept prisoner. I've been prisoner here in chains for simply ages. 
Gosh, am I glad to see you!" 

"Darling, what are you trying to cover up? I've seen one of those things 
you're so shy about, I've got one myself. Please don't stand like that, you 
look silly. Cover one of your breasts if you have to cover something." 

I knew right then I'd get no help form Rosalie. She'd been briefed on my 
condition and, anyway, she was a close friend of Mable's. But I had to try. 
"Please tell the police, Rosalie. I've been kidnapped." I rattled my 
handcuff. "Look, I'm never free of this. Mable keeps me chained all the 
time. Rosalie, please help me." 

"I'd love to, my dear, but Mable made me promise before she sent me up to 
have a look at you. You're not really being hurt, are you?" 

"Of course I am! Look at the marks on my wrists and ankles and the whip 
marks, they're all over me. How would you like to be whipped every few 
days?" 

"I wouldn't But on you those lovely marks are gorgeous." 

I let my one free hand fall limp at my side, if she wanted to look, let her. 
A single hand is not much help in covering a naked girl. Once again I 
thought of turning my back, but that would be coy and silly and Rosalie 
would probably get an extra laugh out of it. As though in defiance I thrust 
my breasts and widened the separation of my legs, making a virtue of 
necessity. Dully, I asked, "What's Mable going to do with me?" 

"Keep you as a pet. I wish I had you." 

"Rosalie, you can't be serious? You can't possibly be party to keeping me a 
prisoner here? Look, all I need for freedom is one tiny little key. " 

"But I don't have it, darling. For all the help I can give, you just might 
as well be locked up in the Tower of London. Look, I don't want to hear any 
more about letting you loose. If you stop bothering me about it, I won't 
tell Mable and then you won't get punished." 

"It's not me that bothering you, it's your conscious." 

"Well, maybe you're right, but I'm not going to spoil Mable's fun. Besides I 
think you're getting a kick out of this that you don't realize. You're 
frightfully erotic that way, y'know." 

Rosalie came close and we kissed. I was so damned lonely and scared I would 
have kissed an elephant. And Rosalie is a very beautiful girl. She picked up 
my captive hand and examined the handcuffed wrists with absorption, finding 
keen interest in the shinning steel around my wrist and the twin circlets. 
"I can see what you mean about the tiny key and freedom," she admitted, 
"This single link around your wrist must frustrate you to death. It would 
give me the heebie jeebies." 

"If you were half a friend, Rosalie, you could have me free by this evening. 
Please...?" 

"I told you not to ask me again," Rosalie reprimanded me sharply. "I'll now 
have to tell Mable. If I were you, darling, I'd make the best of things. 
You're probably having the most erotic experience of any girl in the 
country. I almost envy you... But not quite!" 

"If you'll promise to get me free, Rosalie, I'll get down between your legs 
and do that thing you once asked me to and I refused. I'll do it now, 
gladly." 

"Mable really has you trained, darling." Rosalie was entranced. "But don't 
you see, dear, all I have to do is borrow that lovely riding crop from Mable 
and you'll do anything I want anyway without strings attached?" 

"Drop dead! I think you're a beast. You're not the least bit what I thought 
you were." My breasts were heaving and I was really angry. 

Rosalie kissed me and, laughing, went away to leave me once more alone and 
wishing I hadn't asked the things I had. I knew what was going to happen 
now, and the thought of standing as I was now while Mable's whip cut at me 
brought tears to my eyes. It was all so damned unfair... ! 

Mable made me wait and stew in apprehension a long time before making an 
appearance. Neither of us spoke but stood standing and staring and 
tremendously aware of each other. Finally she spoke, "You expect to be 
whipped, don't you darling?" 

"Yes." 

"Then I'll disappoint you." She dangled a pair of shining handcuffs for me 
to admire. "These will give you a longer time for repentance, darling. Hold 
out your hand." 

I did, hating my docility. I watched the cuff circle my wrist and click its 
way to a snug, tight fit. "You're going to love this," Mable assured me 
cheerfully as she grabbed my opposite ankles and dragged it up to be locked 
to my wrist. This left me standing on one leg like a stork and feeling 
hatefully disorganized. 

Mable backed away, assessing her work. I assessed it, too, and hated it. To 
ease the bit of steel I grasped my ankle with the hand to which it was 
cuffed. "You're being terribly unkind," I said but left it at that. 

"Would you sooner I whipped you?" 

"Noooo... I suppose not. But thanks just the same." 

"You're welcome, darling." 

We both laughed, mine was a trifle hysterical. 

"You'll come to hate it after a while," Mable assured me. "But I don't want 
to be forever whipping you, I have to think of something. " 

"You're not leaving me to stand like this all day, are you? Mable, please 
don't." 

"You can still sit down the way you usually do, dear. Slide down to the rug 
and you can go to sleep." 

"But it's all so awkward and untidy and... and... It's simply horrible." 

Mable laughed at my dolor. "That's the female talking. You're instinctively 
scared someone you know will come in and see you hot and bothered and 
frustrated. I have to run now, darling. Enjoy!" 

Mable left me standing, clutching my right ankle with my left hand, to which 
it was securely locked. I felt awkward and idiotic so slid cautiously down 
to the rug. It was not much better. It wasn't so bad for my hand, which 
hadn't any place to go anyway, but my right knee complained bitterly of the 
imposition. I could make things easier for it by leaning forward and 
extending an arm. But whatever I did was a case of robbing Peter to pay 
Paul. Darling Mable had left me beautifully foxed. 

Can you visualize it? My right hand chained to a ring above my head, my left 
hand chained to my right ankle. Handcuffs have only a single link so they 
don't give all that much movement. The only part of me left free was my left 
leg which didn't seem to know what to do. I didn't know what to do with it, 
either. It stuck out as though in lonely isolation as though I was an 
amputee. I wondered if I could drag myself back up to stand on it but I 
didn't bother. I would have wept and cried like a baby if I'd had a hand to 
dry my tears. But this way I would have to contort myself something awful 
and just said to hell with the whole thing. I sat there, an irritated and 
angry package of female arms and legs which could no longer dispose 
themselves as nature intended. Mable was clever! 

I sat and glowered at the opposite wall. I played with the steel circlet on 
my ankle, it was tight and resisted motion. I didn't have an extra hand with 
which to play with the bands around my wrists but they were tight, too. I 
was a mad and sorry little girl who had failed to mind her Ps and Qs. I 
swore fervently at no one and nothing. 

Mable obviously thought she had designed a masterpiece. She allowed me the 
freedom of the bathroom before she went to bed. I got to the bathroom and 
back to my ring in a stupid, bent over posture which made me blush. When I 
was safely locked back on the wall, the honorable Mable simply said, 
"Goodnight, darling, pleasant dreams." And buried herself in the bed which, 
for this night at least, I no longer shared. In the dark I really did shed 
tears but they did not matter, there was no one to see. Mable kept me within 
the stricture of two pairs of handcuffs for a couple of days. By the time 
that ordeal was through I was wishing fervently she had whipped me in the 
first place and gotten it over with. A whip maybe wicked but it's quick. By 
the second day I hated that damned handcuff so bad... ! But that's the way 
it was. 

Rosalie had been bad but she was only a beginning. There came the day when 
Mable padlocked the chain back to my collar and took the handcuff from my 
ring and wrist to join it to my other wrist behind my back. She had not done 
this to me before, and having both my hands in back was degree of 
helplessness quite new. Its intent became obviously when she bandaged my 
eyes to put me in the dark. I could not reach the bandage, I couldn't reach 
anything. I simply stood, a naked girl against the wall, waiting for 
something to happen. 

I was certain I would not like whatever it was Mable was about to do to me, 
but I was so damned sick of simply sitting in utter, helpless boredom, that 
I actually welcomed the new adventure or punishment or whatever it would be. 
I stood expectantly, knowing the chain and collar and ME made a pretty 
picture while I tugged and twisted against the handcuffs which held my 
wrists in unfamiliar union behind my back. It's shocking to think of, but 
after a girl's been a prisoner for so long, she welcomes almost anything. 

The way darling Mable had me fixed left only my ears. I had to stand where I 
was, I couldn't see a thing and there was no one to talk to. Instead I 
listened but, in a circumstance like this your ears are likely to let you 
hear what you think you'll hear, ft takes a very definite sound or voice to 
penetrate the darkness and make sense. Again and again I could swear I heard 
movement or the rustle of a dress. But when I stood tense and alert, cocking 
both ears, if such a thing is possible, there was only silence. It got eerie 
after a while and I knew the blindfold could be a form of punishment. But I 
hadn't done anything and Mable hadn't said she was punishing me. Imagine my 
dither! I struggled and twisted to get my locked hands up to pull down the 
blindfold but never quite made it. Like I said I was foxed but good. 

Everything ends. I was suddenly aware of very definite sounds. Mable was 
moving around the room and I could follow her motions by the sounds she 
made. By the time her steps turned in my direction, I was trembling with 
curiosity. When she whisked away the blindfold, ! blinked in the sudden 
light and beheld that which sent my heart, first plummeting, and then to a 
frantic hammering. Around the room were most of the female acquaintances I 
had ever known. 

I wanted to die. I longed for the earth to open and swallow me up. I 
considered turning my face to the wall but rejected it for the same reasons 
as before. It took every ounce of will power I possessed to simply stand 
facing them and do nothing silly. Holly cow, was it ever awful! 

Their excited chatter broke the silence while Mable stood silently to one 
side while her exhibit, namely me, got all the attention. There were a 
hundred exclamations but I only remember a few of them. 

"Isn't she simply darling!" 

"And so gorgeously helpless...!" 

"And those beautiful whip marks! Oh, Mable, I did envy you so much." 

There were plenty more, but who cares. My stark exposure was so total I 
simply returned their stares and asked frigidly, "Has any of you the decency 
to let me loose?" 

No one had that much decency. I caught a warning glance from Mable and dared 
not try again. But the guests, most of whom I had thought of as friends, 
clustered around me to admire, to finger and to probe. 

I was no longer a girl or one of the bunch, I was a gorgeously erotic 
exhibit designed for their entertainment. Alter the initial impact we all 
adjourned to the lounge, Mable proudly carrying my chain tether and 
pridefully padlocking it to another ring when we got there. The room didn't 
matter much, what did matter was ME. 

The etchings on my mind are vivid as I locked glances with girl after girl 
and woman after woman. These people had been my friends, the group forming 
my social life. Now they beheld me naked and chained as a slavegirl in a 
Roman market. But the pity and sympathy I had a right to expect was not 
there. For these females I was pure delight, a delicious innovation, an 
erotic break in the monotony for matron and maiden alike. I was all together 
to good to waste. I'm quite sure that if any felt sympathy or pity, they 
quenched the emotion by telling themselves I was enjoying this exposure as 
much as they. If ever a girl knew defeat, I knew it then! 

But we were sisters under our clothes and the novelty soon faded as the 
group's attention turned to tea and Mable's food. True, there was always a 
pair of eyes surveying me from somewhere but they turned as soon as I 
returned their gaze steadily. Even their disregard was an affront as wave 
after wave of shame washed me in a tide of humiliation. But the tide receded 
as did the waves until my flesh ceased to bum beneath the stare of curious 
eyes as I surrendered to the nakedness from which I was never released any 
more than I was released from the chain. Mable's party was a great success. 

When the honorable Mable and I were once more alone, I stared at her happy 
features to demand, "So, okay, I asked for help, what's my punishment?" 

"What would you suggest, darling?" 

"Oh, Mable, don't play around with me. You know how I must be feeling. Let's 
get it over with." 

"You're all hot and bothered," Mable chucked. "It shows what a guilty 
conscious will do for a girl. How about ten with the cane on your nice, 
round little butt?" 

My heart leaped. It was a bargain! But all I said was a meek "thank you" and 
inquired as to how she would like me to turn. 

It could have been worse. 

* * * 

Time is potent. Its passage told me all too clearly the truth of Mable's 
promises. I was a prisoner, perhaps forever. Freedom became a pretty dream, 
it dwelt in the past not the future. I was ashamed to find myself 
occasionally being meekly obedient. But the shame of these surrenders gave 
my bottom a chance to heal and be once more a virgin for the cane. I spent 
my days chained to this ring or that, and my nights leashed beside her on 
her bed. 'The outrageous which marked a fresh beginning was artfully 
exploded upon me during a quiet afternoon in which ! was quietly dozing and 
hoping Mable wouldn't be too long in taking me to dinner. I looked up at an 
unexpected sound and there he was, the full six feet of him. Mr. Jeffery 
Dillon was regarding Miss Angela Maberly with intent interest. I didn't know 
him from Adam, I found out his name later. For that awful moment he was the 
just a terrible male man having a good look at my breasts and pubic hair. 
For some reason I scrabbled to my feet, my single free hand covering one 
breasts while I retorted, "Go away! You're not suppose to see me like this, 
you're in the wrong room." 

"No, he's not." Mable said, making a sudden appearance. "His name's Jeff 
Dillon and I've sold you to him for the afternoon. I would suggest you mind 
your manners." 

The honorable Mable didn't stay long enough for me to protest or say a word 
but my male visitor pointedly closed the door behind her then stepped 
forward a few paces to get a look at what I suppose was his new possession. 
His new possession was ME. I cringed like a schoolgirl beneath his amused 
gaze. "I'm not going to eat you." he assured easily. "I suggest you relax 
and enjoy." 

"You mean you're going to...?" I couldn't say the awful word nor name the 
act. 

"Of course! I paid a big price for you and you are highly recommended." His 
smile was charming, almost disarming. "Don't tell me I'm your first?" 

I didn't want to tell him anything. "You can forget about it, can't you see 
my hand is chained to the wall?" 

I protest was short. Mable had told him about the chain and padlock and I 
was very soon tethered by my collar and my captive wrist released. To do 
these things he had to stand very close and I got the scent of his 
masculinity. It struck me in wave after wave. I suppose I'd been starved of 
a man for so long his presence was doubly potent. When he held my bare 
shoulders and kissed me hard I knew I was bombarding him with whatever 
scents nature had provided me. He stepped away to leave me panting. I now 
had two free hands and used them to cover both my breasts while bestowing on 
him the trapped animal stare which by now came naturally to me. 

"Please don't do it to me," I pleaded. "Do the other things if you feel you 
have to but not that." 

Jeffery laughed. "Other things? What other things?" 

"Caning my bottom or whipping my back or chaining me in some disgusting 
pose." I knew myself blushing intensely while my hands forgot my breasts and 
flew to the collar around my neck, the single tether still holding me. 

"Do men to those things to you?" 

"No. But Mable does. Look, Mr. Dillon, Mable has kidnapped me and she's 
keeping me a prisoner here the way you see. Please help me escape. But don't 
tell her I said that. 

"She told me you'd ask, and she told me she would punish you for asking. I 
gather there's some sort of code...?" Concerned, he added, "You're all 
tensed up. Would you like me to ring for tea?" 

"I'm not allowed tea. Mable says it will make me fat." 

"I've already arranged for it." He pressed the bell. 

We stood and stared. I felt ten times more ashamed because he was so damned 
handsome in a nice tweedy sort of way girls always associate with security 
and good behavior. But he had announced his intention to ravish, and had 
prepared me for the act. My mind was groping with this, trying to make it 
seem possible and real when Jessie arrived with the tea. She wheeled the 
trolley in, winkled at me broadly, as left us to our own devices. I'd never 
made any time with Jessie, she was definitely Mable's girl. 

"Perhaps you'd pour, it's the lady's prerogative." The man who would soon 
violate my sex thrust the trolley within my reach, provided a chair for me 
and one for himself, and sat down expectantly as if this were a every day 
occurrence. Mechanically I poured. Mechanically I drank and ate. And, 
because I had no choice, I listened to the omnipotent male. 

"You mustn't be angry with Mable, she's a sweet girl. I've known her a long 
time." 

"Why don't you thrust your intercourse into her then, instead of me? I'm 
sure she'd accommodate you." 

I almost threw my tea in his smiling face when he replied, "Mable asked me 
to do it to you as a favor. She said the only other man she could think of 
was Reggie Tufton. Cheer up, I'm not that hard to take. " 

"You can't have an ounce of chivalry or you'd set me free of these chains. 
Why won't you?" 

"Because you and the chains belong to Mable. I can't tamper with her 
property." 

"It's the chains which make me belong to Mable," I said savagely. "I don't 
really belong to her at all. It's just the handcuffs and collar that keep me 
here." 

"We're arguing," Jeff said sharply. "I dislike arguing. Has anyone 
complimented you upon your breasts, they are magnificent." 

"My breasts are my own affair." I made my voice as icy as I could. 

"And you have the loveliest forest of pubic hair. Pity I'm not a 
collector... " 

"Don't you dare!" Absurdly my hand flew to protect my secret place. I 
hastily returned it to view then tartly asked, "I hope you're enjoying your 
tea while ogling a naked girl who wishes she'd met you when she was properly 
clothed." 

"Of course, I'm enjoying you, and I take what you said as a compliment. By 
the way, this whipping business, would you like me to do it before or after 
our little time together?" 

"No I wouldn't!" 

"Well, I only asked." He chuckled. "I have heard there are some girls who 
really get a charge out of their bottoms being caned. No harm in asking." 

When Jeffery Dillon rolled away the tea trolley and replaced our chairs 
where they belonged, I stood against the wall, shivering and quivering in an 
emotion for which I have no name. I watched Jeffery remove his clothes, 
abstaining from the Victorian exclamation, "It's too huge, I can't possibly 
take all of that!" 

If I died, I died! At least it would be beneath the handsomest male creature 
I had ever met. I couldn't think of a thing to say, protests seemed absurd. 
Mable had delivered me to this man and that was about the sum total of it. I 
held onto my chain tether to keep it from clinking as I shivered. 

Jeff picked me up and laid me on the rug. The chain permitted this. He 
seemed terribly in command but I shuttered to think of how many times he had 
done this with other fluttering maidens. I hated to think of him as a stud 
but that was probably the way Mable saw him. I closed my eyes and was 
surprised to discover my arms still around his neck from the process of 
picking me up and lowering me to the floor. I let them stay there. 

I was teased but not tom. His hands and fingers were infinitely gently. 
After my feminine imprisonment, they told me in a flash of hot desire, of 
being decidedly heterosexual. If I had eaten of the forbidden fruit it had 
been only under the force of Mable's whip with a lot of loneliness thrown 
in. When Jeff Dillon finally entered me with the full immensity of his 
maleness, I forgot everything except entry into that rainbow hued nirvana 
only glimpsed by the most successful of lovers. I gloried in lust! 

It was a long aftermath. Even had I been free I would not have left that 
place. Mable's chain, padlocked to my collar, had hindered us not at all. 
When finally the male withdrew from me and resumed its clothes, I was 
content to lay as a chained prisoner upon the rug. I didn't want to get up, 
I didn't want to do anything except dream. Later I might be ashamed of 
myself, but not right then! When it became evident The Male had no intention 
of using a whip on me I knew only unbounded happiness and said, anxiously, 
"This isn't just one time, is it? You will come back?" 

He kissed me. "Of course I'll some back. You're special." 

It was more than a promise. 

Jeff raised me to my feet, handcuffed my wrists as he had found them, 
unlocked the padlock to my collar. I was back at square one. He kissed me 
again and went away. I stood there, dazed, wondering if what he had done to 
me could be properly called rape. I decided it should not. And, anyway, he'd 
paid for it, hadn't he! 

The following day Mable took me to Cranston. 

 CHAPTER THREE - MEDIEVAL MAIDEN 

I'd been to Cranston as Mable's guest before but not as a prisoner. I was 
most definitely a prisoner now. The honorable Mable gave me to understand 
that this was in the way of a promotion. Cobblestone Mews had exerted its 
influence long enough and I was ready for other things. It seemed unlikely I 
would enjoy any of them. My first absence of pleasure came from the journey 
down. I did not sit with Mable in the front seat but made the trip securely 
trussed with about forty yards of rope in the boot of the car. It was my 
first experience with being bound with other than chain. So in hopeful 
excitement I spend the two dark and uncomfortable hours trying to free 
myself of this new bondage only to find it more cruel than the handcuffs or 
the chain. With them it didn't hurt if I didn't struggle, but now roped 
tight, every bit of me hurt constantly. My wrists were crossed and tied 
behind my back and from them a wicked cord was drawn between my legs and up 
between my pussy to join a belt of cord around my tummy. It was easy to tell 
that Mable had done this sort of thing often. She and Jessie lifted me like 
a sack of potatoes and dumped me in with the spare tire with a thud. The 
slam of the lid had a terrible finality. 

Along with my two hour battle with the cords I shed quite a lot of tears. I 
was quite positive my transfer to Cranston was something to do with Jeff 
Dillon. Quite likely Mable would never allow me to see him again. I had to 
be crazy. I had stood shivering with fright with the prospect of him raping 
me and now I was shedding tears over maybe never seeing him again. The whole 
thing was one more bit of Mable's total possession of me. 

I was soon convenience that Mable had tied me the way I was not so much to 
keep me helpless but to impose a new kind of authority. 

I would have been safe enough back there if she had just bound my wrists 
behind my back and tied my ankles. But that was only the beginning. I pussy 
was tied, my breasts were tied as though they had a life of their own and 
could walk away. She had also tied my elbows, not hard together but close 
enough to make them a continual nag. It was also quite hard to breathe and I 
was quite sure that no blood was flowing beneath the cords. I was a quite 
sad prisoner when the car finally stopped. The lid of my small prison was 
suddenly flung open and I found myself blinking at the cheerful countenance 
of Reggie Tufton. 

Our greetings were terse and to the point. 

"You look simply ripping," Reggie exclaimed happily. "Those marvelous ropes! 
Mable should keep you tied like this all the time." 

"Aren't you ashamed of what you've done to me?" I demanded bitterly. "It was 
all your fault. Please untie me." I put every bit of feeling I could into 
the next few words. "Reggie, dear, please give me freedom. Get me out of 
these ropes. Pleaseeeeee!" 

"Don't take on so, dear girl, you look ravishing. Those breasts...!" He 
sighed in ecstasy. "And the way Mable has the rope right inside your 
pussy... ! Isn't Mable wonderful!" 

Any remarks I was about to make about Mable were cut short by the lady 
herself. 

"Lift the poor girl out of there, Reggie," she instructed as though he were 
a servant. "You can carry her up to the green room where we'll have 
cocktails while she watches. Don't you dare untie a single knot." 

Reggie is strong, he's not half the idiot he pretends to be, but it's a role 
he likes to play. I expect it gives him a lot of latitude a more sober type 
would not have. He plucked me from the open trunk and carried me a long 
distance to the green room where he dumped me on a couch. I wanted to cry 
about the ropes, they were hurting so much. When I told the two of them 
about the pain of my bindings, Mable cheerfully retorted, "That's just the 
way they should be, darling, I wouldn't have them any other way. And be a 
good girl, you're in Cranston now. If you can keep your pretty little mouth 
from complaining for a while, I may let you have a cocktail." 

As usual I was foxed. It was gorgeous to be out of the trunk but hateful to 
be still bound tight. I also wanted a cocktail in the worst way so I kept 
quiet while I watched the honorable Mable and the darling Reggie sip their 
cocktails and chat merrily away about certain features of my anatomy of 
which they approved. 

Reggie choose to be vulgar. "Will she have a cut cunt, Mable? I mean, that 
rope you've got inside there...!" 

"They're indestructible," Mable said tersely. "Goodness knows, you should be 
aware of that." 

"Well, I always feel sorry for the little darlings -- I mean the little 
pussy, not the girl. They seem to have such a bad time one way or the other. 
But I suspect you're right, I've never noticed any change one way or the 
other after anything." 

They were doing it deliberately. Mable was playing the bitch to Reggie's 
bastard. I hurt too much to struggle any more but, if I did, I knew they'd 
enjoy it. Hovering above all of us was my inner most query as to what Mable 
would do with me at Cranston. Rings around the walls might seem trivial here 
I got my cocktail. Reggie raised and cradled me and held the glass to my 
lips. I found the attention absurdly comforting. I gulped the potent stuff 
and asked for another, a request which unexpectedly was granted. I felt 
better but was more than ever aware of the cut of cords. "I'll demean and 
humble myself in any way you wish if only you'll untie me," I offered 
dismally. "I don't suppose you've any idea how much I'm hurting?" 

"Take her Jo one of the guest rooms, Reggie. " Mable sounded bored. "If she 
wants to be difficult, you can tie her out spread-eagle on the bed. " She 
chuckled. "In fact, why not tie her that way anyhow. Every girl should be 
violated at way at least once." 

Reggie picked me up and carried me away, a victor with the spoils. I could 
have struggled but Reggie had been a friend and might be again. Dismally I 
inquired, "Does Mable really mean what she just said? Is that what you're 
going to do to me?" 

"It's not the end of the world, poppet. Cheer up, you may enjoy. I'm suppose 
to be rather good at it." 

I had a vivid but fleeting memory of Jeffery Dillon and admitted to myself 
that I wished it was he who bore me in his arms. "Is this your reward? I 
mean your thirty pieces of silver for playing Judas and betraying me?" I 
asked bitterly. "Don't you hate yourself?" He did not answer. 

The scene of my ravishment was a pleasant, bright and cheerful room. 

I had seen it before but had never imagined it being put to it's present 
use. Reggie tossed me on the bed with deliberate unconcern and went to work 
untying knots. When I was freed of cords up to the top of my thighs, he 
spread my legs apart and tied my ankles to each of the bottom corners of the 
bed. As usual, I was to be given no freedom between fastenings. When he 
untied my hands he was decent enough to give me a minute to message my sore 
and indented wrists before tethering them in the same way as my ankles to 
spread and expose me in an absolutely obscene "X." 

I had been a prisoner long enough to grasp at whatever pleasure or comfort 
came my way. I was about to be violated, raped and ravished. But for the 
moment the spread-eagle, which was not too tight, was a glorious comfort 
after the way Mable had trussed me. Reggie removed his clothes and sat 
beside me to play reflectively with my nipples and my indecently exposed 
vulva. He had a nice touch, his fingertips invoking instant response, 
imparting a promise soon to be kept. He grinned down at me cheerfully, "Hate 
me Angela?" 

I stirred against the ropes and had to think a minute before answering, "No, 
I suppose not. It's happened to other girls, hasn't it, so why should I 
complain?" After a pause I added, "And thank you for the loveplay. I needed 
that." 

Reggie knew the arts of foreplay all too well and soon had me in suspense, 
reflecting ruefully on the competence and virtue of the two men chosen thus 
far by Mable to reduce me to the level of a whore. Reggie would not pay in 
cash but he had certainly performed a service in delivering me into bondage. 
When he lowered himself into me and I closed my eyes and stopped worrying 
about anything. When Reggie finished his Judas role and I in yielding 
tribute to my captors, we finally came to the end of a successful coupling. 
Reggie was right: he was good! I wondered idly if I now got chained in the 
gloom of one of the Cranston dungeons. But while chatting about nothing 
important, Reggie untied my hands and bid me sit up so he could cross them 
behind my back and tie them tight again. It was evident I was never to know 
the faintest chance of freedom. When I was free, except for bound hands, 
Reggie and I both did something silly. He leaned down and bit one of my 
nipples so cruelly that I screamed and lunged to sink my teeth in his 
shoulder and bit for all I was worth. We came apart, both dismayed. Reggie 
stood beside the bed, fingering the wound I had placed upon his flesh then 
looking in surprise at his fingers touched with blood. My heart plummeted, I 
would be trouble now for sure. But all Reggie did was apply a clean 
handkerchief to his wound and remark, "Well, girl, let's hope you don't have 
rabies." 

Mable was not in evidence. Reggie suggested he show me around before tea, 
slyly suggesting there might be delights in Cranston not generally perceived 
by visitors. "What, walk around the house and park naked like this!" I 
exclaimed, blushing. "The servants... " 

"All well trained and well paid and fully accustomed to naked young woman 
with their hands tied behind their backs," Reggie assured me. "You won't 
even get a single raised eyebrow, just a smile." 

It's the damndest sensation for a girl to walk naked through familiar scenes 
where she had previously been clothed. Cranston's huge stairway and vast 
hall had a thousand eyes, all focused on my twice ravished puss. And upon my 
out-trust breasts, one still throbbing from Reggie's bite. I expected the 
dungeons for sure but Reggie led me out into Cranston's great park. I don't 
know how many acres there is but it is huge enough to encompass woodlands, 
glades, a couple of small lakes, a few quaint ruins and a great deal of 
grasslands. It is very beautiful, a place where fairies dance by moonlight 
and one may almost hear the pipes of Pan. I wasn't a bit sure I had anything 
to be grateful for but the sunlight worked its magic as did the place 
itself, I obediently walked beside the man who had been made a temporary 
gift of myself, the man who had tied my hands so I didn't have much to say 
about anything. 

"The Honorable Mable tells me you're interested in the stocks and the 
pillory," Reggie stated. "We may as well take those in first of all, they're 
out beyond the woods in beautiful isolation." 

"But Reggie, I've seen them on a previous visit." 

"You're going to see them again, my pet. Don't quibble." 

I was less concerned with our present mission than with a separate disquiet. 
"Are you going to tell Mable about my biting you?" I asked anxiously. 

"Yes, of course, the dear girl has asked me to report all such incidents. 
She'll punish you but I'll put in a plea for leniency, after all, I did bite 
your tit." 

"Reggie, if you don't tell her, she'll never know. Please...?" 

"She'll see the scar, poppet." 

I was about to deny his assertion when I realized Mable possibly utilized 
Reggie's virility as well impose it on me. The wound from my teeth would 
thus stare her in the face. My heart sank and I allowed the subject to drop. 
I'd hear about it soon enough. 

The ancient machinery of punishment was still where I had seen it last but 
now I saw the ground around each of the beastly things was well trod and the 
things themselves somehow bore the appearance of recent use. There was still 
a mystery about Cranston I did not know. 

"Where does Mable get the girls to put in these horrible things?" I 
demanded. "It's more than casual guests having fun, isn't it?" 

"Mable is never short of girls," Reggie informed me earnestly. "She's got a 
stable of them. Keeps them all in a huge cage." He chuckled delightedly. 
"You'll probably be added to the collection when your novelty wears off. 
After that you'll just get taken from the cage when she's in the mood for 
you. But you'll never be certain whether you're going to be loved or lashed. 
Adds a touch of spice, don't you think?" 

"Reggie, you're teasing me." 

"No. Scout's honor. I'd take you to have a look but I think it's a privilege 
Mable reserves for herself and you'll get your belly full when you're in the 
cage with them yourself. But never mind that stuff. Come along and I'll show 
you where she makes you walk the plank." 

It was a sweet little lake, marred only by a slender jetty out into the 
water and beyond that the sinister plank itself. "Mable has had the lake 
dredged down to where there is a considerable depth where the girl is forced 
to jump, you can't see the bottom. The unfortunate maiden's hands are tied 
the way yours are now. But it doesn't matter whether she can swim or not, 
she gets to jump off the end anyway." Reggie produced his evil chuckle once 
again. "The hell of it is she's been heavily primed with stories about what 
she's going to find down there. Mable insists there's a couple of piranhas 
and an Amazonian shark. I'm not sure of the truth of it but I'm not sticking 
my foot in to find out. I know if I were a girl, I'd waste no time getting 
back to shore." 

"But if she can't swim...?" 

"They don't tell her before hand, but if she's going to drown they haul her 
out with a boat hook or go in after her. Mable loves parties and I've known 
her persuasive enough to get the girls to draw lots on a voluntary basis to 
see which of them will do the fatal jump to provide a thrill for the rest. 
It's a favorite turn." 

I shuttered, gazing down at the dark water, suddenly sinister. I was glad 
when Reggie took my arm. The next exhibit was a short, heavy bench with 
rings to denote its purpose. Beyond its end and at either side were posts. 
They, too, were equipped with rings. Even without Reggie's explanation, I 
could imagine myself bound down to the bench, legs wide spread to each of 
the waiting posts, thus exposing my most secret place in an obscenity not in 
keeping with the lovely park. 

"Don't worry, you'll be tied down there to await the attentions of a satyr," 
Reggie assured me. "There's a neat little trick to this thing. The girl 
spends the night, tied as you can imagine, then one of the big dogs is let 
loose from the kennel and it's pretty much a hit or miss whether he finds 
you or not. The park is a big place and he may simply go to sleep or rove 
around. But if he does happen to catch your scent and come to pay his 
respects you can guess what might happen. One girl admitted to twenty-six 
orgasms before she was freed in the morning." 

"That's horrible!" 

"But a fact of life, dear girl. Let us hope you never have to spend the 
night on that bench." 

The scattered ruins I had previously admired turned out to be artfully 
created simulations designed to house any maiden who might offend Mable's 
majesty. One provided entry to the darkest and most dismal of dungeons while 
the second provided the same half way up a tower. A barred window enabled 
the chained maiden to peer out upon freedom. Both were cruel! 

"The dear girl doesn't use them often," Reggie admitted apologetically. "But 
they're always here if she decides to use them. As you can imagine, Mable's 
girls are very well behaved." 

The loveliness of the park was soiled by what I had seen. On our way back to 
the house I asked Reggie bluntly, "I guess I never really knew Mable. Is she 
a sadist? What does holding all these girls prisoner do for her?" 

"Power, dear girl. I think that's all there is. Mable has all the money in 
the world and this is the way she gets the biggest kicks." 

"But she has no right to hold any girl prisoner, to take her away from 
life!" 

"She does it anyway." 

"But the police... ! She could go to prison forever for all these 
kidnappings." 

"Are you in any position to go to the police with a complaint?" Reggie asked 
dryly. "Forget it. It won't happen." 

I thought of the slavegirl who had prolonged her life a thousand and one 
nights by telling the Caliph who owned her a fresh story every night. It 
would behoove me to emulate her performance with Mable. Reggie had given me 
a graphic picture of what awaited me should I fail to please. In Cobblestone 
Mews we had played a pretty game of keeping me a prisoner, an imprisonment I 
did not truly believe, but Cranston was for real. Here was subjection and 
obedience plus. Once again I shivered. Instinctively I pleaded, "Reggie, do 
you really want to sentence me to all these horrible things? You could set 
me free this instant if you wanted to. Untie my hands and give me some 
clothes and this nightmare will be all over. Mable must be out of her mind. 
Reggie, please don't condemn me to Cranston." 

"Sorry, old girl, there's reasons." Reggie enfolded me in his arms and 
kissed me gently in a brotherly sort of way. "I've shown you some bad things 
but there no reason why you should ever suffer them. If you work at pleasing 
Mable, she won't be cruel." His embrace continued a long time before he 
muttered, "Forgive me." 

* * * 

Mable played with me. It must be wonderful to hold such power over a girl. 
We both knew she was going to punish me but she never said a word. Sometimes 
I caught a look in her eye, but that was all. Her bedroom had the familiar 
rings and I was handcuffed to them as at Cobblestone Mews. That night I 
shared her bed, chained as I had always been and pressed into the same 
service as before. I tried very hard to please. In the exhaustion before 
sleep she whispered, "Two punishments tomorrow, darling. Reggie's wound and 
asking his help to escape. You can dream of what I'll do to you." I slept 
well and did not dream but found no comfort in either fact, knowing them 
only as evidence of Mable's possession of my will. 

After breakfast my hands were fastened behind my back with the familiar 
handcuffs. I was led to a bare, small room, in the center of which was a 
pedestal about thirty inches high. On the top was a strap and buckle. 

"Up with little Tootsie," Mable said mockingly. 

By this time I obeyed almost everything. Unhappily I placed my ankle within 
the strap and watched Mable buckle it very tight indeed. "You may be tempted 
to lay on your back with your foot in the air," Mable warned, "but I 
wouldn't try it if I were you, it will hurt, it might even do damage. Your 
best bet, dear, is to stand on one foot and quietly suffer. But if you are 
silly enough to get on the floor, you'll earn yourself a real punishment 
that you won't like. Keep that in mind." 

Mable clasped me ardently in her arms to plant a warm, affectionate kiss. 
"This one you're in now is for biting Reggie's shoulder. For asking his aid 
in escaping will be a bit more common, let's say ten with the cane on your 
pretty little rump. We can do it with you standing the way you are, but that 
will come later, it will give you something to think about. And something to 
look forward to. Pleasant standing, darling." 

It was beastly, the worst to date. The first little while was faintly 
bearable while I wiggled my toes and fingers to determine the possibility of 
escape and debated the wisdom of sliding forward to rest my foot. Mable 
might not show up for hours and I just as well could avoid the stress of the 
way I was. But, on the other hand, she might show up in thirty minutes and 
there was no way I could get back on my one leg in a hurry. Darling Mable 
was running true to form, leaving me both foxed and frustrated. Thinking 
about laying down would be the worst of my punishment. I wouldn't like the 
strokes across my bottom when I got them but they were still a long way off 
and there was no use thinking about them now. I stood, emulating a stork and 
hating every moment. 

My enforced immobilities are a time to dream, I did so now. I had to be 
angry with Reggie for his betrayal. But I suppose if it hadn't been him 
Mable would have gotten someone else. Or quite probably tricked me into a 
visit and put something in my tea. I almost giggled at the thought of waking 
up to see my handcuffed wrist and wondering how it got like that. I 
dismissed Reggie, he was Mable's boy. I then thought about Jeff Dillon but 
there wasn't much to think about except to hope he would rescue me and whisk 
me off to life happily ever after Jeff Dillon was any girl's Prince 
Charming. It was about now I realized how precarious my posture was. It was 
by no means impossible to tall over and hurt myself. About the only good 
thing about it was the tightly strapped ankle I could rely on for some 
support. When I returned to reflections it was to think of the girl captives 
Reggie had told me about. He might, of course, be stringing me along but 
Mable had betrayed in conversation her treatment of other girls before she 
possessed me. It was not a bit implausible that within this huge old 
building there was a huge cage within which a number of naked girl 
languished in captivity. Reggie had mentioned the figure of nine and assured 
me they were always kept handcuffed, being taken from the cage only when the 
Honorable Mable wanted a bit of fun. It would be a boring, terrible life. 
What I had to do was keep Mable sufficiently fond of me that I'd never get 
put in the cage. But that was expecting a lot. It did occur to me that what 
I was suffering now was a damned sight worse than being in a cage with a 
bunch of girls. Whatever happened to me, I wasn't going to win. 

Dreams and reflections wear out, mine did. Inside a couple of hours my only 
thought was of release, my dearest wish to have someone unstrap my ankle and 
let me put it on the ground. But no one came near, I was left alone with my 
weariness and pain, to feel Sorry for myself as one hour slid into another I 
had been strapped to that damned pedestal for hours and hours before a male 
voice startled me into attention. 

"Hello, Angela, it's nice to see you again." 

It was the voice of Jeffery Dillon. 

I exclaimed a quite involuntary, "Oh, damned!" then added apologetically, 
"Oh, Jeff, I don't want you to see me like this." I looked back at him over 
a bare shoulder and commenced my blushing. 

"You look perfectly charming, Angela." He came around to where I was easily 
accessible and took me in his arms as though I belonged to him all my life. 
We kissed and kissed before he casually informed, "Mable has sold you to me 
for the afternoon again. I hope you don't mind?" 

I wanted Jeff Dillon so bad I was forced to resort to the ancient feminine 
subterfuge of reserve. I had to try to show some evidence of not wanting to 
be ravished and a proper distaste of being ravished for cash. This last one 
was rather easy. I couldn't throw myself into his arms, not standing as I 
was on one legs and with my own hands tied behind my back, and perhaps that 
was just as well. But I was on fire with desire to cause my loins to beat 
and pound demandingly in a manner I was certain he could sense and I didn't 
even want to hide what he saw in my eyes. It was not until them that noticed 
he carried a cane "It's not just cash this time, sweetheart. Mable insists I 
cane your bottom " Jeff pronounced the outrage as though speaking of a walk 
in the park. "Ten strokes is routine, isn't it? You're expecting them?" 

"Not from you! Oh, Jeff... " 

"I promise not to cane you harder than Mable would." 

I picked up a message. I tried to turn or twist but could manage neither so 
stared him straight in the face. "You want to, don't you? You'll enjoy 
caning me?" 

"Most men would enjoy caning a girl's bottom if they got the chance, I just 
happen to be lucky." We stood and stared. I did not even ask him to unstrap 
my ankle. When he came very close and cupped my pussy in a strong, large 
male hand, I said nothing but continued my steady stare, holding it as long 
as I could until he had me gasping. "That's a lovely handful I've got 
Angela, you're gorgeous." 

I couldn't do anything, not a thing. There really wasn't much I wanted to do 
except get unstrapped but I didn't ask because I was pretty sure Mable had 
told him to leave it strapped until he was finished caning me I was in a 
suitable position for caning, hell, I was in a suitable position for 
anything Jeff Dillon wanted to do to me. I was certainly available and 
wondered how much he had paid for the privilege. Mable was a bitch for not 
letting him have me for free. 

Jeff Dillon stood back a pace and was running the length of the cane back 
and forth between his hands and flexing it suggestively. "You won't admit 
it, dear girl, but you're looking forward to having me whip your bottom. 
Right?" 

He was right. I hadn't realize it but I was quivering in erotic 
anticipation. First the cane to burn and scold, and then that huge thing of 
his I0 take me out among the stars. But I made my voice grudging, "It will 
be different, I've never been whipped by a man It's a frightfully erotic 
realization to know I'm going to be." 

"Sensible girl! Most would have said no. Let's both admit we're going to 
enjoy this. I'm as much a bastard as your a randy bitch." 

"As you wish." I tried to make my voice casual without success. "Go ahead, 
cane me. I'm nicely fastened." 

Jeff Dillon caned my bottom. It was like nothing I had ever known, my first 
experience of physical pain from a man. But it was far more than that, I 
knew I loved Jeff Dillon but dared not tell him so for he was not yet ready 
for this female emotion. Because I loved him I bore each stroke of the cane 
in pure ecstasy, feeling in each the phallus thrust of a woman's chosen 
male. I was utterly enraptured and enchanted as the wicked thing cut at 
first one then the other cheek. I heard Jeff's voice intoning the count as I 
raised my handcuffed hands as high as possible to avoid the cane and give 
him full access to my curves. I had no wish for it to stop but found myself 
listening to his count as to an unkind fate robbing me of orgasmic joy. I 
heard the impact of the cane upon my flesh as though it bit at someone else. 
My loins were enveloped in a blazing fire of pain in which I found only 
ecstasy. If this was nuts then I was nuts for sure! 

Jeff put away the cane and came to where he could run his fingertips lightly 
over the weals it had left on my bottom. He did it cleverly with just the 
right touch to make me gasp and moan. Unashamed I pleaded, "Unstrap my foot 
and let me get into position for you." 

"That urgent, love?" 

"Yes, that urgent. Jeff... " I almost "darling" but stopped in time, "you're 
driving me insane. Jeff, I want you so bad." 

He unstrapped my ankle then held me steady as I lowered it to the floor. I 
was getting ecstasy upon ecstasy and could have cared less when Jeff told me 
of Mable's order that my hands must stay ironed throughout. It would have 
been nice to have had my hands but it was far nicer to have Jeff's. They 
were busy upon me now to drive me to the outrageous act of posturing myself 
upon the floor with my legs wide open and my roasted rump upon the rug. 

"You had a climax while I was caning you," Jeff chuckled. "You wouldn't be a 
nymphomaniac, would you?" 

"With you, yes!" 

"Damn it, girl, I think you'd like ten more." 

"Yes! Oh, yes... ! Pleaseeeeeee." Shamelessly I turned over and presented my 
whipped bottom outrageously for the cane. I was more deeply engulfed in lust 
than ever in my life. 

Jeff gently turned me back over and spread my legs apart as I had had them. 
"Silly girl," he admonished. "That's not you talking at all, it's your 
glands. So, okay, let's put you out of your misery." 

I watched him strip and observed with pride my effect upon his giant 
erection. When it slowly entered me, I knew I must have this man at whatever 
cost. Or he should have me. But after that point I lost all track of 
everything as I circled the planets and the sun. 

"If appears you had a successful afternoon," said Mable with some acerbity. 
"Jeff tells me you orgasmed at least four times." 

"Yes," I said simply. "Thank you very much." 

"I've a good mind to strap your ankle up there again and give your bottom 
another ten," Mable said, obviously jealous. "I had no idea you were such a 
hot little mink. You can bum your fire a little brighter on me when we go to 
bed." 

"Yes, Mable, darling, I'll try real hard." 

"Which do you prefer, Angela, me or men?" 

"I only prefer Jeffery Dillon, not anyone else." 

"So, if I don't sell you to him again, we'll be okay?" 

"Oh, no!" I twisted my bound shoulders against the handcuffs on my wrists, 
suddenly distraught. "Please don't do that, Mable darling. Please let me see 
him again. I promise I'll be faithful to you. I'll love you terribly." 

"Huh? I think you've got it back, sweetheart. That man has got into to you 
in more ways that one. I know how it is, men are the very devil in making us 
worship that damned rod they hold over us all our lives. 

I really have a good mind to whip you again. Think it would cure you?" 

"I'm afraid not." 

"Twenty strokes, would that do it?" 

"I don't know! Oh, Mable, please don't make a big thing of it. I'll be 
faithful to you forever if you'll just let Jeff Dillon see me sometimes." We 
stood there, females. One jealous, one ridiculously in love. Mable's voice 
was decisive. "I think it's time you and I took a little walk, darling. Come 
alone and don't make a fuss." 

A nice thing for a girl about having her hands fastened is she doesn't 
argue. Without a word I allowed myself to be led from the room to something 
I was sure I would not like. But Mable was miffed with me and I was anxious 
to regain lost ground in her affections. I would have serviced her right 
then if she'd demanded it. She led me downstairs and my heart beat harder 
with each step. Downstairs at Cranston doesn't mean any good for anyone. I 
mean the real "downstairs," the one below the level of the ground. Mable 
admonished me sharply, "Stop trembling, Angela. Don't be ridiculous." It was 
pretty much the way Reggie said. A truly vast chamber into which daylight 
filtered through barred windows high on the wall. It contained a cage made 
of iron bars heavy enough to hold tigers and lions. It was a huge cage, 
probably the biggest ever made, in it were nine naked girls. Each was 
handcuffed and wore her irons as through they were a part of her being and 
had been locked upon her wrists since birth. Their postures and attitudes 
were those of boredom. They surveyed me with interest. 

"These little darlings have all entertained me at one time or another," 
Mable informed me. "Whenever one of my girls becomes a bore or difficult to 
cope with, she comes down here and goes inside the cage. The only time she 
comes out after that is whenever I feel like punishing her or having her 
make love to me. Angela, darling, watch your step." 

I did some more shivering. Cranston was providing no end of shivers for me 
and I surveyed the prisoners with more than a passing interest. All were 
beautiful, all were young. I could easily envision myself in there. Mable 
interrupted my unhappy thoughts by saying. "It's not all boredom like you 
think. I provide a bit of spice everyday and sometimes several times a day. 
Angela, count them, tell me how many." I counted and came up with the 
obvious, "There's nine." 

From somewhere Mable had picked up a small box and ordered me to count the 
marbles contained within. I did so, there were eight. "I'm going to throw 
these in through the bars now," she told me mischievously. "There's one 
marble short, and the girl who doesn't have one after the scramble comes out 
and gets punished. Isn't this fun!" I didn't think it was fun at all but 
dared not say so. I watched Mable toss the box of marbles through the bars. 
There was an instant scramble, a girl who failed to fight for her marble was 
likely to be in trouble. The handcuffed girls didn't exactly fight each 
other for possession but were rather competitive. It was cruel to pit one 
against the other but that was the name of the game. The looser was a 
slender, dark-haired maiden who's heart had not been in the shoving and 
striving of the chase. The remaining eight girls withdrew from her in 
sympathy as she shrugged in disgust and walked towards the barred door of 
the cage. 

These girls were trained and conditioned beyond my own limited experience. I 
stood with my hands behind my back and watched breathlessly as Mable 
demonstrated for my benefit. "You're too much of a lady, Sybil, you don't 
fight hard enough," she told the raven haired girl gently. "Now I'm going to 
cane your bottom." 

"Yes, of course." Sybil's acceptance of an unearned punishment was 
mechanical. "How do you want me Mistress." It was the first time the title 
of "Mistress" had been sprung on me. I wondered if, from now on, that's what 
I'd be calling Mable. But that was a minor speculation to what I now beheld. 
Sybil turned and clutched the bars with her joined hands while Mable snapped 
handcuffs on her ankles. One cuff was unlocked from one wrist, passed around 
behind a bar, and locked back on again. Sybil had never been given a chance 
to fight or run, it was all very neat and tidy. Sybil looked back over a 
bare shoulder to implore, "Please, Mistress, not as hard as last time." 

"You'll fight harder in the future, dear girl?" 

"Yes, I promise." Sybil's voice became urgent. "I don't want to loose again, 
I hate being whipped." 

I realized that beneath Sybil's passive acceptance there seethed a volcano 
of revolt. Sybil hated the whole thing but somewhere along the line had been 
trained and conditioned to meek acceptance. Bitterly I realized I was half 
way there myself. 

There was little the girl to be punished could do except face her companions 
beyond the bars, all of them tense and expectantly watching, and stand upon 
handcuffed feet to await whatever Mable choose to dish out. Poor Sybil was 
shifting constantly in nervous apprehension of approaching pain. But there 
was little result other than to cause her handcuffs to clink and chatter. 
Sybil was foxed! 

I recognized the cane, I too was welted by it. Mable flexed it enjoyably, 
calculating distance. It sang it's evil song as it sliced the air to implant 
a solid thwack squarely across both the female curves Sybil could not 
shield. The helpless girl gasped and thrust her forehead hard against the 
bars and her chained hands. She tried to kick but did no more than tug at 
the steel bonds on her ankles. In the space of less than a minute, Sybil had 
composed herself once more and was waiting in tense misery for number two. 

I curled up inside as Mable changed position and cut number two hard across 
a single cheek. I noticed she avoided the hip bone which always mean a 
wound. Both Sybil and her mistress were experts in their roles. Number two 
evoked a small, pathetic sound from Sybil's lips along with uncontrolled 
weaving of her hips. But once more and with the least delay, she held still 
and presented her bottom as best she could for number three. 

The atmosphere was electric. The caged girls were like statues in their 
tense absorption with their companion's pain. Two pairs of handcuffs 
prevented Sybil being demonstrative but Mable was totally relaxed and 
enjoying herself immensely. I could glimpse the heady intoxication of power. 
This one woman held ten of us enthralled. All of us were helpless and would 
be kept helpless always. A tiny handcuff key and the larger metal one for 
the cage gave her dominion over all, a dominion none of us dared challenge. 
In the caning of Sybil we all beheld the purpose of our existence in 
Cranston. Someone told me that the Honorable Mable maintained a collection 
of pets for punishment. She did this with vivid enjoyment and without 
conscious and the steel bands locked upon our wrists compelled obedience. I 
watched number three whistle through the air to etch its scarlet brand 
across the second cheek. Mable was ambidextrous. 

I felt sure the eight girls stood in the cage regarded me as a passive bitch 
without courage, perhaps even one of Mable's accomplices who just happen to 
be presently arrived. But what could I do! I didn't even have hands, they 
were safely locked behind my back, my feet were bare, and you can't kick 
effectively with bare feet. I knew for sure that if I interfered I would 
join Sybil against the bars and get whatever it was she would received. The 
eight prisoners would have to think whatever they wished, there was nothing 
I could do about it. 

Number four was-deliberately inside the crease between thigh and rump to 
extract a choked cry from the chained girl and a frantic clatter from her 
fastened feet as they beat a restricted tattoo upon the floor. Undoubtedly 
Sybil would try harder when the marbles rolled again. 

Absurdly in my mind I paraphrased John Done's famous admonishment: 

"Ask not for whom the small balls roll, "They roll for thee." 

 CHAPTER FOUR - CRANSTON'S CAPTIVE 

From the beginning of the Honorable Mable's possession of me, I had been 
kept in a constant dither of uncertainty, unable to believe in life 
imprisonment, certain always of an opportunity of escape which never came. 
Even my rapturous rape by Jeff Dillon had failed to even promise release. It 
was the same at Cranston. I kept assuring myself I was not one of Mable's 
"girls." None of them had been a former intimate or confident as I had been 
with my new mistress, none had entered captivity by means of a wrist cuffed 
beneath a tea shop table. But perhaps all nine of the poor creatures in the 
cage had thus consoled themselves, perhaps I, too, would become one of them! 
But Mable, in her own subtle ways, convinced me otherwise. I was special. I 
was an old friend who had simply been converted to captivity but who 
remained an old friend nonetheless. It was all confusing. 

Running as a threat through my life at Cranston was Mable's affection. Since 
that first breathless time after punishing me, the hot hunger of our lips 
had never ceased their magic. Sure, I know I was lonely and always a little 
scared, and Mable's reassurances were vital to my wellbeing, but I now went 
to her bed and my collar and chain with an eagerness of which I was partly 
ashamed but in which I also gloried as making my captivity worth while. 
True, when she caned or whipped me I did not find the glory I had found with 
Jeffery Dillon, but I did not tell her that. I saw Jeffery Dillon in much 
the same way I looked back upon freedom, neither would be mine again. 

The high stone wall around the great park and its iron barred gate which 
controlled entry and exit made it possible for Mable to give me a good deal 
of freedom if she so desired. It became her habit to often handcuff my 
wrists behind my back and turn me loose. I could roam as I pleased but could 
not actually do anything. A stern assurance of painful punishment always 
brought me meekly back to attend the woman who owned my life. I was often 
permitted to visit the cage and the nine other lives it contained. 

They viewed me with suspicion, suspecting the cuffs behind my back as false 
trim to make me seem as they themselves. But none of us had an axe to grind 
so they finally accepted me but fervently told me of their own days of grace 
and favor and laughed with bitter certainty when they explained it was only 
a matter of time before I joined them behind the bars. I knew this could be 
true. 

The nine young lives were not as dismal as I had first supposed. Along with 
her handcuffs, each girl also wore a lovely metal collar on her neck and 
they showed me a long chain discarded in the cage and told me how each 
morning they were locked to it, four feet apart, and taken to a concrete 
washroom where they were hosed down by a female jailer I had not yet met. 
There and there throughout the week the same method was used to exercise 
them inside the park. The nine naked girls, evenly spaced and locked to the 
lengthy chain, were compelled to walk, run and trot until exhausted. Mable 
was usually in attendance as well as the woman jailer or guard. There was no 
shirking, the whips made certain of that. They remained handcuffed so there 
was little reason to fight. It was all well conceived and held no flaws. 
Sometimes one of their number was freed from the chain and she was compelled 
to walk the plank while her companions watched. None drowned, none were 
bitten by creatures in the water but none were sure some kind of vicious 
fish was not there. In any case, to dive into deep water with a metal collar 
on your neck and your wrists handcuffed was serious enough. Sometimes a girl 
had to be rescued from drowning. The Honorable Mable called it, "keeping her 
little darlings amused." 

When Mable failed to attach me to something solid and left me to roam, I 
more and more found myself peering through the bars to talk in a loneliness 
only prisoners know. One day Mable followed me down stairs to tell me, 
acidly, that if I enjoyed the place so much, I might as well be inside. She 
unlocked the door. I hesitated, then shrugged in certain knowledge of defeat 
if I tried anything, and stepped across the awful threshold. For all I knew 
I might never emerge again except with my neck padlocked to the long chain. 
There is not much use describing the girls, we were all Playboy Centerfolds. 
Mable chose only the choicest merchandise. I found myself intrigued by Irma 
who admitted to having been behind those bars for nine years. She had been 
sixteen when the Honorable Mable contrived her capture. She had enjoyed a 
happy year of bliss with a mistress she came to adore and who's whips and 
canes she came to endure with pride. I shared her heartbreak as she told me 
of being replaced and thrown into the cage. At first she had been its only 
occupant until Mable tired of her successor and mischievously handcuffed the 
two of them together, wrist to wrist, and locked the lovely collars on their 
throats. Any hostility between the two had died under the enforced bondage 
of chains and attention of whips. They were soon lovers and remained so now. 
Irma pointed out each girl and gave her number in succession by which Mable 
had tired of them. Quite seriously she said, "When she puts you in her 
permanently, you'll be number ten." 

Irma was a dish. At twenty five and under the stimulus of constant exercise 
plus good food, her figure was superb. One had to wonder why Mable had 
looked elsewhere when she possessed such a prize. But Irma laughed and said 
it was just a case of the more you have the more you want. And Mable's 
hunger for girlflesh knew no bounds. Everything Irma told me made me feel 
shockingly insecure. 

My imprisonment in the cage lasted only until night. I suppose Mable didn't 
want to sleep alone and still had the hots for me. I walked out the open 
door with alacrity and a great thankfulness, and half way up the stairs, out 
of sight of the barred prison, I sank to my knees and clutched at Mable as 
best I could to sob out a mixture of relief and gratitude while her hand 
played with my hair. When she raised me erect we kissed for a long time 
before retiring to the more serious part of my service in the bedroom. It 
had been an illuminating day. 

Mable was endlessly inventive, amusing herself almost entirely with her 
girls and going into town only when business or social affairs demanded. At 
such times the captives of the cage were looked after by their jailer and I 
was attached to a wall here or there and looked after by the servants. I 
hated her absences, they were unbearably dull. Sometimes Mable injected a 
touch of spice of color to such a day. This was how I got to know Rhoda 
better than I would have done even in the cage. Rhoda was extracted from 
behind the bars early one morning, brought to the bedroom where I was 
handcuffed to a ring, and there we were joined in the strangest of unions. 
Leg irons from her right ankle to my left, handcuffs similarly upon our 
wrists, right to left, so that we each had one free hand and arm, and 
finally a three foot length of chain joining our collars. Laughingly, Mable 
told us to go out into the park and have a pleasant day in the park. As an 
extra to worry about, she added that she would be home early enough to make 
one of us walk the plank. She departed laughing. 

Rhoda and I had to learn to walk. It was difficult to take this coupling 
seriously and right at the start we agreed not to even mention the walking 
of the plank, Mable might be kidding us. So we shuffled and clinked our way 
down stairs and out of the house. The servants who witnessed our shackled 
progress simply grinned, they had seen it before. By the time we reached the 
first stretch of grass land we were fairly adept as we made our slow and 
cautious progress towards the trees. When Rhoda stopped and sat on the 
grass, I had to do the same. I had no choice! But we had a day of chained 
idleness ahead of us. So if Rhoda wanted to sit on the grass, I was content 
to do the same. 

"Mable's kept me prisoner over four years," Rhoda said reflectively. "Are 
you still having silly notions of freedom?" 

"We must never think they're silly, we have to cling to them," I vowed 
stoutly. "If I ever see the faintest chance of escape... " 

"You never will, Mable will always have you foxed with a bit of metal. 
Whoever invented handcuffs and leg irons made this whole thing possible. If 
she had to tie us with rope, one of us would have been free long before now. 
It only takes one girl to escape and the Honorable Mable would be up in 
front of a judge in no time. " 

"If you escaped would you go to the police?" I asked gently. 

"No, I don't suppose I would. I thought about it. I think I'd simply wallow 
in freedom and write Mable a letter. If she didn't set the other girls free, 
then would be the time to call the cops. Silly state of mine, isn't it?" 
Rhoda reached and rattle one after the other of our three tethers. "Being 
locked in these all the time has driven freedom from my mind. The only way 
we might get freedom is through one of the men she sells us to. There's been 
quite a few of them over the years." 

"Do you know Jeffery Dillon?" 

"No, he must be a new one." She laughed bitterly. "I've known the rest of 
them and each one got me whipped. If Mable sold me to another one tomorrow, 
I'd still try and I'd still be whipped, it's a chance each one of us has to 
take. We dare not let it slip." 

We both let out a sigh, playing with our chains like a couple of kids. In 
the evening Mable was going to give one of us a bad time. I shivered a 
little but Mable was a fact of life, neither of us hated her the way we felt 
we should. With a trace of humor we told each other of the manner of our 
initial kidnapping. 

"Mable doesn't always hire the job out to professional," Rhoda confided 
sadly. "I was an absolute little idiot to fall for her play, but it was so 
damned authentic. She got a uniform and showed up at my place with a warrant 
for my arrest. She acted so kindly and patiently about my protests that I 
almost felt I had a friend. But she insisted that I had to go with her to 
the station house where I could do all the protesting I wished and would 
have the privilege of a phone call to anyone I wished. Apologetically she 
explained that I would have to be handcuffed." 

Rhoda met my eyes sheepishly. "Seems silly, doesn't it? We were them all the 
time now but when she broke the bad news, I was horrified. I had only seen 
the beastly things in pictures and movies and the idea of having them locked 
on my wrists, even by a minion of the law, was almost more than I could 
take. But there she was in her lovely uniform and with that official piece 
of paper and a sympathetic smile. So I turned around and put my hands behind 
my back and that was the end of me. When she got me in the front seat of her 
car, while I was still in a daze about the whole thing, she handcuffed my 
ankles together. She had me good and drove away with me to Cobblestone Mews 
where it took me a month to be quite sure the whole thing was happening. 
Gosh, she whipped me a lot to make me mind!" 

I wasn't much cheered by her story, it told me where I was going. That 
damned cage seemed more and more an inevitable part of my future. I could 
imagine how the sort of break like Rhoda was on with me at the moment would 
be terribly welcome to a girl behind the bars even thought it carried 
penalties. The Honorable Mable had things beautifully contrived. 

"You've seen the pillory and the stocks," Rhoda continued morosely. "Mable 
played the damndest trick on me with them. She locked me in the pillory 
early one morning and told me I could look forward to a pleasant day of 
solitude -- a pleasant day, my foot! That damned pillory is only bearable 
for the first hour, after than it's pure hell." She sniffed disdainfully at 
the memory. "About midday a rough looking character in his late thirties 
came ambling along as though he were a country yokel out for a stroll. When 
he caught sight of me, he stopped dead in his tracks and exclaimed, 'Well, 
I'll be damned!' Then he came up close, absolutely bug-eyed, and asked how 
the devil how I'd gotten into a fix like that. I made my usual plea for 
release. He examined the metal fixings and the padlock and said he would 
like to help but didn't have a key or any tools." 

Rhoda smiled and offered my a wry smile. "I should have got a hint but I 
didn't. Instead I pleaded for him to go and get some tools or keys or 
something. Without intending to be funny, I even said that I would wait. 
That son of a bitch chuckled and said that he was willing to bet that I 
would. Then he said that it would take a while and asked if I would mind if 
he had a look around in the meantime. 

"The rotten bastard took his look around, which was also a feel around. 
Every bit of me got well looked at and well felt up. The bastard brought me 
half way to an orgasm back were I couldn't see but where his hand had found 
its way up between my legs. I remember being very British and saying 'Would 
you mind!' and other ridiculous things. He paid no attention and went right 
ahead. By the time he finished his examination I was hot with shame and my 
neck and wrists were chaffed where I had instinctively struggled against the 
pillory's grip. Finally he stood, happily gazing at me, while I offered him 
everything under the sun and, finally, as a last resort, myself. But he 
explained he already had me so that was not much of a bargaining point. He 
then unzipped and went around and used me the way you can imagine. He 
quickly cured me of kicking by pinching my nipples and promising worse if I 
didn't spread my legs and keep still. I'd never felt so damn helpless in my 
life." 

Rhoda grinned at what she saw in retrospect. "When I mentioned going to the 
police I could see that there was no way he was going to do that. Quite 
probably they were already looking for him. But I thought I had struck a 
responsive cord when I explained that no doubt he would be using me as he 
wished throughout the afternoon and the very least he could do in return was 
to smash that damned padlock with a couple rocks. I said that surely he 
couldn't refuse that. I never knew what his answer might have been because 
at that moment Mable came into view. She was carrying a cane and a whip and 
wearing her warmest smile. Right then I knew I was really in for it." 

"You mean Mable set the whole thing up to trap you?" 

"Sure. The fellow was just one more of her paying guests, although I've 
never been sure she gets any money for any of us. She might very well give 
us away free for the hell of it. I think she talks about selling us just to 
make us more ashamed. If somebody pays money for our bodies, we become 
whores. Anyway, they discussed my attempts to bribe him, both expressing 
horror that any girl could possibly wish to escape from Mable's pillory. 
They made it sound an indecent suggestion. And my heart took a drop when 
Mable handed the whip to that character and flexed the cane between her 
hands in a gesture I well recognized. " 

'Do you agree the naughty girl ought to be punished,' Mable asked sweetly. 
'Damn right!' said the man who might have rescued me. 'Want me to work on 
her back?' 

" 

'If you please, Mr. Simons. Mable made it sound sweetly gracious. 'The 
little darling must be taught a lesson.' 

"You going to cane her arse?' Mr. Simons inquired. 

" 

'Yes, of course. Rhoda has a delightful bottom for caning and it is so 
beautifully postured as she stand there. Would you like us to impact the 
poor darling alternatively or would you prefer we do one area at a time?' 

" 

'I think I'd prefer to have a good steady go at the girl's back,' Mr. Simons 
admitted earnestly. 'Doing it the other way would be a bit ritualistic and 
give her a bit of time to catch her breath. Every girl needs a good 
thrashing, I'll give her one.' 

" 

'We must not injure the poor darling, Mr. Simons, but I'm sure you've 
whipped girls before.' 

"Damned right, I have. Watch this.' 

"I couldn't watch anything," Rhoda moaned with a shiver to rattle our 
chains. "It was awful to just have to stand there and not see a thing 
behind. It was Mable who would get the view, all I could do was feel and the 
feeling started right there. Without warning, Mr. Simons whip sliced across 
my bent shoulders, then around my waist, and after that in a rapid series of 
blows from my neck to my bottom. Mr. Simons left my bottom untouched in a 
sporting gesture to Mable's efforts still to come. He wasn't too clever with 
his damned whip and sometimes it curled around and nipped one of my breasts. 
I yelled and yelled and twisted in a way I'm sure both found vastly 
entertaining. It was so terrible to be unable to see the rest of my body 
beyond my hands. It was like my head and hands were cut off and separate 
from the rest. To say that it was agony would be an understatement. I 
screamed and screamed in the only venting of my pain possible. I was sure it 
was hours and hours before Mable gently suggested, 'Perhaps that's enough 
for the poor dear's back, Mr. Simons. You've really done well.' 

" 

'My pleasure, really,' said Mr. Simons, breathing heavily. 

"The Honorable Mable then walked around front to ask, 'Are you ready for the 
cane, Rhoda dear? Your darling bottom hasn't a mark on it.' 

"I'm ashamed of the way I pleaded and abased myself. After what the man had 
done it didn't seem possible Mable would even wish to do any more but Mable 
obviously did and would. Well, anyway, I got her sweetest smile and an 
assurance that I could go ahead and scream all I liked and neither of them 
would mind. She then disappeared from view. I tied myself up in knots of 
fear inside and waited for the burning impact which, when it came, sent me 
into a repeat performance of what Mable called, 'Delightful.' I lost count 
of the number of strokes but it was bad, bad, bad! 

"I remember thinking, at sometime during the pain, that I supposed Mable 
would leave me in the pillory all the rest of the day, no matter how bad I 
was hurting or how much I needed rest. But the Honorable Mable had a 
surprise. She took me from the pillory while I was still in too much of a 
dither of pain and shock to protest or try to run, handcuffed me in front, 
gave me the whip and cane to carry, and announced grandly that we would all 
three of us now go and have Tea. With a scolding back and burning bottom, I 
accompanied my tormentor's backs to the house and was actually treated as an 
honored guest while one of the maids served tea and I dabbed at my eyes and 
cheeks with Mr. Simons handkerchief. I was not allowed silence but was 
compelled to join in to the general conversation while we sipped and 
nibbled. I felt ashamed and idiotic but, boy, did I ever talk! It was almost 
as bad a punishment as being whipped. I was so damned thankful when she put 
me back in the cage...!" 

As though seeking to walk away from the past, Rhoda and I clinked and 
clattered our way as cheerfully as possible to the great wall surrounding 
Cranston. Standing, a pair of naked and chained maidens, we were dwarfed by 
the size of it, but walked along it for almost a mile before Rhoda said she 
had done the whole trip long ago and it was all the same. The only point of 
the whole trip was to reassure us of the impossibility of escape. We were 
never stand on the other side of this massive stone fence. We sighed in 
unison and then went to look at one of the whipping posts with which the 
pretty woodlands were supplied. 

"Mable brings a girl out for what she thinks is a lovely walk in the park," 
Rhoda confided. "But she leads the poor kid to one of the whipping posts and 
hooks the handcuffs to it while explaining that she will be whipped later in 
the day but not right now. She will have a lovely time to enjoy the fresh 
air and think. It's typically Mable." 

Rhoda and I walked our tethered way to all of them. There were four. On 
each, at an appropriate height above a girl's head, was a ring and padlock 
awaiting the slender wrists and the handcuff joining them. They weren't 
exactly showplaces or of very much interest but we had time to kill and got 
rid of the day with missions such as this until we saw Mable walking towards 
us across the grass. She carried a picnic basket and threw us both into the 
usual uncertainty by announcing a picnic on the grass. We ate and drank 
thankfully but were doubtful for Mable gives nothing. With the last sandwich 
gone Mable said brightly, "And now for one of you to walk the plank, I'm so 
looking forward to it and I hope you are, too. It's a wonderful experience. 
What say we toss a coin?" 

Rhoda and I simply shrugged while Mable produced a penny, told me I was 
heads and Rhoda tails. She flipped the coin and it came up heads. I felt the 
familiar knot form inside my tummy. In a fine, businesslike manner, Mable 
unlocked the leg-iron cuff from Rhoda's ankle and snapped it on mine so both 
my ankles were now circled in steel and I was now hobbled. Next our handcuff 
was unlocked from my wrist and locked back on Rhoda's free hand to fastening 
both her arms behind her back. Mable had brought a second pair of cuffs for 
me and these also were locked upon my hands behind my back. The chain was 
taken from our collars and had no further use and was handed to a partly 
liberated Rhoda to carry. 

"Come alone, darlings." Mable looked at me expectantly and told me to lead 
the way to where the plank was waiting. 

I longed to scream or run or fight but, instead, did the thing I wanted to 
least of all, I walked with snubbed steps towards a frightening punishment I 
had not earned. The handcuffed Rhoda and the mischievous Mable walked at my 
side in slow motion to match my fighting with the leg irons. Perhaps it was 
as well my feet were locked in them for when we came in sight of the lake 
and the sinister little jetty and that horrible plank I would have run and 
earned myself some more punishments. As it was, I walked, noisily, to the 
beginning of the jetty then stopped. 

"Go along, darling, all the way out," Mable demanded. 

I turned to face her, suddenly frightened out of my wits. "Look, Mable, 
you've got a metal collar around my neck, my hands are chained behind my 
back, and my feet are chained together. If I go off the end of this plank, 
I'll drown." 

"No you won't, dear. You'll be surprised at your own ingenuity in getting 
back to shore. Remember the piranhas!" 

I-couldn't escape and was forced to examine the spot I was in. I could swim 
well enough but wasn't sure I could make my way back to dry land. For all I 
knew my chains and collar would sink me down into what depth I did not know. 
Mable, as usual, had brought a whip, one of the wicked ones. As she flicked 
it thoughtfully, I took a tentative step out over the water then another. 
Mable followed me along the jetty, giving me playful small cuts with the 
thong whenever I hesitated. Soon I was on the plank itself, feeling it 
shiver beneath my weight until I was at the end and could step no further 
except out into space. I looked down. The water seemed bottomless and I 
could be pretty certain it was at least twenty feet, certainly deep enough 
for a chained girl to drown. I turned in desperation, ignoring the whip. 
"Please, Mable, don't make me, I'm frightened. I'll drown, I know I will." 

As usual Mable had a surprise up her sleeve. While Rhoda and I watched in 
astonishment, she dragged into view something previously hidden in the 
grass. It was a sort of metal mat which, with a good deal of effort, she 
contrived to drag out to the jetty then push out upon the plank on which I 
stood. When she was there I could see that it was indeed a mat but one 
composed of the wickedest of spikes which were really small knifes pointed 
up to threaten bare feet. When Mable had it properly fastened it represented 
a barrier between me and solid ground, a barrier perhaps six feet long. I 
received her usual smile. 

"We're going to leave you now, darling. You can make up your mind any time 
you wish. When you do this and reach the shore, you'll be free to come back 
to Cranston. We'll just leave you here and I'll not bother to come back and 
check on you. It's so easy for you to do what you're so scared about. You 
just jump and make like a seal and first thing you know you'll be back on 
the grass and walking home. " She gazed down at the beastly, waiting spikes. 
"I wouldn't try and walk on these, Angela dear, they're terribly sharp and 
they'll cut you little feet to pieces, especially since they're already 
hobbled. Goodbye, darling, and don't stand there too long." 

I watched them leave, I didn't really believe this was really happening. 
There was about it a deadly simplicity. I looked down at the depths beneath 
me then at the spikes. My mind leaped ahead to the coming night and I 
wondered if I could stand there until morning or would I loose my balance 
and hit the water in a disorganized splash. I had nothing to look forward 
to, nothing! 

I wondered if Mable was playing a pretty psychological trick. She probably 
knew whether a girl, chained as I was chained, could survive a plunge into 
the lake and a desperate attempt to swim to shore. She would also know what 
other girls before me had done in a similar predicament. Perhaps none had 
jumped but had stood there shivering through the night to await an 
inevitable whipping in the morning. If a girl drowned, there would be none 
to mourn. I thrust the thought away, Mable wasn't that evil. Perhaps there 
was still one more trick she had not played. I stood there, chained and 
naked, at the end of the plank and felt the first coolness of the evening to 
rise from the water to touch my flesh with a clammy hand. Down below the 
piranha might be waiting hopefully. 

"Seems I dropped in at a fortuitous moment. Mable said I'd find you here." 
The voice of Jeffery Dillon shattered everything. 

I turned from the lake and there he was, smiling at me from the jetty. 
Cheerfully he said, "Hello, Angela, you do get into some pickles, don't 
you?" He held up a couple of keys. "I purchased these at a great price. What 
do you say we use them?" 

I was certain it was a reprieve from death or something horrible like that. 
Choking with relieve I watched Jeffery unfasten and drag away the grid with 
it's spikes. I followed fast behind, I couldn't get off that plank quite 
fast enough. It was lucky I did not trip on my chain and go in the water 
anyway. On the jetty Jeffery embraced me with warm arms and kissed my hair 
while I sniffed his scent, his maleness, and wept and sobbed out both relief 
and gratitude. Right then I would have done anything Jeff asked of me. I 
might even have walked on those knifes with bare feet. It was one of the 
most glorious moments of my life, sullied only by the possibility of Mable 
having contrived the entire scene. 

In between my sobs, I got in my usual pitch, "Jeff, please, take me away 
from Cranston, take me far away, oh please, take me!" 

He did not answer, simply clutched me a little harder, then picked me up and 
carried me to the deep grass where he laid me down and unlocked the leg 
irons from my ankles and the handcuffs from my wrists. I was utterly and 
totally free but gave no thought to flight. Instead I put my arms around 
Jeff's neck when, after he had stripped, he lowered himself upon me and I 
felt the first searching thrusts of his wondrous weapon. The lake was sudden 
benign and the evening proving only warm summer air. I clutched Jeff tight 
with arms and legs and entered upon the most wondrous journey in the world. 

It was ten o'clock before Jeff decided we should go back to Cranston. "I 
didn't buy you for the whole night," he said regretfully. "I'd best deliver 
you." 

I held out my wrists to be cuffed but Jeff slapped them away, laughing, "You 
are a good little girl, aren't you? So beautifully obedient." 

"I have to be. If I'm not I'm whipped." 

"Ah, well, enjoy you freedom. I'm not going to chain you. I'll deliver you 
to the Honorable Mable just as you are." 

"Won't you free me? Won't you take me home with you? Jeff, I want you to so 
bad!" 

He patted my bottom and kissed my lips. We walked briskly, the night air 
suddenly cold upon my skin. I adored the man beside me but he would not set 
me free. I wondered why but, after all, I was only a slavegirl he had bought 
for pleasure, there was no reason why he should love me as well. But a girl 
always hopes. I hoped most ardently. 

Mable was waiting for us with coffee and sandwiches, it was all beautifully 
social and heavy with good will except for Mable startled exclamation, "Damn 
it, Jeffery, the girl's absolutely free! You haven't locked a thing back 
on." 

Jeff allowed the tangle of chain and metal to fall upon the couch and with 
it the keys. "Angela needs a change," he said easily. "The little bit of 
freedom she's just enjoyed has done her good. I'm not going to chain her, 
you can if you wish." 

Automatically I offered my hands to Mable for the cuffs. But she 
unexpectedly she did a repeat of what that happened to me previously, she 
laughed away my submission and said, "Not for now, girl. Enjoy your freedom 
while Jeff is with us. I'll chain you before he leaves. Since you're so 
beautifully free you can serve the coffee and the sandwiches." 

I was as close to being in a seventh heaven as a girl is likely to get 
inside Cranston. The coffee was gorgeous and the sandwiches delicious. After 
he'd wolfed a couple Jeffery said bluntly, "Mable, I want to buy Angela from 
you. I don't mean rent her the way I've been doing, I want to buy her for 
keeps." 

"Sorry, Jeff, I never sell one of my girls. You ought to know that." 

"If you keep on the way you're going, Mable, you won't have room for them 
all. You'll have to sell one sometime." Jeff tone was bantering yet deadly 
serious. "Sell me Angela. Mable, I mean it." 

"The girl's in love with you, Jeff," Mable said offhandedly, "I expect 
you're smitten with her, too. But I won't sell her, there's something 
indecent about the idea of selling one of my girls. That's the way I feel." 

"One hundred thousand pounds?" 

My heart jumped at that sum but Mable laughed it off. "Don't be silly, Jeff, 
you know I don't need money. Your wealth doesn't impress me a bit. I simply 
admire you for getting it." 

"I could use force and walk out with Angela right now." 

"Yes, I suppose you could. But you won't, it wouldn't be sporting. And 
there's just the possibility my servants could overpower you." 

"How would you like to wear handcuffs and a gag while I take Angela home!" 

They laughed, as though declaring a truce, recognizing each other's strength 
and weakness. With a sincerity to touch my heart, Mable explained, "Jeff, I 
don't suppose you understand but I love Angela, too. I love her a lot. I 
haven't put her in the cage with the others, or haven't you noticed. I keep 
her close. Angela is my number one girl." 

"So you leave her on the end of a plank to jump off and drown?" 

"Don't be silly, Jeff, the girl wouldn't have drowned. I've made tests, they 
flounder and splash a lot but they always make it safe to shore. I know what 
I'm doing." 

"Just the same it's damned rude, and with night coming on." He chuckled then 
added, "Mable, you really are a bitch." 

"Of course I am, Jeff, Cranston would be dull as ditch water if I wasn't. 
You know damned well everything I do adds a bit of spice to my girl's lives. 
Angela would be feeling on top of the world right now if she weren't love 
sick over you and wanting to be taken home by you. If you insist on coming 
and upsetting my girls with your fatal charm, you'll be prohibited from 
Cranston." 

Except for the serious undercurrent of Jeffery Dillon's wish to purchase me, 
the evening was pleasantly social, three people who got along together and 
understood each words perfectly. When Jeff was about to leave Mable turned 
to me and said, "Angela, come her and hold out your hands." 

The handcuffs almost felt good on my wrists even though Mable had clicked 
them a notch too tight. I had been handcuffed so long that the brief freedom 
from then had left be feeling ridiculously guilty, as though I were playing 
hooky from school. Everybody kissed everybody and Jeffery Dillon left, but 
his hand pressuring my bare arm and a look in his eye as it met mine told me 
I had at last found the knight in shinning armor who would cut my chains, 
but who would wait to do so within the tolerance of a British code which 
bound both he and the Honorable Mable. I could not tell how he would 
contrive my release but was sure it would happen. My heart sang as we said a 
final farewell and I fluttered my chained hands at him. 

 CHAPTER FIVE - THE HONORABLE MABLE 

Sure, I'm a bitch! Not a bitch, but a benevolent bitch the way Jeffery sees 
me. Society would never approve my cage full of girls, but what society 
doesn't know won't hurt them. As far as the girls go I ease conscious by 
thinking that they wouldn't have had all that wonderful a life if I'd never 
have kidnapped them. They would have married some idiot who would have 
knocked them up and they would have spent the rest of their life knee-deep 
in diapers. At least I've given them a bit of drama and, when I let them 
have a man, he's always the very best. Seems to me there's worse fates for a 
girl than being in my cage. 

I could feel the let down in dear Angela the moment Jeffery left. Love is a 
damned nuisance so I countered her fading euphoria by marching her up to our 
room, cuffing her ankles, taking the handcuffs from her wrists but telling 
her to keep them crossed behind her back while I tied them with twine. 
Angela was getting all together too accustomed to handcuffs and the twine 
would make a nasty break to the handcuff habit. She would be glad to go back 
to them when I decided it was time. Meantime the darling stood obediently 
quiet with her hands behind her as I cinched the twine unkindly tight into 
her skin. I adore tying a girl, any part of her. To see the ropes indent and 
the flesh rise up on either side is pure joy as is their hopeless motions 
against restraint when they are fastened. I don't profess to explain this 
emotion in me, this adoration of bound beauty. You can explain it any way 
you like. 

What matters is I've got the girls and the hands of each is safe in bondage. 
I'd like to think others could understand how glorious this power is and how 
pussy-wetting it becomes for mine pretty prisoners. I could tell it was 
affecting Angela that way now. Anyway, I crossed and criss-crossed the 
lovely twine and then made the poor darling struggle to get free so as to 
take up the slack. I then completed the bindings and knotted the neat 
package where her fingers could not reach. Darling Angela would hate that 
twine by morning. She would also have forgotten Jeffery Dillon. 

I padlocked the waiting chain to her collar and the two of us went to bed. 
Angela performed beautifully. If Jeffery Dillon had not used her so 
recently, I would have returned the favor. In the night I heard her crying, 
a soft, damp sobbing so as not to wake me. Poor, sweet thing! A girl's tears 
are the salt of her slavery. I could not be sure if they were because of the 
twine or because of Jeffery Dillon. It did not matter. 

In the morning we both lied to say we'd had a lovely night's sleep. A trifle 
pale in the cheeks, Angela asked if I would mind untying her hands. Yes, I 
said, I did mind and she had better have her bath with them tied like that. 
She was trained enough to not protest, but went dutifully to the bath I ran 
and which we both shared. The only way a bound girl is going to have a bath 
is if someone does it for her and this is a service I enjoy doing for her. I 
always soap her pussy to make great fluffy piles of suds and bring her half 
way to orgasm before moving on to all her other nice bits and pieces. I 
linger on her breasts, of course, they are superb. When she was dry I asked 
if she would behave herself if I cut the twine. Her assurance was so ferment 
I had no qualms. I even gave the sweetheart a little while to rub the 
indentations before I clicked the handcuffs back on her wrists. She adores 
her handcuffs, I know she does. I know better than she knows herself. 

During breakfast Angela told me how much she enjoyed being chained to Rhoda 
out in the park. Shyly she asked if Rhoda couldn't be set free after serving 
all these years. I pretended not to hear but, purposefully, changed the 
subject to ask what Angela thought Jeffery Dillon would do with her and to 
her if I accepted his hundred thousand. She blushed and stammered to say 
they would make a lot of love and she'd be with him and go with him 
everywhere and always. "In other words you'd be his pretty little 
slavegirl," I said acidly. 

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed, pitting my innocence. "He wouldn't tie me or chain 
me or put me in a cage. He wouldn't have to, he's so strong." 

I sighed. Young girls are ridiculous. They don't start to grow up until 
they're around thirty! Patiently I broke the bad news. "Angela, don't hate 
me for telling you this, but Jeff Dillon loves to pain a girl's bottom as 
much as I do. He's done it enough while I stood and watched. If I ask him 
to, he'll cane you back, too." 

"I don't believe it!" 

"He also loves to tie girls up," I continued. "And there's rooms in his 
house you wouldn't believe. If he purchased you, you'd be tied or chained in 
those rooms all the time." 

"Mable, don't be silly! Why, walking back here last night he wouldn't even 
handcuff me, he wanted me free. It was so wonderful!" 

"Part of his courtship, love. Don't lei it fool you. Not that that doesn't 
make him the finest lay a girl could ever have, you would at least have that 
on the credit side of your being his prisoner." 

Poor darling, it was very much like watching a hooked fish struggling at the 
end of the line. Angela didn't want to believe a single word but instinct 
was telling her and I expect she was adding two and two together to find the 
answer. It was then I got my bright idea. 

"Look, Angela, I'm not saying Jeff Dillon isn't the nicest of men, he is, 
but I'm also telling you the truth about the things he will do to you. What 
he's done to you thus far is a sort of appetizer. Are you sure you'll like 
having your hands tied by him any more than you liked me using that twine on 
your wrists last night?" 

, "He'd never do it! But, yes, I would!" 

"Would you feel me a bit more kindly if I give you the chance to find out, 
darling?" 

"Oh, would you! Oh, Mable darling, I'd be so grateful... " That's how it 
started. 

I could kick myself. 

But anyway, I phoned Jeff Dillon that morning. Probably I wanted to see him 
again myself. I'm a woman. Sometimes I'm as crazy as my girls. 

"Thirty day's free trial," I suggested to his astonished ears. "After thirty 
days the three of us together will decide if you give me the hundred 
thousand or if dear little Angela comes back to get the thrashing I will 
surely give her. What do you say?" 

"You've got yourself a deal." 

We arranged it for that afternoon. I didn't want a love sick maiden falling 
all over me with love and gratitude so I locked the poor dear's wrists to a 
ring in the wall before breaking the glad tidings and leaving her alone with 
ecstasy. I was also feeling ashamed with myself for what I was letting her 
in for. But then I remembered how good it was going to be when she came 
tearfully back into my arms. It would be worth the thirty days and she would 
be a lot more tractable. I was pleased with myself. 

The Jeffery Dillons of this world are always on time. His first words were, 
"Look here, Mable, you're not having me on?" 

I assured him of sincerity. I also pounded home an undeniable truth. "Jeff, 
darling, this girl is absolutely innocent as far as you're concerned. You're 
a idiot to mess around with her because there'll be nothing but shattered 
dreams and broken hearts -- hers. The first time you whip her you'll find a 
trauma in her mind concerning you. She hasn't the faintest idea what you do 
to girls." 

"I do the same as you. Is that so bad?" His smile engulfed me like a warm 
tide. "You've conditioned the dear girl, I'll simply carry on where you left 
off. There won't be any trauma, we love each other." 

"Horse feathers! You know what I think about this love business." 

"Sure, I know. You and I couldn't hack it out together. I'd have to beat the 
daylights out of you every day." He gave me his pixie grin. "Not that that 
might do any harm. Perhaps it's you who should be coming on a thirty day 
trial. I'd make a new woman of you." 

I was about to tell him to drop dead when I realized there were 
extraordinary sensations going up and down my spine. I had mental visions of 
Jeffery Dillon stringing me up, stripping me naked, and thrashing me until I 
promised to be a good girl -- his idea of a good girl, that is! The damn 
fantasy was beginning to take hold of me before I tossed it out. 

"No man does those things to me," I told him firmly. "But, seriously, what 
are you going to do with Angela? She deserves better than the usual 
treatment." 

"I'll treat her as my girl. Inside the thirty days I'll marry her and write 
you a check. How's that?" 

I took him up to where darling Angela was chaffing at her handcuff. 

Mostly she has gotten over this silly trying to get loose, but I could make 
allowances for her today. With Jeffery Dillon's immense cock in prospect any 
girl could be excused for chaffing a wrist. 

"There's still time to call this whole thing off. When Jeff canes you bottom 
it won't hurt any less than when I do it. Why not tell him to go home and 
forget the whole thing?" It was not the right approach. Probably there 
wasn't any right approach. My starry-eyed darling looked at her hero in pure 
adoration and probably didn't hear a thing I said. But she did finally turn 
my way to breath ardently, "Oh, thank you, Mable, thank you for giving me my 
freedom!" 

Well, what the hell! A woman can only do so much, and after all I'd started 
this fool thing myself. I handed Jeffery Dillon the key and said briefly, 
"She's all yours." 

It is amusing to watch two people in love, they are so silly. Jeffery 
immediately unlocked his darling's handcuffs and they embraced as though 
they had only a minute to live. The little vixen even thrust her crotch hard 
against his leg as she was kissed and hugged in a manner I found almost 
nauseating. Before the desire to cane her ass came, I asked, acidly, "Do you 
want to tie her up, Jeff, or are you going to take her as is?" 

Jeff handed me back the handcuff key and the cuffs themselves. "I won't be 
needing these. Angela's going to enjoy her freedom all the way home." 

"Until you get her there," I retorted, "but what then?" 

"I don't care what then!" Angela affirmed vehemently. She faced me and I 
could tell she felt sorry for a silly woman who didn't understand about 
love. "If Jeff wants to tie me up or chain me or put me in a cage, he's 
welcome to do it. I hope he does everything to me and I'll love every minute 
of it. Oh, Mable, if only you could understand! " I understood all too well. 
I'm only ten or twelve years older than Angela and I haven't forgotten the 
tricks our glands play with a girl. But I admit I softened under the kisses 
they both gave to me. I wished them goodbye and added, darkly. I'd be seeing 
Angela in thirty days. They drove away leaving me holding the empty 
handcuffs and the key. Annoyed with myself I went downstairs. 

The cage is wonderful. It provides a cure for all ills. I was annoyed about 
Angela so everyone of the nine anxious female faces peering at me through 
the bars was Angela as far as I was concerned. I pressed the buzzer to 
summons Wilma then unlocked the door of the cage and beckoned the first bit 
of handcuffed nudity handy. I always adore the fear with which they answer 
such a summons. They don't know what I'm going to do with them, they could 
be walking into love or lashes. 

I wasn't feeling all that inventive so I motioned my first choice to face 
die bars and clutch one of them above her head in a jester all too familiar. 
The poor darling shrugged and obeyed, knowing now what lay in store. 

I had no need to fasten her ankles, they were far too well trained. I 
snapped the padlock on her cuffs and there she was, all ready for me to vent 
my spleen and pretend it was Angela I was being mean to. 

When dealing with all nine, it's best to have Wilma around. She's strong and 
the little darlings are scared of her. In orderly fashion she beckons one 
after another from the cage and I treat each girl alike. It wasn't long 
before we had nine trembling maidens facing the bars of their now empty cage 
and trembling in anticipation of what they would now get. It's wonderful the 
way Wilma and I trained them, only two or three of them made tearful 
pleadings about their innocence and the usual, "Please not too hard, not too 
hard. .!" I patted them maternally on the bottom then let each protesting 
bottom have it full force with the crop. Their tears flowed like wine. After 
that they had the message and didn't utter a word. 

With the girls all safely padlocked Wilma returned to whatever she was 
doing, leaving me alone with the nine quaking maidens who, for me at that 
moment, were all Angela. I debated whether to start with the first girl on 
the left and work my way along the line but discarded that approach. I 
walked up and down the line, striking as the mood took me or the bottom 
invited. The darlings don't really mean to but they often protrude their 
little rumps in an unintentional invitation I can't not refuse. This 
approach has the advantage of spacing the strokes out so they don't scream 
too much. If I cut her skin in passing one realized it will be a little 
while before I'm back for another stroke so she is apt to moan and groan 
over her burning buns but not resort to a full-throated yell. I am sure deal 
Angela would have been flattered had she been aware of having nine separate 
bottoms standing in for her own. 

One of the handcuffed girls has always been a challenge to me. It's not that 
Della is either untrained or unbroken. She is docile and obedient enough but 
in some fashion all her own which I find hard to describe she contrives to 
remain her own girl rather than mine. I often discern flickers of pride and 
revolt when she looks at me even though I cannot fault her words. She stands 
there now, her forehead pressed against a bar and, without uttering a single 
word, contrives the impression of wanting to get this whole silly thing over 
as quickly as possible. She does not look back in a scared fashion over her 
bare shoulder but waits impassively for what she knows she'll get. I stand 
behind her in an effort to break down this passive resistance. I want her to 
plead, to declare love, or even tell me I'm a sadistic bitch. Della knows I 
want this and keeps a stubborn silence. Thoughtfully I delivered a really 
wicked slash with the crop across one of the cheeks of her extended bottom 
and then break the thread of my performance by delivering a second stroke 
across its twin. But it is the bar that gets her response, not I. Della 
presses hard against it and, as though to rob me of convenience, thrusts her 
loins hard at it lower down. The effect is to flatten what should be 
protruding and waiting for my crop. Without a word I reach between her legs, 
grab her cunt, and pull her back into position. I then further bend my own 
rules by delivering a full swinging swish across both buns. I have been 
deliberately cruel but Della neither speaks nor moves. It is as though she 
absorbs the pain as easily as she drinks a glass of water. I know she awaits 
number four but I refuse the challenge. I will deal with Della in other 
ways. I won't give her the minor victory of martyrdom. I move on down the 
line. 

The girl had been instructed to protrude their backsides for the crop, never 
to flatten them against the bars in evasion which, admittedly, does make 
them less accessible. I am confronted by the glorious curves of young asses, 
I am rewarded by anxious glances and shifting feet. As I splat my weapon 
across the flesh of each well-padlocked girl, the vision of Angela fades and 
each superb nakedness is once again the darling I once loved. It is not that 
I do not love them now, I simply love them less. 

The exercise is good for me, so I discard my clothes to sweat in comfort and 
swing my crop in total freedom. But, without announcement, I now supplement 
the crop with the whip I carry in my other hand. Each darling expects her 
bottom to be strip should I pause behind her. It disorganizes them 
delightfully if I vary their punishment by a slash up the length of their 
back with the whip instead. 

But, in spite of their knowledge of what I now hold, their backs remain 
delightfully arched and the perfection of nine pert bottoms regales my eyes. 
I am a lucky woman. 

Wilma returns, and one by one we unlock the padlocks and escort the still 
handcuffed maidens, some in tears, back inside the huge cage which is there 
only home. It is delightful and pussy-wetting to watch their effort to ease 
the burning weals with cuffed hands which never quite reach the desired 
target. To cuff a girl's wrists in front is a merciful bond, bestowing much 
freedom, but it has limitations, neither hand can span a burning butt. 

Della remains. My other captives withdraw from her area. She is still 
handcuffed to a bar and probably views the others with envy. Her own travail 
is not yet done and I wonder if she regards the insolence she carries in her 
eyes. The poor darling may be fighting back in her own way but I will teach 
her which of us is mistress. She finally looks at me and the pleading 
finally comes, prompted by the knowledge that she has been singled out. 

"Please, Mistress, please no more. I've had enough." 

Della's tone was flat and colorless, a routine plea for mercy. I find myself 
lacking inspiration and so tell her she will stand as she is while her 
burning bottom cools and I think up something appropriate for her 
intransigence. If the sweetheart still cherishes insolence, she hides it 
well. The girl crowd around to talk to her while I go in search of Wilma. 

Wilma suggests whipping the soles of Della's feet but the poor darling 
doesn't deserve this. I have always felt the sweet little soles of my girls 
should be kept in reserve for the very worst behavior. There are some of the 
nine who have never had their soles whipped at all! I negate the notion. We 
consider placing dear Della upon the horse with her feet stretched well to 
either side and the full cutting edge hard within her crotch. But this, too, 
is unkind and I like to keep such extremes for more urgent sins. We consider 
the stocks, the pillory and the plank. Della has walked the plank a couple 
of times already and handles the ordeal remarkably well. It is through her 
efforts while chained in deep water I have learned the comforting fact that 
a girl so punished will not drown. I decide to let her spend the night 
chained to a tree in the park amid the eerie noises of the night, the 
rustling of small rodents and the cry of owls. A night thus spent has always 
had a beneficial effect on any girl I have thus tied. But the poor dear can 
wait a while were she is to await my return. The suspense will do her good. 
How glorious it is to be a mistress! 

I decide upon the Gwendoline tie. There are many ways to tie a girl to a 
tree, some possess the illusion of the possibility of freedom, but the total 
immobility inherited from the immortal heroin will extract a toll as the 
night progresses and the fears breed within the dark. I give dear Della 
permission to chat as we make our way to where she will spend the night. She 
knows enough to not beg for mercy. 

"Thank you for tying me to a tree, Mistress. I expected worse." 

"You may wish you had received the whip before morning brings release," I 
assured her cheerfully. "You're going to get the full treatment, darling, 
including the cunt-cutter between your legs." 

"Thank you, Mistress, it hurts terribly." 

Della is clever. She contrives to sound pleased. "I know why you're tying my 
like this. I really will try and stop looking rebellious." 

"Let us hope, darling, tonight effects a cure." 

"Yes, Mistress, thank you." 

Well, we had that little lot sorted out and got ourselves half way back to 
the time when she had been my number one girl. Remembering Angela's absence, 
I was inspired to order Della to pick up where she had left off years 
before. She was handcuffed and leg-ironed but neither of those would hinder 
her from giving me the service to which a mistress is entitled. She feel 
upon her knees and fed hungrily until I was making the same sound she had 
made when whipped. Della was always highly skilled. I'm sure she had kept 
her skills alive by constant practice on her eight companions. For a moment 
I considered retracing our steps and chaining her in my bed but that would 
be a victory for her. When she had cleaned my puss and wiped her lips, we 
continued on in steadfast purpose to the waiting tree. 

Della backed against the bark and stood in silence with raised arms while I 
bound her middle with a belt of rope. Band after band I wound around the 
soft flesh and hard wood to positively plaster the dear girl against the 
oak. That done, I could remove the leg irons and handcuffs, I had her 
secured. 

The Gwendoline tie is hard work for any mistress who wishes to use it. Its 
totality and artistry demand care and exertion to insure the proper 
indentation of rope within the skin. I pulled and tugged, looped and tied, 
while Della took the opportunity to assure me of undying devotion and a 
willingness to share my bed if only I would return her to favor. She told me 
it was a dream each girl cherished in their hearts without expectation of it 
actually happening. As I toiled, I considered the wisdom of instituting a 
policy whereby I extracted an occasional girl from behind the bars to wear 
the chain and collar with me in my bed. It would be a charitable act but 
would conflict with the amours of my current favorite. I decided to give it 
thought. 

Soon darling Della was exquisitely entwined in a web of lovely rope. No part 
of her nakedness was ignored, cords bit and held her everywhere, flattening 
and holding her tummy, protruding her breasts as they swelled under the 
clutch of ropes. Her wrists I crossed behind the trunk and bound them tight. 
I do believe it is so good for a girl to be sometimes rendered helpless by 
rope instead of the heartlessness of steel. As the poor darling struggled 
through the night she will know her enemy, the cords, area gift from me to 
her. Behind the tree and out of sight, I drew the already positioned cunt 
cords viciously tight, then knelt before the lovely nakedness to part the 
tender lips and position the two thin strictures within the hot, moist 
sheath, returning to the rear to give the final tugs and make the knots 
secure. When I once more faced the tight-bound girl, she eyed me levelly, 
knowing I was aware of her pain, and said a dutiful, "Thank you, Mistress," 
with a sufficient fervor to make me wish it might be sincere. I found those 
two cords which vanished within the pubic area utterly devastating to my 
peace of mind. They would devastate Della, too, before the night was done. I 
kissed her nipples, her eyes, and her lips before I turned and left her to 
the night. 

It was a glorious summer night. My dalliance with Della and my walk across 
the grass erased my irritation with Jeff and Angela and whatever it was they 
might be doing. But the euphoria engendered by the just completed binding of 
a naked girl turned to hot eroticism as I strolled. I remembered my empty 
bed and so stopped off to open the cage and beckoned the first lovely head 
that raised to peer at me. Celie scrambled through the open as though 
reading the intent in my eyes. She had been well whipped and was lusting for 
my crotch. I grasped her handcuffed arm and led her to the padlock and the 
chain and told her to resume the duties she had supposed lost forever. 
Angela was not the only apple in the tree. 

Celie must have learned a lot behind the bars downstairs, her performance 
was far better than I remembered, and she behaved herself remarkably well 
during the night, not rattling her chain once to wake me up. In the morning 
I had a tearful maiden on my hands. Having returned to what she supposed was 
my good graces, Celie had no wish to leave. She implored me to keep her and 
give her one more chance to prove herself to the mistress who once adored 
her. The damn girl touched my heart so I sent her to the bathroom then 
chained her to the bed again while I sorted things out. I now had two girls 
outside the cage and it was time I started putting them back. But as far as 
Della was concerned, I decided to let her get her full of punishment. The 
sun had been up quite a while but I had had breakfast with Wilma, 
acquainting her with events before deciding to go and free the captive of 
the tree. By now I was sure Della would be humbled. I walked blissfully 
across the grass and into the woods. When I reached the tree Della was not 
there! Just a pile of rope and a couple of wet cords. I stood surveying them 
in shocked horror and disbelief. Della could not have freed herself, she 
just couldn't have! 

But if she were free, I knew one thing for sure. Della would call the cops! 

 CHAPTER SIX - NOBILITY IN IRONS 

There are some things too bloody awful to comprehend. I stood like a dummy, 
my mind racing over possibilities. Della was gone and I didn't know where so 
it was useless for me to start out in pursuit. Someone had untied her and 
taken her away, that was sure. The question was answered almost immediately 
by a suave male voice. 

"If one of your girls is good, I figured two would be better." 

Jeffery Dillon had walked silently from a clump of bushes and was laughing 
openly at my dismay. "Come back with me and I'll show you the way I've got 
the two pretty little dears foxed. I can offer you coffee or a drink." 

"What I want is Della," I said belligerently. "What the hell do you think 
you're playing at!" 

"I don't live all that far off, you know. Figured you'd have a least one 
girl somewhere out in the park. And the walls no problem when you have a 
ladder. If you want this Della back, you can come and get her." 

I had a feeling I'd lost control of things somewhere along the way. But 
Celie was safely chained and Wilma knew my errand. And I was curious about 
what game Jeffery Dillon was playing. I wanted to refuse but Jeff has a way 
with him. I overlooked his trespass, it might be amusing to see what he had 
done with two of my girls. Primarily I was damned thankful to know that 
Della had not reached the police. 

I walked with him to his car. 

I reserved judgment during the drive. I've known for a long while that if 
Jeff Dillon asked me to marry him, I'd do it at a shot. I wasn't going to 
blow my top and alienate his friendship over either Della or Angela. If he 
had thought up something amusing for the two dears I was interested in 
taking a peek before morning coffee and escorting Della back home. I 
wouldn't even have an excuse to punish the poor dear, she'd been as much a 
victim of Dillon's charm as I. I settled back into the seat and talked about 
the new Curate at the Vicarage He had Angela fixed up as a sort of little 
French maid. There wasn't much to her custom but it covered her pubic hair 
and did not interfere with the leg irons on her feet or the handcuffs on her 
wrists. She kissed me warmly and proceeded to serve the coffee while her new 
master choose the big arm chair and beamed on us both. 

"Might as well make them work for a living," he said cheerfully. "I'm glad 
you taught them to walk in irons, she hasn't dropped a thing. The way she's 
behaving, she'll never be whipped again." 

It was damned cozy and I do like coffee! Angela already knew about the cream 
and sugar. I drank the first cup gratefully and asked for more. I accepted 
the second cup and placed it on the side of the sofa on which I sat. I was 
about to make some bright remark when it happened. The lights went out! 

The return to consciousness was with the feeling that I hadn't been away all 
that long. Angela was standing there in the near-nudity of her cute costume 
and looking politely anxious. The dear girl had lost both handcuffs and leg 
irons I soon knew why, they were locked on me! What was more to the point 
was they were locked upon a naked ME! I wasn't wearing a stitch, not even my 
shoes. 

"We thought this was a nice way of doing it," said Angela. "Angela, this in 
insane. Where's Jeff?" 

"He's taking Della back to Cranston and explaining to Wilma that you'll be 
somewhat delayed. You can phone her later." 

"But my clothes! You little demon, Jeff mustn't see me like this. Give my 
back my things." 

"He's already had a look, he undressed you." 

I sort of froze. It was like being in quicksand which had just about reached 
my neck. I clinked my chains and demanded, "Who's responsible for this?' 

"Jeffery did that too," Angela giggled. "I'm only his slavegirl, you know, I 
don't make decision." 

This girl talk might have gone on some time without getting me anywhere. I 
stood up and kicked at my chained ankles then sat down again. It was the 
most frustrating and humiliating moment of my life. I sat down again. 

"Angela," I said, "you simply must give my back my clothes. If this is some 
sort of joke, it's gone far enough." 

"Like that time you had Reggie handcuff me to the tea shop table?" 

"Damn it, girl. I've given you to Jeffery Dillon, what more do you want?" 

Whatever it was Angela wanted was cut short by the breezy arrival of Jeffery 
Dillon. With my handcuffed hands I picked up the only pillow on the couch 
which wasn't quite big enough to cover both breasts or my pubic patch. I was 
nervous but not short of something to say. "Jeffery, this is an outrage!" 

"Yes, isn't it!" he agreed pleasantly. "There are more to follow." 

I got the message. My being naked and the way in which Angela now snatched 
away my pillow told me this was nothing casual. From their interested stares 
I gathered I'd be lucky if I want back to Cranston by evening with nothing 
worse than being sore and sorry. Good gosh, you can't trust anyone these 
days! 

"We're going to give you some warm hospitality," said Jeff. I could guess 
that that word "warm" referred to. 

Darling Angela added her piece, "Don't be angry with us, darling, we just 
think you ought to sample the other side of the coin for a change." 

I fixed her with a mean stare. "I suppose you realize the punishment you're 
building up for yourself," I suggested firmly. "When I get you back you 
won't be able to sit down for a month and you'll lay sideways on the bed for 
even longer." 

"But I'm not going back. I'm ever so happy here. Thank you for selling me, 
Mable." 

I could see I'd bitten the biscuit so far as instilling either fear or 
sympathy. I realized I've got a nice body for my age, but sitting naked on 
the couch, loaded down with handcuffs and leg irons, I just had to be a 
figure of fun. a mature woman reduced to the ridiculous. My bottom was 
tingling with anticipation. 

"Perhaps we should introduce you to the cage," Jeff suggested. "Come along, 
Mable. And you, Angela, stand by with the riding crop. Your former mistress 
may need touching up a bit." 

They were both loving my discomfort. Damn it, why shouldn't they! 

A naked woman to do what they liked with. I knew I had abundant breasts and 
a generous Venus mound. My bottom was tight and firm and I could guess what 
was going to happen to it. To get me up off the couch, dear little Angela 
gave me several "touchings up." Unhappily I followed Jeff downstairs. 

Walking when you're leg-ironed is the very devil, I snubbed my ankles with 
every step and for the first time in my life I didn't know what to do with 
my hands. They were held in front of me and whatever I did with them seemed 
redundant and absurd. I'd never supposed handcuffs had this effect on a 
girl. I'd always assumed they generated humility and a feeling of a lower 
status. With me they were simply an awkward embarrassment as I held them 
over a bare naval, ignoring the temptation to bend forward and have them 
cover my puss. 

"I don't believe it!" I said, staring. "Don't tell me, Jeff, you had this 
constructed overnight for me?" 

"Actually, no, Mable dear. It's had a few inmates over the years so you need 
not fee! out of place inside. Come along, in you go." It was a cage, not a 
bit like mine at Cranston but more like a big bird cage standing in the 
middle of an otherwise bare room. It was not a cage to hold any dignity for 
its occupant. It was simply silly and trivial but its bars would have held a 
tiger. Jeff Dillon held open the door invitingly. I reluctantly clinked and 
clanked my way toward it under the stimulus of Angela's "touching up." That 
crop of hers on my bottom hurt like hell and I was almost glad to step 
inside the protection of the bars. The door clanged and I looked out at lost 
freedom and a pair of grinning faces. Boy, if my nine girls could have seen 
me now! 

"Solitude is good for the soul," Jeff said unctuously. 

"It will be nice for you to have time to think about us whipping your 
bottom. And maybe your back, too," Angela added in her sweetest voice. I 
watched them go. Boy, I thought, if I ever get my hands on that little 
witch, she'll rue this day! 

Disgustedly I assessed my prison. It was circular and about six feet across, 
enough room for me to lay on the floor if they kept me all night. 

But I suspected I would be in it only long enough to learn what it was like 
to live behind bars. I wondered if they expected a change of heart on my 
part, like a vow to never cage a girl again. But it wouldn't be that easy, I 
was sure. I simply stood there, holding on to the bars like every idiot who 
gets behind them, and wondering if Jeff found my nakedness attractive. I'd 
hoped he would mention my breasts but he didn't say a word. And, while he 
examined my forest of pubic hair, he hadn't commented. I was more miffed by 
these omissions than I expected to be when they got around to caning my rear 
end. 

I'm not dumb. I wasn't born yesterday, and I was doing some figuring. It 
just wasn't possible for Jeff and Angela to keep me prisoner here for any 
length of time. I could rely on Wilma raising the roof and there was others 
beside Wilma. But they could keep me for a day without any problems. And a 
lot can happen in one day. Uneasily I considered what those things could be 
and there was quite a list of them. I knew neither of them hated me but I 
also suspected they figured I needed taking down a peg or two. My bottom was 
now tingling full time and I rattled the bars of that damned cage and its 
door in a furious wish to be the hell out of there. Boy, what I would have 
given to be back at Cranston right then! 

They came back after an hour or so, obviously expecting a tirade of beefs 
and maybe some pathetic pleadings for mercy. How the hell would I know? 

"We are now ready to whip you, Mable," Jeffery told me as though promising 
tea. 

"We hope a good whipping will do you a lot of good, darling," little 
love-bird added her two cents worth and I could have kicked her ass. 

"And we've got the nicest way to fasten you," Jeff added. 

There wasn't much I could do. Remember I was handcuffed and leg- ironed. If 
I would have fought, I would have looked sillier than I did. I followed 
meekly, hoping their hearts would be touched. 

Their hearts were not touched. I got a couple more licks with the crop to 
assure me of earnest intentions and then I got a look at the way I would be 
fastened when whipped. It was a bench at the far end of which was a pair of 
stocks raising about three feet. There were holes for wrists. My handcuffs 
were removed and I was urged to thrust my tummy against the bench and hold 
out my hands to the waiting stocks. 

To the tune of forceful complaints on my part, I did as I was told. The 
upper half of the yoke clamped down hard on my wrists and was locked before 
my eyes so I could see just how helpless I was. 

"We won't fasten you any more, Mable dear, you can kick all you like." 

"It will be just like old times with us girls," darling Angela added archly. 
"You're bottom and back are beautifully vulnerable." 

"Ah, shit!" I'd seen this coming from the start but that didn't make me any 
happier now that it was here. I was free from my toes to my wrists but my 
wrists were fixed for sure, and spaced apart they prevented me from getting 
around to either side of the bench over which I was forced to lean. I hated 
to think of how my rump stuck up. I could look around and get a glimpse of 
half of it and that was enough to make me blush with shame and quiver with 
suspense. 

"We'll both have a go at you, Mable," Jeff assured me earnestly. "Maybe a 
total of twenty strokes split between Angela and myself. Does that strike 
you as fair?" 

"Drop dead!" I told him. I was so damned mad... ! 

With my experience I should have know how bad a whip hurt. But, honest, I 
hadn't the faintest clue. With the first awful slice across the cheeks I 
could not move for a second then went absolutely berserk with agony. I 
kicked and jerked and tugged at my poor imprisoned wrists in frantic alert. 
I was quite sure I could not possibly survive twenty strokes such as that. I 
mentioned this as forcefully as I could. "Twenty of those will kill me. 
You'd best let me loose and allow me to go home. " No one heard a word. The 
blasted riding crop splatted itself across my bottom a second time and once 
more I went through all the motions, this time adding a few yelps and moans 
to emphasis dissatisfaction with what was being done to me. No one seemed to 
hear. 

After I had received five of these stinging terrors my bottom was positively 
on fire. It was then darling Angela chose to thrust her little hand up into 
my crotch and get it damned good and wet on what she found there. She kneed 
vigorously and even inserted a finger where it would do most good. About the 
time I was heaving a sigh of relieve she withdrew. The next moment I got the 
unkindest cut of all, a slicing splat which I was positive must have caused 
my bottom to split open like a ripe melon. When I implored them to stanch 
the flow of blood their answer was casual, "Sorry, love, there isn't any. 
Just some lovely marks." It was the unkindest cut of all. 

I got my twenty. Ten across my bottom, ten slicing my back. Spacing them in 
groups of five strokes, dear Angela fingered my sex, always stopping at a 
point of tantalization which left me furiously frustrated. But this 
heightening of my sexual excitement was always cured by the next infliction 
of pain. I suppose I've whipped girls this hard but right then I couldn't 
believe it. When they announced the completion of that phase of my 
"correction" I managed a satiric, "Thank you very much. Can I go home now?" 

I could not go home. It appeared this was a sort of prelim before the main 
performance. I pointed out there could be nothing else worse than what they 
had just done to me but they just chuckled and told me to wait and see. My 
heart sank, sinking was about all they poor thing had done all day. 

"We're now going to sit you on the horse, darling," said Angela. 

"A painful perch," said Jeffery. 

"I can't possibly endure it," I said briefly, "I'll die." 

It was nothing more than the edge of a lousy plank, it didn't even have the 
simulation of a horse like mine back at Cranston did. The two of them had no 
trouble handling me so it wasn't long before I sat astride the beastly thing 
with my hands cuffed behind my back and raised up to force me forward on my 
crotch and my bound ankles tractioned out to either side so I was doing the 
splits like a belly dancer except I would be more likely to get splinters 
instead of applause. I couldn't move. The pain was so bloody awful you 
wouldn't believe it. When I started to tell them, they turned and went away. 
This time there was no way Angela could get her hand where it would do any 
good. I started to moan as soon as they were gone. I think it was the 
Spanish Inquisition that invented the horse. I devoutly wished their Grand 
Inquisitor sat upon it instead of me. I was quite certain I was being sliced 
into two halves, beginning with that sad little slit. I was certain the 
plank burrowing upwards in a steady, relentless drive to divide and conquer. 
Alone and helpless in the room, I emitted all sorts and cries and sounds to 
express my dolor. I vowed that if I ever got back to Cranston I would 
destroy the horse I had, no girl should ever sit on it again. 

Angela had the decency and compassion to drop by once or twice during the 
hour or two I sat upon that blasted plank. Quite likely she was just 
reassuring herself I was still alive and not split up the middle. Since she 
could not touch that part of me that mattered most, she did the next best 
thing by playing with my nipples. It helped a lot while she was doing it but 
it got me aroused to the point where she ceased. Apparently a girl upon the 
horse is not allowed orgasm. Probably I would have done the same. What 
bitches we are without even knowing! 

She said, "I do love you, Mable. I'm sure you don't think so now but this 
will pass. There's only a few other things you'll have to put up with. I 
know I'm not suppose to tell you but that's the way Jeff has it planned." 

I watched her go. "A few other things!" My tummy did somersaults simply 
thinking of what they could be. As far as I was concerned I'd suffered 
enough. I'd paid my debt. But evidently my captor did not think so. I avowed 
that Jeffery Dillon would never enter the hollowed halls of Cranston again. 

I can see now how wicked it is to intersperse a punishment with small 
pleasant, social functions. I don't know how many hours I was on the horse, 
probably one, but when dear Jeffery and darling Angela took me from the 
slicing seat they damn near had to carry me to the lounge where they were 
careful to offer me the softest seat. I must have looked a sight and felt 
worse but I was so damned glad to be off that bloody horse I was prepared to 
love everybody and do anything. Angela, still in her cute little French Maid 
outfit, served coffee and sandwiches and both she and Jeff made a great fuss 
of me. 

"The worse is over," said Jeffery. 

"Just a few little things left for you, darling," said Angela. 

I nearly choked on my tea as the two of them blandly discussed my immediate 
future. They seemed in favor of suspending me by my hands for a quiet hour 
or two of contemplation of my life. But Angela suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, 
Jeff, we're forgetting the very thing that matters! Shouldn't we cane the 
soles of her feet?" 

You can imagine my feelings. I considered a quick dash for the door but 
rejected it. But the way my poor little pussy felt made it doubtful I could 
run effectively. But I did have a gorgeous mental vision of what I'd do to 
Angela when I got her back. There are quite a few different ways you can tie 
a girl if you intend to whip the bottom of her feet, I was considering them 
when Jeffery said, "That's really a bit much. I'm not sure dear Mable 
deserves anything that severe. What do you say we bend her backwards over a 
rail?" 

Angela said she was sure I'd absolutely love being bend backwards then added 
for my benefit, "Mable dear, don't listen to our chatter. I expect we sound 
like a couple of kids compared to your experience." 

I added one more item to Angela's tally. When I got my hands on her again, 
she'd have quite a bill to pay. But my immediately concern was to save my 
own skin. Abjectly, I promised, "If you'll stop torturing me now I'll agree 
to whatever terms you lay down. I've had enough. " 

"I think perhaps the rack... " said Jeff gently as though I hadn't spoken. 

"What a lovely idea! But not stretched too tight, of course." said Angela 
brightly. 

They had me scared. Me, the Honorable Mable Wycherly! And they succeeded in 
planting in my mind a question as to whether I had always been kind to my 
nine darlings in the cage. Under a sudden impulse I could not control I made 
a dive for the door but Jeff scooped me up with effortless ease and held me 
in his arms while darling Angela contrived to put handcuffs on my wrists 
behind my back to prevent me beating my fists upon Jeffery Dillon's grinning 
features. We made a cute procession going back down stairs. 

I didn't see any rack. I didn't believe they had one. But the rail was 
there, all right, hardly noticeable unless you were primed to look for a 
rail. Behind it was a small frame, the use of which I could easily divine. 
Jeff set me on my feet against the rail, thrusting all his weight against me 
as he held my arms to enable sweet little Angela to remove my handcuffs and 
place my wrists a couple of feet apart within the waiting half circles of 
the waiting frame and then snap the yoke tight upon them. 

I knew I wasn't going to like this, but I also was tremendously conscious of 
Jeffery Dillon. I smelt him and knew he was picking up my scent, too. He was 
deliberately frictioning my nipples against his jacket and trusting up his 
knee up inside my thighs. That produced an effect utterly devastating to my 
peace of mind. We were face to face, very close. I could only hope Angela 
didn't hear my whisper, "Jeffery, take me to bed. Stop this nonsense. I love 
you." 

"And we both love you, too, darling." 

I could have murdered Angela for the bright, chirpy note she used to make 
that assurance. Jeffery patted my bottom as though in appreciation of my 
suggestion. He's marvelous in bed and I could sure have used an 
intermission. And I would have given him so much happiness that he might 
have let me off this fool punishment thing. But he stepped back at approve 
my taught, stressed nakedness in which everything I had was proclaiming 
itself for his approval. I had never know my breasts and pussy in such 
extreme display. 

"What about her feet?" inquired Angela. 

I had thought I was already fixed enough. It was an absolutely beastly 
posture with my arms wretched back, my head totally without support, and 
that horrible rail digging hard into the small of my back. Even with my feet 
free I would do little to relieve the pain and my poor wrists, snug within 
their wooden confinement, were already screaming in protest. But whatever 
relief my feet may have provided was taken from me now by Angela looping 
each ankle and pulling it back to the frame just enough to add to the 
tension on my torso and preventing me from moving my legs even the 
slightest. 

"This will kill me," I informed them with firm conviction. "Let me loose." 

They did not let me loose. They spent a little time pinching my taut 
nipples, testing the flattening effect upon my breasts, then patting and 
teasing my wide open and displayed pussy. They didn't keep it up long enough 
to do me any good. They went away. 

I was sure my spine would break under the strain. I was in a constant, 
agonizing about where to hold my head. If I allowed it to droop fully 
backward I got red in the face and my neck muscles ached like fury. But, if 
I held it up to where I could view my breasts, the red was replaced by the 
white of suffering. I was beautifully and wonderfully foxed. I tried to kick 
but Angela's ropes were a reproof on each foot. They were like her small 
hands adding to my torment. I wondered what I had ever done to my nine girls 
to deserve this. 

I toyed with a beautiful fantasy of Angela being bound as I was bound while 
Jeff and I went up to his bed and I used ever trick in the book to give him 
pleasure. Damn Jeffery Dillon, he's so damned Male! And also very rich! The 
two of us would make a match the county would approve of, and our names and 
pictures would be in all the papers. Instead of that, here I was in his home 
in a situation I wouldn't wish on a dog, wondering if my backbone would last 
out whatever time I was sentenced to. No one had mentioned time, for all I 
knew it could be the rest of the day. I wept. 

It was Angela would came first, divested of her little maids uniform and as 
naked as I usually kept her myself. Her whisper was urgent, a little guilty 
but a little loving, too. "Jeff doesn't know I'm here, darling. I'm terrible 
sorry about the things we're doing to you and I know you'll punish me 
terribly if you ever can. But I felt I just had to come and give you this." 

The gift she brought was her wicked little hand. It had no trouble finding 
my pussy at the same moment as her lips found my nipple. She they proceeded 
to most skillfully take me into that hot and erotic land most females deny 
but all desire. In moments she had me moaning and uttering the little cries 
of delight and desire by which a girl tells her ravisher of her joy. Angela 
was my ravisher, have no doubt of that! The little so and so had me coming 
in no time flat and the resultant orgasm, in the posture I was forced in, 
tore me to pieces. I was crying in agony at my loss when her hand found me 
down below once more and her lips sought my second nipples. My second 
explosion was as devastating as the first and Angela was long gone before I 
was back into this world. Once more I was alone with agony. 

I don't know how long they left me there, it doesn't matter now. But this 
time it was Jeffery who came and set me free. He had to hold me tight 
afterwards or I would have fallen. But being in his arms almost made the 
thing worth while. Once more I asked him to take me to bed, but when he 
refused and, instead, handcuffed my wrists behind my back, I wasn't too 
disappointed. I hadn't expected anything and that was exactly what I got! I 
also had not expected to be lead through the passages, cautioned to silence, 
and allowed to peep at the room which held the cage. Inside it was dear 
Angela, naked and handcuffed, and amusing herself by testing each bar and 
each portion of the door and the lock to see if she could get out. I was 
allowed only a brief glimpse of Angela and she was unaware of that. My next 
shock was to be escorted to Jeff s car and being allowed to sit beside him 
as he drove me back to Cranston. On the back seat was a small bundle of my 
clothes. 

Wilma intercepted us on our way downstairs. Dear, faithful Wilma was 
commandeered to escort us the rest of the way and open the door of the big 
cage, inside which nine bright pairs of youthful eyes gazed at me in 
disbelief. The door slammed shut behind my back and I stood there naked and 
helpless, my hands behind my back whereas theirs were cuffed in front. The 
Honorable Mable Wycherly had been reduced and shamed below the level of her 
slaves. 

I learned later that Jeff had kept poor Wilma in conversation for a full 
thirty minutes before leaving. That was close to being the worst thirty 
minutes of my life. I half expected to be tom apart, the Honorable Mable 
delivered to the lions in their den, each one a female feline with claws. I 
couldn't think of a thing to say but simply stood there, as naked as they 
themselves and awaited my fate. 

But it wasn't like that. The poor darlings actually felt sorry for me, 
examining my wounds and whip marks and trying to get the handcuffs off my 
wrists. They made me feel so terribly ashamed, an absolute bitch, as they 
wiped my tears with gentle fingers and listened while I blurted out the 
shaming details of my day. Not one of them said it served me right. 

I was so touched by their compassion I almost promised them freedom but 
realized in time that at least one of them would be certain to go to the 
police and that would be the end of me. And possibly of Jeffery Dillon. I 
racked my brains to think of something nice I could do for them. But all 
they wanted was their freedom which was something I dared not give. I was so 
damned thankful when Wilma came back down and opened the door for me, I 
immediately gave Wilma a raise in salary. 

When my hands were freed and I was sipping the gorgeous coffee Wilma had 
brewed I realized things weren't all that bad. I was back where I started 
except that there was one item of unfinished business. 

Angela! 

 CHAPTER SEVEN - ANGELA'S ANGUISH 

It's wonderful what being in love does to a girl. When darling Mable sort of 
loaned me to Jeff, I was sort of in a delirious dream and supposing we'd 
spend the whole thirty days in bed with perhaps a few brief trips out to 
dine. I'll admit it was a bit of a surprise when I learned of his fondness 
for B&D and his expectation that I would share this fondness. He explained 
it to me afterwards that people like him and the Honorable Mable had been 
born with the desire and had been lucky enough to make it a way of life. As 
he put it, there was all that ecstasy kicking around simply waiting to be 
enjoyed, so why not enjoy it! I didn't argue, I wanted to be well ahead of 
him and said demurely, "Would you like my hands in front of in back?" 

Jeff kissed me, played with me enough so I got excited, then, just to be 
perverse, did not lock my hands either in front nor in back. Instead he took 
me to a room, strapped my wrists into leather cuffs, suspended me with my 
toes about three inches off the floor. "Every married man should do this 
right after the marriage as a test of loyalty," said Jeff. 

I didn't enjoy it one bit. Suspension is a shocking strain on a girl and you 
feel so terribly over-exposed. But Jeffery kissed me some more and played 
with my nipples and called me his darling little Angela over and over until 
I was in a dither of rainbows from which I woke up to find myself alone and 
hanging quietly. 

When Jeff let my feet back on the floor and told me this was only an initial 
test, I was astonished to leant that I had been hanging for only an hour. It 
had seemed like half a day, at least. He then picked me up with the wrist 
cuffs still strapped to my wrists and carried my back upstairs for a drink 
and to discuss plans about Mable. I listened in a sort of giggling delight, 
while he told me of his plan to bring her down a couple of notched and shame 
her before her girls. He said she was altogether too uppity and I agreed 
with him. I was still remembering Cranston and the marks of Mable's whip 
upon my skin. 

Neither of us saw it as punishment. We named what we did to Mable as 
"shaming the poor, dear girl." I had to admit we did exactly that. Thinking 
back to her sitting on the horse or bent backward over that rail, I do feel 
terribly ashamed of myself -- not of Jeff, Jeff is The Master. But in some 
strange way I sort of loved Mable and I knew she had a tremendous affection 
for me. I was very glad I wouldn't be going back to Cranston. If I did, 
there would be a terrible list of misdeeds Mable would take out on my hide. 
I felt it was so wonderful belonging to Jeff. I also felt that it would go 
on forever. 

I had supposed Jeff wouldn't know about me going back to Mable and giving 
the poor dear a couple orgasms while she was on that rail. But he knew, all 
right, this house is full of servants. He later told me of this knowledge 
and asked is six with the cane on my bottom would be a proper punishment. I 
said yes, I suppose to would. I bent over and touched my toes and thought 
how convenient it was not to wear clothes. I just waited for the pain to 
start. Jeffery gave me six really sting cuts across both cheeks and I had 
the damndest time to stay still to get them all. If I hadn't been so in love 
with him, I couldn't have done it. 

When I stood up and was rubbing my rump, Jeff chose that moment to tell me 
of Prince Hadji El Kabar. 

I had heard of him. He was one of the oil sheiks who roam the world and tell 
everyone what to do and how much to pay for a barrel of oil. I'd seen his 
picture, he was utterly charming even if he did have a harem back home with 
goodness knows how many girls. Looking at him or hearing him talk on the 
telly made any girl think that surely there would be room for one more. 

It transpired that Hadji El Kabar did business with Jeffery Dillon and would 
be coming for lunch the following day. With forthright honesty, Jeff told me 
I would play hostess and afterwards would be expected to entertain the 
Prince in such ways as would give him pleasure. 

"You don't mean take him up to bed!" I exclaimed in dismay. "You wouldn't... 
" Jeffery explained. According to the way you looked at it my role would be 
far simpler than taking the Prince to bed. It seemed the Prince shared the 
same delights that motivated the Honorable Mable and my new Master Jeffery. 
Prince Hadji traveled everywhere accompanied by an ornate case in which, 
snuggled in puffed up satin, was the wickedest riding crop any girl might 
feel upon her skin. The program called of it to be use on me! 

"But I thought you loved me!" I said, aghast. 

"I do, my pet, but that has nothing to do with a spot of business." Jeff 
gazed at me earnestly. "I've sure you've no objection to an extra million or 
two from time to time, darling." 

Well, when he put it like that... ! 

We went up to bed and I forgot all about the Honorable Mable and Prince 
Hadji El Kabar. I forgot about everything except my limbs were free and I 
was in the arms of the most competent lover in the world. 

Prince Hadji was everything the Telly had promised. Had he dealt only with 
women and oil, he would have been the richest man in the world. I'm afraid 
it wasn't much you felt he was in love with you but rather a terrible 
intensification of feeling female and horny. I was ashamed of myself all 
through lunch but was thankful I wasn't a man with an erection to betray my 
excitement. But my nipples did their best, pointing at the Prince like gun 
muzzles. He seemed to find it natural I should wear no clothes. 

When we had given the usual small talk the once over, I tried to get one 
jump ahead by saying, "My Master tells me you wish to whip my bottom," then 
added in certain confusion, "your Highness." His dark eyes devoured me. His 
words were soft and full of promise. "It would give me infinite delight, 
dear child." 

I decided not to let up and added, "And that you have the most wonderful 
riding crop in a really gorgeous carrying case?" 

"Indeed I do! It was made my the finest craftsman in the world. You will be 
proud to wear its weals." 

Well, that seemed to be that. We understood each other. I suddenly lost 
interest in desert. Almost simpering, I inquired, "May I ask how many young 
women you have use it on?" 

Prince Hadji gave this question the thought it deserved. "There are my 
wives," he suggested dubiously as though starting a tally. "I also have a 
number of children, among them teenage girls who frequently require 
correction. But in the wider circle of pure pleasure, as opposed to domestic 
duty, I can recall the wives of no less than seven ambassadors, a multitude 
of feminine dependents of sundry diplomats. And there was one concubine of a 
Texan oil man who wanted a cut in the price." Prince Hadji smiled the 
memory. "The poor girl's work proved in vein." Hadji smiled apologetically. 
"There were also a multitude of secretaries and ladies of the night employed 
for my pleasure. I'm afraid I've lost count. Being in the oil business opens 
many doors." 

He might be boasting but I didn't think so. Jeff was quietly grinning and 
keeping silent to allow me to dig my own grave with a too-busy tongue. "And 
this lovely cane, you Highness, is it not worn out by now?" 

The Prince smiled at my naivety. "Fear not, Angela," he admonished in a 
voice to heat my loins. "It is of exquisite workmanship and will outlast a 
thousand maiden rumps." He smiled upon me in what I suppose had to be pure 
adoration. "You must remember, Angela my dear, there are many delightful 
parts of any girl, parts that will show the lovely scarlet weals beside 
those twin rounds on which she sits. It would be a pleasure to crop those 
exquisite breasts you are pointing at me across the table." 

I sat tensed in shock. There had been a happy repartee about this affair so 
far, I didn't want to talk about whipping my breasts or have anyone else 
talk about it, either. I got another shock when Jeff gently interposed, "We 
would both be honored if you would introduce Angela's breasts to an ancient 
and revered tradition, Your Highness." Jeff's eyes sparkled at me. "Wouldn't 
me, Angela?" 

I wanted to scream and run. Instead I demurely whispered, "Yes, of course. I 
would be delighted." 

Gosh, I really must have been in love! 

The real killer-diller with people like Prince Hadji and my master is that, 
having consigned you to pure terror, they then proceed to talk about the 
most mundane affairs and insist on including you so you have to say 
something bright and sparkling about the American Secretary of State's visit 
to Finland while your bottom is positively cringing at the thought of what 
is about to happen to it. I've never been positive whether they do this on 
purpose, well aware of it's devastating effects on the girl. Having 
exhausted the ordinary, they then switched as was the case right now. "I 
suppose you spend long periods of immobility while bound or semi-immobility 
while chained in your dungeon, my dear?" the Prince asked me with sort of a 
fatherly tone. He appeared gravely shocked when I told him I'd left all that 
behind with the Honorable Mable and expected greater latitudes from now on. 
Prince Hadji El Kabar look reprovingly at his business companion and host to 
admonish, with an almost British inflection, "My dear chap! You mustn't let 
the little darling twist you like this. A bit of freedom's all very well for 
contrast but she should spend most of her time well chained or bound." 

I could see I had put my master in a spot so I chimed in helpfully, "But, 
Your Highness, my feet are leg-ironed now. We can send for handcuffs should 
you so desire?" 

"She's having a holiday," Jeffery quickly added. "All whip and no play makes 
Jane a dull girl," he added, striving for a lighter tone. 

"This Honorable Mable, I don't think I've met her?" the Prince observed 
thoughtfully. "Might she be induced to lend her bottom to my crop?" He 
smiled at both of us in sincere friendship. "I have found the British 
nobility prone to having their bottoms whipped I forgot to mentioned 
previously a couple of duchesses, a countess and several lesser titles I've 
had the honor of marking. They are not ideal subjects, they are disposed 
towards stoic heroism under the rod. It is rather like flogging one of the 
horses some of them resemble." 

By way of changing the subject, Jeff inquired if the Prince had ever taken 
an English girl back home to the desert and placed her in his harem for a 
change of tempo and seeing how the other half lived. 

"It is something I have considered," Prince Hadji conceded. "Would you 
consider lending my Angela for perhaps a month?" 

"I'd much prefer introducing you to the Honorable Mable and see if you could 
prevail upon her." 

"I would return her faithfully on the due date." 

"I have no doubt of that. Your Highness, but I think Angela's a bit young 
and unsophisticated." Poor Jeff was trying hard. 

"I would order her lightly whipped each day," our noble guest continued 
suavely, eyeing me a bit too possessively. "In my country a man does not 
flog his own women. We employ a man and a woman who combine this service 
with other duties around the palace. Mostly they use the old Roman 
flagellum, a beautifully supple strap. It impacts resoundingly and leaves 
most satisfying marks. We use the bastinado for severe infidelities." 

I was aware of heaving breasts. The conversation was all too personal for my 
taste and any torturer of old might have picked up little hints from Prince 
Hadji El Kabar. I was almost to that mood they try to get you into where you 
just want to get whipped and have it over with because you just can't bear 
the suspense any longer But I kept quiet while the Prince toyed with his 
desert and discoursed upon the merits of whipping a girl between her legs. I 
wished I was in the oil business, I would have changed the subject. 

The Prince had done business with Jeffery Dillon before and was familiar 
with the house. Before leading us to the room of his choice, he went to his 
Rolls Royce to return with a long, lean case he handled with great care. I 
guessed its contents and followed the men folk down the stairs, my hobbled 
steps clinking and rattling to reassure them of my social status. 

It was a thing of great beauty. I was allowed to handle to assure myself of 
its potential for pain. It was lean and shining with a bejeweled handle, 
showing no signs of its many impacts upon noble and not so noble flesh. 
Already imbued with the Spirit of the East, I kissed the beastly thing 
before handing it back to the man who would slice me with it. I looked at my 
master, hopeful of reprieve, but got only a knowing smile. Jeffery Dillon 
was hot after the couple of million which apparently depended upon the 
quality of my bottom. Trying hard to keep the quavers from my voice, I asked 
politely if I should bend over and touch my toes. 

I was laughed to scorn. It was patiently explained that Eastern punishments 
could not be endured by mere slips of girls unless she were securely 
fastened. Prince Hadji expressed doubt I would manage more than two strokes 
if my limbs were free He smiled at me with purest love to demand, "You won't 
mind if you're securely bound, will you, my dear?" 

I told him that I wouldn't mind. I was beginning to think it might be just 
as well anyway. I didn't want him chasing me around the room if the pain was 
like they suggested. I turned my attention to the object on which I was to 
be fastened. I hadn't seen it before, I wished I did not see it now. One of 
the maid servants was summoned to attend my binding since Eastern protocol 
forbid any noble male to thus demean himself. The girl looked at me with 
pity to say, "Come along, dearie. I'll soon have you fixed good and tight. 
When I'm through with you, you won't even be able to wiggle." 

She kept her promise Whoever designed that bench could not have loved girls. 
It had a sort of low step I had to kneel on before laying the rest of myself 
flat upon the raised bench. My ankles and the hollows of my knees were 
instantly strapped very tight indeed and then a gentle hand thrust me down 
and down until my breasts were flat upon the wood and then another strap 
circled my waist and was cinched down as though I was a horse. This had the 
instant effect of rearing my bottom into undue prominence, I could guess 
what for! Next I was told to extend my hands and arms along each side to the 
very limit, at which point my wrists were firmly strapped and then my 
elbows. The damned girl was absolutely right! I couldn't wiggled. I was 
delivered, shockingly naked, to the instrument the Prince was plying between 
his hands. His eyes were brilliant with desire. The serving wench was sent 
away to leave me alone with fear and a certainty of agony. 

Prince Hadji was versatile. Or perhaps it was the bench that gave him scope. 
He first cut my bottom in two with a sharp, swift, unexpected blow. But his 
next stroke bisected it lengthwise to enter its clef made accessible by my 
wide-spread knees so tightly strapped. He then, with a fearfully casual air, 
seared the flank of each cheek, one after the other to have me in a paroxysm 
of pain and fear. I fought that damned bench and those cursed straps as 
thought they were a personal enemy, which I suppose the indeed were. I might 
as well have saved my strength, I moved nothing, my bottom was still there, 
invitingly protruding in a mute pleading for punishment I did not deserve. 
Prince Hadji cut me ten times with his Pride of the East before saying he 
had no wish to hurt me in this preliminary round. I gathered my scorched, 
sliced bottom was no more than his way of getting my attention. With Prince 
Hadji there would always be more to come. 

The serving maid arrived with double whiskeys for the men but nothing for 
me. I seemed to be forgotten as they found chairs and discussed their lousy 
oil arrangements. My bottom burned as though they had set a fire there. It 
was about at that point when I remembered my breasts. 

There was a neat device for that. too. It was a short, low cross. I was told 
to kneel with my back against it and one leg to either side. There then came 
the brutal strap around my middle to clamp my burning ass hard to the 
upright which would hold me fast in what was still to come. My knees were 
hurting from the start. All my weight was on them and they were in no way 
bound. The separation compelled by the post revealed my pussy in all its 
glory, and there was nothing I could do about it. One after the other the 
serving wench positioned my arms against the cross, strapping them at both 
wrist and elbow. As a final indignity there was a strap around my throat. It 
was not tight enough to injure but it was there. Then, having gotten me 
nicely vulnerable, they had it fixed so the cross bent back far enough to 
take my face out of range but expose my breasts in a demanding innocence. 
Boy, did they ever have me! 

I looked up into Prince Hadji's eyes, they seemed to burn away at my 
nipples. He had not changed his weapon, my breasts were to be whipped with 
the same instrument as my bottom. I moaned in pure fear. 

"Do not be distressed, dear girl. This is an art form in which I am 
unusually proficient." 

Prince Hadji was right. It was a relief to discover my breasts would not be 
cut by full, sweeping blows of his arm. Instead, their contours would be 
explored by flicking cuts and snapping impacts, awful enough but without the 
horror of mutilation. To make it worse I had to watch each blow as he 
measured it. I could not move. 

Here, too, I was pleasantly surprised. Perhaps Prince Hadji was as concerned 
about the oil deal as was my master, maybe he had no wish to offend by being 
more cruel to a slavegirl than need be. After ten cuts upon each of my 
breasts he announced himself as satisfied, thanked both myself and my master 
with grave courtesy, and replaced his wicked wand, unmarked by blood, within 
its plush case. I had never heaved a deeper sigh of thankfulness in my life. 

Double whiskeys were provided while they surveyed and commented upon my 
breasts and the marks thereon. I was thankful to have breasts left. 

I stayed, strapped tight upon the little cross, and listened to the jargon 
of big business. By now I realized I would have been much better off to have 
stayed with Mable, I was not in the same league with Jeffery Dillon and his 
friends. But I realized the Prince was perhaps an interruption in the normal 
routine of my master's house. Tonight he would take me to his bed and our 
love would once more flourish. But in this, too, I was wrong. I remained 
strapped to the cross until dinner and then, properly leg-ironed and 
handcuffed, took my place as hostess at the dinner table opposite Jeffery 
Dillon. Our guests interests had now changed from his riding crop to settle 
upon the means by which I would be secured for the night. I would cheerfully 
have murdered the smiling, handsome son of a bitch, if I'd had the chance, 
but once more I found myself agreeing to the penalties imposed by chains and 
ropes in certain places upon a certain girl. There was never any doubt who 
the girl would be! 

"I favor binding a naked maiden to a post or pillar through the night," the 
Prince said reflectively. "There is something very personal about such 
bondage for a girl, each rope is the finger of her master upon her flesh. I 
do hope you agree?" 

"Of course, but I'd thought of giving the poor kid a bit of a break tonight. 
She's new at that y'know." 

"There is also the matter of chains," said Prince Hadji as though Jeff had 
not spoken. "Chains are particularly potent for the maiden who knows her 
master holds the key. She will remain thus constrained in her dungeon 
awaiting his pleasure. She will not be freed by any serving girl or major 
domo. I really do feel you should confine Angela in one of this 
constrictions through the night." 

Damn him! It was almost an order! What has the son of a bitch got against 
me? He had whipped me and his eyes were now constantly on my seared breasts 
across the table. I was hurting and wanting to cry and longing most 
earnestly for my master's arms. I didn't care about the leg irons and 
handcuffs. I'd got used to them long ago with Mable. But, now, with this 
Prince from the East, such confinement seemed childish playthings allowing 
me all together too much freedom. I could understand him thinking this, I 
had become extremely adept at the dinning table with my handcuffed hands. I 
could do almost anything and this was not the way the Prince thought it 
ought to be. Moanfully I said farewell to a night of love. 

The Prince chose a marble pillar in the hall. It would shame be before the 
servants and he and Jeff could pause to admire while moving from room to 
room. They bound me thus in early evening, there being no point to having an 
unsophisticated girl share their talk. I think the serving maid was a bit 
impatient with this addition to her normal duties which caused her to tug 
each strand more tightly in irritation so the ropes indented my flesh from 
ankle to neck and the beastly addition of the "crotch cutter" was not 
forgotten. It was useless in the binding for helplessness but it kept a girl 
well aware of higher authority and punitive intent. She carefully opened my 
lips, inserted the two thin cords and tugged them tight. I hoped I'd have 
the pleasure of doing the same for her some day but that was just dreaming. 

Finished with her task, she patted my cheek, told me I would have to learn 
to be a good little girl, and then went about her duties. Plastered to the 
pillar, I could only hope my master or the Prince would have a change of 
heart and one of them let me loose later on to go to bed. I could well 
imagine Prince Hadji would take it for granted he was the one for whom I 
would spread my legs. But I realized this was only wishful thinking, I just 
did not want to stand bound as I was through the hours of the night. It was 
still early evening. 

The servants did not normally have many reasons for traffic in the great 
hall, but they now found excuses enough for them to come and give me a good 
once-over while on their way to some nebulous task. I did not ask any of 
them to free me and none offered. It was easy to figure my plight was being 
compared to other punishments they had witnessed in the past. They bore me 
no ill will, in fact quite the opposite, but the fact of my being bound to 
the post removed me from normal society. I was viewed as an exhibit in a 
museum. After an eternity of hoping for my master or the Prince I slumped 
within the tight binding and knew I was on my own until morning. I thought 
of the Honorable Mable and thought ashamed of the gleeful manner in which I 
had seconded Jeffery Dillon's efforts. Putting her on that awful horse was 
bad enough but then to thrust her into her own cage, naked and helpless at 
the mercy of her nine prisoners would hurt her worst of all. I realized she 
would now be back to normal but would have a tally safely hidden awaiting 
the moment she got her hands on me again. I assured myself the return to 
Cranston would never take place but knew a nagging unease about my new 
condition. I could blame this semi-torture of the pillar and the night upon 
Prince Hadji. But Prince Hadji would probably leave tomorrow and I would be 
alone with the man I loved. I just could not believe Jeffery Dillon would be 
truly mean to me or inflict punishments as in the case of Mable or as I was 
right now. Surely his interest in bondage would be limited to the pretty 
little cage downstairs and a pair of handcuffs. These I could handle, my 
pulse quickened at the thought of them. But the nagging disquiet continued. 
I scarcely knew Jeffery Dillon. I'd fallen head over heels in love with him 
in the same way as I now suspected every woman did. I wondered if the 
Honorable Mable was quietly chuckling about the discoveries awaiting me in 
this house. The first had been Prince Hadji, what might be next! 

Somewhere in the middle of the night I had a dream. I had been sleeping 
fitfully and with sudden awakenings in a sort of mild nightmare imposed by 
rope and cord. But now I drowsily recognized the shadowy figure striding 
purposefully towards me in the gloom as Prince Hadji. In his hand he held a 
thin knife blade. He placed his finger on my lips to consul silence then 
slipped the sharp blade under the ropes. In a few seconds I was free of rope 
from ankle to neck. His arm supported me or I would have fallen. Every bit 
of me seemed asleep and I was fuzzily uncertain if this was truly happening. 
Holding my with one arm he used his other hand to click my wrists in 
handcuffs behind my back. He then picked me up bodily, carried me to the 
door, which he unlocked with ease, set me on my feet on the cold stone of 
the front steps. He kissed me gently and went back inside. I heard the click 
of the latch and thud of a bolt. I stood there shivering in the darkness, 
more certain than ever this must be a dream. 

It was no dream. At the bottom of the steps a car was waiting, another Rolls 
Royce which spoke of Hadji even though he was no longer there. A man ran 
lightly up the steps to pick me up and carry me to the car. 

I was thrust inside the back door to be enveloped in a wave of heavy perfume 
and the scent of female. I was in the presence of a darkly handsome woman 
who, without a word, thrust something rubbery between my teeth and strapped 
it tight behind my neck. I could do nothing to stop her, the handcuffs were 
tight upon my wrists. The motor started, almost without sound, and the 
costly auto whispered its way down the paved driveway to the road. It was a 
neat and simple kidnapping of a naive young woman. By the time it was 
entirely to late I started to struggle. 

The back seat of the Rolls Royce is huge. I ended up on its floor as the 
results of my wigglings and twistings against the tight steel bands I should 
have known I could not defeat. Beside me the dark-eyed woman had watched my 
performance with amused contempt, making no effort to hinder nor help. But 
she know leaned over and, grasping me beneath the armpits, hoisted me back 
up on the seat. Her voice was foreign but one I could not place. 

"Be quiet, little pigeon, you will soon be in your gilded cage and the envy 
of a royal household. You are very lucky." 

I could not utter a word, the gag was bitter in my mouth and its buckle 
brutal behind my neck. I refused to make the possible muffled sounds of 
protest, she could take them for granted. I sat, still twisting at the 
handcuffs, and glowered. 

"You are upset, little one, and this I understand." Her voice was without 
hostility. "You are being used outrageously but you must remember that to 
most you are a simple package of nicely arranged female parts. You have no 
other purpose. I suggest you sit still, we do not have far to go." 

Well, that set me in my place! Package of female parts, indeed! I aimed a 
kick at some of her own female parts but she neatly blocked it. She was 
amazingly strong and had my ankles trussed in no time flat. Once more she 
arranged me on the seat and in the same emotionless voice advised, "You 
should not fight, little one, you cannot win. I have tied your ankles tight 
enough to hurt so that will give you something to think about. If you 
continue to struggle I will bind your elbows." I made no further declaration 
of war but sat still to moodily consider how crafty the Prince had been. In 
the morning Jeffery Dillon would wake up to discover his captive flown. The 
sliced rope would give no clue, the locked door would be a mystery. Hadji 
would no doubt sleep late and come down apologizing for a night of deep 
sleep. Hadji would be as surprised as Jeffery. They would search the house 
and then discuss my disappearance over breakfast. Then if Jeffery had 
suspicions, he would keep them to himself. In the meantime I would 
disappear. I stole a glance at my companion and was rewarded with 
information. 

"I am the first wife of Prince Hadji El Kabar. I have enough little 
strumpets around the palace without you. He will have forgotten you by 
tomorrow. I suppose it was he who put the marks on your bottom?" 

"Yes. Look, please don't sell me into another slavery, let me go." As 
through the Rolls had heard my plea, it turned off the main road into a 
country lane. Where a dirt trace, no doubt used by farmers, crossed the car 
gently stopped. Hadji number one wife opened the door. 

deftly untied my ankles and thrust me out into the cool night air. I was 
about to plead not to be cast adrift like this when the Princess' words cut 
me short. 

"Follow the trace to the left and it will let you to Cranston. To the right, 
with a few twists and turns you may have to ask about, you will find my 
husband. I would advise you not to take that path." The door slammed shut 
and the Rolls quietly purred its way back to the main road. 

It's suppose to be a familiar nightmare to us all, being naked in a public 
place. But in the child light of early dawn I saw no human being but was 
suddenly confronted by a dreadful dilemma. Which way should I go? It was not 
until them I realized my hands were handcuffed behind my back. I wondered if 
the Princess had forgotten them on purpose. 

I wanted no more of Prince Hadji and his treasures in the ornate case. On 
the other hand. I wanted Jeffery Dillon very much indeed. But to return to 
the Prince's ideas of discipline was a step I could not take. He would at 
least have my feet whipped on the bottoms, if not cut off entirely. I 
shuttered. 

I could retrace my steps back to the main road, there would soon be traffic. 
But I had been a prisoner so long I feared the treatment I might get from 
passing motorists. The best I could hope for would be to be taken to the 
police who would not believe a word I said and would probably consign me to 
a mental institution for observation. I shuttered again. Which ever road I 
took, I would run the constant risk of rape. A naked, handcuffed girl would 
be a tremendous lure for many men. 

I had been saving the Honorable Mable until last. I would get a warm welcome 
there in a gorgeously feminine atmosphere. But I now had to bitterly regret 
the part I had played in Mable's bitter day in Jeffery's house. She had 
spoken of a tally and I could well believe it was waiting for me. But any 
way you took it, Mable would be pleased to see me and might, by now, have 
forgotten some of her anger. I turned my bare footed steps towards Cranston. 

It was not a quiet stroll, it was an honest-to-goodness hike. I cursed the 
handcuffs, never ceasing to tug and twist at they bite. It was bad enough to 
be naked and adrift in someone's pasture, but to be also helpless! I stepped 
out briskly. 

Sun light would bring eyes, my skin felt hot and shamed at the prospect. I 
ran into the first pair early than expected. He was a tweedy farmer taking 
an early morning ride to survey his fields. We came face to face 
unexpectedly around an hedge. I longed to turn and flee into the bushes but 
I needed help. 

"Could you direct me to a country house named Cranston?" I inquired 
politely. 

"Oh-h-h-h, aye, I can for sure. 'Tis over that hill ahead." He paused, 
burning my exposed flesh with his eyes. "Them hands o' yours. Handcuffed if 
I'm not mistaken?" He laughed. "You'll no be wanting the cops, lass?" 

Whatever I said would be wrong. I contented myself with an honest request, 
"Please help me get to Cranston. Please...?" 

"Help, is it! Well, if it's help your wanting... " He dismounted and ambled 
to my side and before I realized his intent, I was on my back on the grass 
with him kicking my feet wide apart and entering my with a weapon I did not 
get to see but could most decidedly feel. Laying on my cuffed arms there was 
little I could do except endure the strange combination of pain from the 
handcuffs and pleasure from the farmer's unwelcome attentions. I'd been 
raped enough to no longer see it as the end of the world. I avoided angering 
my rapist since he was the only human help I appeared likely to get. After a 
half hour of rural dalliance, he hoisted me behind him on his horse and 
headed up the path. I'd never felt more insecure, more abused, or more naked 
in all my captivities. I couldn't even hold on to him for safety. But he 
looked after that with a rope around my middle which joined me to him in 
tight security. I wondered if this was the sort of thing Sir Galahad and 
Lancelot used to do. 

He was right. Once over the hill I could glimpse Cranston far ahead. My 
rescuer and ravisher took my half the distance before telling me gruffly 
that I had to make my way the rest. He gallantly lifted me off the horse and 
then, yes, you guessed it, ravished me again. A chap like that might not 
have too much romance in his life, probably he saw me as a gift from Legend. 
Discussed with everything I resumed my march. 

I longed for a bath and feminine hands and loving arms. If I got horribly 
punished, well, perhaps I would deserve it and would try not to yell too 
loudly. I just did not have the courage to seek out the police, I know I 
should have done that but, compared with any other course, Cranston looked 
better. It was a haven I knew about and in which I had been Mable's number 
one girl. I shuttered to think were I would be on her list now. Ravished and 
forlorn, I found my way to the huge gate in the stone wall and rang the bell 
with my teeth. I was looking fearfully up and down the road for a police 
patrol which would take every decision from my hands and probably put me in 
a straight jacket. The gate clicked up to admit me to captivity. My heart 
pounding painfully, I sat out to walk the final, awful mile. 

The Honorable Mable Wycherly toyed with the handcuffs lovely. They were 
beautifully expensive as was befitting the Prince who's property I had 
almost become. They had returned with me to Cranston as a souvenir of my 
brief captivity with Jeffery Dillon. I'm sure Mable looked on them as spoils 
of war. At the moment they were not in use on me. Being redundant to my 
present situation. I was suspended from leather wristlets on spread arms 
high over my head. The Honorable Mable was in great form. 

"How lovely to have you back in the fold, darling. I've chosen your current 
position as a suitable prelude in which you will be uncomfortable enough to 
listen to what I have to say. You are uncomfortable?" 

"Yes, Mable. I'm uncomfortable." 

"For the duration of your punishments, as I check them off my tally sheet, 
you will address me as Mistress. Is that clear?" 

"Yes, Mistress." 

This might well be the prelude to worse things to come, but it was bad 
enough in itself. Only the tips of my toes could find the floor while most 
of me hung suspended by my poor wrists. Meekly I inquired, "Couldn't we sit 
down somewhere, Mable, while you tell me all the awful things you've got in 
store? I really would pay attention." 

"I am already sitting down," said Mable with satisfaction. "You are the way 
you are because I intend to open your punishment by using a cane or perhaps 
a crop on your pretty little bottom. I can see it's been attended to but 
there is always room for more." Unhappily my mind flittered back to that 
moment when, ejected from the car, I had a choice of going left or right. I 
had chosen the left with the results that I had been twice raped by a man 
who's name I did not even know, and was now hanging naked to have my bottom 
cropped and goodness knows what else. I was my own fault, I could have gone 
the other way, at least I would have had Jeffery. But I sort of suspected I 
would get what I was now getting either way. I thought longingly of the 
nice, civilized police station where they might have been give me a nice hot 
cup of tea before transferring me to the lunatic asylum. It was not my day. 

"Cropping your bottom is just a prelim to help you remember the things you 
said when you and Jeffery Dillon had me on that terrible horse thing. My 
cunt still has nightmares thinking of it." 

A tear stole down her cheek. It was a real one, nothing feigned. Brokenly I 
said, "Yes, I know Mable, I was a little bitch. But please don't hurt me too 
bad. I've been hurt an awful lot lately. Haven't you noticed the whip marks 
on my breasts?" 

"Yes, they're exquisite. I'm sure you deserved every one. You can tell me 
more about that punishment another time. Look, you're not going to start 
crying, are you?" 

"I can't help it," I sobbed despairingly. "I do everything wrong. I could 
have gone to the police but I came here instead. Mable, darling, couldn't 
you love me just a little? Sort of delay my punishment until I'm feeling 
better?" 

For answer Mable picked up the crop and gave me four terrible, swift strokes 
across my shockingly vulnerable derriere. "Does that answer your question, 
darling? I've never heard such an outrageous request by any slavegirl. Delay 
your punishment indeed! You should be ashamed." 

I was indeed ashamed. Deep inside I knew I had come back to Cranston 
deliberately to be punished, it was some deep seated guilt impulse I can't 
explain. But I was ashamed of the way I'd treated Mable while Jeffery Dillon 
gave her what he called her "come uppance." I had been her number one girl 
but allowed Jeff to do whatever he wanted to her without any protest from 
me. If the four strokes that were scolding my rump right now were any 
indication, I was going to be a sorry little girl indeed. Pathetically I 
said, "Mable, darling, I really do love you. Punish me all you want but I'll 
still love you, truly I will." 

I had struck the right note. Or perhaps Mable's heart had not been in it 
from the start. I was suddenly encircled by a whirlwind of arms and a 
sudden, final sign of forgiveness. My dangling legs were thrust apart and 
Mable proceeded to do to me that female service she so often asked of me. I 
suppose when words are not enough it becomes the obviously thing. She 
arranged my naked feet to suit her purpose and took me on a journey to the 
stars. When it was done I hung there limply in exhaustion, carrying of 
nothing except having a mistress who still loved me even after I had been a 
very naughty girl. The police station would never have been this good! 

For a long time Mable remained upon her knees between my legs, her face 
buried in my fur. Neither of us wanted the spell to break. If my wrists hurt 
and my shoulders screamed, well, that was just too bad. But eventually Mable 
sort of staggered erect to say, "I really can't be this spineless, darling, 
I have to do something to you." As though walking in her sleep she found the 
crop and. in swift sequence, cut my bottom again and again until I screamed. 
Honor satisfied, she lowered my feet to the floor. I was the happiest girl 
in the world. 

In an absent-minded sort of way, Mable put the lovely handcuffs back on my 
wrists. I scarcely noticed. In the same preoccupation I was led downstairs, 
the cage door opened and I was thrust inside. It locked with a solid thud 
behind my back. I gazed upon nine curiously pairs of eyes then turned at the 
girl who had put me here. But Mable had gone. Mechanically, I turned back to 
say, "Hello, everybody. I've just had my bottom cropped. And yesterday a man 
whipped my breasts... Just in case you're curious." 

They took me in their arms until I had sobbed out the whole ridiculous 
story. Why shouldn't they believe, I, too, were handcuffs! 

In slumber, the nine girls, who with my addition were ten, slept in a 
careless abandon to nudity, heads cushioning to female softness while their 
own bellies and breasts offered haven to another. The clink of handcuffs was 
constant through the night but no one heard or cared. We belonged to the 
cage and did our best within its iron bars. 

Mable must have slept poorly beside a padlock and chain which held no female 
throat. She quietly opened the cage door and beckoned. I carefully 
disengaged myself from the tangle of feminine nudity and stepped hopefully 
beyond the bars. Safe upstairs she whisper, "You little witch. I couldn't 
sleep decently without you. You're a menace to my peace of mind. What the 
devil must I do with you?" 

"Give me the punishment I deserve," I said without thinking. "But don't stop 
loving me. If you had left me in the cage with the other, I would have 
died." 

I was almost dragged up stairs. The padlock and chain on my collar felt 
good, they told me I belonged. In the morning we were still serious, 
burdened by unfinished business. Mable voiced it, "What you said last night, 
about the punishments. You didn't mean that?" 

"Yes, I did. You sent me away with Jeffery Dillon and I thought I was in 
heaven. But I found myself with two men, the second man, this Prince 
whatever he may be, frightens me. You've seen the marks of his whip on my 
breasts. When I was released and had a choice I came right back here because 
I knew I'd be treated with love." I managed a strangled little laugh. "If 
I've earned a punishment, and I suspect I have, then punish me. So long as 
we love each other afterwards, that's all that matters." 

Mable came around the table and kissed me. We kissed a long time. When she 
resumed her seat, most of the tension was gone. Laughingly she told me, 
"There's only one punishment I'll give you in return for what you gave me. 
I'm sure I don't have to tell you what it is." Mable was right. I knew. She 
would seat me on "the horse." Thinking back at the way I'd behaved, I knew I 
deserved it. I shared her laughter to say, "Thank you, Mistress, I'll try to 
be well behaved. I'm looking forward to it." 

"You're outrageous. Maybe I'll do it to you today and get it over with. Then 
we'll be back where we started. I can't figure Jeffery Dillon and this 
Prince whats-his-name but we don't have to bother. They're not part of 
Cranston. I blame myself for lending you to Jeff. Men aren't like us, 
they're driven by the damndest impulses. But I'm disappointed, he seemed 
like a nice guy." 

We both delighted in Prince Hadji's handcuffs. They clasped my wrists 
lovingly as though someone had taken measurements just for me. It was as 
though someone had wrapped a round bronze bar around each of my wrists, they 
were that snug and that perfect, joined by a bronze link. It had taken Mable 
quite a while to find a key to fit but she has quite a collection and now 
had me safe at someone else's expense. I had enjoyed breakfast without being 
conscious of linked hands. When we had finished coffee, Mable changed the 
lovely bronze from front to back. I could guess why and without demur 
followed my mistress to my punishment. I was suddenly trembling. 

"You're contesting this, are you darling?" Mable asked as she briskly 
strapped anklets on my feet while I gazed unhappily at Cranston's version of 
the "horse." 

"You are going to cooperate, aren't you, or do I have to call Wilma?" 

"I'll be a good girl," I said without enthusiasm. "I don't suppose you 
prefer to whip me?" 

"No, dear, this is the most appropriate. Up you go. I'll raise your arms up 
a bit to steady you and we'll have you fixed in no time fiat." 

Mable was as good as her word. I endured those truly awful moments while you 
lower yourself upon the wicked edge and work hard to keep your balance while 
darling Mable dashed from side to side tugging at ropes to my ankles. It was 
soon done. I sat grotesquely with my legs doing a ballet dancer's split 
which was an appropriate word when you consider. My pussy and crotch were 
screaming and would go on screaming for a long, long time. Mable made a few 
adjustments to increase my discomfort, kissed me warmly, and said that she'd 
be dropping in from time to time. I managed to keep quiet while she was with 
me but after the door closed I started to moan. Then I clenched my teeth 
against the pain and promised myself not to scream. It was all very routine 
and as it should be. I was utterly helpless. 

Sitting naked with your pussy planted on a hard edge and unable to move 
might very well induce hallucinations and hysteria. I felt myself in some 
sort of wrap in time and place when the door opened and the person who 
entered was not Mable but Prince Hadji. In his eyes I read instant approval 
of my plight. Enjoyably he suggested, "This woman you have chosen does not 
treat you well, little pigeon. Or do you enjoy this sundering of your 
crotch. I didn't care about the how or why or even who he was, I had but one 
thing to say, "Get me off this thing! Oh, please get me off...!" 

He did exactly that. I'll admit he took his time, but while he worked he 
talked. "My enterprising wife prevented my removal of you from Mr. Dillon's 
care the other night. I now correct the error. My wife will be dealt with 
and I will carry you back to my palace in triumph. Is that not romantic?" 

I didn't bother asking him why he had to have me when he could have gotten 
all the girls there were, I am too well aware how absurd men can be about 
one girl. What I did demand was, "How did you get in here and what have you 
done with Mable?" 

At that moment Mable joined us, each of her arms firmly held by an athletic 
looking female along the lines of Wilma. She was pink of face and in 
disarray, obviously having done some struggling. She stopped now to glare at 
the intruder. Prince Hadji neatly forestalled her volley of complaint by 
delivering a prepared speech of his own. 

"My men are in possession of your home. Madam. Nothing and no one will be 
injured or damaged. A matron is now being instructed on the continuing of 
your prisoners in the cage while you are absent. Your absence will be 
temporary, I cannot make the same promise about dear little Angela." 

"You absolute asshole, you must be nuts!" 

"I had not originally intended to remove you from this house," the Prince 
continued, "but watching your excellent performance and hearing you protest 
makes me believe I will derive great pleasure from laying both crop and cane 
upon your solidly exquisite rump. A mature woman provides an admirable 
target for instruments of punishment." His voice became deliberately 
sarcastic, "I hope you approve?" 

"I'll have your guts for garters!" Mable aimed a vicious kick at male legs. 
"And what's more, I'll have the whole lot of you in prison for the rest of 
your lives. You can't do this sort of thing in England!" 

"It is already done, dear lady. All is going according to plan." He nodded 
briefly to his men and added a command, "Strip her!" then "Bind them both." 

Prince Hadji had thoughtfully left my hands bound behind my back, I could do 
nothing. But Mable's charms became more and more furiously active as them 
became increasingly bare. The Prince watch with almost clinical interest as 
she fought his two retainers, and when she finally stood, gasping and 
panting and glowering, wrists and elbows tight tied behind her back, he paid 
due tribute. "Marvelous performance, Madam, no female should enter slavery 
without a fight. My I congratulate you on you superb stature? Your figure is 
ideally portioned for what I have in mind." 

Prince Hadji was dressed for summer in no more than a white silk shirt and 
matching slacks. But he had about him that air of gold satin with a 
bejeweled scimitar hanging at his side. Mable tried to wither with a glance 
of pure outrage coupled with shock. But her anger flowed over him like 
water. Hadji El Kabar was impervious to feminine scorn. 

"You son of a bitch!" she spat at him viciously. "You're going to be damned 
sorry for this. You must be out of your mind." 

"Welcome to my possession. You will amuse me for a week or two before I 
return you to this house. I will teach you not to call Hadji El Kabar the 
son of a dog. May I compliment you on your breasts and belly, they do you 
credit." 

By then the men had tied my elbows as they had Mable's. They tied me tight 
enough to be hurting and I knew she would be hurting, too. I prudently 
refrained from compliant, but Mable did not. "You rotten bastard, untie me, 
these ropes hurt like hell. This is a bare faced kidnap." She turned to me, 
"Don't just stand there, Angela, say something!" 

I said nothing! The Prince motioned and the Honorable Mable and I were 
picked up and carried to a waiting car. There was not a servant in sight. 
Prince Hadji had dealt with things most competently. In the back seat of the 
Rolls, Mable's left ankle was handcuffed to my right. We were beautifully 
foxed, all we could do was flounder around but our elbows hurt too much for 
that, so we sat in glum silence and wondered what our fate would be. The 
Honorable Mable got in a last word, "This is all your fault, Angela. The man 
was be stark raving mad!" 

Around England are many relics of war. The old abandoned airfields are 
typical. Sagging wooden sheds and crumbling tarmac. But the one closest to 
Cranston sported the silver beauty of a private twin engine jet. Prince 
Hadji explained why the car stopped when only half way to the plane, "We 
will enact a small charade. The Honorable Mable and you, Angela, will 
perform the March of the Slaves. My men will be behind you with a whip." 

Our ankles were freed, we were pulled out of the car to stand shivering on 
the runway, looking at the symbol of great wealth. It was a thing of beauty, 
sporting twin engines mounted aside the tail. It looked like it belonged to 
a small airline, not a single man. Quickly I gazed around, but these 
abandoned airfields are desolation, there was no one in sight. Mable ran 
turn to form, "If you think I'm going to walk into that damned airplane, 
you've got holes in your head," she declared forcibly. 

' I'm going to walk in the opposite direction and none of you are going to 
stop me." 

The whip sang as I expected to land across Mable's butt. She leaped and 
yelped and took a deep breath to prepare for further protests. But the 
second stroke hit her squarely across the lovely whiteness of her bare back 
and, after a squeal of outrage and a helpless twisting against the ropes, 
she snorted in defiance but stepped out towards the waiting plane. I 
followed at a discrete distance. As I passed Hadji El Kabar we both smiled 
at the weaving bottom of Mable in her unwilling march info slavery. I could 
see what a kick he got out of having a couple of English girls thus humbled 
and walking into enslavement. As I followed, I realized the power of this 
man that he could mark up an English noblewoman and none could stop him. 

Mable entered the plane without a backward glance, but I stopped, suddenly 
over come by a realization that this might be my last look at England. I was 
not seeing the desolation of the airfield or the rotten buildings, but 
rather the deep green and the spreading trees. A terrible homesickness 
clutched at me. making me tarry long enough to earn a snapping cut across my 
hips from the ever-ready whip. I winced, I sighed and resumed my steps and 
entered the plane in sure and certain knowledge of passing a point of no 
return. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT - SLAVES OF EL KABAR 

It wasn't that small a plane. Its interior was like a palace. Seats and 
divans were anchored in an irregular pattern. The servants had retired 
either to pilot the plane or occupy a rear compartment. It pleased his Royal 
Highness to personally dispose of his captives as pleased his fancy. He did 
it with caution to avoid the kick from a bare foot which Mable was saving 
for the right opportunity. He sat her in a wide seat and spread her feet to 
each side to bind them wide apart, he then unfastened her hands and arms to 
handcuff only her left wrist to a waiting ring at the far corner of the 
back. The Honorable Mable immediately clasp her free hand over her exposed 
sex and declaimed, "I demand instant release. No matter where you take us 
you will not escape the law." 

Prince Hadji appeared not to have heard. He now busied himself with me and 
used the lovely handcuffs, still on my wrists, to attach my left hand in the 
same manner as with Mable. I found myself blushing at the wide separation of 
my thighs and the exposure of what a girl most wishes to hide. He tickled it 
playfully as he rose to his feet to say, "If you care to look out of the 
window, you will see the last of England." 

I did not look. My bound feet and chained hand were far more potent at that 
moment than a quick glance out of a porthole. I was shamingly aware that the 
comfortably armchair the Prince now occupied gave him a perfect and 
unobstructed view of both his captives. I did not follow the Honorable 
Mable's example with my free hand, I simply sat and blushed at the exposure. 

"If you do not remove your hand from your sexual orifice. Madam, I will have 
you whipped," the Prince suggested kindly. "No woman covers any part of 
herself in my presence. Is that understood?" 

I said an automatic, "Yes." But Mable was still Mable. "I shall cover 
myself," she said, "as I see fit, you ridiculous, comic opera creature. 
Whatever else you may or may not be, you are certainly no gentleman. A 
gentleman would never expose a woman so shamelessly. I demand some sort of 
covering for what you're looking at." 

"Madam, what you are demanding is the whip. It will be applied upon you 
instantly unless you care to apologize for that insult." The Honorable Mable 
evidently felt vulnerable, I know I did. Stiffly, she pronounced, "Very well 
then, I express regret at having called you... what ever it was." She 
sniffed, still wanting to be rude. "Perhaps now you will be kind enough to 
inform us of your plans?" 

Poor, dear, Mable, she was clutching at dignity at as a frayed coat. I had 
none to clutch at. If the Prince wished to look at my puss, I wasn't going 
to say a word. That one stroke I'd had hurt bad enough, I wanted no more. 
Shamed and humiliated and very much a captive, my thoughts drifted to 
Jeffery Dillon. I would have liked to ask the Prince about him but did not 
dare. I was sure the story about Jeff had not yet been told. I could not 
reconcile the man I had loved with he who had blandly watched while Prince 
Hadji whipped my breasts. There was something wrong somewhere, something 
that did not balance out. 

"You will note that each of you have one free hand. There will be 
refreshments and I do not want you more uncomfortable that need be." 

"You taking us to Siberia?" Mable demanded offensively. 

"Alas, no, Madam, but I am sure they would know how to deal with you there." 
He shrugged apologetically. "I fear I am altogether too kind." 

"In a pig's eye!" 

Hadji caught my eye and flickered one of his own. It was nice to know he 
liked me. Maybe after the tortures he had planned for me, he would love me, 
too. On matters of enslavement I was far ahead of the Honorable Mable who 
seemed bent on self-destruction. Hadji's tone was patient, "I'm considering 
a period for you, chained and naked in a public place, perhaps in a cage or 
attached to a post of sorts." 

"You can't do it, you'd have the United Nations around your neck in no 
time." 

"You also might be bound and buried in the sand with only your head above 
ground level," Hadji mused. "There would, of course, be ants and other small 
irritants." 

"You're talking like a monster just to frighten me. I don't believe a word!" 

"A public whipping always attracts a good audience in the smaller 
communities. You would be the center of attraction." 

In contemplation of these delights the Honorable Mable's free hand had risen 
to her throat and her eyes were bright. I knew she was frightened and was 
desperately fighting panic. I felt like asking the Prince to lay off the 
gory details, but who was I to do that! Quite probably I'd get a few gory 
details myself. I was positive the Prince had the power to do everything he 
promised. His performance thus far had been convincing. He had evidently a 
power in the world which lesser authorities could not contest, especially 
over a couple of silly females who had probably asked for what they were 
getting. Dismally I recalled those news reports in the tabloids of maidens 
who went to North Africa on various missions but rarely came back. There 
really wasn't much difference. But I need not have worried about the Prince 
and Mable. he had her pegged. 

"Perhaps a martini, Madam? Do you prefer it dry or sweet?" 

Mable now had something to do with her free hand beyond covering her private 
parts. She almost gulped the first offering and instantly said thank you to 
another. I sipped mine more cautiously. Throughout everything he did the 
Princes' eye was attentive towards our pussies. I've heard that there are 
men who have a thing for girl's nipples, his Highness interests were lower 
down. My feet were bound so far apart I could believe them in separate 
countries. 

The martinis worked their magic to the point where Mable inquired, "You were 
saying your interest in me was limited to a week or two?" She kept her tone 
offhand. 

"My interest in you is not that fickle, Madam. But you are, in some measure, 
a public figure. I have, therefore, informed your staff and that admirable 
woman, Wilma, to expect you back before the hue and cry begin. There is no 
such problem with our dear little Angela." 

"You are holding me prisoner for the purpose of using me carnally?" 

"Only you could put that question is just that way, my dear lady." The 
Prince beamed above his glass. "It is possible I may thus honor you. My 
prime purpose is to whip your bottom." 

I could see the Honorable Mable swallowing hard, not the cocktail but pride. 
There is something extremely flattering about rape. To find it treated so 
casually was a hard blow indeed. Poor Mable gave the impression that when 
she was raped there would be a fanfare of trumpets. The Prince had a sense 
of humor and I could well imagine him making her wish come true. But dear 
Mable contented herself with emptying the glass and saying, "You are being 
deliberately offensive in these references to my... Well, to where I sit 
down. May I have another cocktail please?" 

Prince Hadji cheerfully supplied her want but slyly suggested, "You are 
bolstering your courage in preparation for the thud and slap of cane and 
strap upon your rump, Madam? I commend your wisdom." 

I knew how Mable felt, she was probably beginning to realized she could 
never win with Prince Hadji, simply because he made the rules as he went 
along. There was nothing sporting about it but it was a graphic illustration 
of the way us girls are often at the mercy of the male. Just thinking about 
it caused a small fire to start up within my loins, a fire which I am sorry 
to say I was unable to quench. I wondered about Mable, she had the 
appearance of a woman who's fire was burning bright. But that may, of 
course, have been due to the martinis! 

I tried to shift to easy the stress on my wide spread legs. It was 
surprising how much of a strain it was to have them that far apart for so 
long. Mable was shifting as best she could all the time and the Prince did 
no more than smile approvingly at my own abortive effort. Our legs were wide 
apart to stay, a fact which sparked a wicked thought in his Highness' mind. 
"In the cause of charity, I could have the two of you exhibited in a public 
place, making a small charge for the privilege of viewing what I see now for 
free. I am sure you would have no objection for some worthy cause?" 

It was a question to which you could answer neither yes nor no. I managed a 
smile and Mable met the situation with a hardy sniff for a thought so crass. 

"I understand men do indulge in such obscene fantasies," she conceded. "I 
would appreciate it if you did not do so at my expense." 

"You are a positive treasure," exclaimed the Prince. "I will personally whip 
you upon arrival. Let us call it a humanizing process." I longed to say 
"shut up, Mable, keep quiet!" I could see the words forming on her lips but 
I was too late. In a tone she might have used to speak to a tradesman, she 
declared disdainfully, "Why wait, you have me at your mercy!" 

My heart sank, Mable had done it again. Both us girls watched the Prince 
seek and find a slender length of limber cane. 

"An excellent thought, Madam, hold out your hand." 

My heart took another tumble and Mable flushed scarlet. The Prince had 
shrewdly divined her taste for punishment associated with children. It was 
easy to see her free hand had become an embarrassment, there was no where to 
put it except to hold it out to be cut with the cane. It was a dilemma. 
Mable met it with her usual blooper, "Please don't be ridiculous, my good 
man. Your suggestion is absurd." 

Prince Hadji El Kabar struck the Honorable Mable a sharp, swift blow with 
the cane across her left breast. The results was dramatic. Mable clutched 
her wounded curve with her single hand while she tom and strained at her 
bindings in feverish expression of dismay. She also provided one more squeal 
of outrage before gazing up at the handsome man who had thus punished her, 
eyes wide and close to tears, her mouth open to ejaculate the deepest of 
British disapproval. But there it stopped. Whatever she might have said was 
lost forever in an abject gulp of surrender. Ceasing the crucial moment, the 
Prince suggested pleasantly, "Your breasts or the palm of your hand, Madam, 
it is for you to choose." 

The Honorable Mable held out her hand. 

It was cruel. I wondered if I would hate Hadji when my own time came, I had 
no illusions of mercy. But this son of the desert exuded such charm I was 
not sure if even Mable felt hate for his smiling eyes and soft tongue. At 
the moment she was absurdly occupied by striving to comfort her burning palm 
beneath her left armpit, foiled by a handcuffed hand, she thrust it instead 
beneath her thigh. I don't know if there is anything a girl can do to 
comfort a caned hand but to thrust it within a cleft of oneself seems a 
natural instinct, an instinct Mable was not allowed to pander to for long. 

"Once more, Madam." 

I winched and cringed right along with this lovely woman who had made me 
prisoner and who was now a prisoner herself. I knew how these things hurt 
but Mable was in a new world of discovery. Reluctantly she withdrew her 
injured member, stiffened the wounded palm and thrust it out for number two. 
When it cut her smartly, she yelped in agony, thrust her whipped hand 
beneath her outspread thigh and gazed up pleadingly at the man who held the 
cane. 

"Please," she begged, "I'm sorry. Please don't hit me again. I don't know 
what I'm doing or saying. Oh, Please-e-e-e-e-e! You don't know how it 
hurts." 

"You malign me, Madam, I have caned enough girls to know very well how much 
it hurts. You will extend your arm once more." 

Mable did not move. I knew with certainty she was wondering if his use of 
the word "once" meant she would be struck only once more. But she dared not 
ask and nor did I. For all we knew Hadji might demand that hand a dozen 
times or until poor Mable no longer had the self-control to stick it out to 
be slashed again with the cane. I know her thoughts matched mine and Hadji 
read us both. A tear trickled down Mable's cheek as she once more offered 
her palm for punishment. This time she screamed as the cane cut, thrusting 
her wound instantly beneath tender flesh and bending forward to tug at her 
handcuff in the only effort she could make to alleviate the pain of 
punishment. The cut across her breasts proclaimed itself in pink. 

"Thank you. Madam. You did well. Such fortitude demands another drink." 

The Honorable Mable unashamedly wept like a school girl whipped before the 
class. She sacrificed her hurt hand to deal with tears, then used it to 
clasp the stem of the glass the Prince had so thoughtfully offered. All of 
us realized his curiosity as to how the caned hand might cope with such a 
task. Mable raised it to her lips, perhaps in need or more likely to get rid 
of as much of it as she could before she lost her numbed grip and dropped 
what she must hold. Slowly and deliberately Prince Hadji took the glass from 
fingers without control, refilled it and offered it again. 

"You must hold it, Madam. If you spill so much as a drop you will take your 
punishment again." 

I wanted to lash out with complaint but I had already been whipped by the 
royal hand and wanted to hold on to my present natural status. 

Mable's fingers just had to be numb and scorched with agony. She would be 
lucky indeed to evade another punishment. I watched in horrible suspense. 

Mable repeated the process of getting rid of half the weight instantly. If 
she went on gulping martinis like that she would soon be drunk. As through 
from another world, she managed, "Thank you, I expect I can manage." 

She managed and no one was more thankful than I when the glass was taken 
from her injured fingers and set aside. Mable did not return her hand to its 
resting place beneath her thigh but instead held it out for Prince Hadji's 
inspection. "I expect you'd like to examine your work. Your Highness," she 
sated icily. "I have never been caned like this before and therefore cannot 
make comparisons." 

There had been a stilted quality about our conversation thus far, it came 
from tension and fear and apprehension. But with Mable's caning done and 
with the comforting glow of martinis deep within all three of us managed to 
unbend and talk like human beings. Prince Hadji told us something of his 
kingdom and how I would be kept prisoner by his daughters, I gathered there 
were a lot of them, and Mable would be kept captive to his wives. She would 
obey them and be punished by them if she did not. It seemed too overly 
domestic to be true. 

I looked at the lovely bronze circlet on my captive wrist and wondered if 
there would be others like it where I was being taken. 

* * * 

Laliah was a born giggler, to her everything was uproariously hilarious 
unless it was actually hurting. She had singled me out right from the start 
as a fellow suffer sharing a humorous distress. The shackles joining her 
ankles were heavy enough to command respect but beautiful enough to also 
demand envious attention. It was understood among the girls that Laliah had 
a nice taste in irons since she was so often rendered helpless or partly 
helpless by being forced to wear them. The irons into which my ankles, too, 
were locked were identical with hers. It formed a bond. 

It was understood among the girls that I was a recent acquisition, quite 
probably destined for the harem. Laliah had once run away with one of the 
male staff but was swiftly caught and now wore iron upon her feet and welts 
upon her back and bottom in recognition of her enterprise. The English of 
all the daughters of Prince Hadji and thus Laliah had no difficulty 
communicating. 

"He was such a lovely young man," she mourned. "It's a shame they cut his 
head off, he was really marvelous between a girl's legs. Have you have a man 
between your legs, Angela? They tell us we mustn't have one until we're 
married," she giggled. "Until then I have to wear these irons." 

I forget their names, there were seven of them including two pairs of twins. 
All were happy and eagerly awaiting marriage for which, by their country's 
own standards, there were abundantly ripe. In the meantime they studied the 
Koran and English Literature. They led shockingly open sexual lives but only 
among themselves or with servants. Any deviation towards the male, as in the 
case of Laliah, was ruthlessly and cruelly punished. I was a relief for 
their boredom and gained much status by my admission of having been 
frequently possessed by The Male. Maiden sighs of envy told me how lucky I 
had been. At the caprice of their father, Prince Hadji, these girls were 
frequently thrashed, not because they had sinned but to deter sinning. They 
were always thrashed by their father, the Prince, and each girl deplored the 
trouble she thus caused the holy, holy male. I had my own opinion of these 
thrashings of maiden flesh but kept a wise silence, awaiting my call to the 
royal bed chamber. 

It was slow in coming, I could imagine why. Prince Hadji had the Honorable 
Mable for a week or two but he had me for life. It made sense he would deal 
with her first. I was not allowed communication with Hadji's wives or with 
Mable. But I had been witness, not doubt as an object lesson, to the 
whipping she had been promised on arrival. Poor, dear Mable hadn't really 
believed it but she was almost immediately hung up by her wrists and her 
poor bottom cruelly caned with a more severe length of yellow wickedness 
than had been used on her hand. When her twin cheeks were bright scarlet she 
was graduated to the whip, and by the time it was through with her back her 
white and lovely flesh was a crisscross of multi-colored lines. Shackles 
were then locked upon her ankles and she was carried from my ken. I heard of 
her now only through the gossip of harem grapevine. 

"She's been hung up all day by her wrists, stark naked." Giggle, giggle. 

"Daddy has her standing in the pillory. She gets whipped every hour on the 
hour. I'm glad it's not me." Giggle, giggle. 

Poor Mable's trials seemed to evoke no other emotion than hilarity. "She's 
been taken back to the village and she's chained by her neck to the post in 
the center of the square. Every one can look at her and there's no plumbing 
provided. I'll bet she hates it." 

They were not cruel but had suffered those things themselves and had emerged 
with the ebullience of youth. Their father was holy and beyond criticism. 
When he chose one of them to whip it was, as they saw it, a mark of favor 
and they bore the marks with gratitude. It was all cockeyed and upside down. 

I was kept naked. But, at the moment, Laliah was the only other nude. She 
was still considered to be enduring punishment. The other girls were 
variously attired all the way from wisps of gossamer up through bikinis to 
smart cocktail dresses on occasion. Mostly they wore variations of the 
western bathing attire as a concession to western mores and to make their 
delightful persons easier and more available to the whip or cane. All this 
was understood and accepted but was explained to me because I had been 
brought from far away and didn't know any better. If I hadn't been older and 
wanting to live my own life I would have found the Prince's daughters a lot 
of fun. 

All were beautiful, real houris. I wondered if my new owner used them as 
bait in business deals as Jeffery Dillon had used me. I could imagine a 
portly product of Texas falling an easy prey to their temptations. But I was 
half scared myself of being traded off for a few oil wells. At this moment I 
was a very mixed up little girl. 

My confusion was not the least bit help by the news, shared by every girl 
but me, that their father would whip me that afternoon. I would be secured 
where ail could watch and wasn't I the luckiest of girls! I suspected the 
Prince had chosen this method of imparting the bad news in order that I 
could feel the full exposure to his daughter's attitudes. For all I knew 
they were the attitudes of his whole damned country. I was certain the 
whipping would hurt and I wouldn't enjoy it the least bit. I figured he was 
only doing it as a measure of his authority on the new girl. lie wouldn't 
want his little darlings to think I was a bit odd or out of favor. There 
wasn't a damn thing I could do about it except to pretend to be a pleased as 
they actually were. 

It was not going to be easy. In the status of Prince Hadji's daughter I was 
expected to do as they did on such occasions. Deadly serious but accompanied 
by giggles from Laliah, they made me learn the lines I must recite when 
kneeling before the Master of my fate before my punishment. It would be 
expected, I had best not forget! The girls were concerned about this because 
my education was their responsibility and I never really did believe they 
liked being whipped the way they let on. I got more and more jittery as each 
hour sped by and wished no one had told me until the last moment. 

When his Highness showed up for the ceremony, he was attired as befitting 
his position. He was holding a whip with an exquisitely bejeweled haft. I 
prayed it was not a wicked as it looked. Prince Hadji kissed my fondly, his 
hands and fingers lingering on my breasts but not going down lower to my 
sex, no doubt in consideration of his daughter's presence. That over, the 
girls took me and explained I must now be chained. I had expected a whipping 
post or triangle or some such contraption but I was disappointed. A chain 
was run from the center of my leg irons up to join my collar. My wrists were 
handcuffed and locked to the center of this chain to hold them at the level 
of my waist. That was all there was but it was explained that I would be 
expected to stand still while I was whipped. I must not fall to the floor. 
But it was also explained that if, as a novice, I wiggled my body under the 
strips or did actually fall to the floor under the pain I would be forgiven 
but the stripping of my skin would continue on regardless of the position I 
contrived. Tender voices whispered it would be best for me if I stood and 
offered the soft flesh of my back and bottom because they would bear the 
pain the best of all. Once more I didn't seem to have much to say about 
anything. I felt silly with my hands held the way they were but I expect I 
was intended to feel silly, it was part of the punishment. It was now I had 
to kneel and say my thanks. 

But first there were a few moments when Hadji and I stood face to face, his 
dark eyes roving up and down my nakedness, approving the irons by which I 
was secured. Gently he said, "You are the most beautiful of girls. I adore 
you. You may now kneel." 

I knelt and managed to remember what to say. It seemed only fitting that I 
should mouth these words at this time and this place. Kneeling there I was, 
for the moment, close to the male sex beneath the gorgeous trappings of 
Hadji's clothes. I wondered if that was how kneeling started with the girl 
lowering her lips to the level of a rampant male weapon. One way or another 
women certainly spent a lot of time upon their knees. I said the carefully 
rehearsed words and made they sound as beautiful as they were. The whole 
affair was actually almost sexless, a girl being punished to please her 
master had little cause to think lascivious thoughts or make herself 
concupiscent lure. I stood away to the place indicated and stood still to 
await the thong. It was a rotten way to stand, given my choice I would have 
clasp my hands behind my neck and tried to keep them there while I was 
kissed by the lash. But now the lash would cut my arms as well as my back 
while my hands were locked by the lovely bronze in a stupid position at my 
waist. If I moved, the chain from collar to my feet rattled angrily, my 
fists were clenched. 

With the first stroke I knew I could not possibly stand still. It was not 
that this was more awful than other whips but no girl can stand still 
beneath any whip for any number of strokes. I clenched my teeth and held 
tight for the first four but then my hips weaved and my shoulders hunched as 
my back bent beneath the cuts for which I was expected to show gratitude. 
Men sure do expect a lot from those girls they have honored with their 
choice. In the distance I heard Laliah giggling and at my back the deep, 
strong breathing of the man using a whip upon his daughter's nakedness. Like 
I said, I was a very mixed up girl. 

When a girl is whipped she sort of goes through stages. At first she knows 
she cannot possibly endure her full sentence, she will die. When that is 
over and she realizes the element of shock and adjust to it, she realizes 
there is just an outside chance she might hold on and acquit herself with 
honor. This phase is followed by a mixture of exhaustion and impatience with 
yourself for the noise and motions you now make. You are terribly shamed but 
you do not care. All you care about is the pain, and the pain goes on and 
on. When you know you are going to die for sure, the whole thing stops. 
While you pants in a sweat bedewed thankfulness you condemn yourself for 
failure to counter the lash and laugh at its strips on your skin. You know 
the sounds you made will be remembered and you are certain the motions of 
your nakedness engendered lust within the male. Nothing is good about being 
whipped, absolutely nothing. 

"Just a short try out for you today, Angela, my dear." The words came to me 
from outer space, I did not believe them. "You will kneel again before me 
and express your thanks." 

It did not seem possible he would demand this, too. I heard the hiss of in 
drawn breath from all his daughters as they prayed I would not fluff my 
lines. I said them with fervor. Why not. I'd been whipped and it was done. 
At least I had not groveled on the floor. I expect my words of thanks held 
real gratitude. 

I felt the scold of weals and the scorch of strips as my feet shuffled their 
hobbled progress to where I must stand to be viewed. I could cover nothing 
of myself, my clenched fists telling their own story at the level of my 
navel. Standing in total shame I was kissed by Prince Hadji and assured I 
was indeed his daughter and he was proud of me. When he went away, his real 
daughters clustered around to give me comfort and tell me I must stand the 
way I was for at least an hour It was an ancient custom. Each girl palmed my 
pussy in a cupped hand and assured me the resultant evidence of juices did 
me credit. They whispered that sometimes a girl was bone dry and would 
require much instruction and stimulus before she was whipped again. In their 
lexicon frigidity did not exist. 

The eldest of the daughters, her name was Aysha, was only fifteen but 
considered ripe for marriage. She was presently in disfavor, having rejected 
the husband chosen by Prince Hadji. As a result I was privileged to witness 
Hebanon justice provided for delinquent daughters. Every afternoon, promptly 
at two pm, a servant appeared with a roll of bandages, without any obvious 
distress, Aysha removed her clothes, she was a bikini girl, and offered her 
wrists to be bound. The first time I saw this I watched in startled 
fascination. Bandages are for wounds, but in this case were used to make a 
prolonged suspension of the young woman possible without injure. When 
Aysha's wrists were tight bound with many circles of the soft cloth, she was 
hoisted up in a suspension where even her toes could not touch the rug. She 
stayed like that until five. We could talk with her but must not touch. Her 
calm acceptance of this punishment day after day left me with a scary 
feeling -- suppose it was me! But all her sisters regarded it as normal and 
a sign of mercy from their father that he punished Aysha this slowly in 
order that she might change her mind and marry the middle aged male with a 
pot belly he had chosen for her husband. When I spoke with her about it, she 
simply laugh and said her father would tire of it before she. And one day 
soon she planned to run away with one of the dark eyed young men who's job 
brought him frequently to the palace. They would need to be careful for if 
they were caught their punishment would be dire. I had troubles of my own 
and did not allow Aysha's daily punishment to intrude much upon my mind. The 
poor girl was rarely suspended in the same place two days running and it was 
disconcerting to roam the garden or halls and be suddenly confronted by an 
exquisite nude hanging by her wrists. 

Since Prince Hadji had many wives he naturally had many children. The group 
who were, in a sense, my jailers was composed of thirteen, fourteen and 
fifteen year old girls, by Western standard mature for their ages. I was 
older than they and treated with respect, my fate uncertain. If I became one 
of their father's wives, I would hold a measure of authority and could have 
them whipped at will. So much in Hebanon depended upon the whip, it was 
almost medieval. 

The Prince, in one of our brief contacts when he was punishing a daughter, 
had apologized for his lack of attention but explained that his energies 
were absorbed by the Honorable Mable who, since she must soon return to 
England, was being given constant discipline to provide what the Prince 
described as "A wider view of things." This noble pursuit seemed to occupy 
most of his spare time. 

On one of Prince Hadji's rare visits to the magnificently beautiful prison 
in which he kept his daughters and myself, he singled me out. Had he been 
carrying his ornate briefcase I think I would have died rather than take 
another whipping. But his hands held nothing but a small loop of rope. 
Taking me aside he explained, almost apologetically, "My daughters will 
think I do not love you, dear child, if I give no you attention. It is 
fitting I give you some earnest act by which to prove affection. You 
understand?" 

"You mean you're going to whip me?" 

"My dear girl, do not harp so much upon the whip. I have whipped you twice 
in recent memory and, for the time being, will whip you no more. There are 
other things to do with beautiful girls." 

"How's Mable? What are you doing to her?" 

"Your darling Mable is suffering a most interesting series of mild tortures, 
penitences would be a much better term. She sends you her love." 

"Then what are you going to do to me?" 

"Ah, that's the fatal question! Come with me, my dear, I will soon show 
you." 

It was as though they were connected by radar. Prince Hadji's daughters, my 
make-believe sisters, crowded around us at a respectable distance, 
chattering in their native tongue. They obviously knew something I did not. 

The builder of both palace and garden had been given free reign with the 
resultant profusion of flamboyant but sometimes beautiful statues, carvings 
and quite often an unrecognizable but cleverly craved chunk of stone or 
marble. We came to a stop in front of an example of the latter, an 
exquisitely carved little thing about four feet high. I had seen it often 
before but attached no importance to its shape or form. It took on 
significance now by the addition of ankle shackles on either side close 
above the base. 

"Is it not much lovelier than Cranston or my friend Jeffery Dillon could 
provide?" There was genuine pride in his voice as he beheld dawning 
comprehension on my face. The bloody thing was nothing more than a variation 
of my old enemy, the "horse. " I said so bluntly. 

"A distant relative only," said Prince Charming without a blush. "You will 
observe the area on which you sit is of marble and pleasantly rounded with 
good intentions." 

The girls were twittering like a bird cage. For them it was a lovely game, a 
diversion from the boredom of being the daughter of a rich man. They picked 
me up bodily and sat me squarely on the part designed like a saddle, holding 
me firm while Laliah, giggling constantly, crossed my wrists behind my back 
and bound them. While she was intent with her knots two of the other 
nymphets laughing clasp the shackles on my ankles tightly. My bound hands 
were then pulled down and tied somewhere in back to compel me to sit erect. 
Everyone then backed away to view the new girl's reaction to an ancient 
punishment. I sat there, feeling foolish and horribly exposed and waited for 
the pain I knew would come. 

The Prince kissed me on my lips and pinched my nipples as thought making 
love, then walked back to the palace. He had seen it all before. But no 
matter how many times they may have seen it, it was still an occasion for 
the girls. One of their number was suffering without cause other than the 
royal caprice. They must envy her, this singling out for special attention 
and favor since she was obviously their father's favorite. It was an honor I 
could have done without. 

"It doesn't hurt much at first, Angela dear, but it soon starts and gets 
worse all the time," one of the teenage darlings informed me. 

"We've all sat up there sometime." 

No doubt they had. But their immature loveliness weighed less than I, their 
pussies less developed, less of a Venus mound to take the stress. I was not 
going to enter into a discussion of how lucky I was, it was a discussion I 
could never win. Instead, I tried to gage the measure of this, my latest 
disaster. It was very simple, all my weight was on my crotch because my feet 
could touch nothing and find support nowhere. The shackles on my ankles gave 
me a loose sense of freedom but I could raise my feet scarcely at all and 
only as my seat allowed. The function of those shackles was to compel me to 
sit and sit and sit! My bound hands were tied down to a ring below my ass. 
This meant I could go neither forward or back but was neatly captive to the 
tiny, beautifully carved mount on which I sat. The rounded marble was 
certainly kindlier to my flesh than a plank's edge but was already beginning 
to burrow into my secret place. Soon it would be my worst enemy, 
overshadowing all others. 

"We can't play with you pussy, darling, you're sitting on it. Angela, 
darling, would you like us to tease your nipples? Two of us can do it at the 
same time." 

I declined the nipple offer, not wishing to be hot and bothered on top of 
all these other emotions. So far as my pussy went, I wasn't a bit sure I 
would still have one at the end of this ordeal. Despite my rejection of 
their kind offer a couple of the girls appointed themselves to arrange my 
hair and to apply their mouths to my nipples. There wasn't much I wanted to 
do beyond gain what paltry pleasure this half measure would compel. I longed 
for their efforts lower down but knew that was denied. I sat as immobile as 
the marble itself. Looking at the horizon I did not see while the busy lips 
took into that lovely land only females know. They were delighted with my 
orgasm and promised to keep count of how many times they could evoke others. 
It wasn't really the way I wanted to spend my day but it might act as a 
painkiller against the hard marble. At least I was not going to be bored. I 
said nothing but smiled back at all the eager young faces standing around my 
punished nakedness. Two more pairs of eager lips were working on me and I 
surrendered to the inevitable. It did not occur to anyone, not even me, that 
they could turn me loose. I wondered if we would all be additionally 
punished for this side trip into the erotic but contented myself with the 
thought that if it had been forbidden they wouldn't be doing it. Soon I was 
moaning and squealing in strange conflict between my feminine sensibility 
and the thing on which I sat. 

"Isn't she gorgeous! Look at the way her face alters when she starts to 
come." 

"Daddy's so kind to all of us, he let's us have so much fun." 

If that was the way they felt about it, could I feel less! 

But after an hour or two and my umpteenth orgasm my glands, or whatever 
governs these matters, rebelled and I pleaded for a stop. Pleaded for an end 
to love. Reluctantly they withdrew their lips and the nymphet fingers of my 
sisters ceased to tease my flesh. By this time the cold marble on which I 
sat had become scorching fire as it burrowed deeper into my crotch and into 
my being. I wished I had called a halt to my sister's eroticism before now. 
Sexuality exhausted leaves a girl doubly vulnerable to pain. It was a bitter 
torment to sit as I sat then in total innocence and looking amusingly 
attracting while the pain others could not see devoured my loins and caused 
me to twist in futile agony against my corded wrists and shackled ankles. It 
was about now his Highness chose to come and visit me again. I expect he had 
it timed! 

"You are in pain, beloved girl?" 

"Yes, Master." 

"It is as it should be. You do understand?" His eyes were bright in his own 
understanding of something which missed me all together. 

In dull misery I pleaded, "Please take me off this thing, please Hadji... " 

"You call me Master." 

"I'm am sorry, Master. Forgive me. I beg of you, take me down, untie me." 

Hadji's smile continued, his voice soothing and compassionate. "Those 
puppets of mine have exhausted your endurance before its time. I should have 
them whipped." 

"They deem it an honor to be whipped by you, Master, it would do no good." 

"There are many things besides the whip, dear girl, as you are discovering 
now. They can be made to regret their actions." 

"Please don't punish them, they meant well. I love them all." 

"But you are suffering?" 

"Am I not intended to suffer?" I said in a sudden flare up of spirit. 

"You chose this punishment for me, it is to you I beg for it to end." Prince 
Hadji went away. I watched him leave in utter desolation. My sisters had 
discretely withdrawn and I was alone upon my instrument of torture. I bowed 
my head and moaned constantly. There was none to hear. 

My punishment passed. It had been totally without significance, an incident 
in a slavegirl's life and a mild diversion for her master For several hours 
my shackled feet walked cautiously, most conscious of my crotch. That, too, 
passed and I rejoined the majority who daily watched the binding of Aysha's 
wrists and the frantic searching by her toes for the floor they could not 
reach. It was a strange sort of normalcy into which the Honorable Mable was 
once more thrust into my life. 

"The bastard's going to send me home, he dare not keep me longer. I'll bet 
there's a fine how-to-do at Cranston already." 

Darling Mable managed the words without a gasp but my heart went out to her 
as she lay upon the floor, hands and elbows bound behind her back, and her 
feet raised and spread far, far apart. Within the softness of her thighs 
where recent whip marks, her sex was swollen and inflamed, she had been 
whipped in the unmentionable way no girl should ever be. I had been prepared 
for the interview. I was naked, as always, my wrists and elbows tied in the 
same way as poor, dear Mable's. The leg irons which had become a part of me 
snubbed my steps I stood and gazed down in desolation at the woman I had 
come to love. Awkwardly and painfully I contrived to kneel and bend down to 
kiss her lips and kiss and kiss again. We were sisters in distress and far 
from home! 

"Darling, this is my farewell, I'm being sent home tomorrow." Mable's voice 
was not exactly joyful. "He says he's going to keep you here. Oh, darling, 
what are we going to do!" 

"There's nothing we can do," I told her soberly. "Look at the way I'm 
fastened now, I'm as helpless as you. Hadji is simply doing what he 
promised." 

"The Son of a Bitch!" Mable tried to roll over and shift her bound feet but 
was successful in neither. "I'll raise a stink back home all right, but no 
one will do a damn thing about his royal Highness. The police will pooh-pooh 
the whole thing and the government will evade the issue. I know about these 
things." 

My heart was filled with pity for this woman, so cruelly used. But in his 
own way, Price Hadji was doing the honorable thing, whipping her wickedly 
but sending her home on time. Returning me had never been a part of any 
promise he had made. I said so but added, "Mable, darling, you've been 
whipped terribly and down there where it hurts the worse. Is it over, is it 
really over?" 

"What woman in this place can ever answer that question?" Mable's voice was 
a verbal shrug or resignation. "His Royal Highness says it's over for me but 
he's going to send you in to get a dose of what I've just gotten, and here 
you are! Oh, darling... " I had to admit I shrank in horror at the prospect. 
Mable's poor, dear pussy was a sight to see. Looking at it, I could feel the 
limber cane splatting on my wet lips and within the soft places between my 
thighs. It is a terrible punishment for a girl, a punishment none of us 
deserve. Vehemently I exclaimed, "Go to a doctor the minute you get home! 
Get these awful weals photographed. With evidence like that surely you can 
get someone to do something Hadji El Kabar. Surely his rotten little kingdom 
isn't all that important." 

"It is, darling, it has oil." 

I longed to cry to the hill tops the infamy of what had been done to Mable 
and which might be done recurrently to me, perhaps for the rest of my life. 
It was a moment in which consciousness of slavery became terribly real. I 
was a nothing, a nothing owned by a man! Whatever I was about to say was cut 
short by the entry of two of the familiar male faces, there was a curt 
demand, "You say goodbye." 

"We have said goodbye," Mable declared. Then, to me, "I'll get Jeff Dillon 
and I'll use every penny I've got... " I did not hear the rest of her 
statement, I was picked up bodily and carried from the pain-filled room. The 
last I saw of the Honorable Mable was a look of pain-filled yearning. 

It appeared to be a busy day in Hadji's palace. I was not immediately 
returned to my sister prisoners, I was taken to a small lounge, more like a 
waiting room, to behold something utterly out of place and out of context 
with my own condition. I was begin tested with one more shock. She was about 
my own age and of my own race. There the resemblance ended. She was dressed 
smartly for the better part of town and the best kind of people. She was 
sitting, pink faced, on a chair which had obviously been place against the 
wall for her special use. 

Her right hand was raised slightly above the level of her head and 
handcuffed to one of the ever present iron rings with which this place was 
well supplied. Other than that she was free. I knew the feeling! When I had 
been stood upon my shackled feet and my jailers had departed, laughing over 
some joke of their own, she exclaimed, "Oh, thank goodness, you're English 
aren't you!" She said it as though being English cured everything. 

I admitted to being English but pointed out it was not doing me much good. 
This girl was so utterly out of place in this room and Hadji's palace that I 
simply had to ask. "What the devil are you doing here? You don't belong?" 

She gave me a little shrug and sat down. "Well, it's the money you know. I 
suppose that's why you're here." She surveyed my rope and chain outfit and 
added, "I don't really believe this, I just don't!" 

"Money? What money?" 

"Didn't you borrow a lot of money and now you can't pay it back?" She did 
her little shrug all over again. "That's the way it is with me, I've been so 
foolish!" 

"I don't owe anyone a penny," I affirmed stoutly. 

"You're damned lucky then. But if you don't owe any money may I ask what the 
devil you're doing all chained up and tied up in this terrible place?" 

"I was kidnapped. I suppose that's what happened with you. If this money 
you're telling me about is for ransom, you can forget it. That guy who 
snapped that handcuff on your wrist has all the money he can ever use." 

"But I thought... " She stared at me blankly. 

We sorted it out. From starting at cross purposes we came to understand how 
each of us got where she was. The knowledge left me more amused than it did 
her. We introduced ourselves. "I feel so terribly guilty," Nora confided, 
obviously ashamed of what she must confess. "I'm married and I borrowed all 
this money without my husband's knowledge." She giggled awkwardly. "I'm 
afraid I do a bit of gambling and I'm not very lucky. I owe the concern I 
borrowed from five thousand pounds. I think Prince Hadji owns the business." 
Her gaze implored sympathy. "After I'd been making excuses for about a 
month, I was told I could come her and pay off the whole bit by submitting 
to being whipped. " She rattled the handcuff on her right wrist in an 
awkward embarrassment. "I must have been insane when I said that I willing 
to do this." 

I am ashamed to say I had forgotten poor Mable in the discovery of this new 
girl. I was trying hard to suppress a chuckle at this fresh evidence of 
Prince Hadji's enterprise. I found it hard to think of him as a money lender 
but obviously his influence brought this young woman to where she now sat, 
handcuffed to his wall. I, myself, was enduring pain from my bound elbows 
and couldn't do a thing to help. Dazed by the whole affair, I blurted out, 
"Are you telling me you can write off a debt of five thousands pounds by 
coming here and offering yourself to be whipped?" 

"Why, yes." Nora looked surprised. "I sort of got the impression it was done 
all the time. That there was some one here who enjoyed it so much that they 
would pay all that money. Are you certain that didn't happen to you?" 

I showed Nora such whip marks as I still bore. It was like someone asking 
for my ID. I suppose the poor girl's next question of obvious enough. "Does 
it hurt terribly?" 

"Worse than you would ever believe," I said thoughtlessly, then added 
hastily, "But after the first shock you realize you're not going to die. If 
it wasn't for the handcuff on your wrist I'd tell you to go back home." 

"Oh, I couldn't! It would upset him terribly when I explain about all that 
money and where it's gone. If you've never been married you'll never know." 

I let it pass. I'd never had five thousand pounds in my entire life. Nora 
probably belonged to the moneyed class. I wondered if I'd offer my skin to 
the whip for such a sum! Bitterly I retorted, "I get whipped all the time 
here and I don't owe anyone anything. Maybe you're lucky you're getting a 
profit out of it." 

"You don't have any clothes on, Angela! You're naked as well as being all 
fastened up. I don't understand!" Nora spoke as though just noticing my lack 
of clothes. 

"None of this will make much sense to you," I told her wearily. "But I've 
been turned into a slave. I've got no rights, privileges or freedoms. I 
spend my days with a group of girls who are all pretty much in the same 
boat. I'd kept naked because that's the most convenient way to have me for 
punishment. And I'm tied up tight like this so I can't help any of you 
girls. I've just been speaking to one who was terrible whipped. Nora, I'm 
afraid you'll be whipped in the nude and whipped terribly. I expect they 
intend to make an example of you and that's probably the reason they've 
place me here like this. You're suppose to take a good look and realize 
what's waiting." 

"But no one but my husband, Richmond, has ever seen me naked. No one!" 

"They're going to now. All sorts of people will have a good look at you and 
watch you while you're being whipped. When you whipping is done they'll 
leave you bound for people to come and make rude remarks about your figure 
and the way you're sweating." I paused, realizing what a bitch I must sound. 
"It's best you know what you've let yourself in for." 

Nora stared at me in blank horror then suddenly gave all her attention to 
the handcuffed wrist, tugging and pulling at it in an effort verging on 
panic. She stopped as suddenly as she began. "I can't get loose, can I? 
There's just no way a girl can get her hand out of this thing. Oh, Angela, 
I'm scared." 

Poor girl! She seemed almost childlike in her innocence. She would not be 
innocent for long. I was already upset about darling Mable, and now there 
was this silly young woman who had got herself into a jackpot and was going 
to pay a painful price to get out of it. 

"You can't get out of the handcuff," I told her in anger with myself and the 
world. "You're lucky you don't have a rope cutting your arms in two at the 
elbows." 

The captive of the cuff was instantly contrite. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm in 
such a dither about this whole thing. If you'll come over close, I'll see if 
I can untie you with my free hand." 

I was tempted but well trained. I told the poor girl some more facts of life 
and was getting her attention about the time Prince Hadji walked in on us. 
With him was one of those anonymous women I saw around the palace and who 
had obviously already been instructed. She went to poor Nora, unlocked the 
cuff from her wrist, guided her a few feet along the wall to where a metal 
collar and short chain hung waiting. When it was snapped fast around Nora's 
bewildered neck, the serving woman departed silently as when she came. 
Prince Hadji now took the floor. 

"Isn't Mrs. Crosby charming?" He included me in his smile. "Don't you admire 
her taste in clothes. She's very smartly attired." 

I said, yes, she was indeed very smart. 

"But don't you think she should remove her clothes, Angela? Mrs. Crosby has 
agreed to be whipped. Please tell her how I despise clothes on a young woman 
on such occasions." 

"I think you'd better undress, Nora," I said simply. 

"But I can't! Richmond would never... " 

"This Richmond? He is your husband?" Hadji asked with kindly interest. 
"Would you like me to call him on the phone and discuss that five thousand 
pounds?" 

"No! Oh, no, you mustn't!" Poor Nora was feverishly fingering the metal 
circlet on her neck. When she tried to step away the chain snubbed her 
instantly. "I never said a thing about being chained like this or taking off 
my clothes." With commendable courage she stared angrily at Prince Hadji. 
"I'm sure there's been a mistake somewhere... " 

"Yes, Mrs. Crosby, you made it." 

"I really do think you should undress, Nora," I told her nervously. "It's 
something we all have to do. A girl soon gets used to being naked." 

"I wouldn't! I couldn't! I won't!" The poor dear was now more concerned with 
her collar and chain than either of her audience. She seemed to think that 
if she could get it off, she would be home free. 

Prince Hadji's voice was like a whiplash, "Take your clothes off, woman, and 
stop dithering." 

Nora's eyes fixed on my breasts, out thrust from the binding on my arms. 
From there her gaze traveled, as though seeking some sort of confirmation, 
down to my pubic hair. Her voice was numb with agony. "But then I'd be like 
you! If I undress this man, and everyone else, will be able to see my... 
my... things!" She shifted her appeal to the Prince. "I agreed to be 
whipped, Sir, you can whip me with my clothes on!" 

The words flowed back and forth until Nora came to a confrontation with 
herself and the sudden certainty that she was going to do the very last 
thing she wished. We've all had these moments at one time or another and 
hers was now! Tentatively her hand went to the fastening of her dress. 

Nora Crosby stripped without any of the hesitations I expected. Her only 
pause was when, having kicked off her shoes, she hooked her thumbs in the 
elastic of her panties and stopped to glare at Prince Hadji as though to 
tell him he was no gentleman to be watching a lady disrobe in this fashion. 
She then thrust hard down and was forced to finish the job by kicking her 
panties off her legs because the chain and collar prevented her from bending 
down that far. It was an undignified strip but it was also total, leaving 
the girl who had performed task pinkfaced from the intolerance of her 
collar. Instinctively her hands covered her breasts then fell away to hang 
listlessly at her sides in response to Hadji's barked command, "Get those 
hands away from yourself!" 

Mrs. Nora Crosby was naked and ready for the whip. 

I had been feeling foolish and out of place, not even knowing why I was 
present but the serving woman not reappeared, unlocked Nora's collar leaving 
the poor girl standing free but uncertain what to do with herself. My elbows 
were now untied and my lovely bronze handcuffs transferred from back to 
front. I was handed a long length of rope. 

"Angela, you can put a rope around Nora's neck and lead her back among my 
daughters. She will be whipped there in the court yard." Hadji's voice was 
decisive. 

"But she's free and I'm handcuffed and leg-ironed!" It was the first thing I 
could think of to say. 

"If she gives you trouble, Angela, all you have to do is say the words 'five 
thousand pounds' and she'll come to heel quickly." 

I did as I was told. Standing breast to breast as I looped Nora's neck, I 
could pick up her woman scent and fear smell. I doubted if I was giving off 
scents at that moment, I was still sort of numb. But our eyes exchanged 
smiles of female understand. When I had led her down the passage and we were 
alone, she whisper, "Don't worry, Angela, I won't give you any trouble. I 
hate this but lead me where we have to go." 

I had done the whole thing without noticing I was handcuffed. The girls 
crowded around but I didn't have to explain a thing, gossip had been there 
ahead of me. 

"You must take her to the whipping post," they chanted. "We all have to 
watch. Isn't she beautiful!" 

The whipping post is daunting, a monolithic testament to the pain of girls. 
Nora tried not to look at it while I made awkward introductions. I was 
feeling foolish holding the tether in joined hands until Aysha took it from 
me and tied its end to the post itself to leave Nora exposed mostly 
shamefully. She could have untied the knots and fled but I suppose she knew 
it would be useless to try, so stood there like a chained dog while we 
clustered around with comfort. 

"It will soon be over, dear, they don't whip you all day." 

"Daddy never whips us very hard, maybe he won't whip very hard, either." 

"Don't look so frightened, you're only going to get whipped and have that 
thing done to you that Daddy has done to all the girls except us, then 
they'll take you home." 

I was not sure there was any reassurance in these well-intended bits of 
information, but they were better than just standing there and doing 
nothing. I suddenly realized all my make-believe sisters were wearing at 
least some trifle of clothing whereas I was naked as Nora there against the 
post. Soon Nora would be whipped and gone and I would be alone in this 
strange nakedness. Mable would be gone, too. I shivered. 

There are several ways a girl can be fastened to the post for punishment. 
Her breasts can be thrust against the post hard and her body tight bound 
from heel to neck, her hands the same. In this way she cannot move but 
stands and endures. The disadvantage of this to those who do the punishing 
is that the ropes often absorb the impact of the blow instead of girlflesh. 
Another way is to make the maiden embrace the post and tie or chain her 
hands on the other side. She, too, stands and endures but is capable of a 
great deal of motion which the audience finds interesting. Another method is 
to tie her hand together and raise them high above her head. In this way, 
also, her breasts make contact but she is able to struggle in evasive action 
to provide enjoyment for everyone but herself. The simplest and most deadly 
tie was now performed on Mrs. Nora Crosby. The Prince had made no appearance 
but a handful of servants from the palace were busily preparing for the 
show. I now observed the four rings deeply embedded in the wood. They were 
separated as in the four corners of a square. Using cord instead of rope to 
insure as many strands as the rings would accommodate they bound Nora's 
wrists and then again, half way up her forearms, to each side of the solid 
post. I watched the cords bite as each was looped and circled and drawn 
firmly tight. When the task was done I understood its purpose. The four 
corners would prevent Nora from clasping the post for support, she could not 
effectively bend her arm and must therefore strand at arm's length to face 
the vertical horror which had too often absorbed the screams and puny 
struggled of naked girls. Nora was simply one more of a long line of 
innocent maidens who had lost their fight against this solid wooden post. 

When everyone stepped away and the girl to be whipped stood alone, anus out 
thrust, she first of all tentatively struggled and tested the fixture by 
which she was held helpless. I saw her fingers spread wide then clench tight 
into rebellious fists. Saw, too, her attempts to bend her arms and find a 
friend in the wicked post itself. All were denied, the lash, when it came, 
would have free access to every part of her and be able to curve around and 
across breast and belly. This binding was the cruelest of all. 

Looking apprehensively back over a bare shoulder, Nora's eyes met mine and 
tried to smile. She saw my concern and felt guilty for being its cause. I 
wondered how much she might regret that five thousand pounds and the bargain 
she had made. I wondered if, given the opportunity again, she would gladly 
withdraw and return to her husband with her terrible confession and the debt 
unpaid. I might never know the answers to any of these thoughts. Prince 
Hadji El Kabar was striding towards us from the palace. He held a whip. 

Every eye was on the single thong. It was no girl killer, for even though 
she may have sinned, a girl remains a valuable item. The quality of Mrs. 
Crosby's punishment would depend on the hand and skill of the man who 
whipped her and the number of strokes she would receive. The poor dear knew 
nothing of these things but her eyes widened in horror at the princely 
approach. It happened very quickly, Prince Hadji El Kabar bowed a courtly 
greeting to the woman who could not pay her debts. Then he said simply, "We 
now commence." 

Hadji had immense skill. During the first strokes I suspected he might 
simply be seeking out the most vulnerable and private places of a woman who 
might be more devastated by shame and pride than by pain. He flicked within 
an armpit or struck suddenly upward between parted legs. Each hips received 
a snapping impact while the curves of the female bottom remained untouched. 
Another blow struck the soft belly its owner could neither hide or shield. 
The obvious places were left alone while the hissing thong amused itself 
upon and within those portions of Mrs. Nora Crosby which none but her 
husband had beheld until today. 

I doubt if Nora found mercy in any of these preludes of the pain to come. I 
could tell she was in that awful first shock in which a girl never believes 
this is really true, it must be happening to someone else. The agony she 
feels is simply a nightmare from which she can not wake. For the normally 
chastely clad Mrs. Nora Crosby this intrusion upon her most private places 
with a whistling leather thong would be far worse than the emotions most of 
us girls suffer in our awful initial introduction to the whip. I wondered 
how unaware her husband would be at this moment! He would be unlikely to 
mind the baby, I doubted there was a baby, Nora's figure was flawless. She 
leapt and kicked like a wild mare as her punishment snickered up within her 
thighs. 

We were all breathless. The sisters, who were often whipped in the name of 
love, found this approach to an ancient punishment unusually diverting. No 
doubt each was wondering if Daddy would whip her in this fashion next time 
she were fastened to this grim post. They respected the whip but did not 
fear it. 

When Mrs. Nora Crosby looked back in gasping agony to plead, "I can't stand 
it! Stop! Oh, please, you must stop!" I could see they considered it bad 
form and a trifle vulgar. When the virgin back received its first full-armed 
blow of the lash, its owner went berserk, tearing at her wrist binding and 
at the post, kicking and lunging until pain and exhaustion caused her to 
stand panting, breasts heaving, her loveliness subdued by the pain and 
shock. This time it was not her back but her bottom, a resounding, smacking 
swat across both cheeks from which she leapt like a pony and jerked wildly 
in disbelief. 

"This isn't what they said it would be," she pleaded. "This isn't what it's 
suppose to be. Oh, please, please stop!" 

It did not stop, it went on and on but with a slowly measured rhythm between 
each slash until Nora's strength began to fail and she hung more and more on 
her already overtaxed wrists. When her knees promised to buckled, she was 
dowsed with a pail of icy water and then another until she once more stood 
to await another stroke. If I had not been leg-ironed I would have crept 
away while no one watch but the chain between my legs laughed at me and made 
me stay there until the end. 

* * * 

The whipping of Mrs. Nora Crosby was a minuscule incident in the even tenor 
of the palace of Hadji El Kabar. Hadji had quite obviously enjoyed marking 
the virgin whiteness of a suburban wife. I could not call him a sadist but 
his pleasures were cruel as his kindnesses were fierce. After it was all 
over I came by a terrible suspicion that everyone, including Nora Crosby, 
had forgotten she would be obliged to return to the loving arms of her 
husband, so terrible whipped marked, back and front, that he must demand an 
explanation. Poor girl, I suppose she was fluffy-headed but nonetheless 
sweet. She had played a losing game from the beginning. 

Whoever had laid out the palace grounds and garden had dotted the whole 
thing with bits of marble and granite which often seemed shapeless but 
which, upon close inspection, proved designed for the discomfort of a girl. 
The simplest of these was a short stone pillar within which was firmly 
clamped the end of a ten foot chain and a utilitarian iron collar to fit a 
female neck. Without reason I was taken then one day and the iron collar 
padlocked on my neck. Except for the leg irons, which had become a part of 
me, that was all. I could move around and do as I pleased within a ten foot 
radius. There wasn't much to do. 

The girls came to visit, in groups or one at a time. All assured me my union 
with chain and stone would not be brief. Girls thus singled out and left to 
the whims of the weather, the sun and wind and the cool of night, were 
reputed to gain virtue from this communion with nature. It was a communion I 
could have done without but saw their point. Sitting out there, playing with 
my chain, I could feel the earth turn and could feel myself a part with the 
elements. When it rained, I got wet. It was there, leaning back against my 
pillar in a warm and pleasant afternoon, and playing with my chain as I 
might with a rosary, that Jeffery Dillon walked back into my life. 

I had been dreaming, impossible, wonderful dreams of freedom, when a male 
voice I recognized all too well woke me. 

"Is this all you've got to do with your time, girl, sleeping in the sun?" 

I jumped to my feet, and there he was in all his smiling good will and 
British tailoring. I could have sworn I even got a sniff of his cologne. He 
was getting a fine frontal view of me and was enjoying it to the full. I 
greeting wasn't the nicest, "You'd be asleep, too, if you'd been chained her 
as long as I have." 

"I expect you're right," Jeffery agreed. "How'd you like me to rape you?" 

"Go away!" I said as firmly as I could, even though it was the last thing I 
wanted. "You know what you can do with your rape." 

"You're right, sweetheart, I do know." He began to undress. "I'm a lucky 
man. It's not ever rapist who finds his innocent victim chained to a pillar, 
all ready for him." 

I had my arms and legs so put up a damn good fight, if I do say so myself. 
But Jeff handled me as he might have a child. I was soon on by back on the 
ground, trying to beat him with my fist. But it wasn't long before my 
struggles turned into all those sounds and motions which tell a man he's 
doing a pretty good job. I was furious with myself for being so easily 
conquered but I think the fury added to our pleasure. When it was over and 
we had both returned to this world, I said bitterly, "You needn't feel proud 
of yourself, it not a bit fair, you're all together too strong." 

"That's right, darling. How about now?" 

"Don't be silly, you've just finished doing it to me." 

"What's that got to do with it? I'm all ready." 

I could see he was. He was very ready indeed. The knowledge that his huge 
weapon would soon be inside me had its usual effect of robbing me of 
strength and will. I got it again and won't pretend it wasn't truly 
wonderful. This time, when I recovered from my gasps and moans, I asked 
hopefully, "You wouldn't happen to have a key to this collar around my neck, 
would you?" 

"We'll get around to that later. Poppet." 

I was laying on my back, fingering the collar in question and looking up at 
my rapist. I was about as compliant a piece of female as a man could ever 
hope to own. My voice sounded tired as I said, "Jeff, I've been chained to 
this pillar for days and days, it seems forever. Surely you can get this 
iron band off my neck?" 

"I could strike a hard bargain, couldn't I?" 

"I suppose so. But what have I got you couldn't take any time you wish. I 
wouldn't fight you again." 

"I was thinking more in terms of you doing me a service." 

"You want me to service you!" I knew myself totally abject. "All right, I'll 
do it. Any special way you want to be?" 

I was half way to my feet when Jeffery's laughter stopped me cold. "You 
little idiot, that's not what I mean at all. We'll get around to that some 
other time, too. For now I want a quite different kind of service." 

"I'm chained and naked, what the hell have I got to offer you?" 

Jeffery's eyes were glowing. "First off, let me tell you how beautiful you 
are standing there with your chain and your chunk of stone. Any photographer 
would drool at the perfect composition." 

"Thank you. I would prefer to be elsewhere." 

"A nice dungeon with more chains, perhaps?" He was being mischievous, 
dangling the carrot, watching for reactions. 

I said exactly what was in my heart, "Oh, Jeff, don't be unkind. Don't 
tease, take me back to England with you. I'm sure you could fix it." 

"I'd treat you just as hard there as Hadji does here. You'd be like one of 
Mable's girls, kept in a cage and constantly punished." 

I knew there was something at the back of this. Jeff was amusing himself 
with my distress but there was something on his mind. Whatever it was, I 
knew perfectly well Jeff was probably my only hope of ever getting back to 
where I belonged. But where did I belong! I wasn't sure of that either. 
Baffled, I told him, "I don't care. I'll do or be anything you want just so 
long as you'll take me away from this place and back to England. If you've 
got a lousy dungeon, then put me in it. If that amuses you." 

Jeffery Dillon was once more immense. We both became aware of his wonder 
weapon at the same time. Without a word I lay down on my back and spread my 
legs and raised my knees. If I could earn my freedom this way, I would. 

I won't pretend I didn't love it, I did! It was becoming a habit and I 
couldn't help but think how wonderful it would be if I was Mrs. Jeffery 
Dillon and we did this all the time without the extras of dungeons, ropes 
and chains and assorted hardware. But I'd just conceded those points, so 
what more did he want? 

Jeffery squatted between my legs, gazing down at me with approval. I picked 
up the vibrations of a troubled mind. "Sweetheart, you're marvelous," he 
said thoughtfully. "I don't want you to hate me but his Nibs has come up 
with a real zinger. If there wasn't so much hanging on it, I could kick his 
ass." 

My heart fell. Hadji's "real zingers" were always painful. He already 
possessed me, so what more did he want! 

"Is he going to trade me for a few more barrels of oil?" I asked unhappily. 

"Not you -- Mable." 

I stared, Jeff stared back. My exclamation was involuntary, "But Mable's 
back in England. Hadji was cruel to her for the couple of weeks he promised 
but then he sent her home." I had a sudden, terrible thought. "He did send 
her home, didn't he?" 

"Oh, sure, she's safe back at Cranston. She's probably working off her bad 
time here on those poor kids in the cage. I bet they all get a roasted ass." 

"Hadji surely doesn't imagine she'll come here again." 

"That's were you come in. We want you to persuade her." 

We shared sighs of exasperation, Jeff's was for Prince Hadji, mine was for 
me. As far as I was concerned there was no problem. "Just unlock this damned 
collar, take me back to where ever you're staying and take me back to 
England. Put me in the deepest, safest dungeon and load me with heavy 
chains. Then get on the phone to Prince Hadji and tell him what he can do 
with his damned fool notions." I was breathing heavily. 

"I'm afraid it's not that easy... " 

"Oh, sure, I know!" I retorted angrily. "There's a big oil deal with the 
fate of nations hanging in the balance. Mable's bottom is the price of world 
salvation. You ought to grow up." 

Jeffery sighed. "Bit of a shock, I know. " He sighed again and gazed down at 
me. "We both believe you could do it and I wish you would. " 

"But he can't kidnap Mable, she's a person of consequence. With girls like 
me it's easy. But if the Honorable Mable disappears there's going to be 
quite a fuss." 

"That's all been cleared with the highest authorities. They figure it's in a 
good cause and will look the other way. This sort of thing is arranged, you 
know, government heads are flexible, you know." I was suddenly scared. If 
the Honorable Mable could be thus easily written off, there was certainly no 
hope for me. I didn't like the way Jeff was evading the question of 
unlocking my collar, it was on my neck as firmly as before he came. Stalling 
for time, I asked, "But why Mable, she isn't a bit like the girls here?" 

"That's the point, sweetheart, seems like Mable's mature splendor has really 
gotten under Hadji's hide. He can't stop thinking about her and the sound 
his whip and strap and all those other things made when he used them on her 
bottom. Seems like he never bothered with a mature white woman before and 
Mable was a bit of a revelation. He admitted to a touch of boredom with 
anything under thirty." 

"I suppose that's why I've been chained to this pillar for the last week." 

Jeffery Dillon gestured hopelessly. His problem was the oil. Girls were 
secondary. When he got up to leave he told me I could think about it 
overnight, he would be back tomorrow. Devastated, I said, "You mean to leave 
me here on this chain? You won't unlock me? Jeff, please take me away from 
here... " I watched him walk away. When he was out of sigh, I wept. I also 
cursed Hadji and all his works but the collar remained tight upon my throat 
and the chain rattle mockingly when I moved. Dismally I sat and pondered. 

First off, I hadn't been told how I was expected to lure Mable back to this 
strange country. I would probably have to lie and tell her I was being 
terrible tortured every day until she came. But suppose they gave me freedom 
to return to Cranston in the belief I could talk her into it on the basis of 
saving Britain and perhaps the United States, too, from some sort of 
disaster. I could easily see the bottom line: what did one girl or one woman 
matter against a stake so huge. It was positively frightening. I remember 
the history books and reading of how princesses time and time again had been 
bartered for the safety of a kingdom. It was help, to be a female! 

But I was female for sure and knew I wanted Jeff Dillon more than anything 
else in the word. These silly power plays were not for me. What I wanted was 
to be picked up and taken back to where I had been before that wife of 
Hadji's had picked me up on that cold night in the dark. Everything 
happening since had been nonsensical melodrama such as you might read in the 
cheaper paperbacks. But there was something escaping my attention, whichever 
way I turned, including Jeff Dillon, I was going to remain a prisoner, a 
girl who's captivity resulted only from the desire of others, both male and 
a female, to impose restraints and mark my skin. I had just offered myself 
on these terms to Jeff and got only a noncommittal reply. It wasn't much of 
a prospect. I was still dabbing at tears when night came and I went to 
sleep. 

The following morning was bad. There I was collared and chained to a chunk 
of rock and there was not a thing I could do except eat my fruit and drink 
my water. I wasn't even sure if there was pity in the girl's eyes as she 
served me. I was seeing ghosts. 

When Jeffery Dillon came along towards noon he wasted only enough time to 
make me breathless with hugs and kisses before unlocking my padlock to allow 
my collar and chain to fall clattering to the ground beside the post. 
Laughingly he held up the bronze handcuffs, "Remember these?" They felt good 
on my wrists, I know it's silly but they did. I didn't walk quietly beside 
him back to the palace but had to hop, skip and jump to vent my joy. Jeff 
viewed my capers with a tolerant eye and refused to answer questions. 

Aysha was naked, her wrists had been crossed and bound and then fastened to 
the collar at the back of her neck to leave her body totally exposed. She 
was hanging upside down in suspension front her ankles. A man servant, who 
had obviously waiting for our arrival, now proceeded to slash at her bottom 
with a riding crop. I was just in time to see the first blow and observe the 
scarlet response on Aysha's skin. The man servant looked at Jeff and I 
smilingly and paused. 

"Hadji was certain you would need persuasion, sweetheart." Jeff's voice was 
apologetic. "He wants me to tell you this girl will be whipped, first her 
bottom with the riding crop then her back with a read whip, until you decide 
to say yes to his request." 

I caught Aysha's upside down imploring eyes. This was for real! As thought 
to emphasis the fact the servant let loose one of the wickedest cuts I've 
ever seen, implanted a couple of inches above number one. Aysha went quite 
berserk, twisting and jerking and doubling up towards her bound feet. It was 
like seeing a beautiful hooked fish struggling for its life when held up for 
display. He lovely hair brushed the floor when she relaxed, panting and 
exhausted and knowing she would be struck again. I couldn't stand it. 
Without thinking I proclaimed, for all to hear, "I'll do it! I'll do what 
I'm told, but get Aysha down, get her back on the floor. Don't whip her 
again." 

Poor Aysha. I don't suppose she knew what any of this was about. But when 
she was freed her expressions of gratitude smothered me for quite a while 
until she was led away and Jeff took my back out into the quiet of the 
garden. 

"Hadji won't take no for an answer. You've just agreed, sweetheart, but I 
know you're going to change your mind. That girl is available here all the 
time. That girl is a dubious daughter of his, he considers her expendable, 
so you know what will happen to her unless you obey perfectly. You leave on 
the plane this afternoon." 

My emotions were in wild disarray. I heard my voice saying, "All right. I've 
said I'll do it, but Mable will simply laugh at me. If I'm not careful 
she'll play one of her tricks and I'll find myself back there, chained to 
her bed. What happens then?" 

Jeff shrugged. "I don't know. The way I see it it is up to you to produce 
results. For Pete's sake, don't let yourself be made prisoner again. She 
isn't that much of a menace, is she?" 

"Yes. In a fight she would get the best of me." 

"Then don't fight. Use your wits. Play the national anthem and get her 
loyalties well churned up. Tell her the spot you're in and about this girl, 
Aysha, you're so worked up about. Hadji had you figured on that one, didn't 
he?" 

There was instant lose and gain. I lose the bronze circlet on my wrists and 
I gained some very expensive clothes. I was glad Jeff put the handcuffs in 
his pocket but I felt stuffy and uncomfortable in the clothes. If I had to 
give an opinion, I would say naked is best! 

We set out for the airport in good time. Jeff had his doubts about me and 
was determined to see me all the way to the plane itself. I didn't mind a 
bit, he was the handsomest man in the place and I got a lot of looks, some 
for my expensive clothes. I looked at the ticket, realizing it was a sort of 
passport to heaven. Earnestly I implored, "Jeff, darling, come with me. If 
you'll come back to England right now, I'll do anything and everything you 
want and for always. Please, please... " It was a this point we both saw the 
Honorable Mable Wycherlv. Mable was one of those disembarking from the plane 
I was about to board. She caught sight of us at the same time and looked as 
startled as we were. Her demand was uncompromising, "Where the devil are you 
going, you adorable nuisance. I have the damndest time keeping up with you." 

After I had been solidly kissed, all I could think to say was to tell Jeff 
he had better break the news, I was absolutely lost. 

Mable digested it all rapidly, Mable is never at a lost about anything. 
Almost instantly she pressed a ring of keys into my hand and then took a 
strangely etched ring from one finger and gave me that, too. "The keys are 
for Cranston. Show Wilma this ring and she'll know you're in charge. I'll 
follow you home when I've dealt with this Hadji S.O B. " I was kissed, 
farewells were said, I was pushed to the check-in counter, and then up the 
ramp to the waiting plane. I was never so bewildered in my life. I sat 
through the first hours of the journey a jumble of speculation. I was out of 
my depth. Only one thing was left upon the credit side and I fingered it 
often as we flew. It was the ring of keys which gave me entry to Cranston. 
It was considerably later that I noticed my purse was heavier than it should 
be. Checking I found the bronze handcuffs in there. 

* * * 

It had been a dull day in Mable's cage. The girls made fun of me as I 
constantly clutched the bars as I looked longingly for help I really knew 
could not be coming. They were all very kind and called me simply, "Number 
Ten." I found it hard to believe I was really in the cage with my wrist 
handcuffed with my own bronze bracelets. I couldn't stop thinking back to my 
blithe entry into Cranston, my taking Wilma into a private place, and my 
breaking the news. Without asking a question, Wilma struck me a couple of 
really numbing blows, and while I was still under got me down on the floor, 
knelt on my back and tied my hands brutally tight. She then sat me in a 
chair and said, without a trace of effort, "There you are young lady, now we 
can talk." 

It was delightfully simple and absolutely foolproof. To upset to bother 
saying anything, I simply listened. "I've taken over Cranston," Wilma said. 
Her statement was a good prelude by any standard. "I've had enough of taking 
orders. I've had enough of being poor. I've had a bellyful of this whole 
set-up. You know what I'm going to do?" 

I denied knowledge. "It's simply, you pretty little sweetheart, I'm going to 
put you in the cage with the rest and I'm going to sell the whole damned 
bunch of you to the highest bidder. I've got contacts and you shouldn't have 
to stay in the cage too long before some rich son of a bitch takes you away 
for a spot of you-know-what. When the mistress comes home, she'll find an 
empty coop. I'm not really robbing her. You and those girl didn't cost her a 
penny." 

"You can't do it! Mable thinks the world of you. Wilma, you simply can't!" 

"I love the Honorable Mable, too," Wilma assured me. "All I'm doing is 
balancing the accounts. She's got too much money and I don't have enough. 
You and the other nine ought to fix that. Don't fret, sweetheart, it's all 
in a good cause... ME!" 

I put up a battle, I really did. But Wilma was twice as strong as I and a 
wizard with all those holds and grips and things. I was soon stark naked and 
with my own bronze circles back on my wrists. Bitterly I conjectured that I 
would quite likely be buried with them safely locked on my unresponsive 
hands. Hell, why not! 

It wasn't any more trouble for Wilma to put me in the cage. She did this by 
gripping one of my ears very firmly and bringing me to my knees any time I 
showed signs of struggling. I did indeed consider struggling when it came 
time to step over the threshold to join the nine maidens already prisoners 
in the cage. But Wilma was in control. Since the girls already knew me, 
their retorts were obvious. 

"We knew you'd end up here sometime, darling." 

"Aren't those gorgeous handcuffs. I wished they'd put something like that on 
me." 

"They'll whip you real hard the first few days then sort of forget you. 
We're forgotten." 

I expect it was a good thing Wilma put me in the cage. Alone in a cell I 
would have gone crazy. But I now joined my nine fellow prisoners in a sort 
of delicious sarcasm about everything. We were ten girls who knew we weren't 
going anyplace at all. When I told them of Wilma's plan to sell the whole 
bunch of us, they shrugged it off in disbelief. Looking back I think they 
had come to love their cage. 

My first hint of Wilma's special attention came when it was time for the 
daily hosing down. There was plenty of room on the chain for me, there was 
no lack of iron collars or padlocks. But I was the end of the line and on 
our return to the cage I was detached and left outside the steel door when 
it clanged shut. 

"I wouldn't want you to feel lonely," said Wilma as she took my arm. My 
being handcuffed put the odds sufficiently in favor of Wilma that I simply 
obeyed what I was told. The end result found me standing, still handcuffed, 
but with my hands high over my head, that was all. It was very simple. I 
knew I was going to be whipped. 

"Now you can tell me about this nonsense in that silly place where the 
Honorable Mable has gone." Wilma held her whip lovingly and looked my nudity 
up and down in a way that made me wish I was back in Hadji's palace. 

"Come on, is there anything that makes more sense that the nonsense the 
Mistress told me before she left?" A flick of the whip across my belly 
accented the question. 

"You won't believe it, I don't believe it either," I told her soberly. 

"But please don't punish me because it sounds crazy or because I don't know 
the end of it." I decided on a gamble. "Look, Wilma, please don't sell me 
until Jeffery Dillon comes back. You'll get more for me from him than from 
anyone else." 

I got a short laugh over that. I then blurted out what there was to tell, it 
wasn't much. I could see Wilma was disappointed although intrigued of the 
possibility of her former mistress being in the clutches of the wicked 
sheik, getting her bottom well lashed every day. But I couldn't promise her 
that, I couldn't promise her anything. I expect is was as much in 
exasperation over this as she now began to whip me with her usual expertise. 
It wasn't all that hard, I'd had worse. But she paid special attention to 
all of those parts of me where a girl should never be whipped at all. She 
soon had be sobbing and pleading for mercy. As thought bored by an 
unprofitable subject, she returned me to the cage. 

For me the hours and days of my imprisonment dragged horridly. I wondered 
how the nine girls managed to stay so cheerful. Perhaps it had something to 
do with their uninhibited carnality. I allowed to use me as they pleased, 
complaining about nothing. We laughed about our handcuffs, they inhibited 
nothing within the cage. It was the cage itself me must defeat if we were to 
ever be free. Wilma whipped me every day, quite without anger but with the 
feeling I had quite a lot of catching up to do. The others got whipped 
according to her mood. One evening she told us gleefully that tomorrow the 
buyers would start to come. She had made the contacts and made the 
arrangements. The business of selling ten girls into what was almost 
certainly a life of prostitution would begin in early morning. It was hard 
for any of us to sleep that night. 

We girls, locked away downstairs, heard nothing of the invasion. The first 
we knew of it was a sight so incredible we scarce believed our eyes. Two men 
marched in holding Wilma by the arms which they had already bound tight 
behind her back at wrist and elbow. Wilma was as naked as the rest of us, 
disclosing quite a nice figure for her age. The poor woman was also 
leg-ironed and, worst of all, gagged. The gag sealed and filled her mouth 
utterly and was strapped and buckled at the back of her neck and also 
padlocked to defeat any aid we might have given. She was breathing heavily 
and gazed upon us in blank despair. I could guess what had happened, her 
contacts had back fired and taken from Wilma the juicy plumbs she had 
intended to market. She was now among the merchandise. I had reached the 
point where I didn't care much any more. 

A third man came, obviously in charge. He entered the cage, looked us over 
approvingly but without enthusiasm, his main function was to display a whip. 
I recognized it as one of the Honorable Mable's. We were now marshaled in 
two lines like soldiers and briefed as to our fate. 

"We have taken over." He was a suave black man of impressive build. "Today 
we sell you all. The sale will be by auction and you will be expected to 
obey." His eyes rolled back and forth, showing their whites, and his smile 
was brilliant with white teeth. Each of us felt cataloged. "Any of you who 
want to make a fuss or play hard to get? I will use this on you personally." 
He held up the whip in such a way we all shuttered. "There is no need for 
any of you to be hurt, just do as you are told." He gazed in disdain around 
the cage. "I'd take a guess most of you will be better off after you've been 
sold." He turned on his heel, the door clanged shut and we ten girls were 
alone but with the addition of Wilma who's plight we dared not aid. 

Poor Wilma! How indeed were the mighty fallen. She made such sounds and 
motions as to indicate her conviction that we could have at least undone her 
hands and arms. We could have but we were frightened. We told her so quite 
simply and added, for good measure, that she had brought this whole thing on 
herself. If she had been loyal to Mable, this whole thing wouldn't have 
happen. 

It was one hell of a time for us, waiting, listening, tensed up for anything 
to happen. It was not long before it actually did. 

I don't know why I was chosen to be number one, it does not matter. I was 
dragged out of the cage and my handcuffs examined with a view of changing 
them from front to back but the bronze bracelets defeated them and I guess 
they decided to sell me as I was. I got some more cautioning about behaving 
myself and was then provided with a white sheet and told it would be 
stripped from me at the moment mostly likely to promote bids. I simply did 
not care. 

They had chosen the great hall. Not a servant was in sight and I supposed 
they were safely locked away for the day. I was surprised they had not 
stripped Jessie the maid and tossed her in with the rest of us. But what I 
was most interested in was the make-shift platform I was to stand on and 
display my charms and the small group of men who would take us home with 
them after paying a great deal of money. They were deliberately anonymous, 
probably nervous and ashamed. But our captors, who were on slippery ground 
themselves, wanted the whole affair completed as soon as possible. I was 
pushed up on to the platform, and bids were invited for my person. The first 
was for one hundred pounds and it drew murmurs of contempt. But it got 
things started and my value to these strangers rapidly advanced. It was the 
damndest sensation. I have to admit it was a thrill to know the value of 
girls, particularly myself. There were no dramatics, the bids were mostly 
done with the raising of a hand as the price advanced from its paltry 
beginnings up to five, ten and then twenty thousand pounds. At twenty 
thousand there was a pause, and this was the chosen moment for whisking away 
my white sheet to disclose my nakedness. I had been warned about posture and 
how I would be expected to place my hands behind my neck and to be sure at 
all times to thrust out my breast and taunt my tummy. I did these things 
because I had no wish to be whipped. But I'll admit I got a kick out of it. 
Nakedness no longer bothered me, and the thought of my effect upon those 
absurd men gazing at me in deep attention left me with a sense of power and 
the knowledge that a beautiful girl, no matter how harshly bound or chained, 
was always on top of the whole silly business. It made me feel good, it 
would have to any woman who is really a woman. 

I'm a beauty, I know it! The first bid after disclosure of my charms was for 
one hundred thousand pounds. At this rate, the girls downstairs would net 
them better than a million pounds. The first thing I knew I was up to one 
hundred and fifty thousand. 

I couldn't help but pay attention to these men who wished to own me. There 
was one bushy-bearded character who had not yet made a bid, but his eyes 
brightly assessed my breasts and belly. His gaze was of such intensity as to 
prompt me to mischievously point in his direction as though my breasts and 
nipples were a cannon about to fire and then made such undulations with my 
nudity as to accelerate his lustful pulse. It was then the incredible 
happened, my bushy bearded client accorded me the most graceful of courtly 
bows before tugging the beard from his chin and putting a whistle to his 
lips and emitting a shrill blast. 

It was Prince Hadji El Kabar. 

 CHAPTER NINE - MABLE'S MASTER 

I love Angela. I suppose that's the only decent excuse I have for acting 
like an idiot. I'd been so damned glad to get out of that bastard Hadji's 
clutches that I fled back to Cranston like a scared rabbit. Everything 
happening to Angela and me in Hadji's palace had fixed in my mind a 
conviction the poor darling was his captive for life. I couldn't see any way 
of setting her free. But I no sooner got back to the familiar surrounding of 
Cranston than my conscious started in to nag and I asked myself again and 
again why I should allow myself to be robbed of this darling girl. My nine 
beauties in the cage were a poor substitute. I whipped them until they all 
had smarting rumps and felt guilty about that too and got no electric charge 
out of that. After a few days I couldn't stand it any more. 

I've got money and influence, I used both on a few oil men I happen to know 
and on one or two members of the government. I'd never before pulled rank 
but did so now without shame. But life fools us all. I'll never forget the 
shock and anticlimax of running straight into darling Angela and the S.O.B. 
of a Jeffery Dillon. 

I had to do quick thinking. Dillon and I pushed Angela on to the plane and I 
stayed behind on my one-woman crusade. Dillon, who really is a perfect 
gentleman, gave me a run down until I realized my mission was not abortive. 
Angela had been sent to England to fetch me back to this country full of 
sand dunes but had not been given her freedom by Arabic standards, she still 
belonged to Prince Hadji at least as far as Prince Hadji was concerned. That 
was what I must put an end to. Jeffery Dillon told me bluntly I was nuts, 
but admitted frankly he stood to gain enormously by delivering me back into 
Hadji's hands. Like I said, I had to be crazy! I let him do it. 

* * * 

I'm back at square one. I could kick myself if I could kick anything but I 
can't. I've been stripped naked and handcuffed with another set of those 
lovely bronze bracelets Angela has worn for ages. They are above my head and 
well secured so I stand, feet tied apart to rings in the floor, and 
shamelessly exposed. I've been informed that Prince Hadji El Kabar will 
honor me by whipping me later in the day. Meanwhile I stand. 

Hadji has whipped me before so it isn't new but it will still be awful and 
unbearable and outrageous. I will also make an idiot out of myself by 
screaming and struggling. I promise myself that I won't do either but that 
is a promise that won't last long. 

After I had been collared and chained to Hadji's bed last night, with the 
handcuffs behind my back so I couldn't claw his smiling face, I took the 
opportunity to name a number of titles that knew where I was and knew my 
purpose and would expect my safe return to England. I want on to add that 
they also expected the enslavement of Angela to cease. But this smiling son 
of the desert simply kissed me hard, lay me flat on my back and chained 
hands, and proceeded to do... well, you know what. He does this so well I 
soon forgot Angela and my impressive list of friends which appeared to not 
have impressed Hadji at all. The son of a bitch I'd come to lecture and 
conform Rogered me to a fare-thee-well. I spent half the night among stars 
and marvelously hued rainbows. I'm a woman and this really cheeses me off. 

When I awoke up in the morning Hadji had gone. Having my hands chained 
behind my back is really for the birds. I wanted to feel my pussy and see if 
it was still there but there was no way I could reach. But it felt happy so 
I had to presume it was in good order and not worn out. I sat there chained 
to the bed awaiting the convenience of Hadji's servants who finally came and 
bathed and fed and watered me before bringing me here and fixing me the way 
I am. I was then solemnly informed his royal highness would get around to 
whipping me later in the day. In the meantime I could just stand the way I 
was and consider myself a lucky girl for such personal attention from so 
elevated a person. I wanted to scream, I still want to scream. 

Having my hands chained above my head and my legs spread just enough to be 
vulgar is actually damned clever. It reduces a girl to absolutely nothing 
except some lovely virgin skin to slash away at as if you were beating a 
carpet. It also gives a girl a hell of a lot to think about. On top of this 
there is the recurrent effect of disbelief in what is happening. Rational 
thought said that I should be able to walk away from this but all I can do 
is quiver a bit and weave my bottom around. 

There's something going on I don't know about. I can sense it with Jeffery 
Dillon and even with that asshole Hadji. There's a look in Hadji's eye I'm 
not sure of. And he may have refused to respond to my confrontation just to 
play for time instead of being high and mighty and mean to a silly woman 
who's going to get her ass whipped. I feel something of a pawn in a chess 
game of which I don't know the rules. After a few centuries in which the 
servants come to examine my pussy and breasts and even to stroke my bottom, 
his royal highness actually deigns to honor me with his presence. I was so 
damned tired of standing that way I was almost glad to see him and get it 
over with. But I also have to try. 

"The British and US governments won't like what you intend to do to me," I 
said holding to control. "I think we ought to talk." 

The S.O.B. didn't answer. Instead he circled around and around me and felt 
me up. He's got lovely strong, brown, lean hands which didn't have to fell 
my pussy quite so much. Then he moved on to the rounds of my bottom which he 
fingered. Naturally my breasts came next. I knew the first two portions of 
myself were going to be whipped for sure but I asked him straight out about 
my breasts. "Look, Hadji, pay attention. I don't want my breasts whipped. If 
you do whip them you'll prove yourself a barbarian to the whole world. 
Believe me, you don't whip the breasts of the Honorable Mable Wycherly 
without the whole world knowing. The News of the World will give you top 
billing for sure." 

He still wasn't talking. This time he kissed my lips and I have to admit 
that any girl who's been kissed by Prince Hadji El Kabar knows she's been 
kissed. It's the same in bed -- but never mind that! 

"Worried about your little pigeon?" he inquired pleasantly. "I sent her back 
to England to persuade you to visit me again. But you came of your own free 
will." He flashes me his pussy-perking smile. "I suppose I've got the job of 
being obliged to repossess her. Or do you think she'll come back of her own 
accord?" 

"She's crazy if she does." 

"But you came, Madam." 

"Yes. Craziest thing I've ever done in my life. I almost deserve what you 
intend to do to me." 

"You thought the great names would preserve your pretty skin?" 

"They should, if you've got any sense." 

His nibs stood back to measure a distance. Nervously I looked over one 
shoulder then turned away from what I saw. As usual, the pain was terrible. 
I knew I would die. A snapping impact across both cheeks of my bottom made 
me sure I was cut to the bone. But Hadji varied proceedings by rubbing the 
wound vigorously with affectionate hands. I was astonished there was no 
blood. He rubbed enough to double the agony but then gradually the agony 
ceased. It was replaced by the most exquisite glow which transferred itself 
to start a fire within my loins. Having gotten me comfortably out of both 
apprehension and agony, he struck me again. Prince Hadji El Kabar was 
teaching his rebellious slavegirl a lesson. 

Hadji whipped me with an intent purpose of his own. First the awful shock 
and impact of the whip upon my skin followed by the tenderness of fingers 
spelling love, fingers well versed in feminine response. Beneath them I lost 
all will and ceased to be anything but a securely chained woman in a 
Master's hand. Alternatively he took me to the heights of eroticism only 
then to plunge me into the depths of agony. I have little memory of my cries 
and struggles but I'm sure they gave him pleasure. 

I must have made the perfect picture of a well whipped woman, wealed, 
sweating and gasping to catch up with myself as Prince Hadji calmly disposed 
himself upon a chair which provided a full frontal view of whatever I had to 
offer. I was utterly bewildered in contradictory emotions. Hadji's skill in 
marking my skin had been match only by his skill in turning me into ten 
times the woman I had ever been. I lost track of the climaxes he evoked but 
never in my life had I been so introduced into alternate agony and ecstasy. 
I was ashamed of myself because I knew, had he asked if he should start in 
on me again, I would have said a shamed-faced yes. Maybe he hadn't whipped 
me all that hard but I certainly felt like he did. 

When our eyes met I made the simply query, "What are you going to do with 
me, Hadji?" 

"Barter you for oil, what else! But I must whip you several times before you 
are taken from my house. You are an excellent subject for the cane, the 
whip, the crop." I knew he was frankly laughing at my disarray. "You may now 
register complaint." 

Everything rehearsed departed from my mind, along with weariness and idle 
speculation. All I wanted Hadji to do right then was take me to bed. I told 
him this frankly even though I knew shame in the telling. He nodded as 
though with an infinite wisdom and told me I would receive the joy of his 
immense sexual powers at a time of his own choosing. He then came out with 
the killer-diller I had been waiting for. 

"I want you to phone Angela and instruct her to return." He laughed at my 
sudden tensing. "She is not as good to whip as you but has a slavegirl 
quality I find intriguing. She is exquisite in the diversity of ways by 
which she is subjugated to my will." He was watching me intently. "Should 
she hesitate you must assure her you are being terribly tortured and will 
continue to be tortured daily until she yields. She will be back within the 
week." 

"Then what of me?' 

"The deal of Jeffery Dillon and myself will then be complete. You will be 
taken in chains to your new and final home." 

"But Cranston... ! I can't just... " 

"Your heirs will inherit." 

I shivered. Everything held a terrible finality. I knew I would make the 
phone call to Angela, I'd be too scared not to. But the Prince would be 
right there, I'd have no change for messages or warnings." Returning to the 
present I asked, timidly, "Can not you let me down now? I've been whipped, 
there's no need to keep me like this any longer." 

Without a word Hadji disengaged himself from the chain, picked up the whip, 
and gave me a couple of the most awful strokes across the center of my back. 
By the time I'd recovered he was back in the chair and surveying my 
condition with an amused and infuriating smile that made me long to beat my 
fits against his insolent face. 

"I'm sorry," I said humbly. "I get the message." 

Hadji kept me standing the rest of the day. I got so bored and tired I 
longed for his return to whip me once again. But he was clever, he did not 
come. In the evening servants released me and again attended my needs as 
though I were an expensive mare. I ended up once more collared and chained 
to Hadji's bed but this time with my wrists handcuffed in front. I had 
received a promotion! In the night, when I was being incredibly ravished, I 
made up my mind to ask Hadji to forget about Angela and just keep me for his 
own. I said goodbye to Cranston, I would sign it over to Angela and Hadji 
could whip me every day for the rest of my life. Stupid, childish, female... 
? Well, you don't know Hadji! 

My euphoria lasted through the bathing, the feeding, and the watering. In 
the presence and under the control of servants the illusion of being a 
well-groomed mare reassured itself. I hadn't much expectation of Hadji 
listening to anything I said. He would simply whip me again with that amused 
tolerance which simply curled me up and set my fire to flaming. It was then 
he choose to ask if I would prefer to be whipped again or sit on the horse. 
I said I would prefer to be whipped, my heart pounding in exhalation. I 
knelt before him with bowed head and chained hands submissively covering my 
pubic forest. He laughed at my submission and told me I would sit upon the 
horse. 

Hadji is a demon, a woman has no hope with him at all. He will whip me and 
torture me to where all hope is gone but then suddenly bring me back into 
the beautiful world by the magic of his fingertips and phallus. A girl has 
no hope against him, she cannot win. 

Poor, darling, Angela had been upon my horse that awful day when Hadji had 
possessed us both. I had put her there and was gaining erotic satisfactions 
from her suffering. It was now my turn. 

Anyone can have a horse, it is nothing but a plank set on edge in any 
configuration you'd like. This "horse" of Hadji's was about what a girl 
could expect. The motif was baroque in its perfect simulation of equine 
justice to the delinquent female. Set squarely upon the wicked edge, legs 
wide spread and taunt in traction, handcuffed wrists drawn high behind my 
back, I sat where others had sat throughout centuries of use of this beastly 
instrument of torture. All my weight was on my pussy, I could not move. 
Certain of mortal injury, I heard my master's voice. 

"I will not tell you of the hours, Madam. You will suffer and hope that 
someday I will set you free, a bit like your Christian Hell, is it not?" 
Hadji kissed me hard and pinched my nipples harder before he left. 

It is terrible to be upon the horse and alone. It is terrible anyway but 
when you are abandoned and must suffer in solitude, fear is added to your 
sentence. Supposing they forget you! Suppose you are forgotten and sit here 
on and on. Suppose the servants have seated you incorrectly and this burning 
agony within your crotch destroys your sex. The fears build and feed upon 
themselves thus adding to the torment of the planks edge upon which I sit. I 
am firmly place there and can't move, my legs tractioned out from side to 
side bestow a belly dancer's split I cannot contest. My role is to suffer. I 
scream for help, for mercy, and scream again. No one hears. I sit. 

After goodness knows how long I come by the conviction my sex is totally 
destroyed. A man and I will never function together again. It is not long 
after that I came to the certainty of death. My loins are telling me this 
agony cannot possibly go on. I'm at the point when suddenly the door bursts 
open and Prince Hadji stride towards me with a gleaming knife. The knife is 
not for me, he slashes at my bonds and picks me up as I fall sideways from 
my painful perch and, as though I weigh nothing, carries me to his office. 
There he utters a single word, "Telephone." 

I forget the scorching burn between my thighs when I hear Jessie's voice and 
listen in disgust and growing fear to the story of Wilma's treachery and of 
Wilma' plans for my nine darlings and dear Angela. Jessie is frightened that 
she, too, may be tossed into the cage with the rest. She is a pretty little 
trick and well worth a man's attention. But she promises to stay at Cranston 
until I come. She pleas for me to hurry. 

The news replaces my concern about my sex. Hadji had changed my bracelets to 
the front so I could use the phone. That also enables me to explore myself 
and I am surprised to discover that I may still be of value to men. My 
pretty puss is swollen and hurts but that is all. I turn to Hadji who has 
been listening on an extension. I am frantic. "Hadji, let me go, you must! I 
can't let this happen." 

Hadji thoughtfully tightens my bronze handcuffs another notch to make them 
snug. I scarcely notice. Prince Hadji El Kabar now kisses me most tenderly 
and sets his fingertips to exploring once more while he ponders. He is swift 
to decision. "I will go myself," he says. "No man steals Angela and lives." 

"Take me. You must take me, Hadji." My heart was in the plea. 

"No. You are a bundle of emotion, much better left within a cage." 

"I must go, I simply must! Hadji, if you'll take me I promise to do or say 
anything you wish. I'll be your slave. Please?" 

"You already are!" 

I was distraught. I belonged at Cranston with my darling girls. I'd soon put 
pay to Wilma's little caper. Her disloyalty was a shock. But Hadji would do 
anything he wanted with my property while I languished in a cage, chained to 
a wall, worrying myself stiff the whole time. But once more I was kissed and 
my bare bottom affectionately patted. 

"I will loan you to Jeffery Dillon for the period of my absence," Hadji said 
quietly. "I don't know what he'll do with you but I'm sure you won't be 
bored." 

My mind in conflict, I let myself be picked up, the severed ropes still 
trailing from my ankle and carried out into the sunlight and the gardens. 
Immediately I saw the small stone pillar with its chain and collar. I knew 
what I was in for. But I stood obediently while the collar was locked upon 
my neck. I pleaded in the direst of distress until Hadji kissed me goodbye. 

"Jeff Dillon will come for you at his own convenience, my dear. In the 
meantime enjoy the sunlight and the freedom of this chain. Your beloved 
Angela spent many days chained her so suffer it with reverence." Hadji 
strode back to the palace. 

It shows my state of mind that I instinctively leaped after him and nearly 
broke my neck as the chain snubbed me and toppled me back. 

I felt the collar upon my throat, it was solid iron and the padlock was 
heavy with its chain. In frantic haste I tested the strength of my new bond 
and its radius, having a mental picture of Angela doing the same thing in 
days now past. At the end of my struggled I sat unhappily down and leaned 
back against the pillar, no doubt as Angela had sat thus. Disgustedly I went 
to work upon the rope binding on my ankles. When that was done, there was 
nothing, nothing at all. 

Jeffery Dillon came in late afternoon. I love the handsome bastard but I've 
never been sure of his feeling towards me. He masks so much of what he is 
and what he thinks in amusing repartee. If I ever needed him to love me, I 
did so now. 

"My goodness, Mable, you do get yourself into some pickles. " He surveyed my 
chained limitations. "Damned attractive, though. I'm not sure I shouldn't 
leave you here." 

"Jeff, don't tease. This is serious. I absolutely must get back to England. 
I suppose Hadji told you?" 

"Oh, he's already on his way. You don't have a thing to worry about. I think 
he plans to bring your nine little darlings and Angela back with him. This 
place is full of girls, a few more won't make much difference." 

He laughed at my anxious face. "Then, if he ever lets you loose, you can go 
back to Cranston without a care in the world. That lovely cage will be empty 
but there's nothing to prevent you from filling it again. Stop worrying." 

I stood breathlessly still while the padlock was unlocked from my neck. I 
promised that, yes, I would be a good girl and not fight or run. In any case 
my hands were still locked in bronze bracelets. "Am I allowed to ask where 
you're taking me?" I inquired coldly. 

"We'll stay in the palace. There's guest rooms aplenty and his highness 
won't be gone that long." 

"I'll be tortured daily, I suppose?" 

"Mable, you really are a pain in the ass. Sure, I'll have you tortured every 
day if that will take your mind off your troubles." He grinned at me 
sideways. "All I intended to do with you was try out a number of interesting 
restrains. You should view them clinically, they could be useful to you at 
Cranston." 

I stopped quite still, facing him. "Jeff, we've been good friends. I've 
never done you wrong. Give me freedom." 

"Sorry, love, matter honor, you know. Look, without joking, are you sure you 
won't prefer to go back on that collar and chain." It's infuriating the way 
men always win! I should have fought or ran but Jeff could have subdued me 
with one hand. I sighed, hoping Jeff's "restraints" would be kinder than 
Hadji's horse. It was too late to change my mind but the though of the 
collar and chain I just left behind seemed strangely attractive to a woman 
who had to spend an indefinite amount of time watching and waiting and 
hoping. I said nothing. We resumed our walk towards the palace and my 
prison. 

Jeff and I have known each other for a long time. He's always been my idea 
of the ideal man. I'd given him plenty of hints but he'd never paid 
attention. Back that first time he'd seen Angela I told her that he'd paid 
to enjoy her pretty little puss but it was a lie. I'd given her to him to 
please him. Now that he held me as his prisoner I'd have every chance to try 
again. Inevitably I ended up collared and chained to his four-poster in one 
of the bedrooms and that night, after the glorious first time, when we were 
laying in a delightful afterglow, I came right out with it. "Jeff, why won't 
you marry me? Let's go back to Cranston as Mr. and Mrs. Jeffery Dillon. I 
can donate my darling girls to Hadji as a reverse wedding gift." 

"Sorry, pet, I'm not the marrying kind. Turned my back on it long ago 
because any wife of mine would be a constant target for kidnappers. I lead 
an irregular sort of life, she'd never be safe." 

"I'll take the risk." 

Jeff laughed and made love to me again. He's marvelous! A girl would have a 
hard time choosing between him and Hadji. Not that they're the same, they're 
different but both leave a girl feeling that it could never be this good 
again. But it always is. After I recovered this second time I ventured, 
"Jeff, about getting married... " 

"You want to be gagged, my pet, you're going about it the right way." 

I shut up. Never nag a man, it's the surest way to loose him. Craftily 
striving for credits, I demurely suggested, "Jeff, darling, take these 
chains off me. This collar on my neck and these handcuffs on my wrists 
aren't doing a particle of good.! haven't the faintest intention of running 
away from you. Trust me." 

"Sorry, love. Made a promise to Hadji. You stay restrained." Men can always 
wiggle out of an awkward question. Us girls are suppose to be clever about 
that but we don't have a thing on Jeffery Dillon. The only way a girl is 
going to get him to the alter is handcuffed and leg-ironed but even then 
there would be the problem of getting him to say yes. But its a lovely 
thought. 

Anyway, by the time we had gasped and moaned our way through number three I 
so much belonged to him I no longer tried to bargain or persuade. All I 
wanted of Jeffery Dillon was to be near him even if this meant being 
collared and chained as I was right then. In fact, the collar felt good 
around my neck, it was of him! 

With morning my anxieties returned: Cranston, Angela, Hadji, and now the 
uncertainty of Jeffery Dillon. 

"Look, sweetheart," he said, "I promised Hadji I'd never let you run free, 
he doesn't trust you. I'd give you freedom to look after your morning 
affairs but you'll have to wear these." 

These were beautiful silvery leg irons. He locked them on my ankles then 
relieved me of the handcuffs. I tripped off to the bathroom without falling 
on my face. Later I was guided to where my new master was breakfasting in 
state. It was a buffet affair like the classic English country houses. In 
fact, like mine when I entertain. It would have fed six instead of two and I 
wondered if the servants hovered to consume what we did not. I clinked my 
way to the offered seat, I was kissed, a hand explored my pussy, it was 
surprisingly intact and was sorry when the hand departed to break bread. 

'Td like to spend the day with you, sweetheart, show you around a bit but 
I'm into a lot of things over here and I'm wondering what to do with you." 

"Take these shackles off my feet and let me go." 

"Oh, sure, sure. Buy you a plane ticket and put you on board. That isn't 
going to happen." 

Getting free of Hadji's house was not going to be easy. Grumpily I 
suggested, "Well, stuff me in a cage then. You and your busy, busy, busy. 
You're just playing games." 

"That's what you think, sweetheart." 

"Look, Jeff, you're a rich man. I'm a rich woman. Marry me and take my back 
to Cranston and we'll have the most wonderful life ever!" 

"With a cage full of slavegirls in the basement?" 

"Hadji's probably got them in a cage of his own my now. I'll donate them to 
him as a gesture of good will." I sniffed in disgust. "Not that he's done 
anything to earn my good will." 

Jeff took my by the arm and led me from the house. He soon became impatient 
with my snubbed steps so picked me up and carried my which was very nice. 
All the time I was being carried I pointed out all the advantages of making 
me Mrs. Jeffery Dillon. But it wasn't a long walk and I instantly realized 
my day was going to be decidedly public. Somebody must have made the damned 
thing overnight. A couple of stout little posts joined by a heavy plank set 
at the upper ends. When I saw the half circles I got my first clue. The 
other two half circles were in a separate board sitting nearby. The workman 
had forgotten his hammer. 

"Deliberately crude," Jeff explained as he sat me down beside the little 
structure and forced me to my knees. Without waiting to be told I put my 
wrists, one in each of the waiting slots, and told him, "I wouldn't do this 
for anyone but you." 

The second board was now fitted on top to complete a wooden circle around my 
wrists. It was damned snug, someone must have taken measurements. Jeff 
picked up the hammer and said, "This isn't my idea, love, Hadji left a 
couple of hints." 

I was kneeling erect, my arms thrust straight out to accommodate the 
captivity of my wrists. Jeff now fished for some nails out of a waiting can, 
fitted them in holes already drilled, and with the hammer began to pound 
them home. He went up and down the line, producing the most horrible sounds, 
a sort of sprang-g-g-g which made me shiver far worse than being locked in 
irons or bound with rope. There was something hostile in the sounds that 
hammer got out of those nails, sort of telling me my hands would be welded 
within the wood to stay. But it was a simple sort of contraption that wasn't 
hurting so I did not complain, confining my remarks to the advantages of us 
getting married and joining two huge estates to make something truly 
impressive. I don't think Jeff heard a word. When he had pounded the last 
nail home, he kissed me and said he was sorry he had to run. It was 
difficult as all get out for me to twist a bit to watch him go. I than gave 
my full attention to my plight. 

You can call it the pillory principle but this one was sneaky. It was the 
exact height to make me kneel fully erect. The wood circling my wrists was 
thick enough to prohibit motion. I could not sit back on my heels or stand, 
I simply had to kneel the way I was and look down my arms to where they 
disappeared into the wood. I could wiggle my fingers all I liked but that 
didn't do me any good. I realized the worst part of this punishment was the 
kneeling, it was okay so far but just wait a while... ! I said a serious " 
Damn! " then moved my knees around as much as I could to test for comfort. 
There wasn't any! 

I guess the word had been passed around, I began to get visitors. At first 
the servants, then a few soldiers, then quite a lot of children. But no one 
willing or able to speak English. I could easily guess they were making 
vulgar remarks about my private parts but there wasn't much use in making a 
fuss. I did the only thing I could, I knelt with my arms out-thrust before 
me. I tried to test the solidity but to do that I had to tax my wrists and 
hurt them. It wasn't worth while. I could see it was built like a bridge and 
would hold an elephant. I couldn't understand the idea of nailing me tight 
like this instead of other, more conventional ways of making me helpless. I 
suspect it was just an additional humiliation, a tease, something to make me 
feel certain I could get free if I only did the right thing. My audience 
approved my twistings and efforts to turn, providing faint approval whenever 
I failed. After a while I simply knelt there with bowed head as if in 
prayer. 

I could see the whole damned picture plain as could be. I was a punished 
girl, kneeling here in the courtyard while Prince Hadji diverted to himself 
my estate, my money and my girls. I hoped he'd pick up Wilma, too, and fix 
her someway like this for me to see. I supposed he would make Angela his 
number one girl or maybe trade her off to Jeff Dillon or some other tycoon 
for some business advantage. Poor, darling Angela! I felt a bitch now for 
having kidnapped her in the first place and let her in for all this. 
Ruefully I realized it was a sort of justice in the fix I was in right now. 
I was paying for those nine girls in the cage and for Angela, too. I knew 
both Hadji and Jeff quietly considered I was getting no more than my just 
deserts. I suppose they would eventually set me free when bored with 
whatever there was about me that amused them now. They would probably sell 
me to a brothel, not daring to set me free because of the stink I'd raise. 
Oh, shit! 

By mid afternoon my kneels were screaming and I was so tired I could have 
screamed along with them. Frustration had driven me to fighting the wood in 
which my wrists were held but all that got me was some chaffed skin. It was 
about then I got my most interesting visitor. I saw him coming in the 
distance. He evidently had the run of the place and that was probably 
because he was some sort of religious type in the clothes and chunks of 
material they wear around their head -- I don't know the names they use for 
these things here. He was old, a bit tattered, heavily bearded and stood 
gazing at me with the brightest eyes I've ever seen. 

I said, "How to you do? Would you be good enough to get me free of this 
thing?" 

"You are a whore." 

It was a bad start and I wondered if he got the right woman. But I wanted to 
be polite. "Well, not really. What I am is mostly a prisoner. If you'll help 
me get loose, I'll give you money." I don't think he heard me. His 
conversation was in a rut. 

"A whore. A scarlet woman. A temptation to the devout. I would have you 
whipped in a public place." 

"I'm afraid I've already had that. Can't you see the marks?" 

"After the whipping, the brothel, it is where you belong." 

His conversation was not inspiring. While I tried to think of some suitable 
response, he turned abruptly on his heel and walked back the way he came, 
leaving me with an uneasy feeling as thought I had just made another enemy. 
I told Jeff about it that night while I was chained to his bed. 

"Oh, one of those." He laughed as though visualizing my visitor. "They're a 
cult but they're powerful in this country. They sort of expropriate woman 
such as he was talking about and do with them exactly what they said. No one 
here seems to have the nerve to say no to them. But don't worry, love, so 
long as you belong to Prince Hadji or me they won't touch you. But if you 
should happen to escape, I wouldn't go wandering around the streets." 

"Fat chance I've got of wandering around any streets here. Oh, Jeff, what's 
going to become of me?" 

"Any brothel would welcome you." 

"You're just being beastly, Jeff. Be honest now, what's ahead of me?" 

"I don't know, poppet. If Hadji brings your nine maidens back here with them 
he might loose interest in you enough to quote me a good price." 

"Jeff, would you!" 

"Yes, I suppose I might. Just in the name of charity." 

That was all I could get out of him, he would make no other promises. If he 
bought me, he would simply turn me loose in England, not take me back to his 
place. I felt like about two cents. Piqued, I asked, "You're not going to 
put me in that beastly contraption again tomorrow, are you? I've never spent 
such a beastly day." 

"You have a nice, easy disposition, sweetheart. Hadji's other recommendation 
was suspension." 

"Thank you, never mind! Sorry I spoke." 

We then did a repeat of the night before and I'm so damned ashamed of myself 
for loving every minute. I don't see why the silly asshole won't marry me -- 
Oh, shit! 

Next morning, right from the start, I knew Jeffery Dillon had something up 
his sleeve. His eyes were glinting his quiet little smile as if he saw a 
picture I did not. We had a most civilized breakfast except that I was naked 
and my ankles leg-ironed. The bronze handcuffs appeared after the meal, 
locking my wrists behind my back, but at the same time the leg irons were 
taken from my feet. These constant changes make me feel like merchandise 
constantly being returned for exchange. We then went out into the sunlight 
and I will say the sunlight if a hell of improvement from a palace full of 
all sorts of rooms in which there are all sorts of ways to make a girl 
uncomfortable. And that's putting it mildly! 

They still use donkeys in that country so I saw nothing unusual in one being 
tethered in the courtyard. As we approached the animal, I told Jeff crossly, 
"I've seen donkeys before, you don't need to show it to me." 

"This one is different, darling," Jeff told me with that glint in his eyes 
shinning more than ever. "You're simply going to love this dear little ass." 

It really is dispiriting to a girl to have an owner who is so blasted 
strong. Jeff picked me up and, even though I did a bit of kicking, set me on 
the back of the little animal. There was a band cinched around and beneath 
its withers and Jeff lost no time in strapping my ankles to it so I couldn't 
get off or fall off. But I suddenly realized there was something wrong. 

"I'm wrong-way around, Jeff! I'm facing the back...!" 

"That's right, sweetheart. You can view the world over a donkey's tail. It 
will be a new experience." 

I felt like sharing a laugh with this man who I loved but who refused to 
love me. My predicament was absurd enough to warrant a good laugh. I felt 
horribly out of place on its back and facing the wrong way around. As well 
as being naked and tremendously vulnerable with my hands locked behind my 
back. It wasn't long before Jeffery said a jaunty, "Well, that's that, 
sweetheart. See you this evening." 

Then I realized why he'd been smiling all this time. My first retort was a 
bit predicable, "Jeff, you can't leave me like this! Jeff, this is too 
damned much!" 

"What are you complaining about now?" 

"Well, I thought you were taking me for a ride or something silly like that. 
I didn't realize you were going to leave me on the back of a donkey for 
everybody to see and laugh at." 

"Not painful, is it?" 

"Wel-I-I-I... I suppose it isn't. Oh, Jeff, don't leave me like this... 
Please-e-e-e-e-e! " 

"Sorry, love, this was at the bottom of Hadji's list. Seems too innocent to 
pull on you, but I'm glad you're enjoying." 

"I'm not enjoying! Oh, Jeff, don't be a beast. Everyone's going to come and 
make vulgar remarks about the way I'm sitting. And what happens if the 
donkey decides to take a walk?" 

"You won't understand the vulgar remarks, they'll be in a language you don't 
speak. And as for the donkey going for a walk, he can't, he's tethered." 

"He'll do... You know what, and then there'll be that awful smell." 

"I could take you back indoors and suspend you by your wrists, sweetheart, 
just say the word." 

I shuttered, longing to cry. There it was again, this male dominance in 
superior strength. Sure, Jeff Dillon can pluck me from were I sat and within 
a few minutes have me hanging up, naked and scared of being whipped and with 
my toes well above the floor. I knew what that one was like so all I did was 
sniff and say, "I think you're mean." 

Jeff kissed my belly. It was simply the handiest place with me up on the 
damned donkey. I watched him all the way back to the palace, without hope 
because I'd already realized there was no possible way I was going to get 
myself free. I was fixed but good! I got the usual visitors who did the 
usual things and said the usual things. But I was a bit above their level 
and stared out over their heads, ignoring their presence, I knew they'd been 
forbidden to touch. But I got another visitor I wasn't so sure about. He was 
almost a spitting image of the old buffer the day before. Those old bastards 
all look the same after about the age of a hundred and ten. He assured me I 
was a whore and would receive just punishments, reciting a few of them in 
great detail to positively curl me up inside. Jeff had told me the name of 
that damned cult but I'd forgotten it already. My main wish is that they'd 
stick their own red-hot pokers up their own... Well, you know what! When he 
finally left he left me trembling. 

The donkey of Prince Hadji's kingdom seemed to be forever eating but forever 
thin, the one I was bound upon was no exception. It wasn't too long before I 
realized there wasn't all that much difference between the "horse" in the 
basement of the palace and what I sat on now. I do have to admit my little 
donkey was padded better than beastly plank stuck on edge for a girl's 
pussy. But my donkey was lean enough and bumpy backed enough to get me 
thinking how I'd manage the day. 

I couldn't do a thing with my legs but I will admit that if I pushed down 
hard enough it did relieve the stress of my weight on the ass' backbone 
enough to help. A girl who is owned by someone like Prince Hadji or Jeff 
Dillon has to take advantage of every little break. At five o'clock when I 
was released, I made a few tentative steps then asked Jeff to carry me the 
rest of the way. My poor pussy, I don't know how it manages to come up 
smiling every time. 

When I was safely chained beside him in his bed I played an old record. "My 
hands are locked behind my back and they don't need to be. Then you don't 
need this collar and chain on my neck. Don't you know by now I wouldn't run 
away from you if I could. Can't you forget your promise to Hadji just once, 
I promise I won't move from this bed except to go to the bathroom. 
Please-e-e-e-e...!" 

"Sorry, love, no dice. But turn around, I'll change your hands from back to 
front. Don't say I never gave you anything." 

It was an example of how a girl can sometimes do herself a bit of good by 
complaining. It was lovely with my hands hand in front but bloody awful when 
their were locked behind. I tested the tolerance even further. "Darling, if 
you'll take this collar off my neck, I'll work so hard to please you, honest 
I will." 

"I could get the same assurance by whipping your pretty little ass. Forget 
it." 

Well, at least I'd tried. Jeff's erection was now at a most pleasing state 
and I wasn't about to argue for the next hour or so. It's wonderful when 
girl's owner if that potent, it saves her so much trouble. Just like now, 
all I had to do was put my locked hands behind my head and spread myself 
wide open. Oh, jeepers, he was glorious... ! 

I adore the palace breakfasts, so much ritual, such marvelous service. The 
servants never raised an eyebrow at my nudity and fettered feet. Jeff kept 
me leg-ironed throughout the meal and thus I could have my hands. I gestured 
at him now and spoke with my mouthful of toast. "Jeff, darling, not the 
donkey again today." 

"I thought you liked the little fellow." 

"I do, but not to sit on. His backbone came close to cutting me in two." 

"Didn't notice any ill effects last night. You seemed in great form, 
sweetheart." 

"Have it your way. What do I suffer today?" 

Jeff pretended to consider, his quiet smile spelling mischief. "The most 
beneficial thing for you is humiliation. You've been Lady Vere de Vere all 
your life, you need bringing down a peg or two." 

I sniffed. I knew I'd best not argue. "But haven't I earned a day's rest. 
Couldn't we have a little vacation, you and I? You could show me around and 
take me somewhere nice for dinner." 

"You're dreaming." 

I knew damned well I was dreaming. But when Prince is being mean to you just 
because he likes the shape of your breasts, a girl has to explore every 
advantage. If it had been just Jeff, I would have got that day's vacation 
for sure. 

This time Jeff carried me around behind the palace where the working classes 
do their work. My dear little donkey was there, harnessed to a beat-up old 
cart. He was munching and viewed me without much interest. When Jeff 
suddenly stood me erect, I said, crossly, "I saw enough of the donkey 
yesterday, we don't need to stop." 

"You're going to see a lot more of him today, my pet. That's the garbage 
wagon and you're going to be attached." He signaled a servant and bent down 
to remove my leg irons. I was furious. 

There are times when a girl just doesn't think. With the irons gone from my 
ankles I took a wild leap and ran as hard as I could towards what I hoped 
was freedom. A couple of servants appeared from no where and sort of 
collected me, scooping up and carried me back to a smiling Jeffery Dillon. 
He assured me I wouldn't need exercise, I'd be getting plenty. He then told 
me to fit my wrists into a couple of half circles at the top of the wagon's 
tail gate. I glared at him but did as I was told. There was no way I was 
going to do any escaping. 

Humiliation was indeed the word for it. A grinning servant binding my wrists 
to the back of a garbage pick up. I wanted to scream and beat my fists at 
smiling faces. But I was loosing my wrists to the cord the man servant was 
busy tightening and tugging to make sure a girl named Mable did as she was 
told. It's awful to watch a man tie your wrists like that, you can see every 
turn and twist and follow every tug. The slots were two feet apart and, as 
though fascinated, I watched this binding of my hands to the back of a 
vehicle the purpose of which was proclaimed by its smell. Like I said, 
humiliation was the key word for Mable. 

He gave me the usual parting kiss. He had to lean over my bare bound arm to 
do it and I wished most ardently I could refrain from kissing back. But I 
can't! Jeff Dillon is just too damned much for any girl. If the son of a 
bitch had asked me to, I likely would have walked behind the garbage cart 
all day without a single rope binding me just to please him. I watched 
departing back with the same dolor as the last two days. No one was in a 
hurry. I suspected garbage pickup in this country was as lazy an affair as 
everything else. I stood there naked for servants to leer at, pretending I 
didn't notice but actually on fire with shame. 

I wouldn't have minded a tree or stake or post so much but a lousy garbage 
cart... ! I tugged at my wrists but only hurt them, they were there to stay. 
And, like a good little girl, I would follow where they led. 

The driver was a bony young bundle of mischief who possessed enough English 
to assure me he would attend to me carnally later in the day. He also waved 
a homemade whip and assured me I would feel its bite if I was not well 
behaved. The least offensive answer I could manage was an insincere, "Thank 
you." My spirits were at a low, low ebb. 

We did a me Tarzan, you Jane routine before the cart jolted into motion. His 
name was Japhet. It was a beastly day. I walked, I stood still. Either way I 
got tired. I was jeered at, I was discussed. Japhet seemed immensely proud 
of me and the attention I evoked. He assured me earnestly he had not 
previously had a white woman bound to the end of his cart. I gathered that, 
had he not been scared of retribution, he would have rented me out to 
interested parties along the routine. I sensed I was never far from being 
gang-banged by a bunch of the boys whose nightshirt garments all needed 
laundering. As Japhet slowly filled his cart, the stench became an 
affliction I could not escape. I got a full blast of the offal and refuse 
all the time. Prince Hadji would be laughing at my wrinkled up nose and 
ineffectual tugs to free my hands. A final humiliation came when, heavily 
loaded, we reached the garbage dump. Japhet, by some miracle of his own, 
removed the tail gate to which I was securely bound and let me hang on to it 
while the donkey backed the cart into position and the load was dumped. The 
tailgate was heavy enough to compel me to kneel and balance it with me tied 
wrists. The tail gate, with me attached, was then replaced and fastened once 
again before we departed for another load. 

At noon I was given a drink of water while Japhet filled himself in a sleazy 
tavern and the donkey ate from a nose bag carried for his lunch. Apparently 
naked women bound to the tails of carts had no need for lunch. 

The afternoon was like the morning but with one exception. Japhet drove his 
cart and me down a rutted lane heavily overgrown with foliage. Drew it to a 
halt and announced proudly that my time had come. He didn't announce it 
quite like that but the end result was the same. My heart beat high because 
I didn't see how he could achieve his purpose without untying me, and if I 
was untied, I could strike him with any object handy. There were a few 
tempting rocks handy. Then I'd be home free, only having to find an British 
consulate. Boy, what a lovely dream that was! 

Grinning his widest grin, Japhet inserted himself between my bound arms. He 
had divested himself of his single garment to show me a stiff rod of which 
he was justifiably proud. He now grasped my bottom cheeks and lifted me from 
the ground. All these damned men were surprisingly strong and I couldn't do 
a thing to stop him. Having gotten me to a sufficient elevation, he lowered 
me onto my fate and proceeded to give me what he described as "real good 
jig-a-jig." I had heard about this method but never really believed it 
practical. Japhet proved it was. Once more in my mind's eye I could see 
Prince Hadji El Kabar laughing his head off. When I'd been jiggered to a 
fair-thee-well, we resumed our collection of garbage. 

This was a humiliation plus. 

 CHAPTER TEN - POOR ANGELA 

With the blast of Hadji's whistle all hell broke loose. Half the supposed 
clients turned out to be Hadji's men. They made short work of the 
auctioneers. The real and very startled clients were herded out the front 
door and bid farewell. His Highness then came to me, lifted me from the 
platform, had a minion lock leg irons on my ankles, and then said, "Beloved 
child, I could not let this happen." 

Within thirty minutes his Highness, Prince Hadji El Kabar, had complete 
control of Castle Cranston. He held a meeting with the staff, briefed them 
on their new duties, raised their wages ten percent, and assured them of job 
security. His interests and mine were actually downstairs. 

Hadji had seen Mable's nine barred beauties before. He kept squeezing my 
bare arm to assure me I was something special. I'll admit at this point I 
was glad to be a strong man's "something special." There are times when a 
man's firm fingers on her arm are appreciated. The girls were looking 
scared, alarmed by the disposal of their guards by Hadji's men, but the most 
scared of the lot was Wilma, still gagged and bound and obviously not one of 
the group. She caught Hadji's eye instantly. In type casting Wilma could 
have been a stand-in for Mable. Both had that maturity much valued by the 
Prince. Jessie had been promoted to Wilma's former authority and now, at 
Hadji's command, unlocked the cage door. Hadji beckoned imperiously and 
Wilma stepped forward to meet her new master. Hadji gave her short shift. 
"You betrayed you trust woman?" 

"Well, if that's the way you want to put it." Wilma was already smelling 
doom. 

"Your mistress treated you well, did she not?" 

"Yes." 

"Yet you betrayed her. Why?" 

"Just dumb, I guess," Wilma admitted frankly, knowing herself already 
condemned. 

"Can you give me a good reason why you should not be whipped?" 

"I'll be a good servant to you, I could be useful." 

"I'll sure you will be. You will not receive the reward of treachery." Hadji 
motioned to a couple of his men. 

The nine girls, as though by instinct, arranged themselves in a circle 
around the cage but within the confinement of its bars. Wilma had already 
lost her gag, the ropes on her arms were now sliced away and they were 
hoisted high enough so her wrists could be bound above our heads. Released, 
she hung suspended and I knew how her wrists must feel. Wilma was no longer 
a slip of a girl, she was a woman who weighted more than any of the nine who 
watched. Hadji still held my arm. I could feel the quickening of his pulse 
as his chosen servant found the whip and took position behind Wilma's nude 
body. Her gag had been removed to permit the interrogation, it was now 
tightly strapped back in place. Her eyes implored but found no sympathy from 
any corner. 

I hated Wilma's whipping, feeling each blow myself. She became a heaving, 
twisting bundle of breasts, legs and ass. The whipmaster was expert and 
produced the most horrible snaps, cracks and other sounds of impact to make 
each girl curl up inside. With a man like Hadji a girl could not be sure she 
would not be chosen next. I watched the nine, they were fascinated but 
frightened. I suppose that about described me, too. 

There were times when Wilma simply gave up and hung limp as the leather 
thudded on her flesh or snapped wickedly within the private places she could 
not hide. Then, under the impetus of unendurable pain, she would start her 
struggled all over again, raising and lowering herself in a futile hope of 
evading the thong. She could not scream but there were sounds from the 
pent-up agony behind the gag. He eyes were frantic and forever fixed upon 
the man who held my arm, as though hoping the prince might relent in the 
presence of such anguish and call a halt. Soon Wilma was sweat soaked and 
etched in scarlet. Her skin was very white and marked most vividly. I heard 
Hadji's nostrils flare, his breath quickening and his grip on my arm become 
harder. I dared not say a word, I simply watched and hoped it would soon 
end. Wilma may have been a bitch but I wouldn't wish this on anyone. 

The delinquent woman, hanging there from the apex of the cage, got her full 
deserts. No nuance was over looked. With no need of instruction, the whipper 
cut neatly at each swelling curve of breast, belly and thigh. I could well 
guess that her agony was the greater for the imposition of the gag, it helps 
to be able to scream. Who would know better than I? When Wilma was lowered 
to the floor and her punishment over, Hadji did a surprising thing. He 
gathered the quaking, sweating, and utterly submissive woman in his arms and 
carried her from the cage and the dungeon. The servant closed the locked the 
cage door and Jessie blew me a kiss. The big cage now held ten girls. We 
were alone. 

I became the center of attention. Nine agitated young woman clustered around 
to impose their assorted scents and perfumes to my nostrils. I suppose I 
gave them mine in return. It had been an intensely erotic and emotion to 
which our secretions responded lavishly. I brought them up to date on what 
had happened in the great hall and the possibilities of what might happen 
now. Their reactions were diverse. 

"We might have been better off to have been sold." 

"Will he take us back where he came from and put us in a dungeon with 
Mable?" 

"Is whipping girls this man's only enjoyment?" 

"How does he treat you, darling, when he gets you alone?" 

I did my best but right there I knew nothing more of the situation than 
they. I was concerned about my own fate. The best I could hope for would be 
to be taken back to Hadji's country and painfully whipped before being taken 
back to my little stone column. I thought longingly of Jeffery Dillon. 

We milled about in our cage and did the usual things. All the nine were 
secured with were handcuffs but I had the additional leg irons which clanked 
and clinked whenever I walked. It was not too long before Jessie reappeared 
and beckoned me to the bars. "He's taken Wilma to bed!" she imparted 
breathlessly. "I would have thought he would have taken you. What's he done 
with Mable?" 

"I briefed Jessie, too, and tried to explain Prince Hadji's little weakness 
for the curves of mature woman. It wasn't that either Wilma or Mable were 
middle aged but they were separated from the rest of us by enough years to 
acquire a voluptuousness all their own. The news about Wilma gave me 
something to think about. But I wasted no time in asking Jessie to unlock 
the door and let all of us go. 

"I can't, Angela, he took away the key," she mourned. 

"You could come with us," I offered. "We'll look after you. See if you can't 
steal the key." I was surprised Jessie wasn't in the cage with us. Take away 
her clothes and she would have fitted in fine and made number eleven. But I 
suppose Hadji needed someone who knew her way around and admired and feared 
his magnificence to obey. After Jessie was gone there was nothing we could 
do but sit and wait, the bars of the cage looked thicker and heavier than 
ever. 

I will have to admit to disappointment in my might. After us inmates of the 
cage had been fed and watered, I had expected to be singled out for the 
chain and collar on the big four-poster but nothing happened. Jessie did 
whisper to me that his Highness was still entertaining himself with whatever 
charms he perceived in Wilma. He was evidently smitten and I could vividly 
imagine her spread out on her whipped back and bottom to receive and 
unending proof of Prince Hadji's immense virility. Damn it! To have to envy 
Wilma was a humiliation for a girl. But I kept my own console. Even Hadji 
could not spread his virility far enough to encompass all ten of us in the 
cage. The question was what would he do with all of us? I could see another 
auction in our future. A future in bondage loomed for us all. I slept with 
the girls in the usual pile of breasts and buttocks where I felt strangely 
at home. 

The nine inmates of the cage had long ago adjusted to loss of freedom and 
handcuffed wrists. They could now make jokes about their plight and 
speculate about lost lives and loves. The main drama of their day was the 
hosing down which was the only bath they usually got and to which they were 
led, their necks collared to the long chain. I hadn't realized there was 
room for me too but there was. I was the last in line as Hadji's men, under 
Jessie's supervision, made certain we were clean. I need hardly tell you no 
part of our persons was ignored by the icy jet of water. When they 
discovered the leg irons hindered the spreading of my legs, they took them 
from me, which goes to prove there are compensations to all things. I spread 
my legs obediently and was brutally hosed in my private places. Some girls 
manage to stand still for this but I couldn't. When we had toweled each 
other dry we were led, not back to the cage, but to the great hall where we 
were lined up in front of the platform, not yet dismantled, to be briefed 
upon our fate. With a man on guard at each end of the long chain, there was 
not much we could do but stand still and hope. 

It was the strangest feeling to be linked to my neighbor by our necks. Each 
of us continually felt the tethering chains as if to assure ourselves we 
were truly helpless. It was amusing to note that when Prince Hadji El Kabar 
mounted the platform, every female hand rose to cover a breast before the 
owner blushed and let it fall limply. 

Prince Hadji looked us up and down. It must be wonderful to have power like 
that and own naked girls who had to do whatever you told them. I wondered 
what had become of Wilma, she wasn't padlocked on the chain. Hadji was 
enjoying the whole thing, especially keeping us in suspense. But he finally 
got around to explaining we were all his property and if we didn't want what 
we had witnessed Wilma get we would be very good girls indeed. Darling Hadji 
admitted he was still uncertain what to do with us, a sort of "never had so 
many been owned by so few. " He admitted to a difficult decision between 
keeping us in the big cage here at Cranston and taking us back to his 
palace. I felt the long chain tense as he mentioned the latter. The poor 
darling girls were sick to death of the cage and their handcuffs and would 
welcome some north African sunlight. He blandly went on to explain how each 
of us would receive a mild whipping to induce a proper state of mind towards 
our new owner. A modicum of respect he believed could be achieved by no 
other means than by rod or whip. He told us hurriedly not to be alarmed, 
none of us would be hurt. Another tremor passed through the chain told me 
the girls weren't too sure about his statement. I looked down at my bronze 
bracelets and wondered if I would ever be free again. I wanted to cry. 

Hadji painted a glowing picture of how fortunate a girl was to be a slave in 
his country, specially if her master happened to be Prince Hadji El Kabar. 
He would torment us tenderly and, whenever a suitable offer was made for 
anyone of us, he would graciously accept it (if it were big enough) and 
allow them to proceed on to a new and wonderful lush life in the Middle 
East. Then he thoughtfully added that any girl who failed to find favor with 
anyone could always be disposed of to a brothel, of which it appeared he 
owned several. By now our chain was positively humming with vibrations. 

Hadji intoned a hope we would all be happy in our new condition. He then 
motioned to the two guards. 

I could guess what was coming. The long chain was stretched between two 
pillars in the great hall and fastened uncomfortably tight. We had to stand 
erect with our chins up and our handcuffs, now replaced, where ever we felt 
like holding our hands while being whipped. Prince Hadji went up and down 
the line, slashing joyously at female rumps or backs as might please his 
fancy. When he had whipped his way to me our eyes met briefly but in his I 
saw no freedom. I turned my head away while I received my pain. I hate 
watching myself whipped. Hadji gave me a most merciful cut across both 
cheeks of my bottom before moving back to girl number one. In its way it is 
both merciful and bloody awful to be whipped like that. You had to wait in 
suspense as you turn came closer and closer with each impact. On the other 
hand, you do have a long pause between stroke in which recover and feel your 
weals. Today Hadji was either very merciful or couldn't spare the time. All 
each girl received was five strokes. Since each girl, including me, was used 
to the whip there were no hysterics and no fainting. Ten girls now had 
smarting bottoms, that was all! 

As we were marshaled, still padlocked and collared on the long chain. I will 
admit to pique. I had expected recognition and perhaps a special status. 
Something had changed and gone all wrong and I didn't know what. I now 
wished devoutly I had made good my escape when I got off the plane and not 
bothered with Cranston at all. But that was past and I was now crammed into 
the waiting van along with the other nine. We had to sit on each other and 
our chains kept getting in the way but we were soon sitting in the gloom to 
a destination we could guess. 

I adore girls. I longed to make love to each of the nine poor darlings 
before it was too late. If we were sold, it would certainly be to a male 
purchaser and thereafter there might be no girl in our life at all. I think 
the others felt the same, there was a lot of kissing and other endearments 
only barely possible in the clutch of chain and collar and handcuff. When 
the door opened at the abandoned air base and I saw Hadji's shinning jet I 
knew I was about to loose my homeland again. So was the others but from them 
came a chattering excitement in something new after their cage. We were 
marshaled in military fashion to a single file, it was actually a slavegirl 
line, and then led with the ever present threat of a whip to the waiting 
door of Hadji's huge jet. It looked very familiar inside and I obediently 
sat where directed and told the girl beside me not to worry because 
everything would be all right, I had been this way before. The poor girl 
looked at me in positive awe. 

Not of us were whipped during the journey. I had supposed Hadji would pass 
the hours by giving us another burning bottom. But Hadji was not to be seen. 
If he were on the plane he must be in the private compartment. This led me 
to a disbelieving wonderment about Wilma. Wilma had not been on the chain 
and Wilma was not in view now. Was it possible she was closeted with the 
Prince! It didn't seem possible because, by our standards, Wilma no way 
rated along with any one of us. She was not a feminine package worthy of a 
prince. But she was not in sight, nor was Hadji. It left me wondering. 

All journeys end. This one did. We were all irritable from inaction and our 
chains, after you've worn an iron collar long enough it begins to chaff and 
give you dark hints of worse to come. But on arrival, we were again 
marshaled into a similar van and had a similarly uncomfortable journey to 
the palace. Even there we were not unlocked, it appeared there was a 
function we must attend. It the palace grounds I knew so well, but which 
were strange and wonderful to the others, we were again lined in single file 
and marched towards a naked woman who knelt to face a small wooden structure 
into which her hands and wrists were firmly held. It was, of course, the 
Honorable Mable, who else! She greeted me with a wan, shamed smile and 
nodded at her fastened arms which I now saw were ingeniously captured 
between two pieces of heavy wood nailed together as though they were never 
intended to part again. We were instructed to march slowly before her 
kneeling placed and, on drawing level, to pause and give greeting. I could 
imagine how the poor darling would shrivel up inside from a humiliation such 
as this. I said my "Hello, Mable" and then moved up a pace or two to 
position the girl chained next. She said her "Hello, Mistress" and the two 
of us moved on. Thus it went until ten girls had passed the former mistress 
of Cranston Castle who knelt in shameful nakedness and must endure the looks 
in the eyes of nine maiden's she once held in thrall. The padlocks were then 
unlocked and the chain fell to the ground. I then did not know the fate of 
the nine but I was escorted to my awaiting pillar far out on the grass and 
there, collared and chained as once before, I was left to compound my own 
furious speculations as to what was happening elsewhere. I tugged at the 
chain in anguish before relapsing into remembered helplessness and sitting 
down to lean by back against the stone. 

Hadji kept me there two whole days and night but had the decency not to 
leave me in chained isolation. He actually allowed the nine to visit me, two 
at a time and accompanied by a pair of hard-nosed guards. For the privilege 
of this diversion, each girl was obliged to have her hands locked behind her 
back and wear leg irons. But I'll be damned if they didn't envy me! They 
said how nice it must be out there among the trees and grass and sunlight. 
Whereas they had been gathered into a vast stone chamber and there collared 
and chained to the wall on both sides far enough apart so as to preclude 
sexual pleasures. If they stretched hard at their chains, they could just 
touch hands. Hadji was laughing up his sleeve. 

The girls and I hadn't much to talk about because we didn't know our fate. 
They hadn't seen Wilma nor had I. So we talked as best we could and wondered 
about the fate of our beloved mistress, Mable. None of them were mad at her, 
just sorry. But we were never left along for lone. The guards soon tired and 
hurried them along back to the waiting stone chamber and their collars. The 
poor girls must have thought themselves in a rut, they envied me my relative 
freedom. 

But my entertainment took another form, a typically Hadji pleasantry. Each 
day an ancient gentlemen the local nightshirt came and explained he had to 
give me ten strokes with a whip and would I please assume what ever position 
I wanted. I got the impression they figured I was being treated with extreme 
gentleness. Having experienced this before I lay flat face down upon the 
grass and buried my face within my chained hands while they beat at me with 
monotonous precision and sometimes made me scream. A whip upon a girl's 
naked skin can be terrible! 

This happened to me both days, my whipping by the same man each time who 
tried to convey an impression of utter boredom. I was grateful he didn't not 
violate me as well. 

On the morning of the third day it actually happened. I was forever looking 
towards the palace in hopes of either release or an interesting visitor when 
I saw a fully dressed woman positively leaping in my direction The clothes 
fooled me. It was not until she got really close I recognized the Honorable 
Mable. She was panting but radiant. Whatever had happened to her since we 
were last together must have been happily beneficial, I'd never seen her 
look better. It was not until she threw her arms around me in a great bear 
hug and kissed me avidly, that she proclaimed, "Darling, the most wonderful 
thing, you'll never believe!" I realized then that she was unhampered by any 
trace of chain or rope or strap. The Honorable Mable was free! 

When our delight in each other cooled, I asked, I fear with a trace of 
bitterness, "You going some place, darling?" 

"Of course not, who'd want to leave this gorgeous place? Oh, darling, you 
won't believe this but Jeffery Dillon and I are going to be married. " She 
must have caught the shadows crossing my face because she asked, "You aren't 
jealous, are you? Please don't be jealous!" 

I said I wasn't jealous and managed to make myself believe it. I suddenly 
had a sense of things happening, things which would surely not leave me 
here, chained and collared to this stone. Hopefully anticipating I held out 
my locked hand to ask, "Can you unlock these bracelets, darling?" 

"No. I don't have the key. But I do have the key to your collar, you're 
going back with me." 

After that announcement it was all pure joy. We loved and reveled on the 
green grass until I thought to ask, "But will Hadji release you and what's 
he doing with Wilma?" 

"That's what's so wonderful, darling," Mable said. "Hadji's fallen head over 
heels in love with Wilma and the poor girl's going to be whipped everyday 
for the rest of her life. It seems she and I have somewhat similar 
figures...!" 

I absorbed more shock to ask timidly, "Do I fit in anywhere in all of this?" 

"Darling, of course you do!" I was once more kissed and hugged. Mable did 
all the work because it's difficult to hug when your hands are chained 
together. "Darling Jeffery wants you and I want you, too. Hadji is so damned 
happy with Wilma he's renounced all claims in return for me leaving my nine 
darlings with him to be sold when profitable." She sniffed disdainfully. "He 
can trade them for his silly old oil instead of kidnapping you and me... " 

"But, Mable, if you want me and Jeff wants me... " 

"Darling, don't look so puzzled, it's very simple. We take you back to 
Cranston with us and share you! We'll love you to bits! And you'll have to 
do everything we tell you. Gosh, we're lucky!" 

I could see Mable was lucky, and maybe Jeff, but I wasn't sure about myself. 
To get time to think I asked, "You really mean Hadji's let you go because 
he's got Wilma? Just let you go free?" 

"Well, there is one small condition." Mable's face clouded only slightly. "I 
have to have this terrible whipping. He says he will be terribly severe with 
me which means it will be bloody awful." She sighed as though utterly 
content. "That's all there is, darling. Jeffery takes us both back to 
Cranston and I'll have a sort seat on the plane but thereafter we'll make 
you the happiest girl alive, I promise." 

"When are you getting married?" 

"Tomorrow, right after I've been whipped. It is a bit cruel but it tickles 
Hadji's sense of humor and we want to keep him happy. Jeff agrees to my 
getting this whipping but says it's the last time he'll sacrifice me to 
Hadji's ambitions, the same applies to you. Darling, we're home free." 

I was still handcuffed, but walking back over the grass with Mable I became 
infected with her joy and realized I no longer need think of escape or yearn 
for lost freedom, that was over! But I still retained a doubt. "But, Mable 
darling, this whipping you have to get, are you sure it's wise? If it's for 
the last time, I'll bet he'll really lay it on." 

"I'll take the chance. It will be easier when I think of Jeff and me 
standing up before the minister soon afterwards." 

"Can I be your bride's maid?" 

"That's already arranged, darling. But I did forget to tell you, Hadji's 
going to whip you, too. And for the same reasons. But he's promised it won't 
be nearly as severe as mine. I think he feels he owes you that. " I didn't 
mind at all. I must be crazy! 

Mable and I were locked in a cage that night heavily ironed at neck, ankle, 
wrist and waist. We had to suppose it was Hadji's farewell. We could not 
even be kind to each other, the chains would not permit. Once more I 
envisioned Hadji's laughing face, but probably the sleep did us good, what 
awaited us in the new day set us both to trembling. We were to be whipped in 
the same room and were taken there when released from the cage and chains. 
We were free and unfettered, an augury of things to come. There was already 
an occupant of the painful room. It was darling Wilma, hung up by her thumbs 
and awaiting the whip we would all of us soon feel. By the time I'd been 
suspended by my wrists half an hour and Hadji finally showed up, I simply 
wanted to be whipped and get it over. Jeff wasn't there. This was Hadji's 
last hurrah. We were all his. We looked at the whip but did not plead. Wilma 
was gagged so she would not talk to us or plead with her master. Without 
primarily nonsense Hadji went to work on us and whipped me until I screamed 
and screamed. Finally, after an eternity, I was abandoned and he turned all 
his attentions to poor Mable. She was less vocal than I but after a while 
screamed out her own anguish and distress. The poor darling was pretty far 
gone when he finally halted. But he was right there with the brandy bottle 
and even I got a good shot of it. As her feet hit the floor, Mable perked, 
she could see daylight ahead. Wilma looked at us with a longing all her own. 

It was unanimously decided I would be a handcuffed bride's maid so I wore my 
bronze handcuffs down the aisle and throughout the entire ceremony. The 
minister must have been briefed for he didn't bat an eye during the ceremony 
even when asked for the ring to be affixed upon Mable's finger he saw that 
she, too, was handcuffed in bronze. It left me wondering what it would be 
like to be Mrs. Jeffery Dillon. I guess now I'll never know. 

Hadji had sprung for a really marvelous wedding breakfast with all nine of 
Mable's former darlings in attendance. We ate and drank and loved each other 
until it was time to go. Mable and I relinquished the bronze loveliness from 
our wrists and saw them safely packed away. The farewells were touching and 
brought a few tears and a lot of kisses. During the plane ride home I was in 
a dither of dreams and I think Mable was too. Jeffery Dillon simply wore his 
complacent smile. Damn it, he owned us both! Why wouldn't he be happy! 

Cranston greeted us like a warm blanket on a cold night. With its beloved 
mistress back and in full charge and minus any restraints of any kind, the 
whole place seemed to vibrate and glow with good will. The only one 
uncertain about the whole thing was me. Mable had the most glorious of men 
but I didn't have a man at all. As though to foster uneasy I went downstairs 
to the big cage which was now entirely empty but full of memories. Looking 
through its bars I shivered and had a vision of myself chained and alone and 
locked within. Quickly I fled back upstairs. 

Bed time brought me something else to mourn, no collar, no chain, no man 
beside me in bed. But I was allotted the loveliest bedroom and after I 
undressed was visited by Mable who was still bubbling over and once more lit 
my fire. She said, "You won't mind, will you," as she locked the bronze 
circles back upon my wrists. Then she laid me down and made me very happy in 
a girl-girl union I had not expected. When I returned from rainbow land, my 
ankles were leg-ironed. But I didn't mind and went happily to sleep all 
alone. 

The next morning no one seemed to want to unlock my hands or feet or give me 
clothes. Both Jeff and Mable kept telling me how wonderful it all was and 
how happy I would be. I was still bemused and bewildered enough to agree 
with them. The bronze bracelets and leg irons were nothing new. I asked them 
about the big cage down stairs but was told it would remain empty unless I 
entered of my own will for brief visits. This was all a month ago and I 
suppose I really am very happy. 

I think. 


THE END
