### HIT-182 ###
Travail
By F.E. Campbell


CHAPTER ONE - PUZZLED PRISONER

It had become an automatic reflex for Megan Summers to twist and tug at corded wrists 
as she gazed without favor at the man who had bound her thus. The tone of her irritation was 
that of a wife chiding an insensitive husband.

“I don’t see why you tie me like this. Fixing my hands behind my back is just plain mean. I 
don’t see why you can’t handcuff me all the time instead of this twine which you know 
damned well hurts.”

“Not if you don’t struggle, pretty girl.” Joshua Morgan surveyed his most prized 
possession with a indulgent eye.

“You know I’ll struggle, struggling comes naturally. Have a heart. Josh, untie me … please?”

The dark but friendly features of The Male surveyed the troubled nudity with approval. His 
captive’s motions of revolt against the cords enhanced the contours by which she proclaimed 
her sex with every twist and turn. Brown eyes laughed with quite pleasure as he watched the 
daughter of Preston Summers strive to rid herself of the cords he had applied with such 
cunning.

“By now you ought to know when you are well off.” His voice held the timber of a 
Barbados ancestor, an origin belied by shark skin pants and silk shirt. “Beefing the way you do 
gets me to thinking about tying your pretty elbows. How would you like that?”

Megan Summers snorted in reply. Sitting back disgusted as she ceased her fruitless effort. 
“Joshua Morgan, you’re a plain son of a bitch,” she said decisively. “Why don’t you send me 
home. You’ve owned me for months and months, I would have thought you would tire of me 
by now. Or are you still working on ‘The Black Man’s Revenge on the wicked whites’?”

The man and the woman had fallen into this easy exchange of insults in much the same 
manner as a married couple in spite of the pains of punishment the girl had borne since she 
had been purchased by the man she thought of as a black but now beheld as more than half 
white, a magnificent physical specimen. She had been afraid of him at first but the fear was 
gone, replaced by much the same tolerance as Morgan bestowed upon her. Morgan was a 
power in the islands, a force from which she no longer expected to escape. There had been 
times enough when she had sought freedom but each had brought her only the agony of a 
whip upon bare skin. The succession of thrashings should have engendered nothing but hate 
towards this man by whom she was to totally owned. From the very first, Joshua Morgan had 
exacted a conqueror’s tribute from her body, a carnal infliction she had at first loathed but 
now desired with an obsessive longing which rarely went unsatisfied. Megan Summers had 
become shameless in her acceptance of the thralldom the brown-eyed man imposed. The 
easy familiarity Morgan permitted was all she had left of pride and position and wealth.

“Why do you call me ‘pretty girl’?” she asked without concern. “I would have thought it 
inappropriate.”

“It would have been when I first got you, it isn’t now. The punishments you’ve earned have
made you far more female than you ever knew.”

“Then why not tell me I’m beautiful?”

“We both know you’re a beauty, leave it be. Your figure has become exquisite under my 
treatment.”

“You mean those skinny little meals? Gee, thanks!”

“Stand up. I’ve decided to tie your elbows. A bit of rope around those pretty arms makes 
you ten times the woman. And I don’t want any beefing.”

Megan knew Morgan was well aware of how hard it was for her to remain silent at such a 
time. But she also knew it as a moment for obedience. The whip and the cane, even though 
not visible, were a constant factor in every decision she was forced to make. With a docility 
she did not feel, she stood erect in all her lovely nakedness to present a bare back and two 
bare arms in mute acceptance of whatever her master chose to inflict, biting her lips as the 
first loop circled and bit hard.

“I never tire of doing this to you,” Joshua Morgan confided as he forced the elbows closer 
and closer together and clamped them tight with the cut of cord. “I like to see your shoulders 
drawn back and your tits stick out in front. You’ve become lean and hard since I bought you 
but I’ll swear your breasts are bigger and more firm. How’s this feel?”

“It’s tight.”

“But you’re not complaining?”

“I haven’t said a word. If you tie my arms any tighter I expect I can manage a few tears.”

Morgan turned the cruelly helpless girl to face him. He then playfully pinched each erect 
nipple before enclosing Miss Megan Summers within his arm while his other hand grasped 
and cupped the soft, moist mound of her sex. “This bother you?” he inquired without concern.

“It did once, not any more. I suppose it belongs to you the same as the rest of me.”

“You’re not going to tell me you don’t enjoy it.”

“So, okay, I enjoy it! If you want to lay me down and fuck me, I’ll enjoy that, too. Damn it, 
I’ve got to get some enjoyment someplace.”

Joshua Morgan gently patted the portion of Megan under discussion before thrusting her 
to stand as he desired. “I’m going to sit and enjoy you, pretty girl. Stand as you are but every 
minute of two I want a slow turn to show me the whole of you and your cords. Understand?”

It was one of Joshua Morgan’s favorite tricks, hurting and humiliation while demanding a 
total compliance. He did if often and Miss Megan Summers had schooled herself to cautiously
tailored replies to his quiet mockery, bitterly remembering the slashing cuts across her skin by 
which her earlier pleadings and protests had been rewarded. Hating the thought, she knew 
herself conditioned.

Morgan had built himself a mansion on one of the lessor islands, one small wing of which 
was divided from the main structure by bolted doors and barred windows. It was as lovely as 
the rest and within his security he kept whatever slave maiden or maidens he currently 
possessed. For months it had belonged to Megan alone as she had fought frustration after 
frustration in testing its potential for escape. There was none!

During the times he left his prisoner alone she had fought every lock and bar in a pathetic 
conviction that surely one would yield! None ever had. She had discovered a well-stocked 
wardrobe and plenty of erotic and sexy underthings, all of which she was free to wear when 
she was alone. But woe to her if Morgan should return to find her clothed. Morgan demanded
her at all times naked. In the basement floor below were the cells and room of punishment.

It was a strange scene, the girl standing erect, her belly taut, her breasts out-thrust, her 
arms unmoving within the ropes deeply indented in her flesh, her hands passively helpless 
beneath the neat bands of tight strictures. Joshua Morgan sat and drank in his creation in 
pure reverence of beauty.

Paying to her conqueror the obedience she knew his due, the young woman who had 
once been the President of The Triangle Group allowed her thoughts to wander.

It had been so difficult at first to find herself naked and bound and totally at the mercy of 
a man she despised but later came to respect. The corporate office and its executive suite had 
filled her mind in those first days with longing and an illogical hope of rescue. Her father was a
powerful man, Preston Summers could pull many strings. But the more his daughter 
considered her plight, the more evident it became that Preston Summers, with all his wealth, 
would be powerless to discover where she was being held captive. There was no link between 
her initial kidnapping and her sale a few days later to the man who owned her now. From 
being a female force in California’s financial world, Miss Megan Summers had become a little 
girl far from home, a lovely maiden kept always bound or chained or handcuffed as her 
master might demand. As the weeks and months had swept by and punishment after 
punishment been inflicted upon her naked body, the executive had disappeared to be 
replaced by a pliant girl to whom freedom was a dream and who’s sex throbbed yearningly for
the thrusts of a man whom she would once have refused the time of day.

Megan’s thoughts dwelt often with her younger sister in a bitter self-condemnation of the 
judgment by which she and Amaril were held in bondage. True, the younger girl was in love 
with the blonde giant who held the key to whatever irons he imposed upon beloved limbs. 
Amaril might have a better chance of escape but that was a slender hope for a girl held 
captive upon a ship at sea. She had once condemned Amaril for her obedience to the master 
she served. But was Megan much better? She dared refuse Morgan nothing of herself, finding 
in his supple strength a solace for lost liberty. Amaril would work out her destiny as best she 
could and so would Megan.

Megan and her master were in the lounge of what she thought of as

“The Prison”. Save for the barred windows, it was as luxurious as all the rest of the mansion
it’s owner chose to name “Morganpride.” Its owner now rose with his careless motions to mix 
drinks at the bar and to hold one of them against the ripe, red lips of the captive girl who 
gave him pleasure. Megan gulped while she had the chance before Morgan returned to his 
chair and quiet reflection.

Along with the other scenes within her mind lurked the fearsome memory of the first time 
the whip had marked her skin. Megan had earned the punishment by a stupid attempt at 
escape but had always suspected she received the pain as a lesson in humility, the whole affair
being conducted with deliberate emphasis upon her careless sin, the careful description of the
punishment coming before the equally careful binding of her hands above her head to 
compel her to stand in fearful anticipation of the searing scold of Joshua Morgan’s 
displeasure.

It proved so much worse than she had every dreamed. The first cut of leather across her 
back induced shocked immobility while seeking words graphic enough to tell the man holding
the whip she could not possibility stand another stroke, that he must forget such drastic 
punishment and forgive her the remaining nineteen stripes of her sentence. But the second 
blow rid her mind of everything except a need to scream and scream again which she did 
most lustily while fighting uselessly the cord-captured wrists above her head. Her master, with 
careful knowledge of his task, cut his leather thong deep into protesting flesh whenever its 
owner drew breath to denounce or to protest. The impossible strokes had mounted one by 
one until the tenth brought a brief pause in which Megan stood naked and sweating, her 
mind in chaos.

“Learning your lesson, pretty girl?”

“I can’t stand this! You have to stop! You have to, it’s too awful, you’ll kill me.”

“You’re doing fine, pretty girl. In fact, you’re putting on such a good show, I’m tempted to 
make it forty instead of twenty. How would that grab you?”

“I’d die! Oh, please, sir, not any more. Please, not any more. Don’t start whipping me 
again.”

Megan remembered the “Sir”. It was all she could think to call Joshua Morgan then in her 
urgent need to please him. But the title of respect had brought her nothing. She remembered 
the amused observations of the man who fully intended to whip her to the bitter end.

“You’re sweating nicely, pretty girl. You don’t need perfume from a bottle, you’ve got your 
own. Keep on twisting the way you’ve been doing. I like it. Come to think of it, I should make 
you say thank you for each one.”

The whip continued its invasion, snapping up its way between her legs to make her squeal 
in anger and dismay. By the time the twenty lashes had all fallen upon her skin, the daughter 
of Preston Summers had ceased to scream and was sobbing bitterly in a panting and winching
tribute to each blow.

Megan found herself alone in the room of punishment when the pain receded enough for 
her to became again aware of her surroundings. He hands were still bound above her head. 
Her body glistened with sweat and was marked with vivid red and purple weals to record the 
places where the blows had landed. Certain her back was bleeding, she looked down but, 
strangely, could see none on the floor.

Megan should have learned her lesson but did not, her keen intelligence nagged always a 
conviction of escape. That first whipping was thus only one of many by which she was finally 
subdued, not broken but resigned to await other opportunities that those offered by her 
prison. But this resignation was not an end to pain. Joshua Morgan caned Megan’s bottom for
any minor infraction of his rules or simply upon caprice. It was now understood she would 
bend to touch her toes whenever so desired, or obediently surrender her wrists and neck for 
the constriction by which she would be held while receiving upon her soft curves the five or 
six imprints of the cane. Between the two of them, and in its own way, Megan’s punishments 
were immensely civilized.

Megan stood erect and hurting, elbows on fire and wrists resigned long enough to 
consume two of the drinks her master offered to her waiting lips. She could not see the clock, 
it might have been an hour but seemed a century, as did all such punishment calling for the 
exercise of will. The end of her humiliating torture came when Josh put down his glass and 
announced suddenly, “I’ve got some business, pretty girl, but you can amuse yourself while 
I’m gone.”

He kissed her gently and once more patted her sex before heading for the door. Megan’s 
cry, “But my elbows are still tied, Josh! You’re not going to leave me like this, are you?” went 
unheeded as the door slammed shut to leave an angry young woman to wonder what she 
might find in her prison to enable her to sever rope.

It had become a rule of Megan’s condition that should she contrive to free herself of 
bonds while thus alone, there would be no penalty. It was a one-sided arrangement, for in the 
whole length of her captivity there had been only once when she had wiggled a wrist free of 
confining cord and was busy working on the rest of them when Joshua Morgan returned to 
catch her in the act. Megan had expected punishment but it was then that he broke the news 
of what he called a sporting deal in which she would have incentive to slip her bonds. Megan 
suspected that one time had been purposely contrived to enable Morgan to make the grand 
gesture but this she would never know. In the meantime she chaffed wrists and ankles 
endlessly in fruitless effort.

The feminine prison was complete in all things, including a kitchen. In the kitchen draw 
were knifes! Megan made her way to back against the counter and to make selection from the
sharp steel found in a draw. This was by no means the first time she had optimistically 
contrived to reach these knifes and failed. Perhaps she would fail yet again. She wondered 
why she bothered but knew the increasing pain of roped elbows would drive her to it later if 
not sooner. After half an hour of frustration she abandoned the whole idea and made her 
customary tour of the prison she now called home.

The barred windows were tantalizing, it would be so easy to break the glass and call out 
for help. She had done this once and been cruelly punished for it. In any case, there were none
to hear and the small population of Lost Island regarded Joshua Morgan as a minor deity and 
would not dream of aiding his prison to escape. Megan then tried the doors but, as usual, all 
were firmly locked. She went upstairs to her bed in disgusted impotence. It was always 
hopeless, always she was held and confined in one way or another. Miss Megan Summers 
shed a few tears before falling asleep in spite of painfully roped arms. Megan and pain had 
become old friends.

Pansy was a tawny young beauty who adored Joshua Morgan to the point of obeying his 
every command and yielding her sex gratefully whenever he so chose to bestow the honor. 
Pansy was one of several maids who attended Morganpride. She was also jailer to Megan, a 
task she enjoyed immensely and abused only at rare intervals. The two girls had contrived a 
grudging friendship, keeping a wary eye upon each other with Megan subject to small 
punishments at the discretion of the mischievous bright-eyed girl who kept her firmly leashed 
as they walked.

The walks in the woods surrounding Morganpride were mostly out of concern for Megan’s
good health. They included sundry exercises and a good deal of running. During these walks 
in the sunlight, the captive’s wrists were always handcuffed behind her back and a ring of steel
encircled her neck by which she could easily be controlled, the steel being thin enough to bite
if harshly tugged by the leash Pansy so pridefully controlled. The dark-skinned girl also blithely
carried a thin riding crop of which Megan was always painfully aware.

The two girls were seated, panting and sweating after a hard run beneath hot sun, upon a 
fallen log with Pansy holding forth upon her favorite subject.

“Mister Morgan, he far too kind to you, Megan Summers.” Pansy was resentful. “He ought 
to whip your pretty ass a whole lot more than he does.” She sighed. “I wish he’d tell me to do 
it, I sure do love whipping your bottom, Megan Summers. You makes the cutest noises.”

Megan was accustomed to these excursions into fantasy. “Can’t you think of something 
other than whipping me?” she replied. “You wouldn’t like if I talked about whipping you all the
time.”

“Yes I would, Megan Summers. There ain’t nothing so exciting as getting your ass whipped
or caned or even spanked. Just thinking about it gets me all wet. How about you?”

“I’m not as lucky as you, Pansy, I don’t have any hands to feel myself. I don’t suppose 
you’d like to change them back to front?”

“You know I wouldn’t, Megan Summers, ain’t no way I’d do a thing like that. You stay fixed 
the way Mister Morgan says. Come on, we got to do some more running, I got to make you 
really sweat.”

“Would a million dollars interest you, Pansy? I could make sure you would get that much if 
you helped me to the U.S.?”

“No it wouldn’t interest me. I would probably be dead,” Pansy retorted while giving a tug 
on her leash. “I ought to tell the boss you tried to bribe me. If I did he’d whip you raw. Don’t 
you ask that stuff no more.”

Megan sighed. It was always the same. Between her and freedom were walls she could not
counter. Disgustedly she got to her feet and ran hard and fast beside the girl who held her 
leash.

Megan’s only restriction at dinner was the handcuffs locked tight upon her wrists. They no 
longer matter, she was accustomed to using two hands instead of one. The bombshell came 
with a hardening of her master’s voice.

“Pansy tells me you tried a bride. Upped it to a million dollars. Damn it, girl, when will you 
learn!”

“But she said she wouldn’t tell you!” Megan bit her lips. “Don’t hold it against me, I’ve a 
right to try.”

“Not while you belong to me, you don’t. I don’t want any girl I’m fucking steady running 
around trying to bribe my servants. Don’t you realize what a load you’ve put on the poor girl? 
She wants a million bucks as much as anybody. But she understands what loyalty is, seems like
you don’t.”

“I suppose I have to be whipped?”

“Damn right you do! Seems like the only same place for you is in a cell”

They stared, neither hating or loving but in some other relationship that might best be 
called master/slave or captor/captive. Megan said brokenly, “I’m sorry, Josh. I really am. I acted
thoughtlessly and I suppose I deserve the whipping I’m going to get.” She gazed in wide-eyed
appeal. “But just the same I’m going to ask you not to whip me. I don’t think it helps anything 
to be whipped. I’ve been whipped so many times already. Please forgive me.”

She saw his features soften. Josh Morgan liked his women humble. Shrugging, as though 
to rid himself of a heavy load, he said harshly, “I won’t whip you now, you can think about it. 
Maybe I’ll never whip you at all. For the moment you’re forgiven.”

“Oh, Josh….” Megan’s relief was too great for words. “I know I’m a bitch but I hate being 
whipped so damned bad.”

Morgan grunted acknowledgment, embarrassed by his own tolerance of the unforgivable. 
“So, okay, you don’t get marked up by the leather for now. But you’re not out of the woods, 
pretty girl. Maybe that young Pansy should have a go at you. She’s a damned inventive trick. 
In the meantime I feel like screwing the ass off you for starters. What do you say to that!”

“I belong to you, Josh, you can do that to me anytime.” It was Megan’s turn to look 
embarrassed. “I won’t pretend I don’t enjoy it.”

Joshua Morgan chuckled. “You wouldn’t have said that six months ago, pretty girl. You’re 
coming along fine. By far the best piece of ass I’ve ever owned.”

The subject of her sex and its uses no longer embarrassed Megan. It came up constantly 
and now caused her only amusement. Mischievously she inquired, “There must be a thousand 
girls in these islands who you could own or rent or simply seduce,” she said sagely. “I don’t 
understand why you’ve got such a Thing about me. I know I’m good but it’s you who made 
me good. I’ll bet young Pansy gives you every bit as much enjoyment when you push that 
great weapon of yours up her pussy.”

“Sure, sure, I know all about that. But there’s something you’ve missed, pretty girl. There’s 
some fine cracks in these islands but none of it gives me what I get from you.” Morgan’s voice 
became amused but doubly sincere. “It’s not just you I’m getting into, I’m shoving myself way, 
way up inside the Triangle Corporation. Every think of that?”

“Sure. I thought of it a lot in those first days. I was far more outraged by your rape of 
Triangle than by your rape of Megan Summers. It didn’t seem possible that with all that 
money and power I would be possible I could be used the way you’ve used me. Everything’s in
the mind. This kick you claim you get in ravishing the Triangle Corporation when you rape me 
is in the mind, too. Thinking about Triangle I’ve been surprised right along that you haven’t 
put me up for ransom. Triangle would pay a good price to get me back.”

“Wouldn’t me worth the hassle, pretty girl. I’ve probably got as much money as Triangle so
why bother? If I decide to marry you, I’ll inherit the whole thing anyway. How would it be I 
cane your seat before we screw?”

“Thank you, that would be nice.”

Megan well knew her bland acceptance of painful indignity would earn her no more than 
she would anyway receive. But there had been times when a spontaneous and joyful 
acquiescence to the outrageous had earned reprieve. It was always worth a try. This time Josh 
failed to rise to the bait.

“You’re being cute, pretty girl, don’t every think I don’t know when you’re having me on. I 
ought to double with the cane from five to ten to teach you not to be saucy. But I’m in a 
sucker’s mood today so I’ll just give you two additional. Seven all told. You can kept the count 
and you’ll thank me after each.”

He mimicked her tone, “Will that be ‘Nice’?”

Joshua Morgan prolonged the after dinner brandy, choosing the lounge which opened on 
to the balcony to face the setting sun. Miss Megan Summers served the drinks, before 
kneeling at her master’s feet. Both sipped in quiet meditation even though the naked girl was 
silently quivering beneath her sentence of the cane. She knew she could handle it but it was 
something she could have done without. She knew this wounding of her rump enhanced the 
pleasure Josh found in having sex with her, it was simply a fact of life she had learned to live 
with.

“Back when I first purchased you,” he said, ” I had a buyer waiting and figured I could pass 
you on after I got you out of my system. Never figured on keeping you around any longer 
than it took me to give the Triangle Corporation the screwing of its life.” He grunted. “Didn’t 
work out the way I figured. Never did get you out of my system and I still get a charge out of 
humping the Triangle twat. Feels like I’ve come by a million shares every time you spread your 
legs. You’re habit forming.”

“A long time ago I saw a picture in an art gallery, it was called ‘Morgan’s Prize’?” Megan 
said reflectively. “Henry Morgan the pirate may have been your ancestor. But, anyway, the 
picture showed a couple of Spanish beauties being paraded for the pirate’s inspection. Their 
hands were bound and one of the rough crew had a handful of each head of hair to make 
sure they knew where they were going. There’s not much difference between those two girls 
and me. I’m Morgan’s Prize just the same way, a maiden who knows herself the prize of war 
and has to do what she’s told.”

Josh chuckled. “I’ve seen the portrait you mention, there’s a print of it somewhere around 
the house. Morgan probably was an ancestor, he screwed half the girls. But I don’t know how I
got the name. As for doing what you’re told, you only score fifty percent on that one. You’re 
forever pushing me into forgiving you for one thing or the other. Hell! I’ve just forgiven you a 
flogging you well and truly earned.”

The kneeling girl hastily allowed the subject to drop, switching to a thought never far 
distance from her mind. “You know my sister, Amaril, is a prisoner on that ship, the Kypers’ 
Queen, that ship where you picked me up. Do you think I’ll ever get to see her again?”

“What you’re saying is you’d like me to take you to visit. Gosh, is this my day for being 
suckered!”

“I wish you would. It would be a wonderful cruise in that lovely huge yacht you own, the 
one you brought me here on.”

“With all sorts of opportunities for you to escape or spread the word about where you are 
and who owns you!”

“If you want to be that suspicious, you can keep me in irons in the brig the whole time, I 
won’t complain.”

“Damn it, girl! That’s on the other side of the continent, we’d have to go through the 
Panama Canal.”

“Why worry? I’d be safely imprisoned somewhere and no one would see me.”

“Got it all figured, haven’t you? Like I say, you’re a real twister.” Morgan’s laugh was devoid
of anger. There was a touch of admiration in it for the courage of the girl.

“I’ll admit I wouldn’t mind the trip. That guy Kypers is someone to do business with. It 
might be amusing to buy this sister of yours and own the two of you.”

“I doubt if she’s for sale. I think Kypers has come to feel about her the same way you do 
about me. But, oh Josh, it would such a lovely thing to do.”

“Okay, okay!” Morgan held up a warning hand. “You females are all alike, forever nagging 
a man into something he hadn’t even thought of. But I’ll give this idea some consideration. 
There are possibilities you probably haven’t even thought of yet. Thanks for the idea, pretty 
girl. Ready to be caned now?”

Joshua Morgan’s four poster bed was a structure of great potential. Today, since the girl to
be caned was already handcuffed, Megan’s joined wrists were locked to a bottom post at the 
level of her eyes and then a small table was thrust between this vertical anchor and her 
nakedness at the level of her hips to place stress at the level of her arms and to cause Miss 
Megan Summers’s beautifully curved seat to protrude provocatively beyond the table’s edge. 
There was not much the naked girl could do about anything except to stand and await the 
seven cuts. Morgan well understood the agonies and was not above using this mental 
addition to a punishment. He thoughtfully swished the long yellow cane to cut the air with a 
wicked sound as he casually cast aside his clothes. The chained girl cringed but said no word.

It always hurt. No matter the posture or the sin or her absence of sin, each impact of the 
cane upon her bare skin entailed anguish beyond bearing. The fastened nude was always 
positive the pain was worse than before. It was only in the thankful relief of aftermath that she
was willing to concede a sameness from one caning to another. The two extra strokes today 
caused her to make good resolutions about watching her tongue. Apart from that, she 
realized all her canings had one similar trait: they hurt like hell!

The following day brought twin surprises. First she would enjoy another session in the sun 
with Pansy holding the leash. The second was from Pansy herself.

“The boss done give me a present, Miss Summers,” she announced with pride. “I gets to 
do anything I like with you all the time we’s outdoors. I ain’t allowed to whip you but I can do 
anything else I think up. Us is gonna have a wonderful day.”

“He told me about it,” Megan said. She thought it best not to complain. “In a way I’m sort 
of looking forward to your cute ideas. But, please Pansy, don’t hurt too much. I’m like you, I’m 
only a girl.”

“You been an uppity girl in your time, Miss Summers,” Pansy opined. “Ah aims to bring you
down a peg or two. You ain’t gonna like all the things I thought up. First off, and for I take you
outdoors, I’m fixing your hands different.”

The difference was not drastic. Megan’s hands were already tightly handcuffed, the 
innovation was the old police when transporting prisoners from place to place. A chain circled 
the captive’s waist and was drawn tight through a large ring at its other end. It was then 
passed around the handcuffs single link and safely padlocked. Pansy stood back to view with 
pride.

“Ain’t that something, Miss Summers? Ain’t no way you can do nothin’.”

“I feel silly having to hold my hands the way you’ve fixed me,” Megan admitted. “I’m 
helpless if that’s what you want.”

“Ah sure does like this ring round your neck, Miss Summers. One tug and yours ready to 
do anything I say.”

Fearful of saying the wrong thing, Megan did not reply. The day might turn out to be a fun
thing with this cheerful girl. But on the other hand-she allowed herself to be led from the 
house and reluctantly joined her companion in a brisk trot she found doubly difficult with her 
hands tight against her navel. As they ran she thought of how Pansy sometimes spoke 
reasonably passable English then other times dropped into the black island slang. It was 
probably a key to what the black girl was thinking and feeling at the time. Right now she was 
heavy on the slang and Megan didn’t think that mean good for her. She hoped Josh Morgan 
knew what he was doing.

The three maidens wore bright smiles and little else. Shrunken tee shirts covered their 
breasts but failed to hide their pubic areas. They were obviously waiting by prearrangement 
behind trees. The same trees effectively bared any view of what might transpire from 
Morganpride. They were about Pansy’s age and were introduced as her cousins by a delighted
Pansy who tugged on Megan’s lease just hard enough to affirm authority. Megan’s heart sank 
as she could easily guess her first trial of the day.

“Yo’ knows what to do, Miss Summers.” There came a sharp tug on the leash. “Ah don’t 
have to tell a big girl like you what yo’ got to do. Get with it!”

Miss Megan Summers would once have rebelled. Even now she was no lesbian and would 
approach her task as a novice. But she had no words of protest, she was a captive and must 
obey. Without a word she sank to her knees between the spread legs of cousin number one. 
One quick glance up at the pubic area and Megan buried her face in it. She employed both 
lips and tongue in an age-old rite for which she had no zest.

“If Miss Summers here don’t do a real good job on yo, I want yo’ to tell me. Ah can 
smarten her up real quick!”

Then Pansy added to Megan in a sharp tone, “Yo’ lick them pretty clits real good. Yo’ 
understand? Yo’ make them girls wiggle and squeal or yo’ be real sorry.”

Megan made the best of it! She had experimented with girl love before with some of her 
girlfriends. But this was no half-hearted, giggling play, this was real. She had to so excite these
three girls as to bring them to total orgasm, hoping whatever cries of pleasure they might give
out would satisfy the girl who held her leash. It was a sad task for the president of Triangle but
she went to work with all her will.

Megan’s shackled wrists hurt as they fought the steel which held them were they could be 
of no help.

The helpless owner of the busy tongue and ardent lips was happily surprised at results. 
One after the other the black maidens paid her tribute with ecstatic cries, by wigglings and an 
eventual collapse upon the grass. It was like shooting pigeons and when the kneeling nudity 
turned to Pansy, she was given a pleased permission to stand erect. The fast breathing girl 
flesh on the grass no longer counted, they had been canceled out. All that mattered now was 
Pansy and her prisoner, they walked away, leaving Megan’s three victories laying on the grass.

“Yo’ done real good, Miss Summers,” Pansy gave grudging praise. “Yo’ is a real sensible gal.
I is gonna have to think up somethin’ so yo’ll hurt. Didn’t figure you’d do have as good as yo’ 
did with them cousins of mine.”

The box made a discordant note beneath the spreading bough.

Megan’s heart did a swift flip at sight of it, certain it meant no good for her.

“Yo’ gets yo’ hands back,” said Pansy generously. “Ain’t no need for chain round yo’ 
tummy for this one.”

It was nice to be able to scratch her nose again. Beyond this Megan could see little benefit.
She stepped upon the box. But when her youthful companion threw the rope over the bough 
to fall beside Megan, protest was instant. “Pansy, you don’t intend to hang me up by my 
hands …?”

“Sure does, Miss Summers. Ain’t yo’ lucky!”

“But I’m handcuffed! My wrists will be cut to shreds. Pansy, please!”

“Gollies, yo’ sure is scared, Miss Summers.”

“Why wouldn’t I be! Pansy, you’d best think twice about this. You can’t possibly hang a girl 
up by handcuffs, it’s far too cruel. You master isn’t going to be pleased when he sees the 
results.”

“Yo’s putting me on, Miss Summers. Can’t possibly be that bad.”

Miserably, Megan computed her chances if she jumped from the box and ran. She knew 
them nil. This young female could over take her within a dozen steps. Unhappily she watched 
the handcuffs circled by rope, and then in doubting disbelief, saw them raised above her head
while the far end of the rope was securely knotted to another tree. She was ready for what she
could only see as torture. Torture by a child who knew not what she did. All she could think to 
say was, “Oh, Pansy, we’re both going to be so terribly sorry.”

It was then the miracle happened. A white male stepped from behind a tree to point a gun
at Pansy’s head and to proclaim, “Not so fast, my pretty little bitch! Stand right there and clasp
your hands behind your neck.”

It was an American voice. Megan felt certain she had died and gone to heaven.





CHAPTER TWO - PRETTY GIRL IN PRISON


“The name is Stanley Dade, you can call me Stan,” said the unexpected visitor casually as he 
produced a magic key and freed Megan’s hands from their steel. It was the first time her 
hands had been free for a long, long time. It felt strange and wonderful.

Pansy was obviously frightened. She stood, hands behind her neck as ordered, and viewed 
the newcomer with obvious shock. When she was told to stand upon the box, she did so with 
obvious apprehension. The stranger locked Megan’s handcuffs upon the young black wrists, 
forcing Pansy to stand upon tiptoes. Her eyes were wide with fear.

“It’s just what you were going to do to her,” he pointed out casually as he kicked the box 
out from under her.

Immediately the black girl cried out in pain as her weight came down upon the steel rings. 
Megan grimaced and was going to protest when the man turned towards her, placed a finger 
before his lips and, with a smile, shushed her to be quiet.

Mr. Dade turned his attention to Megan. “You okay, Miss Summers?”

“I’m fine. With you here I’m positively wonderful. How did you find me?”

“Your father hired me to see what could be done about Amaril,” Mr. Dade volunteered. He 
took her elbow and led her away from the hanging girl. Megan glanced back to see the black 
girl swinging gently from her pained wrists.

“Oh, by the way,” Mr. Dade continued, “I’m a … well, one of those creatures they call a 
private eye. While I was looking for your sister I ran into a seaman who was influenced by 
cash. He had told me he saw you at the end of a chain. The rest was just a matter of time and 
a lot of questions.”

Megan stopped. In a sexless act of gratitude, she grasped her savior and planted a hot, 
ardent kiss upon him. That over, she continued with some hurry. “Let’s get out of her. I 
wouldn’t underestimate Josh Morgan. Will Pansy be okay?”

“She’ll hurt but someone will find her before night. Look, don’t worry, she only getting 
what she was going to do to you. Let’s get going. Sorry about no clothes. Do you want my 
jacket?”

“Keep it. You’ve seen me and I’m no longer shy. Come on, let’s run!”

They ran. They ran fast and hard. Long afterwards Megan supposed she should have 
guessed the final tragedy of her rescue but as she leaped nakedly across the rough ground, 
almost out distancing her rescuer, she had no thought but freedom. This was it! Somewhere 
there would be a waiting boat and then her father’s arms. It was too wonderful for words!

They were waiting behind a rock. Two men she had never met. Each held a gun. When 
Stanley Dade saw then, his gun came up fast. But not fast enough. They shot him casually. 
Megan, utterly stricken, gazed down at his body in the most desolate moment of her life. She 
hardly felt her arms drawn behind her back and the familiar click of handcuffs marking the 
return to imprisonment. It was hopeless, hopeless, hopeless! She was led back to Morganpride
in disgrace.

They elucidated from her the whereabouts of Pansy before locking her in the cell. It was as
though they though a girl such as she had no use of hands for they left hers locked tight 
behind her back. In the loneliness of her cell, the chained and naked girl flung herself upon 
the bench and weep as if her heart would break. She stayed thus for the two days and night 
before the master of Morganpride returned. When she finally saw him peering at her from 
behind the bars she lacked any hope, it being all driven out by her fear of punishment.

“You look a bit peaked, pretty girl. How long they had you in here?” He didn’t sound 
angry.

“Since they recaptured me. I’ve lost all track of time, I’ve been so damned miserable. Oh, 
Josh, I’ve wanted you so bad. But now I have to be punished. What are you going to do to 
me?”

“First thing is to get you out of there, pretty girl. You and a jail cell don’t mix.” The master 
of Morganpride made motions with a key. “Come along, don’t just stand there.” It was another
moment to remember.

Megan sighed and knew she walked to a punishment beyond all others but did so with a 
song in her heart to be rid of the barred cage and to be held once more within her owner’s 
arms. When Morgan did indeed clasp her hard against his chest, she cared for nothing more. 
Miss Megan Summers was content.

It was too good to be true! Megan’s hands were now cuffed in front and her master was in
his favorite seat. She mixed the drinks with shaking hands and the clink of steel, sensing only a
respite between her flesh and whatever penalty her master might decide. She tried hard not to
remember the face down figure of the dead man who might have delivered her from 
bondage. Her world was Josh and his word was law. She knelt in familiar submission to be 
sentenced. It was then that Pansy intruded upon the scene.

“Okay, honey, let’s have it.” Morgan’s voice was sharp. “The truth and nothing but the 
truth or I’ll flay your hide.”

“Ah was busy punishing Miss Summers the way you said.” Pansy was obviously as insecure 
as the girl who knelt upon the rug. “I hadn’t done almost nothing when this guy comes out 
from behind a rock and shoves a gun in my face. Miss Summers will tell you this is true. He 
takes the handcuffs offen her and hangs me from the branch up there. Then he goes off with 
Miss Summers. I just has to hang there ‘cause there ain’t way way I could get out of that there 
handcuffs. This guy says his name is Dada and takes Miss Summers by the hand and the two 
of them run like crazy. I was hurting. I sure am grateful, boss, for the guy you sent to set me 
free.” She trailed off into silence.

“Was Miss Summer’s as surprised as you? Did she know this guy, Dade?”

“She was shocked, she don’t know this guy any more than I did.”

“Okay, Pansy, run along. And thank you.”

Alone with the man who could do what he wished with her, Megan clutched her drink 
between handcuffed hands and awaited judgment. She had heard Pansy’s statements, but 
didn’t think they would help her. She awaited sentence.

A silence lengthened before Morgan announced, conversationally, “I’ve been thinking 
about that idea of yours, pretty girl, that notion about a trip aboard the yacht. I don’t have 
much on the books right now so what say we start off right now to find your Amaril and 
maybe buy her to keep you company?”

“Don’t tease me, Josh, I have to be punished. I know I have to be punished. Tell me how 
and when.”

“You thinking about this Dade fellow?” Morgan sounded surprised. “There ain’t nothing to 
punish you for, pretty girl.” He laughed at the surprised upon her face. “If you want a cane 
across your ass again, I’d be happy to oblige. But you didn’t do anything to deserve it.”

“You mean, I’m not … I’m not … at fault. Oh Josh, I ran with that man, I’m not denying I ran 
away. If it had not been for those two men who shot him, I’d be far away right now.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. You’ve got a guilty conscious, you want to be punished so we can 
get back to normal.” Josh Morgan’s voice was alive with laughter. “What do you suggest, a 
flogging? Being keel hauled from the yacht? Or hung up by your thumbs for a day or so?”

Megan Summers was in full retreat, her mind a chaos of joy and doubt and fear. Brokenly 
she threw herself upon the mercy of this man. “I don’t know anything, Josh, I’m so confused 
and scared I can’t possibly make decisions. Do what you want with me, I belong to you. I never
realized it the way I realize it today.”

She buried her face within the shelter of chained hands and wept away the emotions she 
could handle no other way. Her owner watched with the deepest satisfaction of his life.

Josh picked his slavegirl up and carried her to bed.

Megan Summers sat upon the hard wood bench, the same bench upon which she would 
sleep. Her ears still rang with the metallic clank of the cell door or the brig. It never seemed 
strange to her that Josh Morgan’s yacht would have a brig, she somehow expected nothing 
else. The boat itself was a shinning white splendor of huge size and named the “Judith.” The 
ship’s name she would ask Josh about when the time was ripe. For the moment she was 
engrossed in ruefully taking inventory of the weight of irons the Judith provided for feminine 
passengers. Megan had suggested the irons in jest but now wore them as a reminder of her 
master’s will.

A gleaming band of steel encircled the prisoner’s slim waist. Two six inch links joined that 
to the metal bands around her wrists. Other chains fell to securely ironed ankles, linked by a 
span of no more than ten inches between her small bare feet. Not that it was likely the 
chained maiden would do much walking for a steel collar encircled her neck and was in turn 
linked to a massive ring solidly set into the wall behind her head. The chain was longer than 
any other on her but it allowed her to stand and take a step in either directions and that only. 
She could also lay down and that ended her list of freedoms.

Since any single one of the chains would have held her prisoner, the whole weight told her
it was punishment itself. Megan had been unnaturally silent while the irons were put on. 
Morgan had been silent, too, while quietly enjoying the artistic effect his chains achieved. The 
naked girl being thus secured stood quietly erect while she was made helpless any doubt. 
When the last lock snapped shut he reminded with a grin, “You asked for it, pretty girl. Seems 
to me you wanted to be ironed the whole trip, wasn’t that right?”

“You’re teasing me,” Megan sniffed. “Sure I suggested it but I didn’t think you’d take me 
up on such a deal. I haven’t deserved this, have I?”

“Going to be damned boring for you, pretty girl, and you won’t be getting much more 
than an apple a day to eat. Walk around a bit and let’s see the effect.”

She felt like telling him she couldn’t walk around, that she was too heavily weighed down 
with chain. But that would not be true. Cautiously she advanced a step to bring the rattle of 
protesting chain. After two steps her neck was snubbed sharply by the band around her 
throat. She turned to meet the watching eyes. She shrugged to evoke another metallic sound 
before taking the tiny little steps back as far as her leash would permit.

Morgan’s voice was heavy with emotion. “You think you look silly and awkward but you 
don’t. You look as beautiful as any girl is going to look. Remember that.”

Megan was glad to be alone, not having to talk or having to express either gratitude or 
resentment. She sat admits her irons in the solitude of the small prison and allowed her mind 
to rove.

The vision of Stanley Dade overshadowed all else. He was almost certainly dead at the 
hands of men employed by he who had fastened these irons upon her limbs. She shivered at 
the thought, hoping it was not true and that the men had acted on their own without 
Morgan’s permission. The killing had been cruel and callous but Stanley Dade’s presence on 
Lost Island meant another might succeed where Dade had failed. If her whereabouts were 
known, her father’s power would do the rest. Morgan was a powerful man but mostly in his 
local area and that would be no match for the power Preston Summers could bring to bear. 
And if she were freed, Amaril would be freed also. Either girl could point rescue at the other. It
was a comforting thought. In the meantime she remained naked and heavily ironed in a little 
metal cage aboard one of the most luxurious private yachts left in the world. She sought the 
porthole and looked longingly out to sea.

Josh Morgan was unpredictable. The ironed maiden knew it possible he might keep her 
thus for the entire voyage but this she doubted in the certain knowledge of Morgan’s desire 
of her body and hunger for the caning of her flesh. She nursed a comfortable conviction that 
for at least an hour or two each evening her master’s carnal appetites would take her from this
brig.

As always in retrospect, Megan Summers was shocked and shamed by her slow 
transformation from an crisp executive to a docile slavegirl. She could think of no point where 
the breaking of her will had actually occurred. Josh Morgan had simply worn her down to her 
present lowly status by the constant friction of his redundant personality. Pansy’s adoration 
was a measure of Josh’s power over the sex he used with such careless abandon. Even if her 
limbs were freed and she were clothed, Megan knew she would have to exert every ounce of 
will to counter his wish to possess her totally. Nature had fashioned him to be the owner of 
girl slaves. It was that simple!

At this point Megan paused, realizing the negative path onto which her thoughts had 
strayed. Morgan could not be easily dismissed or labeled. His use of her had run the gauntlet 
from flogging of her to loading her with irons in a brig. But overshadowing all else was his 
willingness to use the Judith in the manner of his asking. Even though her own condition had 
been brought as low as possible, she could nevertheless notice that she was on her way to 
fresh adventure Morgan would share. She wondered how she would feel about it if he actually
succeeded in purchasing her sister, Amaril. Miss Megan Summers was not the least bit sure.

As time passed Megan’s thoughts slowly became darker. It was hard not to do with her 
enforced solitude. Thinking about it told her how narrow her life had become since her first 
captivity. She belonged to one man and it was the life of Josh Morgan that gave her own color
and significance. She hadn’t realized that half the civilized marriages of which she had seen 
served no other purpose than the function she performed for Morgan, and when the flesh was
appeased there was nothing left. She and her owner had not yet reached this point. What 
would happen when they did?

Executive reasoning said clearly she could not be freed. In this way both Morgan and 
Kypers had painted themselves into a corner. But it was a corner from which they could escape
by ruthlessness. The two sisters could be easily marketed and even at the end of a year or two 
would fetch a high price in the right place. Escape was vital.

The girl in irons locked in the brig had long since sat escape aside in a small corner of her 
mind and certainly her present plight did not justify airing it anew. But, if Josh should weaken 
in his resolve to keep her thus confined, and if the opportunity should arise. True, there was 
also Morgan’s mocking suggestion of eventually marrying her. But she found little comfort in 
the thought, seeing no reason why any male owner of a naked slavegirl should bother with 
wedlock.

The Judith provided its prisoner with her first surprise in the shape of Pansy with lunch. It 
was designed to keep a girl trim and lean.

“Gee whiz, Miss Summers, the boss he sure got you fixed up real good. You sure you can 
move them hands enough to eat this apple?”

“No I can’t. Do you mind feeding me and telling me why you’re here?”

“Sure I feeds you. And I’s here to be yo’ jailer and whips yo’ ass whenever the boss says.” 
The black girl sighed. “I sure is a lucky girl!”

“I suppose you wouldn’t want to remove some of this iron I’m wearing?”

“No way, Miss Summers. Yo’ knows I can’t do that. And Ah don’t want you offering me no 
million dollars either. Boss says Ah gets my ass whipped along with yo’ next time it happens.”

Megan ate the apple, it was good to know she would be tended by other than male hands.
Hopefully she inquired, “Will I get out of these irons today? Will Morgan take me to his room 
tonight?”

Pansy giggled delightedly. “Ain’t no way yo’ gonna get unlocked out of all that hardware 
today, Miss Summers.” Visibly glowing with pride, Pansy announced further, “It’s me what gets
taken to the boss’ room. The boss says he’s taken a fancy to me and it would do yo’ good to 
stay in them irons a while. Don’t know ‘bout tomorrow.”

Along again, Megan now had jealousy to keep her company. She had always know 
Morgan had taken his maid servant whenever he chose but there was something intensely 
personal about Pansy’s news. She would c-otch upon a hard bench outrageously chained 
while her owner mc de sport with an oversexed nymphet who would make sure her prisoner 
learned the details of her night. For the first time Megan wished she had never mentioned the 
Judith and was still safely at Morganpride. She spent and angry and frustrated afternoon.

The Judith provided its second surprise in early evening when the door opened to reveal 
Josh Morgan carrying in his arms the slender nakedness of a tearful maiden who’s lips pouted 
and eyes flashed angrily. No words were spoken but Pansy was planted on the floor while Josh
Morgan busied himself with a key. At the end of minutes it was Pansy who sat on the hard 
bench to look down in disbelief at the irons clutching her limbs and Megan Summers stood 
bewildered but free.

“You’ll get the handcuffs when we get where we’re going,” Morgan told Megan. He then 
turned to Pansy and said, “You be a good girl now and think about what I told you. Being in 
here a while will do you no harm, you’ve been getting too big for your britches.”

Morgan tucked Miss Summers under one arm and slammed the brig door upon the 
pouting maiden within. “Your pretty little ass ready for the cane, pretty girl?” he inquired as he
cupped one breast in a hard and heavy hand.

Josh Morgan was unpredictable. His burden would have felt happier had she been cradled 
in his arms instead of being carried like a sack of potatoes. When they reached the bedroom 
and she saw the hanging rope, she could guess its purpose but was too happy over release 
from the brig to demure about trifles. Josh’s rejection of Pansy in favor of herself had set her 
heart to racing in joy from the moment the last iron had been unlocked. Prudently the one 
time president of Triangle said no word.

The handcuffs appeared as promised. Almost eagerly she extended her hands as if the 
joining of them was a comfort, a reassurance of being loved. Be when the suspension rope 
circled the steel, dismay broke the silence. “Josh, you’re not going to hang me up from the 
handcuffs! Don’t tell me-“

“Five strokes with the cane, pretty girl, and I won’t take too long about it. Thought this 
would be a nice change from bending over. If your wrists hurt you can hang on to the rope. 
Besides, I want to see you kick.”

It could have been worse. Megan stifled complaint and take a hard grip upon the rope. It 
would be best to get the pain and the pleasure done with before asking questions. She bit 
back an involuntary cry as her arms were lifted, her grip on the rope slightly reducing the bit 
of steel upon her wrists. A slavegirl had to take the bad with the good.

Josh could have drawn out the punishment to cause the hanging nudity additional pain 
but he was a wise man and instantly cut with his cane at the suspended curves, its bitter scold 
partly offset by Megan’s concern with ironed wrists. The master stood back to enjoy the 
wiggles and jerks as her legs pedaled vainly in the air. With the fifth swift slash, he inquired, 
“Get you horny, pretty girl?”

“Yes, oh yes!”

“Good! But let’s make a job of it. Ask me nicely for five more strokes.”

It was bitter gall. But, filled with pain, Miss Megan Summers did the best she could and 
pleaded for a second punishment to match the first. But with the final gasp of her agonized 
plea Josh Morgan said only, “Some other time, pretty girl, you’ve had enough for now.”

He spread her thighs to cup the quivering sex she could not control. “Yes, just the way I 
figured. You’re as ready as you’ll ever be.”

He let her feet back on the floor then carried his panting slavegirl to his reward.

Megan had long since ceased to worry about the guilt she always felt in the joy and 
involvement in whatever sexual games her master chose to play, consoling herself with the 
thought it was the woman who yielded the master his carnal tribute.

Besides, sex is sex, and when the man was a man like Josh Morgan….Megan felt only joy as
he ravished her body, pressing her burning bottom hard against the covers of his bed.

Josh sensed her moods and countered them with a hidden cynical amusement all his own. 
After breakfast they walked the deck to give Megan a chance to admire the Judith’s 
magnificence and to give the Judith’s crew the opportunity to admire and lust after a naked 
girl they could not touch. It was Megan’s first experience at exposure to so numerous a male 
company. But her blushes added to her charm and lasted until they paused before the fatal 
door to the brig.

“Josh, are you going to lock me away from the sunlight? It would be cruel.” It was as 
soulful a plea as she had ever made.

Pansy was pleased and hopeful, her eyes widening wide when her master offered a tiny 
key. “I’m leaving you two girls together, Pansy, my pet. Free yourself and then lock pretty girl 
the way you are now. Bring me the key and maybe you’ll get a reward.”

For a few moments Megan watched the younger girl fumble with hands heavily irons and 
ineffectual. “Here, Pansy, give me the key, I’ll unlock you. There’s no use taking all day.”

It was quickly done. When the massive links were shapeless upon the floor the two naked 
girls stood and viewed each other in a moment of awkward silence before Megan clasp the 
youngster in firm arms and whispered, “We have to do what he says. But don’t let us ever be 
enemies because of it. You have to chain me now but I refuse to be mad at you. Come on, get 
it over with.”

“Gosh, Miss Summers, Ah ain’t never been ironed this way before. Gollies, Ah couldn’t 
hardly sleep. Last thing I want to do is iron yo’ up the same way. But Ah guess there ain’t no 
help for it.”

The process was now reversed with Megan raising up her arms to enable the cinching of 
her waist in shinning steel, each clink of a lock sounding its own defiance to freedom. The 
captive girl positioned a hand to watch its wrist circled by a metal band and know it lost to her
for the day, or perhaps many days. Then its twin, followed by the ironing of slender ankles. 
The two girls then exchanged glances which broke into girlish laughter as the full outrageous 
of so much metal upon so slender a nudity could no longer be ignored.

“Yo’ looks awful pretty like that, Miss Summers. Hope I looked half as good.”

“How long do you think I’ll have to stay chained this time, Pansy?”

“Dunno, Miss Summers. Boss man he owes me a bit of fun but maybe he’ll use me 
sometime during the day and give yo’ the works come night. Gee, he sure does cane yo’ 
bottom regular. I only get mine marked up once in a while.”

“If he canes you too, Pansy, I don’t see why you stay with him all this time. Why don’t you 
quit?”

“Yo’ knows, Miss Summers. Ah likes what the boss does to me. Getting her bottom caned 
ain’t no way the worst thing can happen to a girl. He ain’t never whipped me real bad the way 
he did yo’ back those times yo’ argued so much.” Pansy sighed. “Guess the only way us girls 
gets to know what it’s all about happens when we gets our skin all marked up with a cane or 
somethin’.” Pansy’s voice became mischievous. “Yo’ noticed the nice looking guys on the crew,
Miss Summers? Maybe one of them might take a fancy to me while the boss ain’t looking. 
Would you want a bit of strange nookie?”

“No, I wouldn’t! I couldn’t use my pussy to bride with because there’s no way a girl can 
escape from a ship out on the ocean. I’d best behave myself and I think you had best, too.”

It was not Pansy who brought the captive girl her apple, bread and water. It was the most 
unattractive member of the crew, a middleaged, harsh-voiced man whose breathe was foul 
and who eyed Megan in a way she did not like. He did his job, he looked his fill, then went 
away. The disgusted prisoner had to suppose this exposure to the male a touch of caustic 
humor from the man who kept her ironed. Quite possibly Josh was amusing himself with 
Pansy and neither of them could be bothered with the girl in the brig. It was terrible 
frustrating and jealousy flared anew.

Night brought no easement of her irons and Miss Megan Summers slept uncomfortably in
the clutch of metal. By morning she longed to be back at Morganpride.

The day’s drama began with the arrival of Pansy and the apple. A Pansy much subdued 
and by no means jubilant over male attention. “Ah had one hell of a night, Miss Summers. 
That there man is sure good at what he does. If the boss man would take me ever night 
instead of you, Ah’d never look at the crew, no way! But he sure does like to scare a girl to 
death. Yo’ know what he wants to do to me this afternoon?”

“Is there anything he hasn’t done to either you or I?”

“He’s gonna have me stripped naked and have me hung up for all the crew to see. An’ 
then Ah’m gonna be whipped. Not jus’ my bottom, all of me. I told him Ah ain’t done nothing 
and all Ah wanted was for him to keep on doin’ what he was doin’. But he says a girl should be
whipped now and then and it would be a nice treat for the crew.” A tear trickled from Pansy’s 
eye. “Ah can’t never tell when he’s kidding. But this time Ah’s sure. Ah’m getting it for sure.”

There was nothing the harshly ironed prisoner could do, not even to take the tearful girl in
her arms to comfort her. “It won’t happen, Pansy,” Megan said with a decisiveness she did not 
feel. “Josh won’t do that to you. It’s like you said, he’s kidding. I think he believes it’s a good 
idea to keep us scared all the time. He may be marvelous in bed but look at the way he’s got 
me fixed right now. I’m not at all sure I wouldn’t trade these irons for the whip he’s told you 
about. If I have to sleep in all this hardware another night it will drive me hairy.”

Pansy did what Megan could not, clasping the chained captive with an ardent, eager arms. 
Megan stood up for the embrace she could not return. But it felt good to have Pansy’s soft 
skin clutching close and to know her pretty jailer more frightened of her fate then she. Megan 
could not believe in the punishment Josh promised his maid, it wouldn’t happen. But 
nonetheless her mind was filled with visions until the brig door was opened that afternoon. It 
was Josh Morgan with the key.

The sunlight was wonderful. The rest of the scene was not! Two naked girls stood in shy 
exposure in the center of a cleared space upon the deck while around them, in a loose circle, 
stood the crew of the Judith. All eyes were upon the two naked girls. And every male eye was 
filled with lust. They had been told where to stand and how to act. Their roles were simple. 
They were there for the sole purpose of being shamed before male eyes. Having positioned 
them, Morgan had gone away but both girls were certain he was watching from a privacy of 
his own.

At first the two nude girls had tried to cover themselves with hands, a shy feminine 
response to expose which the crew had gently applauded. When Megan and Pansy realized 
the erotic pleasure they gave to all concerned by this useless striving for modest, they ceased 
and stood, hand in hand, in passive surrender, turning from time to time as Morgan had 
instructed that every bit of themselves be made available to burning eyes starved for such 
female flesh. To a crew member aboard a ship, a naked girl was probably the most beautiful 
thing in the world.

They were denied speech. Each pair of lips was tight compressed beneath a soft leather 
band tightly buckled behind their necks. Above this leather strip the could do no more than 
glare in a series of emotions at those who formed an audience for their shame. Apart from the
gags they bore no bounds, their nakedness totally unrestrained but held in thrall by the 
directive of the man who had placed them there for the pleasure of his crew. Both girls knew 
their exposure would have been easier to bear had they been bound.

They knew not how long they stood, perhaps thirty minutes. They had been warned of 
punishments they feared to face and thus were willing victims to their master’s whim.

THE END came suddenly with the coming of Morgan. He unstrapped and took from 
Megan’s lips the gag but left Pansy’s mouth sealed. “Don’t want you to get bored,” he assured
cheerfully. “The boys are getting restless so we’d best move on to the main event.” He 
motioned to a couple of his boys. Megan, watching, shared Pansy’s fear in what now took 
place. A rope was securely knotted around each of Pansy’s wrists and then fastened aloft to 
spread her slim brown arms and lift her up to her toes. Having performed their task, the men 
rejoined their fellows to leave Pansy struggling for speech. Megan spoke for her.

“Please, Josh, don’t whip the poor girl. She hasn’t done anything to deserve it. She looks 
so young and so small and she’s so terribly frightened. Please … please!”

“Make you feel better if we string you up too, pretty girl?”

“You know it wouldn’t. Please, Josh, you’re scaring us both to death. Please let Pansy 
down.”

“Don’t see why I should, pretty girl-‘less of course you want to take her place?”

“All right, I’ll take her place. There’s more of me to whip so I can stand it better than 
Pansy.” Megan spoke without giving herself time to think.

“You would, wouldn’t you!” The master’s amusement held only admiration. “I’ll bet she 
would do the same for you. And maybe we’ll give her the chance sometime. You girls are 
really something. Get yourself all heated up. Enjoy the show.”

“You’re going to make me stand here naked and watch!”

“Why not? You’ve got a ringside seat! You should be handcuffed, pretty girl, but they’re up 
in the office and I can’t be bothered. Relax and enjoy.”

“Is it you or one of the men who’s going to whip the poor girl?”

Morgan effected surprise. “Why, pretty girl, haven’t you guessed! It’s not one of the men 
and it’s not me. It’s you!”

It was like a blow but typically Josh Morgan, who believed in always keeping his females 
off balance. Megan saw his eyes alive with interest as she said flatly, “I refuse! I absolutely 
refuse to whip that girl. And you knew damned well I would refuse so what are you going to 
do now?”

“You know damned well I wouldn’t take a firsts refusal, pretty girl.” Morgan’s voice had 
become a menacing purr of a giant cat. “All you need is a bit of persuasion. Not on your hide 
but hers. The way things stand right now, Pansy gets twenty strokes with a whip that ain’t all 
that bad. You’ll have to give that whip all you’ve got but you’ll see it’s no killer. But if you 
decide to be a real heroine and go into hysterics or something, dear little Pansy’s sentence 
gets upped a bit. A man will whip her back and bum and she’ll get forty instead of twenty. See
what I mean?”

Megan Summers saw all too well what he meant! An owner of girls never had a problem in
getting his way. She knew herself faced with the inevitable but still demurred. “Okay, Josh, I 
can say I’ll do it but I can’t possibly whip that girl with all my strength, I’ll be pulling punches 
all the time. And then I suppose you’ll punish me for that. Pansy and I could be getting 
ourselves whipped her all afternoon. Make us love you by setting her free.”

A whip was placed in Megan’s hands. Her master’s voice was pure menace. “Get with it, 
pretty girl. Remember, I’ll be watching. Give the little darling all you’ve got, it won’t kill her. 
Probably do her a world of good. Just to show you I’m a good guy, I’ll keep the count. She’s 
ready for number one now.”

As if hypnotized, Megan examined the whip and supposed it was indeed kind by the 
standards governing such matters, but it was formidable enough and heavy in her hand as she
took a stance and swung her right arm. A moment later she was staring in disbelief at a 
darkening line across Pansy’s golden shoulders and watching the whipped girl raise herself 
from deck by bound wrists frantic to evade. Her dancing legs expressed the agony sealed lips 
could not. Still, in the disbelief, Miss Megan Summers swung again.

It was then a hard male hand clutched Megan’s arm.





CHAPTER THREE - IRONED AFFECTION


Two naked girls fought outrage and relief in the Judith’s brig. They were not harshly ironed 
but their irons held mischief, left wrist to right wrist and the same for slender ankles, and 
slender necks. Each was belted and the belts were joined. All the connecting spans of links 
were adequate for comfort for not for freedom. The gazed at each other in wry acceptance of 
a new condition but more in a realization of reprieve.

“I told you he was fooling, just scaring us to death,” Megan reminded happily. “I’m sure 
that single stroke was awful but that was the end of it. I’ve never been so thankful as when he 
grabbed my arm and told me I didn’t have to whip you any more. That was one of the 
moments I love the guy. Gee, Pansy, I’m sorry for even that one lash. Let me kiss it better.”

“Gee, yo’ lips does feel real good. Miss Summers,” Pansy breathed in girlish ecstasy as the 
older girl’s lips performed. The weal was angry but would fade within a week. “Think the boss 
is gonna keep us chained this away the whole trip. Right now I sorta wish he would Miss 
Summers.”

“Goodness knows what the idiot will do,” Megan said irritably. “That show he made us put 
on for the crew was cruel. It wasn’t done the way it’s done when he canes my bottom when we
have sex. That whip mark you’re wearing is something else entirely and it scares me.”

“Ain’t no need to be scared, Miss Summers, the boss he’s been doing stuff like this ever 
since I know’d him. He gets a big laugh out of it. He loves you.”

Megan gained solace from the simple statement but retorted, “You mean, he doesn’t love 
you?”

“Not in the same way, Miss Summers,” the younger girl said wisely. “Maybe he marry you 
sometime when he gots you trained the way he likes. But there ain’t no way he ever marry me,
Ah ain’t rich folks. Yo’ is.”

“I don’t feel a bit like rich folks right now,” Megan mourned. “Look, Pansy, how are the two
of us to sleep on this rotten little bench when we’re chained together like this?”

Pansy giggled. “How’d it be I sleep on top of you or you on top of me, Miss Summers?”

“We can’t sleep all night like that. Damn these irons! That man really is a bastard!”

“I bet you the two of us ain’t in this brig all night,” Pansy said wisely. “One of us will get 
taken out for sure. And if he leaves it till night is pretty certain to be yo. Don’t yo’ worry none, 
I’ll bet the two of us don’t have to sleep on no hard bench. One of us is sure to get her ass 
caned and a ramrod shoved up her, what you call her do-thingie. You just wait and see.”

It was a small comfort but made the irons weigh a little less.

“Gave you a bad day, didn’t I, pretty girl?” Josh Morgan tenderly kissed the forehead of the
girl he had carried from the brig. “Pansy is going to think I don’t like her, leaving her in the 
brig the way I’ve done. She’s a saucy little bitch and I’ll make it up to her tomorrow. In the 
meantime there’s you and me.”

It felt good to press her nakedness within the strong, bare male arms, Megan’s day 
vanished in the moment that was now. Now was all that mattered and she was content even 
to the point of outrageous submission.

“You’ve forgotten the handcuffs, Josh. You know I ought to be handcuffed.”

“A well-trained slavegirl,” Morgan approved. “They’re on the dresser, go get them.”

Obedience was delicious! The one-time president of the Triangle Corporation reveled in it, 
handing over not only the shining steel but two passive wrists as well. As always, she thrilled at
the tightening grip of chrome circles and the rackets clicking as they robbed her of self-will. 
When Josh Morgan had clasped them tight to his satisfaction, the trembling slavegirl raised 
them to admire, and to extract the maximum sound from their single link. Everything was 
wonderful!

Once more Morgan provided surprise. “Shit, let’s have ourselves a change, pretty girl. Hold
them out again.”

There was no need of words, both watched intensely as the slavegirl watched the reversal 
of the bondage of her hands. The handcuffs went back to the dresser to be replaced by cord, 
the thin cord she normally hated but in which today she discovered a strange thrill as loop 
after loop under Josh’s hand circled her wrists. With the final knot Miss Summers knew herself 
more severely constrained than by the steel. The cords pressed into her skin and hurt even 
though she made no motions against them. Her hands were bound but good!

That should look after your conscious, pretty girl,” Josh teased. “Anything more I can do 
for you?”

“What you usually do is plenty but please don’t hurry. I’m getting the vibes of a lifetime 
and I don’t know if they are yours or mine.” Megan put her bound arms over her owner’s head
to clasp him tight and as well as she could. “I don’t know why I’m in love with you or why I 
don’t complain about the things you do to me,” she said. “I suppose I like it and I’m hoping 
you’re extra potent to give me a bad time when I’m on my back.”

“Hell, pretty girl, you like it! Don’t try to kid me. You’ve just said so yourself. Get that little 
ass of yours on the bed.”

“But, Josh, haven’t you forgotten something? You haven’t caned my bottom.”

This time he kissed her lips. “Is that my pretty girl or my good training that’s talking? Do 
you really want to be caned?”

“I want to be caned because I know it gives you pleasure. But I also am thinking of the 
afterwards, the afterwards with you thrusting into me is wonderful.” Megan paused to chuckle.
“I suppose now you’ll refuse to cane me because I want it so bad.”

“That’s right. I should let you suffer. But I haven’t tied those pretty hands for nothing. And I
hadn’t forgotten, just in case you’re interested. Get over to that big arm chair.”

It was beautifully simple. A rope from the bound hands passed beneath the chair to tug 
the girl forward and down until he hair fell in a dark mass upon the seat. The rope was tugged
again to insure her immobility and then cinched around two passive ankles. Between the rope 
and Megan, the chair was encircled. Miss Megan Summers knew her seat reared up 
outrageously and her sex thrust hard against the chair’s back. Awkwardly she looked back to 
behold another innovation. Josh Morgan was holding not the cane but a limber length of 
leather strap.

“They called it a flagellum in ancient Rome,” he informed. “I’m not sure of it’s effect upon a
tightly stretched bottom like yours, but you can keep me posted as we go along. If it doesn’t 
hurt that bad then you’re in luck.”

“Thank you, kind sir.”

“Foxy, heh! Okay, we’ll make it six instead of five.”

“You’re really far too kind.”

“Okay, we’re now up to seven. Want to try for eight?”

Prudence told the bound girl she was being silly but she was in the grip of a euphoria 
somewhat beyond control. “I’m sorry, Master, please forgive me. I’m being a silly girl,” she 
said.

“I’m not sure about that little remark, either. I think we’d best make it eight. Hold your 
breath, pretty girl.”

Megan held her breath then let it go in a yelp of anguish as the impact of the flagellum 
echoed throughout the room. The pain was terrible. “It’s awful! Oh, Josh, it’s too awful for 
words. It’s far worse than being caned. I can’t possibly stand seven more like that!”

“You can and you will, pretty girl. This thing has possibilities.”

The bound maiden in the middle of punishment stole another backward glance but what 
she saw caused her to close her eyes and hold her breath just before the second impact filled 
the room with sound and she was once more finding pain with no other frantic motions than 
from her head. The rest of her was too firmly held to move. Her sex was planted squarely on 
the chair’s padded back to hold that portion of her punished body in total immobility. Only a 
quivering of the punished flesh paid tribute to the slap of leather. Five more to go!

“You promised to keep me posted, pretty girl. Give me some comparisons?” Josh 
suggested. “I’m discounting that first yelp, it doesn’t count.”

“Yes, it does! It’s awful, far too awful for the reason you’re doing it.” Megan’s voice rose. 
“Please may I have the cane instead. I don’t mind how many strokes just so long as it is the 
cane instead of this.”

“No you can’t. Grin and bear it and count yourself lucky it’s only eight.”

Again the frightful sound and explosion upon sore female flesh! Megan kept her owner 
posted by a series of cries, moans and protests. She was told she was doing fine and to keep 
up the good work. Even as the next came, she was already telling of the impossibility of 
bearing more, that her owner should send the flagellum back to Rome and concentrate on 
nice yellow canes that a girl could cope with. These remarks were noted but got her nowhere.

“You’re getting a wonderful color back her, pretty girl,” her owner remarked. “By the time 
your punishment is finished I’ll have to back you up to a mirror so you can be as proud as I 
am.”

“This isn’t a punishment, I haven’t done anything to be punished for. You’re just being 
mean.”

The outburst earned Megan one additional stroke. Nine with the flagellum was a 
formidable punishment. When the last cut landed and she jerked her head up with a cry of 
pain, Megan was weeping constantly. Thankfully she felt the loosening of the rope, and even 
more gratefully felt herself tossed upon the bed to endure the flame and scold of a burning 
bottom upon the sheet. After a little while she did not care.

The next morning she was backed up to the mirror and made a good resolve to be 
cautious in the future. Five strokes might not have been so bad but nine left her twin curves all
the colors of a rainbow.

The engine room was not the way Megan would have supposed. It was clean and 
functional even though the surge of power from its giant engines filled every inch of it with 
sound. Above her head was a wheel, a sizeable wheel which went very slowly around and 
around which was activated by rods going into the ceiling and floor. It seemed to have no 
function except to help punish a girl. Her handcuffed wrists were raised aloft and attached to 
the wheel, causing her to have to follow the wheel around and around in an unending circle. 
Megan Summers was thinking with regret of being ironed safely in the brig, and admitted 
ruefully to herself that for slavegirls, conditions could always get worse. True, there was no 
pain in what she now endured, but she was willing to confirm that if she walked around and 
around long enough with raised arms she would go insane. This was another of her master’s 
pleasantries, for him a trifle of amusement, for her a growing discomfort.

She thought longingly of sunlight but sniffed with disdain the oil smell of the engine 
room. The engine room officer was the only bright spot on her horizon.

“I expect you’re pissed off with this, Miss Summers.” He was maybe thirty and not 
unattractive. “I don’t have to tell you it’s not my idea but it’s something you’ll have to put up 
with aboard this ship. Whatever Morgan says is law. I do hope you’ll understand.”

Megan admitted she understood. She cautiously refrained from asking him to free her 
hands, he probably couldn’t anyway without the proper key. But he seemed a decent enough 
person and she beheld sympathy in his eyes which drank in her nakedness without too carnal 
an interest.

“I know you’ve been warned about my trying to bribe you,” she said. “I tried to bribe 
someone else and got myself into a lot of trouble. I offered a million dollars for freedom but it
did me no good.”

His eyes told her she had scored. But his voice held only regret. “I’ll forget you dropped 
the hint,” he said soberly. “A million dollars is no good to someone who is dead. If may help. 
Miss Summers, if you understand that all over the world there are powerful men who hold 
dominion over an area or a whole country. They word is law and sensible men join them 
instead of putting up useless battle. I expect it’s the same with the girls they acquire in one 
way or another. I understand you were purchased?”

It was shaming to carry on a rational conversation while you are naked and your hands 
bound well above you head as you walked around and around an endless circle. Megan did 
her best, wishing the engineer had more courage and she more opportunity. But the wheel to 
which she was attached held her as firmly as the brig and all its irons. She had to content 
herself by saying, “I know I’m a prisoner, I know I can’t escape. But if you want to do 
something to help me sometime, I’d be terribly grateful and so would my father.”

They left it thus, understanding each other. Megan then continued to make the tiny steps 
to keep pace with the constantly moving wheel. She wish her chained hands were lower down 
but what was the use of wishing! A slavegirl’s life would be an endless succession of longing 
for escape and the happiness she found within her master’s arms. She knew the rest of the 
time incidental and the punishments no more than an aid to keeping boredom at bay. She 
would have been bored now had it not been for the endless round of steps. And the 
occasional visits of the engineer or one of his men. They were intensely curious about this 
beautiful young woman their master owned.

“You were rich, weren’t you, Miss Summers? I’m curious how it feels to be a rich man’s 
slave?”

He seemed another decent type, his uniform well tailored, his face and hair well groomed. 
Like his superior, they were of the islands and therefore unquestionably Morgan’s men. But 
Megan was human and female, and responded to the admiration in their eyes and her power 
to generate an erection from their loins. A slavegirl enduring even the mildest of punishments 
is grateful for the slightest warmth from a male companion.

“Yes, I was rich, I was powerful, I had the world by the tail,” she admitted ruefully. “Now I’m
nothing, subject to the will of a man I first met only a short time ago. It’s my own fault but I 
cannot possibly tell you where I went wrong. I was kidnapped and here I am! I’m a naked and 
chained up girl available for all men to see. I’m surprised you haven’t used your hands to feel 
my sex.”

“Think of other things. Miss Summers.”

She appreciated what she viewed as male consideration from this man. Why, oh why, can’t 
her father’s men come to her rescue, put her in a boat, and send her back to freedom. Why 
couldn’t this man? He probably needed the money.

Around and around continued her little walk in the engine room.

Everything was unexpected. The reappearance of Pansy as her jailer was a surprise. Megan 
had supposed the younger girl still heavily ironed in the brig, or perhaps in Morgan’s bed. But 
Pansy was busily engaged in a task she knew from experience. Her finger on a button stopped
the wheel and Megan stood gratefully still for the first time in a while. She was hugged and 
kissed by a jailer who evidently knew she had best avail herself of this while she could. When 
Megan’s arms were released and her handcuffed wrists fell to the level of her waist, she knew 
a brief euphoria, a euphoria soon shattered.

“I have to do something to you. Miss Summers, and I don’t think you’ll like it a little bit. I’m
terribly sorry.” The youngster’s eyes were wide in seeking acceptance.

“Don’t worry, Pansy, I haven’t been enjoying myself going around and around. Is this other
thing worse?”

Pansy giggled. “Depends on the point of view, Miss Summers. You’re a lady so I don’t 
suppose you’ll like it much. It’s not that bad, but-“

It was a wide, smooth shaft. Megan’s hands were changed from front to back and she was 
told to side astride a smoothness of metal she distrusted. Her ankles were noosed in rope and
drawn off to either side to leave her firmly planted on a round shaft from which her sex could 
not escape. It was very simple and not uncomfortable. If this was how she was to spend her 
afternoon, she could feel lucky.

But she was not lucky! No sooner had Pansy tightened the tethers to her ankles than a 
tremor shook the huge shaft to turn it slightly this way and that before leaving it once more 
still and innocent.

“What was that?” Megan demanded apprehensively. “The damned thing moved.”

“It will do that every so often. Miss Summers. And it will keep on doing it,” Pansy informed.
“I have to give you some lubricant but I expect after a while you’ll generate your own.”

This strange punishment began to take shape in Megan’s mind. She sat helplessly astride 
the smooth shaft, her hands lost to her behind her back, her legs wide spread to insure her 
sex being positioned where it would be sensitized and excited by the shaft. Megan looked 
down as Pansy squirted fluid upon and around her only contact with the iron. Even as this was
being done the shaft once more moved back and forth erratically and continued to do so until
the intent of her perch could no longer be denied. Outraged, she complained, “But, Pansy, you
know what’s going to happen. I’ll have a climax and then another and another. This thing will 
drive me crazy. Get me off it or at least stop it moving. I can’t stand what it’s doing to me.”

Pansy kissed her lovingly and went away. Megan simply sat, there was nothing else she 
could do. Her hands were lost to her. She could not move her feet because her legs were 
tractioned taut. Beneath her was the enemy, the shaft on which she sat and who’s oiled 
surface might at any moment might come to life in any one of many motions it had the power
to perform. It might circle or it might jigsaw back and forth as if to assure the girl who sat on it
of an orgasm in her future. Megan struggled without avail. She was angrily certain that 
somewhere Josh Morgan would be smiling. Quite probably he would visit her when she was 
totally shamed by climax after climax. Wryly she thought to herself that Josh had really given 
her the shaft this time.

Nothing happened! The engine room sounds continued normally as the president of 
Triangle Corporation sat upon a polished shaft with legs spread wide. She soon realized the 
position as a punishment in itself without help from the thing on which she sat. Angrily she 
spent her time in a futile effort to free her hands.

The motion came without warning. A half turn and back several times before making a 
couple of complete revolutions. It then stopped. But in spite of Pansy’s lubricant, it’s motions 
had generated heat between Megan’s legs. The shaft had become a living enemy.

The intervals of inaction lasted a minute or two and Megan Summers sat through them in 
quivering apprehension, uncertain if the shaft was motivated by automation or my human 
hand. From all she knew Josh might be watching.

The engineer and his mate passed frequently upon their duties, always pausing for a word 
of sympathy, leaving the naked girl with a blush she did not want. They affected not to see the
shaft, excusing themselves immediately it came to life. It was only a matter of time before the 
shy sex thrust hard between metal and its owner’s weight reacted to motion and friction and 
blossomed into the first orgasm of the day, an explosive shame beyond the girl’s control, 
continuing from peak to peak under the stimulus of frictioned heat. When it finally stopped 
and Megan came back into the world, it was to behold the smiling face of Josh Morgan.

“That was a real winner you just had, pretty girl.” Morgan’s tone held nothing but 
admiration. “You’re a damned lucky girl getting to sit on the hot box and getting shafted 
every so often. I’ll bet you wouldn’t get off there if you could.”

“Josh, stop it! Stop tormenting me and get me off this horrible thing. If I sit here all day, I’ll 
be a wreck!”

“But a real pretty wreck. I bet you wish your office staff could see you now.”

“Don’t be horriblel! Josh, stop teasing and take me off this beastly thing.”

The beastly thing chose that moment to come once more life. Alternating complete 
revolutions with the devastating half turns back and forth no maiden sex could possibly 
endure for long, it plunged the blushing prisoner once more into the wonderful world of 
sexual excitement. Suddenly it stopped.

“Want me to get it to start again, pretty girl? You were just ready to go over the brink and I
wouldn’t want to spoil things for you.”

“Don’t you dare! Josh, you’re being beastly and I hate this awful thing I’m sitting on. I 
don’t know where you get such ideas.”

“I get them from you girls, of course! Damn it, a naked girl can give a man more ideas than
he knows what to do with. It will keep me busy thinking up the notions to keep you amused 
for the voyage.”

“You don’t need to on my account. I don’t see why you can’t let me enjoy myself up on the
deck. You’re just being mean to me.”

“Put it down to the sea air, pretty girl. The sea and the sun and a good ship beneath my 
feet sure do generate a lot of pretty pictures in which you’re always the centerpiece. That 
shaft’s coming alive again, isn’t it!”

“Oh, Josh, stop it!” They were Megan’s last words before the revolving metal took 
possession.

Josh Morgan slowly circled his slavegirl in the pure ecstasy of awe came close to being the 
ultimate satisfaction of the senses. He viewed her wiggling body from all angles, watching the 
twisting hands and chaffed wrists in their metal prison. Her breasts thrust out and her hips 
rocked against the shaft. The muscles in her legs stood out taut as she strained against the 
tethers. It was a show indeed. Her nipples stood out erect and firm even though they had not 
been touch.

When the frictioned sex once more flowered into climax, Josh Morgan stood in reverence 
to watch.

“You sure do smell good, pretty girl,” the owner of slavegirls observed when the punished 
beautify struggled back to the real world. “Boy, you sure do give that shaft all you’ve got. 
Damn it, you’ve got me horny!”

“Then don’t waste me on this thing!” Megan retorted bitterly. “Free me and use me instead
of wasting me on this rod. Damn it. Josh, be sensible, don’t leave me here all day!”

Josh Morgan kissed his pretty girl tenderly upon her lips before leaving her to the friction 
monster on which she sat.

Pansy came with fresh lubricant. As she spayed, Megan pleaded in a broken voice, “Pansy, I
can’t stand this, it will kill me if I sit here long enough. Free my feet, get me off of here! Don’t 
worry about Josh. I’ll take whatever punishment Josh dishes out. Please hurry, oh, please hurry
before the blasted thing starts up again.”

“You know I can’t do that, Miss Summers. Ain’t no way I can let you loose. And if I did the 
boss would half kill me. All I can do is come and spray you down there so you don’t get 
chaffed more than you have do. Jeepers, I sure am sorry.”

“Well, then, free just one of my feet and let me slide off here for just a minute. Please, 
Pansy, I promise I won’t give you trouble.”

It was no use. Pansy was sympathetic but adamant, pointing out that it was she who might
be on the shaft tomorrow. There was no telling what bizarre eroticisms might be devised. 
Their master enjoyed creating these situations for his enjoyment.

Alone again, Miss Megan Summers fought hard against the growing heat within her loins, 
bitterly knowing it a battle she could not win. When the afternoon waned, Pansy freed the 
bound feet and helped the worn out girl off the shaft. Megan could not stand for a while, her 
legs were so stiff and her sex so sore. A concerned Pansy provided her youthful strength in 
support as they made their painful passage to the bath in which Megan stood with 
wide-spread legs and hands still bound behind her back. Pansy soaped and rinsed the barely 
conscious girl to remove all traces of lubricant and sweat and other juices. Neither girl made 
comment as Megan was once more heavily ironed within the brig. Both knew Pansy would be 
in Morgan’s bed while the sexually exhausted victim of the shaft was given time to recover. 
For once Megan found comfort in her irons and managed to sleep soundly upon what she 
had always thought of as the hardest bed in all the world.

It was not a one night but two Megan Summers remained ironed in the brig. Two days and
nights of chained isolation during which her meals were delivered by the middleaged 
crewman who’s conversation was limited to, “You sure is a damned pretty girl, Miss Summers,”
or the more daring, “How’d you like a good screw?”

It was sad time for Megan, filled with fearful visions of the future in which she saw herself 
the inmate of a brothel when Josh tired of her as he inevitably must. All men tire of any 
woman no matter how beautiful she might be. It was one of the reasons Megan Summers 
never married.

On the third evening she was once more accorded the honor of asking of her bottom to 
be caned.

“Sure did miss you, pretty girl, young Pansy ain’t half the woman you are. But she’s a horny
little trick and I’ve thought up a real good deal for her. Tell you about it later.”

Megan Summers stood naked before her master. She wore nothing but the familiar 
handcuffs and was well aware of a fast-beating heart. “Pansy’s a little treasure neither of us 
deserves,” she said tartly. “Josh, I don’t understand, why all this cruelty?”

“Boredom, pretty girl. I miss my business. Running things by wireless ain’t half the fun so I 
take it out on your and Pansy’s pretty hides. I’m a real bastard, do you want an apology?”

“No. And I’ll admit I’m glad to stand naked for your pleasure here tonight. This bedroom is
wonderful after the brig. But what about tomorrow? Do I get punished again tomorrow?”

Josh Morgan kissed and playfully fondled his captive girl while continuing in a normal 
conversational tone. “Okay, I thought of something. It’s a real honey. How’d you like to be the 
Judith’s figurehead? You remember those painted wooden women they used to have sticking 
out over the wave? You’d look damn cute.”

Megan sighed resignedly but did not draw away. She matched her tone with his. “I don’t 
think it’s cute at all. I’ll be scared to death and get soaked. And, anyway, I don’t think it’s 
practical.”

“I’ve had the boys do a bit of work to make it damned good and practical, pretty girl. The 
Judith will be the envy of every ship we pass.”

“You idiot, you’ll be reported to every authority in the world! A real, live naked girl tied in 
full view on the bow of a huge yacht, you’re crazy!”

“But just think, pretty girl, you’ll be looked at by every telescope on the Pacific. If 
somebody recognizes you, you’ll be back home with Papa real soon. I thought you’d be 
pleased.”

Megan considered rescue improbable and contented herself with a sniff of disdain before 
moving on to the purpose of her presence. “Do I get caned tonight or is it that flagellum 
thing,” she asked with a quiver in her voice.

“I thought you hated the strap, pretty girl?”

“I’m sure that wouldn’t stop you using it. You defeated me last time by raising the count to
nine instead of five. The damned thing is terrible but I can probably stand five without too 
much fuss.”

“First off, I want to see if there is any damage where you got shafted. Spread your legs.”

Megan set her feet apart. “If you want a good look at my much-abused pussy, go right 
Ahead. I told you before, she’s all yours.”

“You’re back to normal, pretty girl. You’re in great shape. Not that you ever were as badly 
abused as you proclaim. All that silly fuss about being let loose and you couldn’t possibly 
stand it. Shit, young Pansy would lap it up and ask for more.”

“So, all right, I over reacted. Do we have to talk about it?”

“We were about to decide whether your bottom gets the cane or the strap. Do you have a 
preference?”

“I prefer the cane.”

“Okay, the cane it is. You get the strap tomorrow.”

“Thank you. How would you like me to position myself?”

“You’re in a big hurry to get a roasted rump, pretty girl.” He kissed her long and lovingly. 
“This time I want you crotched on the floor with your rump up in the air.”

“The one to stretch me the tightest and hurt the worst of all. Josh, you really are a 
bastard!”

“That brings you up to six, pretty girl. You sure do learn the hard way.”

With lips tight clenched in silence, Miss Megan Summers arranged herself carefully upon 
the rug, knees forward, elbows back, forearms flat. It was wickedly demeaning and provided 
her master with a full and inmate view of her secret place. She knew she would be lucky if only
one stroke landed on the exposed sex this position protruded so.Fearfully, she knew she must 
not move as the cane bit and cuffed, but she was only handcuffed and would need all her will 
power to hold still. She gave a small wail of anguish as the limber rod lapped her curves from 
hip to hip. It was going to be bad!

“You’re learning to take them like a Trojan,” Josh observed pridefully when it was done. “I 
figured you’ll probably fall to one side but you held steady even though your little ass did a 
bit of quivering. No need to tie you any more.”

“I’d rather be tied, Josh, if you don’t mind.”

“Hmmmm….I’ll think about it.”

The master’s fingers tenderly explored the work of his cane while his slave keep silent. 
Megan had not been given permission to raise and had to hold the shaming posture.

“You’ll get all the tying you want tomorrow,” he said, “don’t ask for more. Now, plant your 
little rump upon the bed.”

The cane strips burned as though alive.





CHAPTER FOUR - SCORCHED SKIN


Megan Summers could have sworn the Judith vibrated in anticipation as Josh Morgan led her, 
naked and handcuffed, out into the sunlight of the deck. The crew was not assembled as 
before but must know the nature of her punishment of the day. Josh squeezed her bare arm 
in gentle reassurance.

“I’m looking forward to this, pretty girl. And you’ll look back at it with pride. On all the 
seven seas you’ll be the only pretty girl as a living figurehead on her master’s ship. Happy?”

“No. Should I be! I wish I could talk you out of it. I’m going to have a horrible day, scared 
to death and probably soaked with sea water. Josh, I beg of you, let me off this one.”

During the night and after her master had used her body as he pleased, his slavegirl had 
thought much about the role awaiting her today. She felt no excitement and no pride, only a 
wish that she could change her master’s mind. With bitterness she recalled Amaril’s story of 
being suspended by one ankle above a shark-infested sea. She had dismissed it then as the 
fantasy of a disordered mind. She did not dismiss it now.

She was frankly fearful that if she complained too bitterly today, she might suffer a similar 
fate tomorrow. She did not speak of this to Josh, he had ideas enough without planting 
another.

“I don’t see how you can possibly do it to me, I’ll end up hanging over the rail like a sack 
of potatoes. Josh, please have mercy.”

Only two men were waiting at the bow. A small platform had been rigged beneath the 
forward spar and without preliminaries, the handcuffed girl was slung across the rail to stand 
fearfully above the awful Deep where monsters lurked. She was instantly joined by a member 
of the crew who either believed what he said or had been well coached.

“Don’t be scared, Miss Summers, we’re going to fix you so nothing could make you fall 
into the sea. First off, I want you to raise your arms and put your hands on either side of the 
spar.”

Hesitantly the frightened girl obeyed. But her raised hands were instantly grasped and 
drawn far back to be bound tightly with soft rope of many strands. In her fear of the Sea she 
found herself thrusting back against the Judith’s sharp nose and was instantly rewarded by a 
broad strap buckled around her belly to make her a living part of the ship itself. The crew had 
made their preparation skillfully. She was already held with hands and belly cinched to thrust 
her rib cage outward and leave her seeking a solid foothold. The search did not last long, an 
ankle was noosed with rope and then the other. The ropes were pulled hard to jerk her feet 
back into limbo and rob her of this last support. Each ankle was drawn back and back to rings 
stoutly anchored in the Judith and were there knotted. Miss Megan Summers had become the
counterpart of a thousand wooden figureheads in ages past. The stress of her binding thrust 
her arrogant breasts like cannon at the Sea. Sheepishly, and with a ribbon he produced, the 
crewman bound Megan’s abundant main of dark hair in a ponytail.

“Won’t be so bad if it gets wet, Miss Summers. Will save you shaking your head to keep it 
out of your eyes.” He gave her one final grin before climbing back on the deck.

The platform was then drawn up and out of sight to leave the tightly secured young 
woman fastened to the Judith and gazing out to sea.

There was no other view except the ocean. Megan could not look above, the angle by 
which she was bound forced her to look only at the depths below. She could not even look 
down to see the Judith slicing the waves. She was well and truly stretched in a manner she 
knew would be painful as the day grew on.

The bound girl soon discovered her breathing was hard with her body bowed back and so 
tightly bound. It was nothing to be afraid of but told her clearly that she was not a person 
enjoying a unique view but rather a toy, a sexual plaything to be put in whatever painful and 
contorted position pleased her male master.

Megan almost laughed aloud at the thought of how she was going to visit her sister while 
thus securely bound. What was funny was that her sister was probably in bondage as secure 
and stringent as this. It was a crazy world!

Several times during the morning she sensed and heard male hands testing and once 
tightening her ropes. She felt only thankfulness at being tightly bound. Gradually her fear of 
falling vanished to be replaced only with concern for wrists and ankles hurting within their 
bondage. Strangely, she found herself feeling happy. Then excitement began to generate a 
familiar heat within her stretched limbs. Undoubtedly any creature of the deep with a carnal 
interest was being accorded a magnificent view of Miss Megan Summers’s secret place. The 
bindings separated her ass cheeks to either side of the blunt bow, and her frontal area was 
wide open for all to see. She was thankful there were none to see, at least none human.

By the time Megan Summers was composed and resigned to the role she was forced to 
play, the Judith sprung one more trick. Quite suddenly as the ship veered, there came into 
view an island and a harbor, occupied by several ships. Most were considerably smaller than 
the Judith. Megan’s knowledge of this area was poor and for her the island had no name. But 
names were of little concern to the bound figurehead now wet with salt spray. Her concern 
was now to be seen in this outrageous pose which no doubt amused Josh Morgan but which 
revolted her. Only slowly did it occur to her that Josh Morgan’s offhanded comment about 
being recognized and rescued might have some basis in reality. Improbable as it might be, 
there was a change Morgan was overplaying his hand in his desire for a perverted thrill. It was 
with mixed feeling that the living figurehead watched trees and sand and building draw closer.

The island of Saint Bonaventure was of little consequence as it lay sleepily upon the azure 
waters. Had it been a center for trade, the Judith would have stayed away. But Josh Morgan 
saw in its quiet being an opportunity to throw the mind of his slavegirl into even greater 
confusion than before. He saw only laughter for himself and Pansy and nothing worse than 
chagrin and a touch of shame for the maiden he intended to display. So far as the Judith was 
concern, this was undoubtedly the best of all possible worlds!

Megan expected to be gagged, surely Josh would not run the risk of the damage her 
tongue might do should there be those upon the wharf to listen. But the Judith slowly nosed 
her way into position against the wharf it would not use, only to display its figurehead to the 
very best advantage. Having tensed herself to scream for help, the figurehead was annoyed to
discover none to hear that scream. When there appeared those with whom she might 
converse, her voice was diminished by the sound of wind and wave and the rattle of a winch. 
Within a hundred yards of land and safety, she was impotent.

For the girl so tightly tied to the Judith there then began a fury and frustration beyond 
words. A small trickle of men came and went upon its business upon the wharf, sparing only 
glances of envy at the Judith’s richness and white paint. Seemingly all failed to notice the 
angry figurehead which could do no more than turn in their direction and shout intelligible 
sounds. They shrugged it off as one more evidence of American insanity and went their way. 
Megan cried out again and again to ears that did not listen.

It was not until the following day she learned the islanders spoke no English.

The Judith remained docked for only long enough for Saint Bonaventure to get a good 
but disinterested view of Miss Megan Summers flattened out body and the innocent breasts 
she would have loved to hide. Those who came first told others of the American craziness. But
the time the Judith -edged back out to sea, a considerable number of interested spectators 
had expressed their own opinions of the feminine charms exhibited for their enjoyment. True, 
it was annoying to have the figurehead constantly shouting at them in the harsh American 
tongue, but the inhabitants contented themselves with the reflection that a man can’t have 
everything and that, after all, the show was free!

The Judith’s short stay at Saint Bonaventure cost Josh Morgan the price of wharfage fees 
but he considered the money well spent. The whole affair had been fun. He donned a hat and 
jacket and false beard, and joined the locals upon the wharf to pick up comments and see the 
loveliness of his figurehead from a much better angle than could be seen from the deck. With 
increasing wealth Morgan was becoming more and more interested in these little games that 
only the really wealthy could afford to play. He enjoyed provoking an emotion in his slavegirl 
and watch it run its course. Miss Megan Summers was by far the most responsive subject he 
had ever owned.

Years ago, when his wealth had reached massive size, he had reached beyond the local 
talent of Lost Island to import females of various nationalities. But none had held for him such
an attraction as Megan Summers. Having feasted his fill of the bowed maiden, he was inclined
to doubt he would find anything more amusing if the voyage was continued to its end.

He acknowledged that he and Megan had found something to treasure at Morganpride, a 
treasure he did not wish to jeopardize by overindulgence in the infliction of fantasies upon his
slavegirl. But there was something to spark mischief in his mind aboard the Judith. He had 
cynically attributed it to the “sea air”, or perhaps the sight of so much loveliness held in the 
unkind gripe of irons. It did not matter, whatever provoked him to impose his carnal notions 
upon his slave, he was not prepared to allow conscious to dictate a change while aboard the 
Judith. He would continue but warned himself to spoil a good thing.

They would soon enter the Panama Canal and start the journey up the opposite coast, a 
journey Josh Morgan could see little profit in other than letting slavegirl sisters visit each 
other. Morgan had little hope of a successful deal with Kypers by which he would sail back to 
Lost Island with two slavegirls instead of one. He was prepared to spend a lot of money but 
doubted that Kypers would part with Amaril Summers. But perhaps Karl Kypers may have tired
of Amaril.

He would visit the Clifton House with its odd collection of people, including a girl named 
Donna whom he had never seen. His motive in the visit would be pure curiosity.

For the naked girl stressfully bound against the Judith’s bow, the visit to Saint Bonaventure
had been a disappointment. As the ship veered out to sea, a tear ran down her cheek at which
she angrily shook her head to dislodge something she could not touch. The sea had become 
choppy to provide spread enough to keep Megan Summers well soaked. Her hair absorbed 
the water and dripped dismally down her naked back. A downward glance told Megan of the 
beauty of her out-thrust breasts and that water was collecting upon her nipples to drop off 
and return to the sea, happier for their inmate contact with this lovely naked woman.

Megan had given up fighting after the first brief testing of her bonds. She was now too 
stiff and sore to even try. She could not sag or droop but was compelled to hold the posture 
of a figurehead. As the hours lengthened, she wished devoutly she had been able to chose a 
different punishment, anything but this increasingly uncomfortable position. But slavegirls and
beggars can’t be choosers.

The afternoon breeze increased and the sea grew rougher and whitecaps danced upon the
waves. More than just sprayed, Megan was now periodically drenched with warm salt water in 
this strange bondage. She knew herself the loneliest girl in the world.

Josh Morgan, while a mean man, did not want a sick slavegirl on his hands and, as the sun 
waned and the air cooled, he ordered the Judith’s living figurehead to be released and 
returned to Pansy’s tender loving care. After a bath and hairdo the thankful girl was 
handcuffed and told to join her master at dinner. It was glorious to be free, the handcuffs 
were next to nothing. Her wrists and ankles still bore deep indentations from the ropes. This 
was her first meeting with The Master since release and she was uncertain what to say.

“Aren’t you going to say thank you, pretty girl?” Josh asked politely. “I could have left you 
there all night, you know. That would really be an experience. Want to try it sometime?”

“Thank you for releasing me but, no, I don’t ever want to be tied that way again. I was 
scared to death.”

“Don’t see why, you were tied good and tight.”

“I suppose I was thinking of what happened to Amaril and the sharks. Tied the way you 
had me tied all day I’ve been picturing the most awful monsters raising up from down below. 
Don’t laugh, that’s the way a girl’s mind works. Please don’t tie me there again, Josh.”

“Huh? You telling me what to do, pretty girl?” Morgan’s voice was heavy with reproof. “I’ll 
have you tied there any time I like. And next time it will be an all-nighter. You’ll really see the 
monsters then. But don’t worry, you’re safe enough for a week or so, I’ve a few other notions 
for you. Damn it girl, don’t look so glum!”

Megan managed a smile. Actually she was reveling in the glory of freedom and superb 
food which her joined hands were getting to her mouth as fast as possible without wanting to
draw attention to the act.

“Thank you, Master, I’m sure I’ll be grateful for being bound like that through the 
darkness,” she said with more than a hint of sarcasm. “Have you considered making me walk 
the plank?”

“Was that sarcasm, pretty girl?” Morgan fixed her with a steely eye. “Well, whatever it was it
has earned you an extra strip this evening. Some way or the other I’ve got to make you watch 
your tongue.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry I spoke out but I’m sure the extra punishment will do me a world of 
good.”

“I’m not so sure about that one either!” Morgan glowered. “You’re getting the idea you 
know how to handle me. You’d better watch it!”

It was part of a delicious game of thrust and parry. After months of captivity Megan knew 
her master all too well. Demurely she inquired, “What do I have to endure tomorrow?”

“Thought of giving you a day off. How do you want to spend it, tied to the rigging or in 
the brig with the hardware?”

“Couldn’t I just be handcuffed and walk around the deck?”

“You’d get the crew hot and bothered. And, anyway, Pansy’s agreed to do your stint for 
you-haven’t you Pansy?”

“Sure has, Mr. Morgan, Sir. Miss Summers, she needs rest.”

Waiting until Pansy left the room, Morgan casually observed, “The little sweetheart doesn’t
know what she’s in for. Probably thinks she’ll be hung up somewhere or get her little ass 
warmed. What me to tell you what she’s got coming?”

“You will anyway so go Ahead.”

“She’s a horny little trick, even I can’t give her enough. So I’ll have the boys spread her out 
wide open over a hatch and then-well, you can imagine. That way Pansy will get to sample 
every prick on the ship and enjoy each one maybe more than once. It’s a cute idea.”

“It’s disgusting, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Josh, you’re not really going to…?”

“For you, not for her. Sure you wouldn’t sooner I had it done to you?”

“Josh, you disgust me. The poor kid will suffer a trauma. Please don’t.”

The master of the Judith chuckled into his coffee. “You got it wrong, pretty girl. You ask her
when she comes back. I’ll bet she says thank you.”

It was not Megan who asked the question. It was the ship’s owner and he pulled no 
punches. “That punishment of yours tomorrow, Pansy, Megan here thinks you can’t take it. But
all that will happen is that you’ll get staked out someplace on the deck and the crew is told 
they can screw you all they please. What do you say to that?”

The handcuffed girl at dinner was shocked by the younger maiden’s shinning eyes and 
instant flow of thanks. “Yo’ sure is good to me, Mr. Morgan, Sir. Yo’ don’t need to have me tied
down. I’ll stay spread out the way you want real good.”

“But it would be a bit more respectable if you were properly fastened down. Don’t you 
agree?” Josh innocently inquired.

“Guess you’s right, Sir. An’ Ah don’t mind one bit.” Pansy turned to the true prisoner. “Yo’ 
sure yo’ don’t mind, Miss Summers? Ah mean….”

“I won’t be jealous. Pansy, if that’s what you’re thinking. I consider the whole idea revolting
and I’m going to do my best to take our Master out of it.” Megan’s voice was trembling.

“An’ get yo’ ass whipped?” Josh inquired, mocking Pansy’s accent.

“If the only way you can handle a conversation is to cane my bottom, why, yes, go Ahead 
and do it.” Megan cast caution to the winds.

Two girls and a man stared at each other in curiosity as to what came next. Nothing came 
next. Josh Morgan was laughing heartily at the dismay on female faces, soon Pansy was 
laughing, too. And finally Megan broken down in her own merriment at this bizarre absurdity 
others might not believe. Tension vanished.

When evening came. Josh Morgan displayed an unexpected kindness. Taking his slavegirl 
in his arms, he kissed her tenderly then bit her ear before whispering, “You can have the night 
off if you want, pretty girl. I gave you a damned rough day.”

Pretty girl was happy in his arms, wanting nothing more, wanting most earnestly never to 
be a figurehead again. Her tone was shamefully urgent, “I want you terribly. Josh. I wanted you
every moment I was tied out there abo-e the water. Don’t iron me down in the brig.” For 
emphasis she raised her chained hands over his head to draw herself tighter against his 
muscular strength. “I though I was played out before we had dinner iiut after the bath and 
good food I’m ready for you. A lot more than ready.”

“Even for the cane?

“Yes, even for the cane.”

“Remember … six strokes?”

“Yes, I remember. What pose do you want me in?”

Disengaged, they were suddenly laughing and animatedly discussing the various obscene 
positions in which she might receive the rod. Josh finally decided on the crotched position but
added an innovation of his own. When the girl to be caned had snuggled herself into the 
desired position, her master made it doubly hard to bare by a strap circling her thighs and 
back to cinch them into even tighter prominence, while from below her bottom cheeks there 
protruded the soft and secret mound with the coy slit no maiden ever wishes to display. 
Morgan fingered it lovingly.

“Never seen it stick out this far before. I’ll have to remember that strap, that’s what does it.
Do you mind if I plant a couple squarely across it to teach it a k on?”

Megan said she did pot mind. Once more she was in the grip of a strange euphoria that 
possessed her under the dominance of this magnificent male. Morgan stripped and held the 
cane for her to kiss before slicing it savagely across the soft folds which should have stayed 
out of sight. Megan squealed and would have fallen sideways had not her master’s hand 
steadied her.

“Hurt, heh! Hold still, pretty girl, only five more to go.”

The naked and bound girl took her five without further complaint, three of them sliced the
softness of a sex which should not have been protruding. Not that its owner had the slightest 
control of it under such circumstances. When the cane had satisfied its lust. Josh Morgan 
satisfied his by penetrating within the scolded and swollen lips from an angle not usually 
employed. Miss Megan Summers accepted his thrusts as being no more than his due. To say 
that she herself found no pleasure in the act would have been untrue.

Later, spread wide upon the bed, she was given entry to the kingdom of carnal pleasure 
while her owner found his own Nirvana within her.

It was hot beneath an blazing sun up on the Judith’s deck. The hatch cover provided 
ample space for Pansy’s spread wide nakedness, shackled at wrist and ankles but with enough 
loose chain to give scope to the physical responses that would help entertain members of the 
crew. Her open sex stared back at the sun and at any who passed by. Pansy was embarrassed 
by this shameless display of her charms.

“Do you think they really will, Miss Summers? I mean, do you-know-what to me?” Her 
voice quivered in delicious anticipation.

Megan was beginning to wonder. She sat beside the spread-eagled girl or stood to gaze 
down at Pansy’s smile. She could do nothing else as one ankle was chained to a ringbolt, 
giving her very limited movement. She would have to watch anything that happened to Pansy.
With wry humor she replied, “It’s like having a shop and waiting for business. But there 
doesn’t seem to be any. Have you noticed how they just pause and grin and hurry away. I 
guess we shouldn’t complain.”

“It’s because you’re chained here and can’t go away,” Pansy explained. “They know you’re 
a rich girl and you belong to the boss. And they’re too shy to do it to me while you have to 
stand and watch. Don’t worry, Miss Summers, they’ll all be back and I’ll bet every one of them 
gets into me. If you don’t want to watch, you’d best close your eyes.”

Megan noticed that in the excitement of what Pansy expected to happen to her, the black 
girl had lapsed into very good English. She sighed and kicked at her chained ankle. Josh was 
being mean, he must surely know this sharing of shame was as painful for her as whip or cord 
or strap would have been. From the beginning she had made up her mind to stand as far 
away as her shackle would allow and to stare out to sea no matter what happened behind her 
back. But, on the other hand, if she could discourage shy rapists by sitting and glaring hostility
at them, that too was a service she could do. The opportunity was almost immediate in the 
approach of the middleaged jailer who had served her in the brig. His fellow crew members 
called him “Cuppy”. Without the faintest embarrassment he met her hostile gaze.

“Ain’t no use you staring at me that away, Miss Summers. You got the younger boys 
scared but you don’t scare me none. I got permission to screw young Pansy here an’ you can 
watch or look the other way. If you give trouble, I’ll iron you in the brig, which is a damned 
good place for a broad like you. I’d screw you to a fare-thee-well if you didn’t belong to the 
boss.”

Megan stood at the end of her brief chain and stared in horrid fascination as Cuppy 
removed his pants and gazed approvingly at the young female sex awaiting his pleasure. 
Unable to turn away, Megan Summers watched while the heavy male figure mounted its 
victim who gazed in awe at the massive phallus aimed right for her pussy. But, beneath the 
rapists full weight, the youthful golden features showed displeasure as the first gasps of 
Cuppy’s foul breath smoked her face. It was altogether too much for Megan. Without thinking
she clasp both hands around a thick male neck and pulled a startle seaman from his prey and 
from the hatch.

Cuppy had been unprepared for resistance but as he lumbered to his feet Megan became 
well aware he would have thrashed and raped her instantly had she not been Morgan’s 
property. Cuppy was glowering anger but said no words as he fumbled in the pocket of his 
pants to produce a skein of coarse, thin twine.

“Turn around and cross your hands, Miss Summers. You don’t do that to Cuppy and get 
away with it.” He allowed the twine to unravel to its full length.

Megan backed away to the limit of her tether but did not turn, her voice as angry as his, 
“You can’t tie me without Mr. Morgan’s permission. I refuse to have my hands tied. Go away, 
leave us alone.”

“I’ll get the permission, you smart ass bitch, don’t you worry about that. Turn and give me 
them hands or I’ll start plucking Pansy’s fur bald until you do. I’ll pull her pussy patch out one 
at a time, I will!”

Megan sent a despairing glance around but there was no help in sight. She could have 
screamed but what was the use! Knowing bitter defeat, she turned and crossed her wrists to 
be rewarded by vicious twists and turns of thin twine cutting deep within her skin. This would 
be a painful bondage for her. When she had been thus rendered harmless to his cause, Cuppy
resumed his ravishment while the daughter of Preston Summers disgustedly stared out to sea.

Cuppy was number one.

“Gosh, Miss Summers, Ah sure is sorry ‘bout them hands of yo’s. It’s all my fault yo’s got 
yo’self tied up. We’s jus’ gonna have to take it and like it.” Pansy’s features brightened. “It’s not
all that bad, yo’ know.”

“It’s horrible and I hate it!” Megan said, furiously. “I wish I could set you free but there’s 
not a thing I can do with those chains. They’re not hurting, are them?”

“Gosh, no, Miss Summers, don’t yo’ worry ‘bout me. It’s yo’ what’s hurtin’. I watched the 
way he ties you, it’s real cruel. Jus’ yo’ sit down with yo’ hands near mine and Ah gets you 
loose. Takes a bit o’ time but that’s something we’s got a lot of.”

Why not! If Morgan had wanted her tied, she would have been tied in the first place. Pansy
could use only one set of fingers but was right about them having lots of time. Megan sat 
down and positioned her arms to the chained girl’s right hand. Then she waited tensely as 
nimble fingers worked on the knots.

“That big bastard just know how to screw a girl and when he ties her hands,” Pansy panted
as she worked hard. “Jus’ yo’ holds still, Miss Summers, Ah’s gets you loose for sure.”

Megan was grateful. Cuppy’s twine was hurting and she would be glad to be rid of it. 
Suddenly a sound caused her to turn and behold the amused features of the man who owned 
them both. Morgan had approached in silence to watch Pansy’s work.

“Don’t let me stop nothing, I’m here to watch,” Morgan assured the frightened maidens 
who both blushed in guilt. “Don’t pay attention to me, you just go right Ahead, Pansy. Cuppy 
had no business tying pretty girl’s hands and I’m going to tell him so.”

“Gee whiz, Boss, Ah ain’t even sure Ah can untie these knots. That Cuppy fellow sure done 
‘em tight.”

“Well, that’s okay, Pansy, pretty girl can just stay tied. It won’t do her no harm.”

“But the twine’s cutting my wrists!” protested Megan. “Cut the twine, Josh, let my hands 
loose. It’s far too hard for Pansy the way you’ve got her chained down.”

“Let’s make a sporting event of it,” Morgan suggested slyly. “If Pansy undoes those knots, 
that’s all well and good, you’ve got it made. But if Pansy can’t manage it, you can always ask 
one of the crew.”

“They won’t dare untie me, they know I belong to you,” Megan complained but to no avail.
Josh Morgan was walking back to his cabin.

“Don’t yo’ fret none, Miss Summers.” Pansy was working hard. “But Ah likely gotta stop 
pretty quick ‘cause Ah sees number two coming. Jus’ yo’ look the other way an’ pay no 
attention while he’s working on me.”

Megan sighed. They could never defeat Morgan’s will. Unhappily she stood erect to 
separate herself from the hatch and its naked occupant. She gave her full attention to the sea.

With Cuppy’s breaking of the ice, business became brisk as man after man found courage 
to ignore Megan’s back. After the first long round, there were repeats, some crewmen finding 
the courage to vigor to return three and four times to the shackled nudity upon the hatch. 
Contrary to the common concept of such matters, Pansy’s moral gained strength from each 
visitation. The wrists of Miss Megan Summers remained tied throughout the day.

The Judith traversed the Panama Canal with its prisoner safe ironed inside its brig.

“Can’t run the risk of having you run around even half tied up,” Morgan had explained in 
half apology. “I’ll tell Pansy to spend a bit of time with you st you don’t get lonely. Doesn’t 
take all that long to do the trip and then we’ll be heading up the coasts to Mexico and 
California.”

Megan supposed herself not ill-used with the iron bars of the brig. She had tired to 
persuade Morgan to chain her in his stateroom but had met a blunt refusal. She realized she 
represented a greater hazard to Josh Morgan in the waters they were entering than was the 
case back in the islands near his home. A bright eyed Pansy sweetened the pill of harsh 
captivity. The girl was always cheerful and since her day entertaining the crew with her body, 
had gathered to herself an enhanced status. The male attention largely compensating for her 
master’s lack of attention in his concern with Megan.

“We is getting awful close now, Miss Summers,” she informed Megan seriously. “Maybe I 
gets spread out for the crew of that there ‘Kypers Queen’. That ship the boss is always talking 
about. That’s were your sister is prisoner, ain’t it?”

“As far as I know, Pansy, I think she’s in the same fix as me.”

Pansy, beholding a vision, sighed. “Ah sure do wish one of these rich guys would by me 
and make me a slavegirl the way yo’ is,” she observed cheerfully. “Ah knows yo’ don’t think so 
but yo’s got it good. Ah bet yo’ sister’s got it good, too. A little whipping along the way don’t 
mean nothin’ to a girl when she’s owned by a guy who’s got millions. Yo’ sure is lucky.”

Megan did not debate the point. Maybe she was lucky! By comparison with the brothel, 
forever hovering as a threat, she could consider herself fortunate. But, even though the 
memory was becoming dim, she still longed most ardently for the execute suite and a 
permanent separation from chains and whips and ropes.

Pansy read her thoughts, “Ah knows yo’ wants to go home, Miss Summers. But Ah don’t 
thinks yo’s any closer to making it here than on Lost Island. Look at yo’ now in all them irons. 
The boss ain’t gonna take no chances, Ah thinks he’s in love with yo.”

Sitting in her pile of chains, Megan had ample time to think and hope. She had only a 
vague idea of Amaril’s condition or of Karl Kypers temperament. But surely in this meeting of 
two ships there must surely be a chance of escape of sending a message or finding someone 
to help. It was pleasant to dream while held so helpless by heavy steel and iron. She was even 
left in the brig one whole night alone while Pansy got the cane and carnal attentions of her 
boss. That, too, was a pill hard to swallow.

“We’ve made contact by wireless with the Kypers’ Queen, pretty girl. Though you would 
like to know.” Morgan’s tone was deliberately casual as he addressed the slavegirl obediently 
standing for his attention for the evening ritual of “caning you ass.”

Megan was instantly alert, forgetting everything in the single, anxious question, “Did he 
speak of Amaril? Did you find out about her?”

“That can wait until after I’ve caned your ass, pretty girl.” Morgan was being deliberately a 
tease.

“Okay, Josh, but how do you want me?” Megan was prepared to suffer in a good cause.

Morgan positioned his “pretty girl” upon the big ottoman, elbows bound to the legs at 
one end, her knees at the other. It was a convenient position for a bottom to be caned. Megan
had experienced it before and disliked the helplessness as much as the despised the cane. But 
tonight was different in her excitement over the news of the Kypers Queen and the 
resumption of carnality in Morgan’s bed. She bore the standard five strokes with no more 
than gasps of pain and the wiggling of her ass.

Released and standing with cuffed hands vainly trying to soothe her burning bottom, she 
pleaded, “Please, Josh, don’t tease. Tell me what you’ve found out.”

“He’s got that pretty sister of yours, all right.” he assured. “Sounds like he’s still got the 
hots for her. Says she’s the best piece of ass he’s ever had.”

“Will he sell her?”

“Didn’t ask him. Damn it, pretty girl, one has to be cautious about a deal like this. Just you 
hold your horses.”

“But, Josh, what is she? His mistress or does he keep her chained in the brig? Or running 
around in handcuffs! Didn’t you ask?”

“I sort of got the impression she is a highly privileged prisoner who gets her ass whipped 
once a week whether she deserves it or not. But don’t quote me, we’ll soon find out. Get up 
on that bed, pretty girl, you missed out last night so I’m going to make it up to you real good. 
If you’re thinking of that sister of yours, I’ll cane your ass again to get you back on course. 
Understand?”

Megan understood.





CHAPTER FIVE - CAPTIVE SISTERS


Amaril Summers knelt at the feet of her lord and master in all her glory of handcuffed nudity, 
a brandy sniffer held between cupped hands. Karl Kypers’ voice was only slightly teasing, “Just 
had a talk with that fellow Morgan who purchased your sister. Seems like he and the President
of Triangle Corporation aren’t that far away from us right now. I suppose you’d like to see her 
again.”

It was the witching hour, the time Amaril and her master devoted each day to cocktails 
and conversation. Today the cocktails had given away for brandy as a special occasion. The 
announcement of which now grabbed Amaril’s full attention.

“Oh, Karl, that’s wonderful! Can I really talk to Megan, I mean, being alone with her so we 
can really talk?”

“Don’t see why not.” Karl Kypers extended his unfinished drink. “Let’s drink a toast to the 
two richest and most beautiful girls in the world.” His voice sincere, his eyes smiled. Their 
glasses met as did their eyes.

“Fat lot of good it does either of us to be rich and beautiful,” Amaril sniffed in pretended 
disdain. “We’re a couple of chained pets, property of a couple of guys a lot richer than we are. 
A girl can’t hold on to much money when she’s naked.”

“Want me to send you back to papa?”

“I won’t fall for that one anymore. You know damned well you won’t send me back. You’ll 
keep me forever or at least until you tire of me and send me to that whore house you’ve told 
me about where they’ll keep me on a chain to be screwed a hundred times a day.” The young 
voice actually quivered. “Karl, don’t send me to that place for a long, long time.”

“Gosh, don’t go morbid on me. You ought to be tickled pink over the coming visit.”

“I am! Oh, Karl, I am! But I suppose when the visit is over that black man will take her back 
with him.”

“Josh Morgan isn’t a black, he’s damned near white,” Kypers admonished. “If you call him 
black to his face, I’ll give him permission to cane your ass. I understand that’s his speciality.”

“You’re not so bad at it, either.”

“The two ships will meet tomorrow, well out to sea with no one to bother us and where 
you girls can’t jump overboard and swim to shore. He’s got a damn great big yacht but it will 
be only about half the size of this freighter I’ve got. He doesn’t use his as an office the way I 
do. We should probably stop quivering about caned rumps and be hospitable.”

“It was you who mentioned caned bottoms.”

“It doesn’t matter, sweetheart. What I’m wonder is whether to mark you up real good with 
a whip so they’ll know you’re properly taken of property. I’ve been too easy on you the last 
few weeks.”

Amaril was never sure when her master teased. He might be teasing now or dead serious. 
Amaril has learned to treat his teasing seriously. “Okay, whip me or have me whipped. There is
no use me complaining because you’ll do it anyway.” She snickered. “I wonder if Megan’s 
owner is saying the same thing to her!”

“I know how this meeting will effect the two of you, you will be alive with ideas about 
escape and wondering if Morgan or I can be suckered into either setting you free or going 
easy on your bonds. Forget it! You’ll be well and truly tied during the first meeting and you 
won’t be allowed to walk around afterwards.”

“Thank you, kind sir.”

“And can the sarcasm. I’ve let you get out of hand. That’s what comes from falling in love, 
the girl instantly starts to twist you. Watch it, sweetheart, unless you want to hurt.”

“You’re already going to whip me so I’ll be well marked,” she replied, “so there’s nothing to
watch. I thought you wanted to talk about playing host.”

“You’re getting more and more like a wife everyday, you little so and so.” Kypers laughed. 
“You’ll soon be telling me we need to buy new sheets and pillow cases. I think I’ll whip you 
personally instead of having one of the boys do it. Maybe you haven’t forgotten how to cry.”

“Could we stop talking about whipping me and get on with the business?”

“Well, first off you’ll have to understand you’ll loose some freedom.”

Amaril’s owner said seriously. “We’re in dangerous waters this close to my home port. If 
any Cost Guard cutters come into view, we won’t want you struggling while we’re putting you 
out of sight.”

“Isn’t it customary to toss captive maidens overboard when you’re about to be caught?”

“Serve you right if we did. Damn it, Amaril, you really are pushing your luck. With this 
prospect of a visit from your sister I would have thought you’d be anxious to please.”

Amaril knew where to hedge. She could push Kypers only so far then he could be cruel. 
Amaril was not a bit sure about being whipped and decided to drop the subject. She was 
thrilled to the core at the prospect of holding Megan once more and talking to her sister. But 
this euphoria was tempered by the knowledge that neither of their owners would allow them 
the faintest opportunity of escape. Their main hope would be a crew member subject to 
bribery. Amaril frankly wished the bartering of her body could be negotiated above the 
market price. Girls were taught that between their thighs they owned the greatest treasure in 
the world. But when the need arises, they discover it of small commercial value.

“Well, okay, so Megan and I get tied tight and I expect it will hurt. Is there anything else I 
need to know?”

“Let me think. Get more drinks.”

Amaril did as she was told. She was always glad of orders like these which were 
pleasurable. When she was again kneeling at her master’s feet and gazing soulfully up at him, 
Kypers slowly said, “This guy Morgan has to have something on his mind. His home base is so 
damned far away I’m sure he wouldn’t make the trip just to let Megan visit you. He’s got a 
motive.”

“Maybe Megan’s persuaded him to buy me?”

“Fat chance! Morgan’s a shrewd operator and doesn’t deal in peanuts. He’ll have a motive 
but I can’t believe it’s you.”

Kypers thoughtfully consider the situation. Finally he came up with, “Damn it, Amaril, why 
didn’t I think of it before! Why don’t I simply buy Megan! She was a snooty bitch and even 
though he’s thrashed that out of her, he’s probably sick to death of whatever he’s made of 
her. Maybe I could buy her cheap.”

“Oh, Karl, if only you would! If you’ll buy Megan to keep me company, I’ll promise to be 
the best little slavegirl a man ever had.”

“You’re that anyway. No inducement.” Kypers laughed at her eagerness. “Damned if I’m 
going to hand over five or ten million for the silly bitch. But I wouldn’t mind paying a 
reasonable sum. What do you figure she’s worth?”

“She’s not a silly bitch,” Amaril said icily. “I’ve no idea what girl slaves are worth, I’m not in 
the business.”

“I wouldn’t sell you for ten million.”

“I expect that’s the nicest compliment you’ve ever given me. Thank you. Could I also be 
excused from being whipped?”

For answer, Karl Kypers pressed a button on his desk. To the crewman who responded he 
said, “Take Miss Summers and bind her to the rigging. Just her hands but damned good and 
tight.”

Without a single glance at her master, Amaril followed the seaman to her fate. Somehow 
she had pushed her luck too far. She longed to cry but the time for tears was still Ahead. At 
the appointed place she raised her arms in complete docility. Her wrists were instantly and 
painfully corded. She was left alone, no word was said, there was simply nothing to say.

Finishing his drink, Kypers cursed himself. He had no good reason for whipping Amaril and
knew it. Sure, she would absorb the lashes in the manner she always did, jerking and 
struggling and trying not to scream. She would be extremely obedient later but looking at him
with hurt eyes.

But he had taken a stand and would have to stay with it, a master cannot often renege or 
weaken. Amaril, the slave, would have to be whipped and that was the end of it.

Kypers’ heart almost paused in pity at sight of the young curves who stared far out to sea 
from between raised bare arms. He knew she was caught in a mental turmoil of emotions! To 
be whipped upon the bare skin by a master, even a master torn with tenderness, could be a 
fearful prospect for a tied girl who must simply stand and wait, knowing the lash must come. 
Again he condemned himself and wondered what he could do to make amends.

“I’ve picked the kindest whip of all,” he told her as he raised the leather thong to slavegirl 
lips for the ritual kiss. “Kiss it and stop worrying. This won’t be the worse whipping you’ve ever
had.”

“Thank you, Master.” The girlish voice was a quiet monotone.

Karl Kypers was well aware the whipping of this slavegirl was predictable. Amaril would 
gasp at each impact and moan as the thong planted red lines across her back. The master 
would not whip the sweet curves of a bottom, those were reserved for attentions of the cane. 
There would be quite a number of strokes before Amaril began to scream.

No word was said. Amaril knew it useless to plead. She did not wish to plead. If her master 
chose to whip her, it was no more than his right and privilege. And, as a slavegirl, she would 
endure it as best she could. It was the first time, it would not be the last. She was whipped 
once a week anyway, but not as severely as when bound to the rigging. When the whipping 
was done and the cords peeled from her wrists, she nestled in her master’s arms without 
anger or complaint. Was she not a slavegirl! Was this not what a slavegirl must learn to expect!

Strangely happy in spite of the scold of weals, she thought only of tomorrow and her 
sister. It was wonderful to be marked and know the marking done.

In the morning there was, first of all, the crupper, a metal band with padlock. Amaril had 
worn it before, it was unremarkable. What was remarkable was the girl, evidently a daughter 
of the islands far away. Bright-eyed she announced her name as Pansy and added, with 
complete respect, hope that Miss Amaril Summers would give no trouble while being bound. 
She held up a handcuff key.

“Ah sure hopes yo’ won’t give no trouble, Miss Summers. Ah has to unlock these handcuffs
‘fore Ah can tie yo’s hands.”

“Are you from the ship where my sister, Megan, is prisoner?”

“Sure is, Miss Summers. But don’t get no ideas. Yo’ sister, she’s okay. Now, Ah makes yo’ 
okay and we’s all happy. Ah got me some lovely rope.”

It seemed neither the place or time to fight. Amaril shrugged and said a cheerful, “Go 
Ahead, Pansy. Please don’t tie too tight.”

First it was the passive wrists placed palm to palm. With the first loop of cord, Amaril knew 
herself in the hands of an expert at binding of girls. Pansy might be young but she had been 
around and it was quickly evident her work would be neither cruel or kind, it would simply be 
a binding from which there was no escape. When thicker rope captured bare elbows, it was no
more than Amaril expected. Once more it was a most competent binding of a maiden’s arms, 
the forearms flush together from fingers to elbows. Amaril tried to shrug wracked shoulders 
without effect but looked down at protruding breasts and erect nipples to know herself 
reacting to the tight bondage.

Pansy laughed. “Bet yo’ never thought Ah could tie this good,” she teased. “But when Ah 
ties, Ah ties real good and there ain’t no way yo’s getting yo’self loose. Now, over here against
the wall.”

Amaril had always found it infuriating how easily a girl could be managed when she had 
no arms to fight with. Her back to the wall, she waited for the familiar snap which would hold 
her forever even though it had no lock. It came and Amaril knew she must stand as she now 
was until it pleased someone else to set her free.

“One more thing Ah has to do, Miss Summers, an’ it’s something yo’ no way will likes. Ah 
has to strap a gag inside yo’s mouth and buckled it real tight so yo’ can’t talk. Ah really is 
sorry.”

Amaril’s answer was simply to open her mouth. When it was stuffed with a wet rag to 
compress her tongue, a leather band crushed her lips hard against her teeth. Pansy made the 
buckle very tight indeed. Amaril could produce only quaint little murmurs and grunts while 
her eyes sought fearfully what might still come.

But there was nothing more, the island maiden patted her captive’s cheeks and went away 
to leave Miss Amaril Summers to play hostess in the strangest reception in the world. It was 
like the setting of a stage. Amaril say herself as the first prop, quickly followed by Karl Kypers 
who tested her restraints approvingly. “That’s a damned good girl this fellow’s got,” he said. 
“Just stand still, you won’t have to be here long.”

The next prop was Megan, bound as Amaril was bound and escorted by a pleased Pansy. 
Pansy fastened sister number two in the same manner as sister number one then went away. 
Once more Karl Kypers’ office was still and quiet. The two sisters did not even try to 
communicate by speech, they did so with their eyes. Each knew herself a pawn in a game only 
beginning.

When Kypers and Morgan entered they were talking earnestly of things meaningless to 
Amaril and of small interest to her sister, Megan. Neither man sought the eyes of either girl as 
they made themselves comfortable on either side of the executive desk. It seemed a long time
before either of their owners saw fit to notice the two beauties so conveniently collared and 
chained to the wall for their attention.

“Seems like you and I share a pair of sisters,” Kypers observed carelessly. “How does that 
one you’ve got behave herself, Morgan?”

“Satisfactorily. I’ve broken her.” Morgan said with pride while evading the eyes of his 
possession. “I’d say both these girls were an example of the way education and environment 
fit a girl to be a slave. The one I’ve got is far more entertaining than any I’ve ever had.”

“You mean those first months when they fight you every inch of the way?”

“Of course! But when you’ve got them broken in, they’re so fine!”

“Is that older girl you’ve got any good to screw?”

“Not at first she wasn’t. But now … she’s the best!”

“I could say the same of mine.” Kypers was speaking cautiously. “These girls from rich 
homes hate to respond to the whip but eventually they do and then a man really has himself 
something special.”

Amaril Summers was more concerned with her big sister than with male comments. She 
wondered if these two powerful men would find more in common than a shared interest in 
the imprisoned sisters they owned. But then she turned her attention to Megan. Megan had 
changed!

The change in the older sister was hard to define. Megan was bound and gagged in the 
same manner as Amaril, the cords and rope deep within the flesh, the gag equally brutal, even
though it was beautiful. Amaril soon realized the change in her sister was due to a fining 
down, probably resulting from enforced exercises or labor. And an enforced diet. Megan 
Summers was far more vital and alive than Amaril remembered. She could even believe 
Morgan’s assertion that Megan was the best in bed. She noticed now, for the first time, the 
crisscross of whip marks on Megan’s back and the scarlet and purple of the curves below. 
Evidently both slave owners had thought alike and whipped their slavegirls the day before. 
The marks of punishment added an enhancement of its own to a girl who had become 
beautiful in slavery. Amaril almost felt jealousy at the thrusting breasts and taut belly. If Kypers
was to buy such feminine perfection, the price would undoubtedly be high.

There was something more! Megan might be cruelly bound and wickedly gagged but she 
radiated pride. Megan who had once have found the cut of cord and the blatant exposure to 
the eyes of men unbearable, now only found pleasure in the exposure of her breasts, her sex, 
and all the rest. Amaril was sure some of that out-thrusting of Megan’s breasts was not due to
the tight ropes holding her arms behind her.

There was now a different tempo in the rumble of male discussion.

The preliminaries were over and the main event took place with Morgan’s casual query, 
“Would you consider selling Amaril to me? The sisters could be together. They would like 
that.”

Karl Kypers was slow to answer. When he did so, it was with a grunt. “To tell you the truth, 
Morgan, I’ve been thinking of making you the same offer for the one you’ve got. Neither of 
them seem to be pining for each other but I see your point. To own the two of them would be 
a feather in any man’s cap. Sorry, no sale.”

The hopes of two bound maidens fell to earth with a thud. The manner of their owner’s 
speech held a terrible finality. It was well they were so tightly gagged, had they been able to 
talk, they would surely earn punishments.

“Great minds think alike, heh?” said Morgan with a laugh. “I should have known you’d hold
on to what you’ve got. But what about a tentative quote? Just to get our feet wet, so to 
speak.”

“I’d price Amaril at ten million.”

“I thought you’d say that. Just the same figure I had in mind for Megan,” Morgan mused 
quietly. “I suppose either of us could afford it but it seems damned silly. If we paid it, we’d feel
silly and then want to get back the girl we’d sold. How about flipping a coin?”

“The way I value Amaril prevents me exposing her to pure chance,” Kypers said slowly. “If I 
ever sold her it would be because I wanted to or had no choice. And I can’t see that 
happening. Damn it, Morgan, we’re stymied!”

The two men laughed. Eyes flashed back and forth with feminine messages above two 
brutal gags. “Well, we’re no worse off than before we started,” Morgan pointed out. “We’ve 
both got ourselves a girl. Why not let the idea of buying or selling float around a while.”

He broke off suddenly to exclaim, “Say, did you whip that girl of yours yesterday to prove 
you’ve got her under control? She’s beautifully marked.”

“So is yours. Don’t tell me …?”

“I’ll be damned! Seems like we’re predictable.” They laughed more. “Look, Kypers, we own 
them something. You got a brig we can chain them in so they can talk themselves out? Or can 
we let them walk around the deck?”

“Amaril would rather not jump overboard. I had to toss her over once and she remembers 
it. But anyway, we’re far enough from shore that neither of them will want to swim.”

“Okay, then what you say we handcuff them and give them the freedom of the deck.” 
Morgan looked affectionately at the sisters before adding, “Magnificent couple.”

Karl Kypers laughed agreement. “Why bother with handcuffs? Free their necks and take 
those gags out and let them roam around the way they are. It’s for sure they won’t be doing 
any swimming when they’re tied like that.”

“They’re hurting.”

“So what, it’s good for them. You can bet they’ll be talking escape or some such nonsense 
and a bit of hurting will keep them knowing what they are. If we let them roam around the 
ship without some kind of restraint, we’ll get ourselves a pair of argumentative females. You’ll 
be my guest, I hope?”

“Look, Kypers, I’m curious. Let’s give them freedom of the ship without even handcuffs?”

Two girls made quaint sounds of approval.

Everyone was pleased with the final agreement.

Amaril was in a seventh heaven of delight. She had managed to remain demurely 
submissive in the time it took to make her free and cuff here left wrist to Megan’s right. But 
now on the deck and out of sight, she clasped her sister with her one free arm to exclaim 
everything she had saved up for months. The two girls rubbed breasts and thrust laughingly at
each other their sexes. No doubt they would become accustomed to joined wrists. But for the 
first moments they were forced to by holding hands to keep the wrists from jerking at the 
steel cuffs. Neither thought of escape.

“Why are we simply enjoying the sunlight and freedom of the deck, along with being 
ogled by the crew?” asked Megan. “Amaril, do you realize we haven’t said a word about 
escape? Not that I think we can. But still-“

“I feel guilty every time I think of Daddy,” Amaril admitted. “Not that I’ve been given a 
chance to go back to him. But, let’s face if, I think we’re both in love with the guy who owns 
us.”

“You’re right. We are in love. But it’s a strange love the rest of the world would condemn. 
Daddy could never understand it. What the hell goes with us, what do these two guys have to 
make us feel this way? We were both horribly whipped yesterday and here we are confessing 
adoration for the men who did it.”

“I’ve had to give up feeling shamed,” Megan said, “and I had to admit I like being hurt in 
between being loved. It’s the same with you, Amaril, I know it is.”

“You’ve always been my big sister, I thought you’d have the answers,” Amaril said with 
laughter. “Remember the last time we were together? You wouldn’t believe a word of what I 
said. But I’m not going to be a bitch and say I told you so. Megan, let’s face it, we’re a pair of 
slavegirls!”

“I’ve let you down, Amaril, all along the line. I know it now. Gosh, I was an idiot back then. 
An absolute fool.”

Each girl pondered puzzle of her captivity. Each knew her sister no different than 
themselves. Playfully they tugged at each other by way of the handcuffs, each knowing it a 
beautiful togetherness they would not forego. Their masters were in a benign mood and all 
was well with the world aboard the Kypers’ Queen. A short distance away the Judith rode 
formation with the larger ship.

“Darling, don’t let’s shed too many tears about belonging to different men in different 
places,” Megan said thoughtfully. “If one man owned us both it would only lead to trouble. 
You know the old problem of two girls and one man. Those two idiots in the stateroom and 
probably arguing about our prices but they’ll never agree, they don’t really want to. Let’s be 
grateful for this time together, it’s about all we’re going to get.”

They were grateful indeed. Laughing constantly over the compulsion of the steel cuffs, 
they had learned much about men in the months of captivity. Megan predicted they were 
about to learn much more. She was right, the shock came at dinner.

A happy foursome with Pansy playing maid. The sisters had been relieved of enforced 
union and now wore shinning chrome in front. Amaril had laughingly remarked while being 
handcuffed that it was a piece of cake.

“You’ll be interested to know we didn’t make a deal,” Karl Kypers told his guests. “Josh and 
I have been at it all afternoon and the fact is neither of you is for sale.”

You’re a couple of witches who have put a spell on us,” Morgan added. “We ought to burn 
you at the stake but that a bit of a waste. We’ll just have to whip you after your present marks 
have faded. Give you a bit of something to look forward to.”

“If I was a witch, I’d be back home,” Megan said. “And Amaril would be back, too.”

“I’m not even sure about that,” Karl Kypers grunted. “Josh and I have been talking about 
setting you free. Suppose we dumped you ashore with clothes and money. What would you 
do?”

“Would we be handcuffed?”

“No. Free as a girl can be.”

“It isn’t going to happen, so why talk about it?” Amaril pouted. “You know you’re not 
going to give us our freedom.”

The two men exchanged glances. “Funny you should say that,” Morgan said with a chuckle.
“You might be closer to freedom than you think. Come now, we’ve both discovered we both 
like hunting. How would you like to come along?”

“No thanks, we don’t want to shoot poor, inoffensive animals.”

“We weren’t intending to do any shooting,” Kypers allowed the statement to float in the air
without explanation.

Both girls sensed a trap. Kypers and Morgan were up to something. Megan took the 
challenge. “So, okay, you’re going hunting! You’re not going to allow Amaril and me a thing to
say about it so you might as well give us the bad news. What is it you’re going to hunt?”

“You two girls.”

Amaril wanted to giggled. She sensed adventure. But Megan was more cautious. “You 
can’t hunt us, you’ve already made us prisoners. I’ll bet what you’ve been doing is thinking us 
some notion so you’ll have an excuse to cane our bottoms. Come on, let’s have it-the notion, I
mean.”

Kypers disregarded Megan’s taunt. “We’re off the coast of Mexico at this point and I’m 
aware of a sizeable bit of territory no one bothers with. It’s scrub and bush, perfect for what 
we have in mind.” He bestowed a boyish grin on the two girls. “We’ll turn the two of you loose
there, give you a good start, then set out to capture you.”

“We’ll refuse to play. We’ll sit on the sand and let you two go hunt squirrels.”

“We thought of that. If that’s what you do, we’ll simply leave you to sit. You won’t want to 
sit there alone for long.”

“I think it’s simply horrible,” Amaril said. “Let’s play hide and go seek right here on the 
ship.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something? Might this not be your chance to run home to Daddy?”

“What! In a Mexican desert?”

“It’s not the Sahara, you know. There’s water holes and a few villages. One of them has a 
policeman and a telephone.”

“The policeman will put us in prison for indecent exposure. I know all about that one,” 
Amaril said from bitter memory. “Why don’t you cane our bottoms or iron us in the brig or 
some fun thing like that.”

“It’s a real sporting offer. You girls will actually have a chance to discover this freedom 
you’re always talking about. At worst you’ll have freedom to run around for a while.”

“And be raped by bandits? Or be put in some Mexican whore house? No thanks!”

The two slavegirls fought the battle they knew they could not win and felt an increasing 
excitement at the prospect. Even Megan was conjuring possibilities in her mind. This could be 
the one time these tycoons made a mistake, the thought would comfort them through the 
night. And when they ran barefoot across the sand.

“We’re putting you two girls in the brig over night,” Kypers informed. “You’ll have a lot of 
talking to do and there’s no better privacy than the brig. That’s okay, you don’t have to thank 
us. We’re just a couple of nice guys.”

Once more the girls were dubious. They would have preferred to spend the night with 
their masters rather than being ironed in the brig. But, on the other hand, the brig was the 
perfect place to talk. In any case, the decision was not theirs to make. Pansy was delegated to 
escort them to where they would spend the night. They did not complain. Amaril was 
surprised they had not already earned punishment.

It was the first time Pansy had been jailer to more than a single girl. She oozed 
self-importance and was far more excited than the girls themselves. She ushered the 
handcuffed beauties into the small cell. Amaril looked around for the familiar chains and locks 
but they were no place to be found. In their place was a ball of twine.

“Ah has to tie yo’ hands behind yo’ backs,” Pansy said cheerfully. “Yo’ don’t have to wear 
no irons. Them guys what owns yo’ is being real sweet. Is yo’ gonna be good girls when Ah 
unlocks yo’ hands?”

The sisters exchanged raised eyebrows before assuring their happy jailer they would be on
good behavior. They did not like the look of the ball of twine, but realized they could not have
everything. Chaffed wrists would be a small price to pay for being together in privacy. They 
offered steel-clad wrists. When the steel was gone, they turned and crossed wrists behind 
their backs.

They found Pansy knew what she was doing and had to bit their lips to keep from 
protesting as the black girl wrapped the twine exceedingly tight into their flesh. Pansy was as 
generous with her knots as with the twine to defeat the girl’s secret intent to free themselves 
after she was gone. By the time Pansy had finished her task and patted two bottoms 
approvingly, the Summers sisters were far less confident than when they had first turned their 
backs. Giggling, Pansy took the discarded handcuffs and locked them tight on each girl’s arm 
just above the elbows.

“Now Ah ties the key to the handcuffs which ain’t botherin’ yo’ none so as to be really 
handy when Ah uses them again. Don’t do you a bit o’ harm to have cuffs around yo’ arm like 
that. Looks real pretty.” Shyly she kissed her prisoners before leaving and locking the door.

The daughters of Preston Summers eyed each other ruefully as they tested the twine. 
Megan soon summed it up. “Look here, don’t let’s exhaust ourselves and cut our wrists. Let’s 
just say our hands are tied behind our backs and leave it at that. I don’t think we can get loose
no matter how hard we try.”

Amaril had reached the same conclusion. “Let’s try and feel good about being tied. It’s a 
hell of a lot nicer than a hundred pounds of iron.” She looked at her sister hopefully. “What 
are we going to do about this damned fool girl hunt the boys have thought up? Is there any 
chance we might really and truly escape?”

Megan was thinking along the same lines. She watched Amaril as she talked and 
wondered how good slavery had been to her sister. Amaril was as curvy and vital as she had 
ever seen her. Kypers and Morgan will surely never relinquish female bodies of such 
magnificent quality. Beauty might be only skin deep but it was enough to keep them securely 
bound or chained for the next decade at least. In addition there was the mental and spiritual 
affinity not to be ignored. In addition to being prisoners in bondage, they were equally 
captives to emotions hard to define. Megan had toyed with the word, “Love”. Perhaps love 
was the right word but she was not yet sure.

“I can’t imagine them letting us get away. But it is possible they’ll allow us a small chance, 
just to add spice to the game. Our reward will be freedom. Their reward will be to punish us 
when they capture us. They didn’t say what is going to happen when they drag us back at the 
end of a rope but I’m sure it will be punishment of some kind.”

“They’ve sort of got us between a rock and a hard place. They’ve fixed it so we can’t sit 
down and refuse to play. If we do find somebody or someplace where we can use a phone, 
they won’t be a bit kind towards helping naked girls. I don’t really want to get raped.” Amaril 
grinned affectionately and added, “Oh, shit, and I bet we won’t have hands! They’ll tie us or 
cuff us. Who the hell is going to help a couple of handcuffed naked girls? Help themselves to 
our bodies is more likely.”

The girls contented themselves by discussing home, escape, the two men who owned 
them, and the various adventures they both had gone through in captivity. They keep quiet 
about the knowledge that they might never see each other again after the two ships parted. 
Awkwardly and without comfort they contrived to sleep.

It was the middle of the night when the impossible occurred.





CHAPTER SIX - AMARIL’S TEARS


The bound beauties were sleep when the brig door was cautiously opened to admit a dark 
male figure Amaril failed to recognize. The figure thrust a wet wad of rag within her mouth 
before performing the same disservice to the older sister. No matter how the to girls found, 
their bound hands made them impotent. Within a minute each pair of protesting lips was 
captive beneath a wide band of adhesive tape making them mute. It was then ridiculously 
easy for the predator to bind each pair of ankles cruelly using Pansy’s twine viciously. Bound 
ankles were then raised to join bound wrists and tightly roped to enable their heavy-set visitor
to pick up each girl with ease. They were carried outside, across the rail and into an awaiting 
small boat. Struggling with all her might Amaril discovered total helplessness.

Megan recognized their kidnapper, it was the middle aged man with foul breath who had 
tended her aboard the Judith. She was served in the same manner as her sister and soon 
joined the naked Amaril on the bottom of the small craft. The man paddled silently away from 
the Kypers’ Queen until they were far enough to safely start the small outboard motor without
danger of someone on board the large ship hearing.

The daughters of Preston Summers were once more kidnapped with ease. Both were 
furiously angry. Both kicked and struggled to no avail. The hogtie held them both.

Dawn found the tiny craft shirting what was probably the Mexican shore, aiming from 
headland to headland without pause until their captor, no doubt feeling safe from detection 
and probably lonely, freed the captives mouths from tape and wad. A warning that they could 
be replaced kept the girls quiet.

“You’ve been kidnapped again,” he told them, “certainly not a new experience. Shouldn’t 
be any big deal. Do as you’re told and you won’t be hurt.”

The pain of being hogtied for hours had reduced the sister to a fearful docility. In any case 
they were helpless to influence events. They would only wonder about this man’s bravery at 
plucking them right out of the brig of the Kypers’ Queen. That would certainly piss off Morgan
and Kypers.

“Where are you taking us?” Megan asked.

“I’ve got you sold. Wouldn’t have bothered otherwise.” He chuckled merrily. “Don’t worry, 
it’s not to a whore house. They would never have the kind of money you’ll bring.”

“Our father will pay you more than anyone else. You’re get ransom from him and they you 
can let us go,” Amaril pointed out.

“I thought of that but its too much of a hassle. You two are hot merchandise and I don’t 
want the feds on my tail. By the way, my name is Jed, I know yours so we can say we’re 
acquainted.”

“You could get millions for us.”

“Sure, I know. But I’m doing pretty good anyway. The only thing wrong with this deal is 
that I’m not allowed to screw you in transit. That’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long 
time.”

“Do you have to keep us hogtied? It’s so painful.”

The man called Jed gave the request some thought. “Sure I could loose your feet. But if I 
did I’d have to tie them some other way.” He looked around. “This boat ain’t designed for 
tying up dames. Best you stay the way you are.”

“You could keep us safe enough by freeing our feet and tying my left ankle to her right 
ankle,” Megan pointed out. “Please, we’re hurting.”

Surprisingly Jed did as requested. The results pleased all three and the girls said a modest 
thank you for relief. Amaril managed to sit up enough to scan the shoreline and ask, with a 
terrible suspicion, “Are you taking us to the Hacienda Clifton and that sweet old lady who’s 
got too much money?”

Jed laughed carelessly. “You guessed it. The old girl said you would. Had you once before, 
didn’t she? You’re going to get a right royal welcome, best brace yourselves. We don’t have 
too far to go.”

“You have to be crazy. That’s the first place our owners will look!”

“Don’t you worry none, everything’s been figured. That couple at the hacienda have got 
for safe places to put you than I can shake a stick at.” Jed laughed comfortably. “This is the 
best and easiest damned deal I’ve ever run into and I don’t suppose you girls will be any 
worse off than aboard the Judith or the Kypers’ Queen.”

Megan explored an obvious suggestion. “This twine is cutting our wrists to bits. Couldn’t 
you cut it loose and replace it with these handcuffs on our arms? We’d be just as helpless.”

“Yeah, I’m sure, but you can damned well wait until you get where we’re going. A bit of 
pain never did a girl no harm. That’s the way I look at it.”

Their plight was admittedly improved over the hogtie. Amaril found herself looking 
longingly at the water between them and the shore. It would be an easy swim and she would 
prefer to take her chances with whatever Mexicans they would run into, rather than be 
delivered back to Mrs. Elizabeth Hampton and her grandson, Nigel Asbury. She cherished the 
bitter memory of the stake and the rising tide which had nearly cost her life to provide and 
afternoon’s entertainment for Nigel and teach her what Nigel blandly called a “lesson.” But 
there was no way either sister could swim ashore with ankles bound. Nor could they touch the
binding by which their feet were joined.

“If you know what you are taking us to, you’d deal with my father instead.” Amaril told Jed 
soberly. “These two people you’ve sold us to are a couple of nuts.

“I couldn’t care less,” Jed assured them. “And, anyway, what I’ve seen of them don’t look 
that bad to me. Girlies, you’re going to be delivered in good shape with your hands tied 
behind your back and the gags back in your mouths. Then I’m getting out of here real fast 
with one hell of a lot of dough.”

For Miss Elizabeth Hampton, it was a gala day. Comfortable in her favorite chair, she felt 
that pleasant excitation only engendered for her by a captive girl or, better still, two captive 
girls. Miss Elizabeth Hampton had owned a great many young women in her time and adored 
them all. She beamed benevolence upon the Summers sisters and bid the faithful male 
servants, Manuel and Juan, to depart. They had carried Megan and Amaril from Jed’s small 
boat, not even bothering to untie the joined ankles. The two girls therefore stood, awkwardly, 
for their new owner’s delight. Both were gagged. To one side the maid servant, Lola, surveyed 
the scene with obvious approval.

“Darling Amaril, you’ve no idea how it warms my heart to have you here again. And this 
time your sister, too. My, my, what a pair of beauties. You are quite magnificent.”

The sounds Amaril made behind her gag were urgent enough for Mrs. Hampton to direct, 
“Lola dear, please remove Amaril’s gag, she wishes to speak. Leave her sister’s in place for the 
moment. We will get this all sorted out in good time.”

Amaril’s first words burst forth with pent-up force. “Mr. Hampton, this is crazy! You’ll have 
half the United States and goodness knows who else hammering at your door at any time. 
Please let us go free. We’ll just use the telephone and then be gone. We can stop trouble 
before it starts.”

“You are so sweet, dear, so anxious to help. I really must not whip you too often on this 
occasion. But I’m afraid I can’t allow your suggestion. But don’t worry, you and your sister will 
be safely hidden should any one come asking around. No one will find you, there will be no 
trouble.”

Amaril deflated. She had played this scene before and knew she would not win. No doubt 
poor Megan was viewing Miss Elizabeth optimistically in the belief that so sweet and gentle an
old lady must surely send them safely home. If only Megan knew!

With Lola’s help, Miss Hampton got out of the chair to make an inspection of her new 
possessions. Her comments were predictable. “My, my, you’ve both been wonderfully 
whipped! What gorgeous marks. I had intended to have both of you well whipped as a 
welcome home. This is your home now. But with such beautiful marks on your skin, I would 
not wish to spoil them. Lola, make a note of it. These two young women are to have the soles 
of their feet whipped sometime tomorrow. It’s not quite what I planned but I’m sure they 
won’t complain. You do understand the need for a proper welcome, don’t you, Amaril my 
dear?”

Amaril said, yes, she understood but nudged her sister with a bound arm. Megan must be 
thinking everyone in the room insane. It had undoubtedly been wise to keep Megan gagged 
for by now she would have earned herself a hundred strokes. Amaril wondered what it was 
like to have the soles of a girl’s feet whipped. It sounded terrible. Bleakly she inquired, “Do you
really intend to keep us prisoners, Mrs. Hampton? I really think it will cause you a lot of 
trouble.”

Elizabeth Hampton returned to her chair much like Queen Victoria returning to her throne.
“I expect both of you are worrying about those men you’ve been with all this time.” Her voice 
was alive with irritation. “You must forget them and you must also forget the sexual intimacies 
they imposed. I’m sure dear Nigel will satisfy you both and adequately look after this part of a 
young woman’s life which I deplore.” She sighed heavily. “But boys will be boys and girls will 
be girls. I will not interfere with whatever she chooses to do with you or to you.” She turned 
directly to Megan. “You’ll find Nigel terribly sweet and ever so kind. He doesn’t whip you 
everyday, but just occasionally just to keep you in trim. Everyone here at Clifton is so very, very
lucky.”

Lola, obeying a nod from the throne, now freed Megan’s mouth. But my now Megan knew
enough to watch her tongue and say no more than a polite thank you. She realized she had 
much to learn. It was Mrs. Hampton who held the floor.

“I still own dear Donna and dear sweet Phyllis,” she informed the sisters blandly. “I was 
obliged to have Phyllis cruelly punished for that time she escaped,” she confided gently. “The 
dear child now assures me she will never again attempt to escape. We keep her chained, of 
course, there is no point in placing temptation in a girl’s path. Both of you can rest easy in 
your minds on that score, you will never be given an opportunity to run away. In the long run 
it is far the best and the most humane way to handle a girl you’ve paid a lot of money for. I 
trust you understand.”

Megan Summers turned to her sister. “Am I dreaming this or is it real?” she asked flatly. 
“For Pete’s Sake, tell me the rules before I get sent to the torture chamber!”

“How very sweet!” Mrs. Hampton commended warmly. “All you have to do, Megan my 
dear, is be very obedient and never try to run away. If you do this you will only receive the 
regulation whippings and nothing more. I’m sure you and Nigel and I will get along famously. 
After belonging to that gentleman from the West Indies, you should find Clifton a heaven of 
peace.”

“Thank you,” Megan ventured. “I’m wondering if our hands can be untied. The thin twine 
hurts shockingly. We each have handcuffs that can be put on us.”

“I noticed the handcuffs and the key. How ever thoughtful of someone. Lola, dear, please 
do as Megan has requested. I’m sure the dear girls will not be stupid and make a fuss.”

The dear girls made no fuss. Thankfully they rubbed their wounds before putting their 
hands behind their backs to be once more secured, this time in steel. Megan tried once more, 
“I’m President of the Triangle Corporation and my father is Preston Summers. I’m wondering if
you could negotiate with him for our release?”

“I fear that’s a silly thought,” Mrs. Hampton reproved. “No girl should ever be released. 
Girls should always be kept chained or tied, it is their fate. And it becomes the condition in 
which they are most happy. After you’ve been at Clifton a while, you’ll feel sorry for those 
poor creatures wandering around free all over the world who have not found their proper 
destiny. Both of you look absolutely beautiful with your hands behind your backs. And your 
breasts and pussies so openly in view. I am pleased with you.”

Amaril wanted to giggle, this woman was almost comically. But the thought of the 
bastinado scheduled for tomorrow inhibited and sobered her. She realized that so far the 
Summers sisters had done pretty well for themselves by the standards of the Hacienda Clifton.
True, their ankles were still joined but their hands no longer hurt. And having them behind 
their back seemed the common condition for a girl, certainly by the standards of Elizabeth 
Hampton.

“When will you be giving us to Nigel,” asked Amaril.

The question was not answered. Elizabeth Hampton once more motioned to the waiting 
maid and remarked, “Lola will look after you dear girls. Trust Lola and ask for anything you 
want. And, by the way, Lola is empowered to punish you if you misbehave. I want you to 
remember that. Take them away, Lola. Nigel can do as he pleases with them when he returns.”

It was not a cell, it was not a dungeon. Amaril remembered it from her previous 
imprisonment. It was a gorgeously furnished bedroom including all the fixtures Nigel used in 
his lovemaking and his punishments. The furniture included a four poster bed of painful 
memories. Left alone in it and with their ankles now untied, they tried the door to find it now 
locked. They cast longing glances at windows stoutly barred before Megan exclaimed, “Well, 
you told me about this place and I didn’t believe a word of what you said. That old girl is nuts!
Will she really have the soles of our feet whipped? She seemed so sweet and innocent.”

“We’ll be lucky if that’s all we get, Megan, you’re forgetting Nigel. Nigel has his own idea 
about what to do with girls. Expect for sexual intercourse, they’re mostly painful. But he’s like 
the old lady-he’s actually terribly sweet. They absolutely adore us.” She sighed. “I suppose 
they’re like very rich collectors of paintings and stuff like that. What they do collect is girls, 
girls like us! Megan, darling, we’ve been collected.”

“And what will Nigel do to us?”

“He’s almost certain to lay us on the bed and screw us,” Amaril giggled. “He used to do it 
to me every chance he got, and I must say he’s damned good at it. He’s had a lot of practice. 
But being screwed by Nigel is neither a beginning or an end. He usually gets around to a cane
or a whip or hanging us up by our thumbs. Apart from that, he’s a really nice guy. You’ll like 
him.”

“If he’s not insane like grandmother, couldn’t we reason with him?”

“Of course not, darling! Don’t you realize we’ve got nothing to bargain with? We’re here 
and he can use us any way he likes. Nigel doesn’t need money. A girl who is a prisoner here is 
a prisoner for sure. I told you all this back that other time when you and Daddy had me put in 
the Restwell nut house. I wonder if you’ll be able to walk tomorrow after the whipping?”

“Of course escape attempts will get you punished.”

“Of course!”

Nigel was the Nigel Amaril remembered, warm and loving. She was the first to be 
embraced by his extremely masculine arms and the erotic male smells of which he was a 
powerful source. Since the hands of Miss Megan Summers were safely locked behind her 
back, Nigel had no trouble embracing her as well, rubbing his tweed against her nipples and 
patting her pubic patch in male approval.

“You’re a positively gorgeous pair,” he assured. “Phyllis and Donna are going to have to 
give up a lot. No doubt they’ll be jealous but I can always whip that out of them. I do hope 
you’re glad to be with us.”

Since neither captive was the least bit pleased at being where she was, Nigel’s question 
was difficult. Megan once more repeated the inducements of a quick return to Daddy which 
fell on deaf ears. Nigel assured them offhandedly he was not interested in ransom. When he 
enjoyed a girl he kept her and she could expect to be adequately chained. With a puzzled 
frown he asked Megan how she could possibly expect to be ransomed when she was so 
beautiful and her captor had no need of cash.

Then he casually inquired which of them would like her hands caned first.

Amaril believed, Megan did not. The question was outrageous and not to be taken 
seriously. “We don’t want our hands caned, Mr. Asbury,” Amaril assured. “You’ve got the 
wrong sort of girls for that sort of thing. I’m sure you can find plenty of the right sort in Los 
Angeles or someplace. Perhaps even in the local village. But leave us alone.”

Nigel listened with interest but remained firm. “If I unlock your hands, will you hold them 
out to receive the cane?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” replied Megan.

“And you, Amaril?” Amaril was aware of a double hazard, first of offending Nigel and 
secondarily of offending her elder sister. She dealt with it in the knowledge of previous 
experience. “Megan, I think both of us should do whatever Nigel asks. He does own us here, 
you know. And he’s really awfully nice.” He voice trailed uncertainly away.

“I have no intention of holding out my hand for the cane.” Megan was firm.

“Dear little Amaril,” Nigel said softly. “Perhaps you’d like to show your sister how a good 
girl behaves?”

Amaril was on the spot. Reviewing possibilities she chose surrender. “Of course I will, 
Nigel,” she said with feeling she did not feel. “If you’ll first get me free-“

It took but a moment to use the omnipotent key. Once more rubbing chaffed wrists, 
Amaril knelt upon the rug and extended her right arm, hand and palm open and up. “Is this 
the way you’d like me, Nigel dear? And, please, may I scream if I can’t stand the pain?”

Nigel addressed the elder sister. “You observe, Miss Summers, your sister’s admirable 
behavior. I trained her when she was last here. I intend to train you, too. You may watch me 
cane her hands and I will then expect you to act in the same sane manner as she.”

He went to a cupboard and returned with a cane, yellow and wicked. After a few rapping 
on the extended palm he swiftly slashed the air to cut the innocent hand squarely across dead
center. Amaril squealed but checked her scream as she hugged her hand against her in agony.
Megan exclaimed, “That was utterly cruel, Mr. Asbury. I must protest. And I have no intention 
of submitting to such an outrage.”

Nigel ignored her. He tugged Amaril’s hurt hand from its refuge to kiss it tenderly before 
allowing it to seek it’s shelter once again. “I would like you to tell Megan the nature of your 
hurt, Amaril my dear,” he suggested, “Don’t pull any punches, tell her exactly the way it feels.”

“Hurts something awful.” There was a controlled sob in her response. “Would you like my 
other hand now, Nigel?”

“Of course, dear child, I can not possibly excuse you with less than one on each. Take your 
time.”

Megan Summers knew herself no novice in this matter of hurting girls for punishment, she
had been hurt often enough herself. But there was something about this caning of her sister’s 
hands, some sort of ritual she had not previously encountered. She was helpless to intervene 
and knew it useless to protest. She stood, tugging at handcuffed wrists, and watched the 
scene in frightful fascination as Amaril straightened up upon her knees, braced her shoulders 
to thrust out her breasts and extended a bare arm. Once again there were the needlessly cruel
tappings on the bare palm before the swift sure stroke impacted the innocent flesh. This time 
Amaril’s yelp of agony was louder and both her punished hands sought refuge beneath soft 
armpits. Tears she could no longer hold back wet the bedroom floor.

“Megan, tell me the truth, have you ever seen anything more beautiful?” Nigel’s tone was 
soft.

“I have rarely seen anything more cruel. But, yes, you are right, Amaril is beautiful. Need 
we dwell on it?”

“I think we should. Miss Summers, it is your turn next.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Asbury, but I do not have Amaril’s strength. I could not possibly duplicate 
her performance. I would certainly withdraw my hand.”

“There is an easy inducement to fortitude, Miss Summers. Five on each hand if you submit 
or ten if you must be tied down. Do I interest you?”

Both maidens were shocked. Five on each hand was bad enough but ten would be 
unthinkable. Ten would mean a girl could not use her hand for a long, long time. Megan was 
frightened. She supposed she could copy Amaril’s performance for a single stroke on each 
hand. But five!

“Very well, I will try to do as Amaril has done. But I really do not believe I can do more than
one stroke.” Megan was allowed to debate within herself her own courage while Nigel raised 
the younger sister to her feet, kissed her in admiration and once more locked her wrists 
behind her back.

“You can stand and watch, sweetheart,” he told her kindly. “I won’t cane your hands any 
more today. It is not until tomorrow the soles of your feet get dealt with. Just stand and 
enjoy.”

Megan knew she could fight when her hands were freed but what good would it do? Nigel
could deal with her with masculine ease. She longed to scream aloud and kick and claw in 
outrage but knew herself trapped. In pure horror she turned her back and extended wrists to 
be unlocked. When it was done, she stood before this new and untested master, gazing at 
Nigel earnestly without hope.

“You know what to do, Miss Summers, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you. Please kneel.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Asbury, but you’re asking something I cannot do.”

“But you said that you could hold for a single stroke?”

With a sob of frustration, Megan knelt. Slowly and doubtfully she extended her arm and 
opened the palm.

It was, as always, worse than expected, a new and different agony upon a new and 
different place. Shock inhibited Megan’s scream at first, allowing only a moan to escape her 
lips. Instinctively she followed Amaril’s lead to thrust her burning flesh beneath an arm. In 
total sincerity she looked up at the waiting man, “I’m sorry but I cannot hold out my other 
hand. I simply cannot. The pain is far greater than I can manage.” She fell silent.

“You have a choice, Megan. Four more on each hand or ten if you refuse to hold out your 
hand.” Nigel’s voice was alive with love.

It was almost a minute before Miss Megan Summers held out her other hand.

Amaril had watched her sister’s punishment with dull eyes. She knew the Hacienda Clifton 
all too well and realized that if Megan escaped this initial punishment with only five strokes of 
the cane upon each hand, she was relative fortunate. Their true greeting or what Mrs. 
Hampton chose to call their “Welcome” would come tomorrow. This was but a passing 
pleasantry of Nigel’s prior to ravishment. At his nod she walked to the waiting bed and posed 
herself for his convenience, laying upon handcuffed arms was no longer a problem, they 
arched her back and raised her sex in a manner to win her master’s approval. Bitterly she 
wondered if Karl Kypers could ever rescue her.

Megan, despite the agony of scolded hands, watched in disbelief as her sister accepted the
carnal thrusts of he who had just punished both. She was no innocent about sex but had 
never before been compelled to witness the coupling of a master and his slave. It was not 
until Amaril cried out in the crescendo of orgasm that the elder sister realized this would 
happen to her, also. Megan did not weep, her emotions were too vehement for tears.

When the male master of the Hacienda Clifton had performed what he considered the 
satisfaction of the two new slavegirls, he thoughtfully locked two of the four bare ankles by a 
shackle to the floor, kissed both girls, and departed to his own privacy to leave the new 
possessions of Clifton in complete freedom save for the chain each must bare upon one ankle 
through the night. After whispered discussion while clutching each other in the dark, they 
concluded they had no reason to complain.

In the morning the cane marks still burned and in the bathroom they discovered the 
fingers numb. But Lola cheerfully did what they could not before escorting them, their hands 
once more handcuffed, to the breakfast table where Elizabeth Hampton and her grandson 
were already seated. They were shown chairs and each girl treated as an honored guest. “I 
trust dear Nigel was not too unkind to you yesterday evening,” Elizabeth Hampton inquired 
over her cup of coffee.

After a swift glance in Nigel’s direction, the girls assured her of his kindness in the caning 
of their hands followed by ravishment of their sex. As usual it sounded insane. Neither girl 
complained, they deemed it not yet time.

“After breakfast Nigel will take you for a walk around the grounds. I insist upon my girls 
getting exercise and I want you to see how nice the place is done up,” Elizabeth Hampton said
thoughtfully. “When you’re properly trained, we’ll allow you to wander without supervision. 
‘Till then, of course, your feet will be properly ironed. It’s very difficult for a girl to run when 
her feet are chained. I’m sure you’ll understand.”

The Summers sisters understood and said how much they would look forward to that 
privilege. No one mentioned whipped feet. The serious business of eating breakfast began, 
the girls having to pay attention to eat carefully with cuffed hands. One sister wondered how 
long it would take Karl Kypers to rescue them and the other wondered how long it would be 
before they were “properly trained.”

The promised walk was real. Nigel changed the handcuffs from front to back and placed a 
locked collar upon each slender neck and joined them by a three foot chain. If one girl ran, the
other must follow. They knew they would not run!

“We’ve had this place a long time,” Nigel told them as they walked a wilderness of trees 
and shrubs and gardens. “It’s altogether beautiful and we want you two to both appreciate 
how beautiful it is. And there something you have to see.”

It was a long walk. Megan and Amaril could have cared less. Their eyes were busy with 
possibilities. And, since there feet were still unchained, they easily kept pace with the master 
who nonchalantly carried a long, lean riding crop. It would hurt and the captive girls wished to
give it no excuse to cut their skin, they were model slavegirls.

The thing he wanted them to see was a barred cage within a woodland glade, far from the 
hacienda and prying eyes. In it were two girls, naked and handcuffed. Two imprisoned 
maidens Amaril instantly recognize as Donna Martin and Phyllis, who she had scarcely gotten 
to know. Breasts thrust hard against iron bars, their greeting was pure sympathy.

“So they got you back, Amaril. And your sister, too! We were told our Mistress was buying 
you and here you are. Darlings, we’re terribly sorry.”

“No need for sorrow,” Nigel said briskly. “They’re a lot better here than some places I could
name. We’ll put you all in the cage together but not right now. Oh, and by the way, was one of
you suppose to be punished today?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Phyllis admitted. “I was rude to your grandmother, Nigel, so she sentenced 
me to be punished but didn’t tell me what I was to get. I expect you’ll know.”

“Beautiful girl, charming, honest, and sweetly reconciled to enslavement.” Nigel addressed 
the newly captive sisters with concern. “You heard what Phyllis said. And now I’d like an 
opinion from you two about a suitable punishment for the dear girl. She’s had her bottom 
caned quite a lot lately, so something original would be welcome.”

The linked sisters exchanged one more glance of bitter understanding. Both knowing they 
were being played with and both fearful the play would become painful. It was Megan who 
took the plunge.

“We can’t help you, Mr. Asbury, we’re not in the torture business. We don’t wish to punish 
anyone.”

Nigel affected shock. His expression was pained. “Torture! Did I hear that word correctly! 
Perhaps, Miss Summers, you would like to rephrase….”

Feeling certain she would soon bear fresh wounds, Megan said listlessly, “Very well, Mr. 
Asbury, punish, if that’s the word you prefer.

But a rose by any other name-“

“Ahhhh….” Nigel’s said in a long, drawn out hiss. “Let us be less formal, Miss Summers. You
are Megan, I am Nigel. You may call me Master. And now, I would like you to bend forward for
three of the best for insolence.”

Megan was furious, both with Nigel and with herself. She had walked into an obvious trap 
and should have had more sense. To bend over now in the presence of her sister and the two 
girls in the cage was an humiliation hard to stomach. She was well aware Nigel had nicely 
gauged her punishment. Three strokes with that riding crop did not justify revolt. In any case, 
with her neck collared and chained to her sister, and with hands useless behind her back, she 
was in no position to refuse anything. With tight lips, she bent forward as ordered.

Nigel, being Nigel, made the most of it. His stilted diction and politeness doubled the 
impact of whatever he did to a girl. He now took the time and trouble to grasp Megan’s hips 
to pull and push her into a desired posture to accommodate the swing of his arm and inflict 
the greatest pain. Since the sisters were linked neck to neck, it became necessary for Amaril to 
kneel also. For a few brief moments Nigel stood to admire the nude bodies posed for his 
convenience. His arm them flashed and Megan gasped a moaning acknowledgment of cut 
skin. Amaril had never felt more helpless in her life.

It was as if all four maidens present had received the crop. The other three girls flinched 
with each wicked impact. When she was ordered to stand erect and offer thanks, she did so in 
a grudging monotone which Nigel chose to reject.

“I fear your vocal cords are effected, Megan,” he said crisply. “Perhaps one more?”

Cursing her own foolishness, Megan bent to receive yet another mark, this time thanks 
were much more sincere. Or at least sounded that way.

“It is a pleasure to teach you our rules, Megan. I am sure you will learn.”

“I am sure I will, Nigel.” Megan swallowed a bitterness of unspoken words. “Thank you for 
caning me.”

Amaril longed to giggle. Nigel was too ridiculous for words. But she shared her sister’s 
pain and was well aware Nigel was a subject for levity only when he desired. When she and 
her sister were led closer to the cage, Nigel once more intoned, in the manner of a guide, “My 
grandmother and I have enjoyed Donna and Phyllis. Both are delightful girls, deserving only of
an occasional thrashing. You may witness Phyllis’ punishment when we have concluded our 
tour.”

He visibly took a deep breath. “Grandmother and I are considering making a gift of these 
two delightful creatures to the men from whom we have stolen you.”

This was something new indeed and Amaril felt and instant flare of jealousy. Beautiful as 
she and Megan might be the couple in the cage ran them close in form and feature. And who 
could tell what a man might do? She had a mental picture of one of these caged beauties 
being delivered to Karl Kypers’ bed. But her words were cautious.

“I don’t think that’s going to please anybody, Nigel,” she suggested. “Mr. Morgan and Mr. 
Kypers are accustomed to us. There’s a sort of a thing going between Karl and me, and it’s the
same with Megan and Mr. Morgan.”

“Nonsense. Every man wants a change.”

“I’m sure you know best, Nigel. And there isn’t much Megan and I can do about it, it 
there?”

Nigel turned to his caged captives. “You would both enjoy an ocean voyage, wouldn’t 
you?”

“We sure would, Sir!” came a very sincere and immediate reply from the two in the cage. 
But there was an anxiety to please there, too.

“You see, it’s a beneficial arrangement all around. Phyllis will soon receive her punishment 
and then be available for transport. In the meantime, let me show you around a bit more to 
acquaint you with our preparations for your disappearance should that become necessary. 
Come alone.”

The semi-wilderness surrounding the Hacienda Clifton had numerous stone relics of 
another age. As the captives allowed themselves to be led from glade to glade, they were 
constantly confronted by surprisingly authentic crumbling ruins. Whenever Nigel chose to 
lead his prisoners within a dusty door it became evident the whole collection of make-believe 
had a single fact in common-all had been a prison.

The tour was chilling to the spine. The prisons varied from an iron-barred cage to the 
gloom of musty dungeon. Iron bars were rusted but still firm as were the rings embedded in 
the stone from which dangled broken chain and sometimes the complete shackle. The size of 
those shackles told clearly they were intended for a girl. Each prison door, either iron barred 
or of oak, was obviously still serviceable. Amaril shivered. It would be horrible to be locked 
inside any of these confinements and left alone.

“Marvelous craftsmanship,” Nigel enthused in his best Guide voice. “Cost Grandma and me
a great deal of money but I never tire of walking through these woods and seeing visions. If 
any of these prisons appeal, don’t hesitate to say so. I’ll be happy to lock you in any of them 
for a while so you can soak up the atmosphere.”

Nigel overrode his companions failure to respond with further observations of his own. 
“You see, if whoever may be searching for you should bring enough help to cover these 
grounds, they’re going to find these places and instantly realize they have not been used for 
years. It will baffle them and send them away frustrated but satisfied that you had to be some 
where else. Convincing, don’t you think?”

And there was, of course, the piece de resistance, Nigel’s ultimate horror for a captive girl. 
The ruin was much the same as all the rest. But when they had seen every bar and every door, 
Nigel pressed a hidden control to cause a four foot square of the floor to slide back and 
reveal a circular opening and a dark void.

“You girls every heard of an oubliette?” he asked proudly. “That’s what they used to call 
these things.”

When the siblings breathlessly stepped as close as they dared and peered down in terrible 
premonition, their master switched on a light to reveal a circular stone chamber of a far 
greater dimension than the hole. Its walls were on an incline funnelling to the hole above. A 
girl lowered into the stone horror would have no chance of climbing out. There would be no 
need of chains or ropes to keep her safe.

“Neat arrangement, heh!” Nigel suggested proudly. ‘There’s a lot of these things kicking 
around Europe but history doesn’t record a single case of anyone getting out of an oubliette 
without help. I can lower one of you down if you’re interested.”

Two chained girls stepped back in obvious alarm. Nigel laughed. “A bit on the scary side, 
heh! Well, I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to be down there myself. Especially if the slab is 
closed and you’re in the dark. But don’t worry, if it does come to a last resort and I have to 
hide you down there, I’ll leave the light on so you don’t go hairy in the dark. I don’t suppose 
any search would necessitate your being down there more than an hour or two.” Helpfully he 
explained, “You see, if there is any considerable force against Clifton, we’ll always know in 
advance and have time to get you comfortable down below. We’ll toss in a couple of blankets 
and something to read-oh, and by the way, you can scream as loud as you like but nothing 
can be heard up here.”

“It’s horrible! Oh, Nigel, surely you couldn’t put a girl down there!” Amaril was scared.

“I could and I would if the occasion demands. Remember this, sweetheart, if either of you 
gives good cause, you’ll find yourself under that stone slab. But that’s up to grandmother, of 
course, personally I’d prefer corporal punishment or a bit of suspension. But don’t let’s talk of 
such things, I’m sure neither of you will fail to behave.”

The next exhibit was a tidy pile of rotten wooden barrels, wooden staves, and rusty iron 
hoops. There were, however, several containers still intact. “The one’s that haven’t fallen apart 
are sturdier than they seem,” Nigel explained. “The deal would be to tie you tight and gag you
very tight before wedging you inside a barrel and pounding down the lid. You couldn’t move 
or make a sound. Someone could stand right beside you and wouldn’t know the girl he was 
looking for was that close. It would be a bit rough on you and we certainly wouldn’t use it 
unless we felt we had to. Damned ingenious, don’t you think?”

Amaril was sick of the whole thing. Nigel’s gloating over what could be done to them 
would make most any girl sick. She could see Megan was getting ready to express opinions 
which would cause an application of pain on her bottom.

“So, all right, Nigel, you’ve made you point. You can hide us. But couldn’t we go back to 
the hacienda, these places give me the shivers?”

“I suppose I could arrange that for a count of three?”

“Nigel, don’t be a boar! You’re being deliberately unkind. I don’t see why a girl has to have 
her bottom whipped every time she opens her mouth.”

“You know damned well why a girl gets her bottom whipped.”

Amaril was panting with indignation. Nigel was playing suggestively with the riding crop. 
Just as Megan had done previously, Amaril shrugged and bend down to expose her bottom 
for male convenience, accepting the three bitter strokes with gasps. When she had said her 
meek thank you, they were allowed to turn their steps back to the hacienda and Mrs. Elizabeth
Hampton. It was a journey without hope.

“Isn’t Nigel clever, darlings?” Elizabeth Hampton glowed at the sisters once more 
positioned before her chair. “I think that collar and chain arrangement by which the two of 
you have to stay together is wonderful. It is practical and has flair. I’m pleased he’s kept you 
handcuffed. Behind her back is by far the best place for a girl’s hands. I’m sure you got a thrill 
from all those lovely places where you can be hidden.”

“We hated them all,” Amaril declared with feeling and a disregard for the safety of her ass. 
“Anyone who would put a girl in that oubliette should see a shrink.”

It was hateful to be compelled to stand and exhibit the full frontal aspect of being female. 
Even though Elizabeth Hampton was herself a woman, the effect was shaming. The girls had 
been again and again thus examined by Nigel during the tour, his smiling eyes dwelling 
constantly on four breasts, two bellies, two pussies, and two curved bottoms. His crop had 
inhibited their complaints. They were naked and their wrists were locked tight behind their 
backs and that was the end of it. The chain from neck to neck could not have stopped them 
running. But if one fell, the other would fall headlong to the ground and both would await the
hacienda’s punishment for escape.

Amaril tried to reason. “Mrs. Hampton, we like you. You’re a sweet elderly lady who seems 
to want to be kind. But couldn’t you confine your enjoyment to keeping Megan and I chained 
or tied or keep us prisoner behind bars? But not have us whipped or the soles of our feet 
caned? We want to love and obey you but you make it so difficult.”

“But, darlings, you can’t expect to be my captive maidens without feeling the lash, it 
wouldn’t be real!” Mrs. Hampton was obviously disturbed by her captive’s failure to 
comprehend. “I simply adore having you bound or chained. But don’t you see that as bland, 
as lacking drama? The whip and the cane simply add icing to the cake.” Her pale, old eyes 
sought theirs. “I cannot believe such nice girls would rob an old lady of her only pleasure. You 
won’t, will you? Please tell me you want me to be happy.”

The girls could have screamed in frustration. This time it was Megan who fought back. 
“But, Mrs. Hampton, it’s not only you, it’s Nigel. Nigel keeps giving us small punishments 
which, when you add them up, are a pretty rough deal for a girl to take. But, regardless of 
Nigel, I’m humbly asking you for mercy. Please don’t have the soles of our feet whipped. 
We’re both scared to death of that punishment.”

“You’re very sweet, dear, that was such a lovely speech. I mustn’t pay any attention, of 
course, you’re just a girl who doesn’t understand. The whip and the cane are such a wonderful
part of human affairs, I’m surprised you’re not more knowledgeable. Especially considering 
who owned you-a couple of men whom I’m quite sure must have whipped you often. I’m not 
so stupid I haven’t noticed the whip marks on your backs and bottoms.”

Mrs. Elizabeth Hampton was quicksilver, slipping through the fingers in a manner 
impossible to deal with. Absurd as it was undoubtedly was, both girls felt only pity for this 
elderly lady so disappointed by their failure to enjoy whippings and so insensitive as to view 
the oubliette with loathing. Yet, there she sat, a dear little old lady who must surely have some
compassion some where in her make up. Looking at her now, the Summers sisters found it 
impossible to reconcile her wish to watch the whipping of her feet with the repeated 
expressions of affection. It was at this point Lola led them to the bath and later to a formal 
dinner with Irish lien and silver place settings.

“We have considered it inadvisable for you to fraternize with Phyllis and Donna,” Mrs. 
Hampton announced over desert. “Four young women is more than I wish to possess at one 
time. I am making a most generous suggestion in donating them in your place. They will be 
delivered tonight in the darkness with a note of explanation. I am sure the two gentlemen 
concerned will be more than pleased with their prowess, either in bed or by their acceptance 
of the whip. A most happy arrangement.”

It was useless to protest. Even Nigel never contradicted his grandmother. In the middle of 
her jealousy, Amaril say a ray of hope. Phyllis and Donna must surely have a knowledge of 
where they are and would convey this to Morgan and Kypers! She felt positive that whether 
she was hidden or not Kypers would surely find her. The same held true for Morgan, neither 
one of them were men to be trifled with. Beside them, Nigel was a mere boy, playing at men’s 
games.

“If Nigel has not already enjoyed intercourse with you both, I’m sure he will wish to 
welcome you to Clifton this evening in that manner,” the Grand Dame declared. “When dinner
is done, I leave you both for his disposal. He will secure you or ravish you throughout the 
night as is his wont. You are two such very lucky girls.”

At dinner the wrists of the Summers sisters had been ironed in front. Afterwards, when 
Nigel escorted them to their bedroom, he chained them again from front to back, an act the 
girls accepted in much the same resignation as when panties and bra must be changed before
an occasion.

“Which one of us do you wish to violate first?” Megan inquired. “May I be so honored?”

Unconsciously Megan had adopted Nigel’s own Victorian prose. Unfortunately it came 
across from her as sarcasm. The dominate male eyed her in disfavor. “You’re a glutton for 
punishment, aren’t you?” he said in dour disapproval. “Okay, if that’s the way you want it. 
Bend over for another five. I’ll screw you immediately after. It’s always better on a well-beaten 
rump.”

Amaril was longing to throw her arms around her sister so soon to be punished. But she 
had not arms, no hands, only the will to fight. “Whip me, Nigel,” she burst forth with, “and 
screw me first, too. Megan isn’t accustomed to the way you do things here. She doesn’t mean 
to offend but I know how you feel about the things girls say. Please whip my bottom and take 
me to bed.”

Nigel looked from one to the other in dismay but his laugh was real. “You really are a pair! 
Serve you damned well right if I didn’t whip either of you, we all know you love it before a bit 
of nookie. Tell you what, I’ll flip a coin. You’re both going to get it anyway, but let’s see who 
gets it first. Heads it’s Megan, tails it’s Amaril. Hold your breath.”

He flipped the coin which turned up tails.

Amaril shrugged but wasted neither words nor time. In one swift, graceful motion she 
lowered her fettered hands to touch her toes, arching her back to protrude her rump for the 
kiss of the cane. Nigel Asbury stood in silence for almost a minute, enjoy the view and 
knowing himself the luckiest of men. Then his arm flashed downward and across to plant the 
cane hard upon girlish innocence. Amaril cried out, she could not help it, the pain was terrible 
and drove her a step forward, breaking the pose. But instantly she stepped back to assume 
the full posture Nigel cherished. She was breathing heavily and gazing steadfastly at the floor 
as she waited tensely for number two. Megan watched in horror, knowing it was soon to be 
her turn.

Nigel was satisfied with five, knowing that ten strokes such as these would impair Amaril’s 
stamina to give him pleasure through the night. When so ordered, she knelt before him in 
complete submission to kiss the cane. Then, in another flash of motion, Amaril Summers 
jumped upon the bed, implanting her wounded flesh upon the covers, and spreading her legs 
wide in invitation. It took but a few moments to arch her back upon her pinioned arms. She 
was ready.

Megan knew she could do no less. There was no escape. The door was locked and she was
without hands. She watched Amaril’s ravishment by the male with an almost clinical interest. 
She failed to see in it the beauty of which poets raved and men fought and labored to enjoy. 
To Megan Summers the rape of her whipped sister was as disagreeable and lacking anything 
remotely like beauty as a bowel movement in a bathroom. It left her unhappily wondering if 
she and Joshua Morgan appeared equally ludicrous in their couplings. She waited for a caning
of her flesh which did not come.

When Nigel’s glands were satisfied within Amaril, he sat upon the bed using a towel and 
surveying his next victim. Megan was on the verge of herself assuming the hateful pose of 
punishment when he causally remarked, “I’ve just caned a delightful little bottom and now I’d 
like a change.” He looked from one sister to the other in a bland assumption of their interest. 
“Fetch me that length of rope, Megan, and sit yourself here on the bed with your feet on my 
lap. I intend to tie your ankles.”

Megan shrugged, hating the whole thing. She did as ordered and watched her ankles 
bound by Nigel as she sat on the bed. She saw the ropes bitting deep into her skin under the 
pressure applied by Nigel. They hurt but she made no complaint lest he use it as reason for 
more punishment. When Megan’s feet were tied, Nigel stood her erect upon the floor.

“Best stand still, Megan, or you’ll fall on your face. I’ve got a cute idea I tried out on Phyllis 
and I think you’ll appreciate it. I call what I’m about to do to you ‘Ringing the Boobs’. Stand 
still or I’ll make you sorry.”

Amaril watched, the tenderness of her seat forgotten, in disbelief at what she now beheld. 
Nigel produced a box of elastic bands of various sizes. Selecting one of the heavier rings, he 
stretched it open and placed it around Megan’s left breast, as far toward its base as he could. 
When he allowed it to close around her flesh, it changed the contours of her breast 
considerably and, judging from her reaction, didn’t feel none too good. Not satisfied by his 
effort, he selected a second band and then as third, each a trifle smaller than the first. When 
they were safely anchored around her breast they squeezed and pointed her flesh into a most 
unnatural shape.

Striving to keep her voice even, and without venom, Megan said quietly, “This is childish, 
Nigel, and it’s ugly. I don’t see why you would even wish to do this to something I thought 
you admired.

Please, three is enough, don’t use any more.”

Nigel nodded absently and, without a word, produced a gag, at sight of which Megan 
protested, “Please don’t gag me, Nigel. Please don’t strap that thing in my mouth. I promise 
I’ll keep quiet, honest I will! Please!”

It was as if she had not spoken. Nigel shoved the rubber into her mouth and strapped it 
tightly behind her head. Megan was finding it difficult enough to stand erect on close-bound 
feet whose ankles scream constantly in pain. As the hated gag closed her lips her eyes were 
close to Nigel’s and she gazed deeply therein to find no pity, no mercy, only the pure pleasure
of a man who owned a girl and was about to continue distorting her breasts with rubber rings.

Eyes wide, Megan watched as the bands continued to encircle her breast, each smaller 
than the last, and her breast became increasingly distorted and elongated. With the final, tiny 
band snapped in place around her nipple, almost all her breast was rubber coated, wickedly 
bent out of shape, and hurting. Nigel stepped back to admire his work.

“Damned remarkable effect,” he said easily as he fingered another band. “I’m going to do 
your other breast, Megan, but some other time I’ll ring only one and then make you wear a 
tight, tight sweater. Can’t you imagine!”

Unnoticed now, the whipped Amaril sat up upon the bed and wondered what she could 
do to end the ugly distortion of Megan’s breasts. But she knew herself helpless and dared not 
speak for fear of the gag or worse. It was hateful to be gagged, it reduced a girl to nothing. 
Sometimes she caught Megan’s eye but her sister was busy with balance and the new bands 
Nigel was adding. From time to time Nigel rubbed the already tightly nipple to cause its 
owner to gasp and jerk. By the time two of the loveliest breasts in the world had been 
contorted, the owner of this girl was so sexually excited as to have but one result.

“I’d love to take you out in public the way you are, Megan. Just think of those twin cones 
jutting outward like that beneath a sweater. Damn it, you’d stop traffic! And you’ve got me as 
horny as all get out. I’m going to thrash you and then screw you with those lovely tits digging 
into my chest. Boy, what a combination!”

Megan essayed to hop to that portion of the rug which her master favored for the 
whipping of his girls. But the tight bindings around her ankles brought defeat, she stumbled 
and fell sideways in an heroic effort to keep bound breasts from impacting upon the hard 
floor. She lay there helplessly in wide-eyed apprehension like a fish out of water. Nigel was 
delighted.

“Good show, Megan, my girl. I’ll knock off a stroke or two for good intentions. I’ll free your
feet so you can stand for the cane. And, for sure, I can’t screw you very well afterwards if 
they’re still roped.” He tugged at knots. “I’m going to use a special instrument on your pretty 
bottom. Nothing like a touch of variety.”

It was then it happened!

By Mr. Richter’s scale, it was a very minor earthquake but its center must have been below 
the Hacienda Clifton and a piece of shoddy workmanship resulted in a couple of stone blocks 
and a lot of plaster falling from the ceiling. One of the blocks struck Nigel squarely on the 
head. He fell and lay inert upon the rug.

Few can indulge in calm reasoning when the earth shakes itself in anger. The Summers 
sisters had but a single thought: this was their chance! Megan was still gagged but they easily 
communicated and worked together. They dropped to their knees beside their male 
tormentor and fumbled in his clothing for the keys. Amaril found the key ring and unlocked 
the door. It was awkward and difficult and she was trembling. But when the portal swung wide
there was none to say them nay.

“Come on, Megan darling, we’ve got to run like crazy.” Her voice was filled with shock and 
a terrible urgency. Both of them fled to the back door.

Sunlight greeted them, there was no sign of life. If the servants had fled the house, they 
had done so in the opposite direction. The girls raced along the path which would skirt the 
make-believe ruins and lead them to they knew not what. It was awkward for a girl to run 
when her wrists were handcuffed behind her back.

“I’ve got the key ring,” gasped Amaril. “We’ll stop and get these handcuffs off after we’re 
out of sight of the house. I can get that damned gag out of your mouth at the same time.”

There was nothing more to say. Flashing bare legs and flying hair were glorious after 
captivity. Even the handcuffs could not dampen the joy both girls felt in a wave of hope such 
as they had not known since their first kidnapping. After a mile they were out of breath and 
out of sight of the house. Amaril dropped the key ring on a flat stone. But first Megan knelt to
position the buckle of her gag where Amaril’s fingers could deal with it, a minute later it was 
dragged from her mouth and let drop upon the ground. Megan drew her first deep breathes 
of freedom and was once more the chief executive.

Then the rubber-bound breasts were attended to. With her hands handcuffed behind her, 
Amaril had trouble reaching and working at the rubber bands that tightly encircled Megan’s 
breasts. Mainly by working her fingernail under the bands, she was able to pry them off, one 
at a time, until the contorted flesh was finally free. She looked around to find Megan’s breasts 
red, slowly coming back to their proper shape, and the girl crying with the pain of restored 
circulation.

“We should have locked ourselves in a room before running away, a room with a phone,” 
Megan mourned. “We might have reached Father or Triangle. Now we have to deal with 
Mexico and I’m remembering you had no luck last time. Amaril, darling, let’s sort out these 
keys.”

It was difficult but possible. One by one the keys on the ring were separated. But among 
them was not the key they needed most of all. Evidently Nigel kept the handcuff key in a 
different pocket and they had missed it. Once more, hearts pounding, they examined key by 
key the ring and then stared at each other.

“What are we going to do!” Amaril looked to her sister in pure horror.

“Run the way we are, of course.” The freedom of flight had revived Megan. “We can still 
run and it’s for sure we can’t go back to the hacienda to look for a key. Let’s get up and run 
and take our chances. Surely there has to be someone civilized around these parts.”

They ran. The Summers sisters pounded the ground in a fury of flight. As they ran they 
were increasingly aware of handcuffed wrists and helpless hands behind their backs.

In a pause to catch their breath, Megan once more exclaimed regretfully, “We didn’t stop 
to see if Nigel was dead. If he is I doubt if anyone at Clifton will chase us. All we have to do is 
find a phone.”

“If the old lady isn’t hurt, she can sic Manuel and Juan on our trail. If they’ve got a dog, 
they can follow us easily. Oh shit, Megan, I’m getting scared! Don’t you realize we’re already 
getting thirsty and pretty soon we’ll get hungry? At night we’ll probably be cold.”

“Of course I realize it, you little idiot! These things are to be expected. We’ll have to deal 
with them as best we can. Let’s try and be cheerful, we don’t need gloom.”

He was an old man, wrinkled as a prune but with bright eyes amused by what they saw. 
Megan tried out her Spanish but was rewarded by a reply in quite passable English.

“The handcuffs tell me you run from the police. Now you want me to free your hands. 
Have you money with which to pay?”

“Of course not! Look at us, we’re naked!”

“I noticed you have not clothes.” There was a touch of humor in the ancient voice. “Since 
you are without money you will perhaps allow Pedro to fuck you both for the freeing of your 
hands, no?”

The sisters exchanged glances of bitter resignation before Amaril agreed, “Very well, you 
may take me first but you don’t get my sister before our hands are free.” She paused 
doubtfully. “Are you sure you’re not too old?”

“Good man like me never too old. Soon you will see.” Pedro searched his pockets, coming 
up with an assortment of keys and bits of metal. “I unlock first the one I fuck. Then I do the 
other of you. Pedro is very strong.”

The girls took his word for it, not that it mattered once their hands were free. Panting, they
stood and watched the old man select a sliver of steel. He pointed at Amaril. “You turn your 
back, I go to work. If you do not give me good fuck, I will not free your sister.”

Amaril stood as deft, sure fingers did their task. It was not instant, but in about a minute a 
cuff opened to free her hand. Soon her other wrist was freed from bondage to allow her to 
stretch both arms. Conscious of an obligation and well aware of Megan’s dependence upon 
her act, Amaril lay upon the grass and opened wide her legs.

Pedro was remarkable, not only as a locksmith but in his prowess with a girl! He plowed 
away in the confidence of perfect control. Before he spent himself within her loins, Amaril had 
twice reached climax and felt only admiration for their savior. Without a word, Megan then 
turned her back, her hands inviting male attention. Once more Pedro proved his skill and then,
as if fearful of waste, locked each discarded set of handcuffs firmly above girlish elbows.

“You each have handcuff now, which you cannot loose,” he assured them. “Please now to 
lay upon the grass, I give you Jig-a-jig”

Pedro was both thorough and remarkable, conquering Megan by his staying power in the 
same manner as with Amaril. When all three once more stood erect, he observed thoughtfully,
“Is pretty good deal for all. Now Pedro go his way and you must go to village beyond that 
hill.” He pointed direction for them,-raised the sombrero which had never left his head and 
walked away.

Total freedom was a tonic to the girls and lifted their spirits considerably. And now they 
knew the way to the village. They set out for the village at a dog trot.

“I wish we’d met him fifty years ago,” Amaril giggled.

“Maybe we’re lucky we didn’t. We probably wouldn’t have been able to walk by the time 
he was through with us,” Megan pointed out. “Come on you little fox, I can almost smell that 
telephone.”

Once more they ran.

The village was a collection of huts around a core of brick and solid stone. One of the 
shanties flaunted laundry on a line and from that inviting source the sisters stole some cloth 
to cover what they could. Megan’s Spanish found the phone and was about to reverse 
charges to the United States when an official and very pompous voice intruded, “Senoritas, 
you have done most bad thing. Please to come with me.”

He was middleaged, tired and overweight but had them cornered in the booth. In a few 
seconds they were once more joined at the wrists by handcuffs. Megan made one frantic 
effort. “Please let me make this call. It will enable us to pay our debts and any fine you wish to 
impose. Please don’t take us from the phone.”

They were taken from the booth in no uncertain way. A strange sort of handcuff was 
locked upon Amaril’s free wrist, a single cuff with a solid handle attached. She quickly found 
out that the handle could easily control her when its owner chose to twist it. The bar twisted 
and so did the steel cuff, digging it painfully into her wrist. The Summers sisters followed 
where they were led.

They were dumped into a jail cell and told to push through the bars their stolen clothes. 
They were taken away by a Mexican lady who jabbered much Spanish at them but conveyed 
little beyond that they were her clothes and she hated them like all stupid gringos. This return 
of stolen property left both girls naked, a condition swiftly fixed by a red-faced official who 
pushed between the bars a skimpy prison tunic sufficient to cover breasts and pubic hair. It 
was after all the only clothing they had worn in a long, long time. For a moment they both felt
gratitude at something civilized. It was a gratitude which soon died in the isolation of the 
prison cell.

“I think we’re in trouble,” Megan affirmed. “He took that torture thing off my wrist but I 
suppose you noticed we’re still handcuffed together. There has to be something wrong. 
Especially since we’re not allowed to phone. Oh, shit, I think we’re going to be a pair of sorry 
girls!”

Their next visitor was a civilian. He explained that since no judge would be available to 
hold court for several days, they would be held as they now were to await a proper trial and 
sentencing. It was all too evident he took the sentencing as a foregone conclusion. Their crime
would not go unpunished. The thief of a shapeless dress or two was a matter of importance in
this community and could not go unpunished. When he had made his smug departure, Amaril
and Megan clasped each other in their arms as best they could, and wept in bitter frustration. 
They had been so gorgeously free but here they were again behind iron bars with the treat of 
some strange penalty hanging above their heads.

After four days it took an irritated judge only a few minutes to sentence the Summers 
sisters to twenty lashes each and sixty days hard labor on the prison farm.

Nothing about the sentence they must serve or the lashes they must first receive was 
hurried. Those who brought their food assured the two girls they would soon be whipped and
on their way to hoe corn and cut cane. One of their jailers indulged in truly graphic 
descriptions of their punishment should they fail to please the supervisor on the farm. 
Megan’s Spanish led them to suppose their well-being might be dependent upon laying down
and spreading their legs without demur. When they slept, it was in a nightmare world.

It was explained that delinquent maidens were often whipped in public as a lesson to 
others. However, in consideration of their origins and their obvious ignorance of right and 
wrong, they were to be spared this shame and whipped in the privacy of the prison courtyard. 
The girls were given to understand this was a privilege for which they should be grateful. But it
was hard to remain grateful for anything. They had remained handcuffed together throughout
their imprisonment and it was not until they were led froth for their whipping that the cuffs 
were removed.

The whipping post was exactly that, a stout, stark horror with straps. Amaril was chosen 
and her prison tunic removed to leave her bare and of much interest to watching males. Her 
breasts were thrust hard against the post and her arms raised to where straps buckled onto 
them, another strap was cinched tight around her waist. It was a wicked exposure, Amaril 
would move but little as she received the markings of this new lash upon the older markings 
already upon her skin. No one even commented on the old marks.

At the first stroke of the three-thonged horror, she screamed in shock.

With nineteen lashes still to cut her flesh, Amaril waited in apprehension and spared but 
one timid glance back, a glance which did nothing to offer hope. She pressed her forehead 
hard against the wood and waited for terrible pain to come when a commotion caused her 
punishment to pause. There was talk and much waving of arms before an official voice 
informed the frightened girl of reprieve. It appeared the authorities above had decided 
against this punishment of foreign girls for fear it might affect the flow of currency in the 
tourist trade. The Summers sister were to serve their sentence on the farm, that was all.

The sisters, forgiven the lash, were once more linked by handcuffs and returned behind the
bars of their cell. That the prison tunics were forgotten seemed unimportant. From the 
number of male visitors who appeared, it was easy to suppose their jailers make extra income 
by selling tickets. The girls really didn’t care.

The supervisor of the Juanita Prison Farm for Girls was a plumpish man who greeted now 
convicts behind his ample desk, obviously enjoying his dominion over female flesh. “You will 
work hard, ladies, and be even more beautiful when your sentence is complete,” he promised 
grandly. “You can be punished many ways here at Juanita.” He grinned. “Soon I will send for 
you to receive your fucking which is my way of saying welcome to each new girl. You will learn
your lessons here or be much marked.”

The two girls had been heavily ironed for transport, irons still locked on wrist, ankle and 
neck. The Clifton handcuffs still locked above their elbows. They clinked and shuffled dismally 
from The Supervisor into the care of a muscular wardress. She took them to a communal 
dormitory and removed their irons, replacing them with a single shackle and chain upon one 
ankle linking them to the floor. Their fellow prisoners asked many questions but soon lost 
interest. It was all very efficient and terribly frightening.

Girls working in the fields were kept faithful by the simply expedient of a ball and chain 
attached to an ankle. As their work progressed they heaved the heavy sphere of iron a few 
feet down the row and then went back to work. Their interest and industry was maintained by 
frequent visits from an overseer with a whip. They must address her as Senora and be 
unfailing polite. At the end of the first day the Summers sisters were deemed to have fallen far
short of their quota. They were given no chance to argue but were ushered into line with 
seven other delinquent maidens waiting to be whipped for a similar offense. At the Juanita 
Prison Farm for Girls the punishments for failure to please were dealt with instantly the day’s 
labor was done and before the girl went on to the showers and supper. It was all very 
matter-of-fact, the line moving forward as each girl was whipped and each getting a front seat
view of their sisters in distress as they were flogged.

The institution was well equipped to cope with emergencies, especially with girls who’s 
backs and bottoms were already a crisscross network of weals inflicted for their failure to meet
the high standards expected. The sisters watched, almost in disbelief, as a naked girl lay face 
down on the ground, bending back her legs from the knees to enable her ankles to be 
clamped within holes in a structure of heavy planks to expose the bottom of each foot. A cane
then delivered five cutting strokes on each sole. The naked girl screamed lustily throughout, 
jerking and frantically beating at the soil with her free but useless hands. When the ten 
slashed had wounded the soles, their owner was freed and limped in weeping distress towards
the bathhouse and her meal.

The rest of the line was dealt with more conventionally. Being last in line, the sisters beheld
what was expected of a girl about to be whipped. As her time came the maiden stepped from 
first place in line to stand between two posts and then, if she were clothed, to strip naked 
before extending a wrist to each post and slip it within the waiting leather strap. When 
buckled, they straps held the girl were she stood quite firmly. After that the overseer simply 
announced the number of lashes and proceeded to deliver them with gusto upon a cringing 
back and bottom. The girl could scream of keep silent as she wished. The line moved forward.

By the time the Summers sisters had reached their turn to be whipped, they had 
considered every possibility of flight but armed guards were visible in a tower and there was a 
heavy wire fence around the place. The occasion was rare for they were untroubled by bonds 
others than the Clifton handcuffs locked above their elbows. But it took every ounce of 
Megan’s control to station her nudity between the posts and thrust each hand through the 
loop of leather. The overseer who was tired and wanted her dinner buckled the straps swiftly 
and needlessly tight, announced the punishment and then delivered it with a succession of 
lashes to mark fair skin on which Morgan’s punishment of days past was fading. Neither sister 
screamed.





CHAPTER SEVEN - RETURN TO PUNISHMENT


Girls were tense in expectancy. The superintendent himself was the only one obviously 
comfortably at ease in his knowledge of a profitable transaction from which all might benefit, 
perhaps even the Summers sisters who stood in the prison tunics they despised and with 
shackled ankles joined by a span of heavy chain. The remaining person in the room was a 
bright eyed male not yet middleaged, with a black mustache and black hair. He was playing 
nervously with the sombrero in his lap. This man was obviously the reason for the girls being 
summoned from the field to stand before these two men. The visitor was content to allow the 
superintendent to do the talking.

“By an arrangement of no interest to you, the Juanita Prison Farm has today placed you in 
the care of Senor Jose Manaca, who will keep you properly imprisoned and properly punished
for the duration of your sentence. The Senor operates a sizeable sisal plantation upon which 
you will labor. You are very lucky girls.”

“You mean you’ve rented us out as slave labor?” Megan demanded bluntly.

The superintendent contrived to look hurt. “Senor Manaca takes instant delivery and will 
transport you to your new imprisonment. I trust he will cane you severely upon arrival, I 
suspect you deserve it since the Juanita Prison Farm has had no time in which to mold your 
manners.”

Heavily chained feet inhibited argument. There was something about the clatter every time
they moved which dampened courage. Senor Jose Manaca seemed no more menacing than 
the superintendent and the girls accepted what they could not change. They followed their 
new owner to a battered station wagon waiting in the yard. There the key to their irons was 
officially handed over by a beaming superintendent and Senor Manaca surprisingly produced 
a handcuff key to remove handcuffs from their elbows and use them to pinion the Summers 
sister’s hands behind their backs. Handshakes between the males were then in order before 
they assisted Megan and Amaril into the back seat where, fastened as they were, there was 
not much else to do but sit. The station wagon then left the Juanita Prison Farm in a cloud of 
dust.

Senor Manaca was no conversationalist but drove the station wagon with intense concern 
for a rough and bumpy road. The sisters exchanged frequent glances of speculation while 
engaging in the common practice of twisting captive wrists against steel bands. They 
remained cautiously silent until, after twenty miles or so, Megan took the bit between her 
teeth and addressed the man behind the wheel, “Senor, are you aware we have been 
kidnapped and you can obtain a large reward for returning us to the United States? I am 
thinking in terms of something like a million dollars! US, of course.”

“I’m thinking of something like that myself,” he laughed and steered the station wagon to 
the shoulder of the road. There he stopped and turned to grin at his captives. He slowly and 
dramatically removed the sombrero and black mustache and the black wig to disclose a most 
obviously American grin. His accent became American, too. “Damn it, I thought you’d 
recognize me and give the game away.” He stared at Megan as at an old friend. “I suppose 
this is your sister? You two girls sure have led me a fine old chase around half the world. 
You’re kidnap prone!” He laughed again at the two mystified maidens. “Damn it, Megan, don’t
you recognize me? I’m Stanley Dade!”

“But you were dead! I saw you shot!” Megan said in shock.

“No you didn’t. I had on a flack jacket and I went through the corpse business because I 
was outnumbered and out-gunned. Sorry about that.”

“Thank God!” Megan said it with sincerity. “And now you’ll take us back to father?”

“Don’t suppose I’ll get a better offer for you. Your dad pays real good. And besides, I like 
your company. Look, do you mind if I leave you fastened the way you are for a while? At least 
until we’re out of the Juanita Prison Farm jurisdiction? Those tunics and those chains upon 
your feet are better than a passport with the local cops.”

The Summers sisters did not mind at all. They cared for nothing now except the singing in 
their hearts and the visions of freedom. They sat back and relaxed and loved Stanley Dade and
everything he did. Their faith was restored at the thought of their father being the cause of 
their release. Preston Summers had seemed infinitely remote but would soon be holding them
in parental arms. It was wonderful!

Euphoria lasted perhaps an hour before they saw the tree across the road. As the station 
wagon slowed it was surrounded by a dozen oddly assorted and raggedly dressed Mexicans 
who might have been bandits or simply local residents. Two of them carried rifles which they 
instantly leveled at Stanley Dade. One of them spoke English but the rest of the group was 
talking excitedly in Spanish. The girls had been freed of irons only a few miles back with Dade 
laughingly locking each pair of cuffs above an elbow as a memento to be cherished. Megan 
now stepped onto the dirt road, followed by Amaril and Dade, all three of them holding up 
their arms as ordered. Dade’s automatic was taken from him after a short search. The girls 
were also searched, more detailed than was necessary considering their thin tunics and 
nothing else on. The male hands explored their curves roughly.

Dade was then bound hand and foot and placed back in his station wagon with a bland 
assurance, “Someone will find you, Senor. We wish you no harm. We take the bullets from 
your gun which we leave in the back seat. We are not bandits.”

With the hapless detective disposed of, the group turned their full attention to the girls. 
Megan was getting ready with her offer of a million dollars when the leaders voice once more 
took charge. “We tie your hands, senoritas, so you cause no trouble. We also rope your necks 
for we have far to go.”

In fear and outrage, the Summers sisters stood passively beneath the treat of guns while 
eager fingers crossed their hands behind their backs and bound them tight with thin hemp 
rope. A thicker rope noosed their necks four feet apart, the rest of the rope held at a distance 
by at least three pairs of anxious male hands. They were led off into the trees. The last the 
sisters saw of Stanley Dade was a red and furious face above the steering wheel. Them felt 
despair, comforted only by the thought that Stanley Dade was alive and knew where they 
were. The leader of the group had earnestly explained their good intentions of returning two 
fugitive female prisoners back to their enslavement by ball and chain. The prison leg irons 
were also taken along for, as prison property, they should not be lost. Had the motley crew 
been washed and shaved, everything would have been extremely respectable.

It was a short enough walk to where the horses were tethered. There were only three for 
the two armed men and one other. The rest said their farewells in a flood of Spanish before 
departing for parts unknown.

The smiling leader of the trio now explained as much as he thought the girls should know. 
“We ride, you walk. It is the will of others we obey,” he explained without apology. “I tell you 
also that you may share our laugh. The unfortunate senor in the car has been told a lie. It is 
good he should suppose you safely prisoners back at the Juanita Prison Farm. But that is not 
where we are going. We take you somewhere else.” He grinned. “It is best I tell you we have a 
whip to use on girls who are naughty and do not behave.”

Breathlessly Megan made her pitch for freedom to which their captor listened politely, 
raising an eyebrow at mention of a million dollars but waved into the discard her whole offer. 
“We cannot bother with the ransom, senoritas, or of the reward. It would mean nothing but 
trouble. In what we do now with you, there is no trouble at all.”

“Where are you taking us?”

“That does not matter. But we will be together a long time and it would give my 
companions and I much pleasure to see you naked. Perhaps you will be happy. We take those 
ugly tunics which hide such loveliness.”

Always so helpless. Always at the mercy of others. Both girls tried to talk him out of his 
plan, to no avail. It was quite useless, they were owned and they were safely bound. Within a 
minute they stood naked in the sun.

It was wild, rough country, mostly uninhabited. There were no roads but here and there 
dirt pathways, one of which they followed. The hemp rope chaffed their wrists until both girls 
gave up the thankless effort to free their hands. The thin, rough rope laughed at their despair. 
It would hold them tight until the end.

The damsel duo were thankful for every inch of their tether. The going was rough and 
sometimes they were made to run so their necks were constantly jerked when they sought to 
widen the tolerance of the rope. Sometimes they looked down at the shining bracelets on 
their arms and longed for a more civilized captivity. Miserably they marched forward into 
evening.

Night brought the leg irons into use, their chain passed around a slender tree trunk before
becoming a shackle for slender ankles. Their plea for the freeing of their hands was ignored. 
The sisters slept together, breast to breast, in search for warmth and the reassurance of 
someone loved. They made no efforts to escape, knowing it useless. In the morning the irons 
were taken from their feet and they resumed their march back into slavery. They were allowed 
to talk.

“That false lead won’t fool Dade or Daddy for too long,” Megan affirmed. “But if we’re not 
being taken back to the Juanita, where in the devil are we going!”

“I don’t think Morgan and Kypers would be this mean to us,” Amaril said thoughtfully. “It 
has to be someone who’s made at us about something to make them want us to walk behind 
a horse on a leash. What do you want to bet it’s Nigel?”

“I think it’s someone who knows about us but we don’t know about them.” Megan snorted
disgustedly. “Oh, damn, I’m so tired of being tied and chained and being whipped. I’m willing 
to bet that whenever we get where we’re going the first thing they’ll do is cane our bottoms 
or whip our backs. Just on general principles for any girl silly enough to think freedom normal.
Do you realize, darling, that for months past we really did belong to those who think that girls 
are born to be bound. Oh, shit! Darling, can you get even the least bit of slack on your 
hands?”

“Don’t be silly,” Amaril said crossly. “We’ve both been prisoners for months and months, 
and neither of us have ever escaped from anything. I’m ashamed of myself for being so 
stupidly female, the way men thing we ought to be.” She mused silently for a moment. 
“Perhaps they’re right. Maybe we’re dumb broads who can’t look after ourselves.”

“What about Nigel and his grandmother? I can imagine them making us do this walking.”

“But Nigel was dead!”

“We didn’t stop long enough to find that out. He may have been only stunned. If it is him, 
you can bet we’re in for the whipping of our lives. He’ll be mad as a hornet.”

“Why don’t we ask the guy who speaks English. It has to mean something that none of 
these bozos have fucked us. I would have thought that would be the first thing they would 
do.”

“Damned if I’m going to ask him why we haven’t been screwed. He’d think we want to be 
and then he’d do it just to be kind.”

Amaril sniffed disgusted and tried again. “Well, okay, there’s always the chance this bunch 
who got us now known about Daddy. Maybe they’re going to offer us for ransom. That would 
be one good reason for not fucking us.” She snorted again in defiance. “I wonder how many 
girls in the good old U.S.A. have been screwed in the way we have and as often as we have in 
the past few months.”

“Don’t let’s pretend we haven’t enjoyed a lot of it. I hated Joshua Morgan at first but then I
got so I wanted him all the time. I want him right now in the worse way.” Megan laughed 
bitterly. “We girls don’t understand ourselves. We’re ridiculous when it comes to sex. I hate to 
think it’s only nature wanting us to have a baby.”

“I’m so sick to death of being tied and chained. Our hands have been tied behind our 
backs every since these bozos stole us from Dade. Oh, damn this whole business!” In a sudden
fury of revolt the younger girl engaged in a fit of frustration, tearing against the hemp cords, 
pitting every ounce of her young strength against the bitter bonds. Knowing it useless but 
fighting just the same, she finally halted, panting and exhausted.

Megan was moved to protest. “Oh, for goodness sake, Amaril, stop it. You keep jerking my 
neck. You can’t get loose and neither can I. We both know it. Save your skin.”

“Oh, all right, but it makes me feel better. I could scream the way we often let ourselves be 
tied up or handcuffed or something.”

“Oh, sure, and get ourselves whipped. And then tied anyway.”

Onward they trudged in silence after that. Each wished herself anywhere but where she 
was. Often a horseman would slow his mount to where he could ride along side the naked 
girls and admire the curves and contours that men do not possess. The three horsemen were 
very happy men.

The mid-day halt for food and water brought the unexpected in the person of Elizabeth 
Hampton. The bright-eyed old lady was regal in a credible replica of a palanquin of ancient 
times, a comfortable canopied chair fastened to poles on either side by which four bears 
carried the mistress of Clifton in royal splendor. She viewed her recaptured slavegirls as the 
horsemen delivered them to stand in humiliation.

“I am overjoyed, dear girls. I do hope you have had an entertaining walk.”

The sisters had nothing to say. They knew their fate, Mrs. Hampton would be merciless. 
They also knew themselves dirty, sweaty and tired. And no doubt looking pleasingly helpless 
to those ancient eyes.

“You have been naughty girls, I’m sure you know how naughty it was to run away and 
leave poor Nigel without attention. Really, my dears, I’m disappointed.”

“We couldn’t help him. Our hands were cuffed behind our backs.”

“That is no excuse. You should have come to me or found one of the servants. But instead 
of that, you chose to selfishly run away.”

“Sure, sure, we can guess-you’ll have us punished.” Megan’s tone was bitter.

Amaril tried to rebuild bridges. “We’re terribly sorry, Mrs. Hampton. But we were terribly 
frightened by the earthquake. How is dear Nigel? We do hope he isn’t hurt too bad.”

Mrs. Hampton made a sound of disbelief. “Nigel is recovering,” she said, “No thanks to 
you. The dear boy was stunned and suffered a slight concussion. He wished to come with me 
today to witness your return but I told him to stay at home and rest while I teach you the first 
of your lessons.”

The girls again kept silent, knowing themselves helpless and condemned. Feeling 
themselves wilting before the eagles eyes of a rich old woman who could do anything she 
pleased with them. They had never felt more isolated or alone, knowing that whatever help 
Stanley Dade might bring would come too late to save them from the punishments the 
hacienda Clifton would surely inflect. Amaril allowed herself a stray thought as to whether 
they should really have tried to aid Nigel instead of stealing his keys and running for their 
lives. It was a query she could not answer and, in any case, it was now too late. They had had 
their brief freedom and bore the strips of the prison farm.

At least, she told herself, they had had a few wonderful minutes in the car with Stanley 
Dade, wonderful minutes of freedom and hope.

While Elizabeth Hampton had been admonishing her runaways, men had been busy with 
her chair. Their first lesson was now evident as their hands and necks were freed to be placed 
in a different bondage of a shackled wrist held captive to the pole and a collared and chained 
neck which needlessly imposed a similar confinement. Megan was thus fastened to one side 
and Amaril to the other. When so fastened they would be obliged to lift the chair and carry it 
where every they were told. A couple of grinning servants, completely free, would carry the 
other end of the poles back at the rear.

The two bearers of a burden they did not want were allowed to sit in their chains and rest 
well within speaking distance of the woman who owned them once again. Dejectedly they 
examined the shackle on their wrists and fingered the collar on their neck. It would have been 
easy to cry.

“We are not too far from the hacienda,” she informed the chained maidens. “But I don’t 
want you to delay. You will step out smartly and hold yourselves erect as if proud of the work 
you now perform. Laziness will earn you the whip.”

There it was again, the unending threat of corporal punishment. Bearing their ridiculous 
burden they would be cruelly exposed for additional markings of their skin. But for now they 
had some freedom and were given a bit of food and drink which they consumed ravenously.

“I have asked Nigel to consider adequate punishment for you, my dears. As you know, he 
is most ingenious in such matter and I am sure you agree at to the enormity of your guilt.”

An answer was obviously expected so both girls earnestly assured their captor of a burden 
of guilt they did not really feel. And they added the hope their sins would be cleansed by pain.
Amaril dared not giggle.

“We have heard nothing from those two men on their ships from whom Nigel rescued 
you,” the old voice continued. “I am sure they are more than pleased with our gift of Phyllis 
and Donna, two lovely girls who Nigel took such pains to train in obedience and those 
interesting things girls do in bed with men.”

“I’m happy.”

“I detect some sarcasm, Megan dear. Really!” Mrs. Hampton signed with a hand.

Megan stood resentfully in her chains as the whip sought her nudity with two brutal cuts 
across her back. Bitterly she supposed they served her right for talking out of turn. Hating 
what she must now say, she said it nonetheless, “Thank you, Mrs. Hampton, I deserved to be 
whipped. I will watch my tongue.”

It was almost a relief to get the journey under way. Mrs. Hampton was no great weight but
the girls soon found their palms sweating and slippery as the held the poles of the chair. Their 
fingers tired and it was not long before they were reaching over with their one free arm to 
bear a part of their burden. The carriers at the rear found easement by sometimes walking on 
the inside between the shafts, enabling a change of hands. It was going to be a long and 
tiring afternoon.

Elizabeth Hampton viewed her straining girls with satisfactions. In their chains and their 
own nakedness she found them exquisite, their sweat telling in its own way of the lesson they 
were learning. By the time she and her grandson were through with these delinquent 
runaways, they would run away no more. The old lady sighed in a wisdom brought by age to 
wonder sadly if in utter obedience a slavegirl could become a bore. It would be such a pity if 
this were so for the punishments administered by caprice lacked the emotional impact of 
punishments earned by guilt. She thought with relish of the way in which these two girls 
would be made to scream.

Considering the subject further, Elizabeth Hampton realized she had never owned a 
captive girl who had not sometimes sought to run away in an absence of gratitude to the 
Hacienda Clifton. Was it possible for sweet submission to become cloying in its lack of 
challenge to both the mistress and the slavegirl? Perhaps these two charming creatures now 
straining to sustain her weight might take her exploration of the subject into fresh realms of 
discovery. Girls were lovely, gloriously graceful creatures she adored. Once she too must have 
been a girl but that was so long ago she had forgotten. But Elizabeth Hampton was grateful 
for the wealth and power by which she could possess female slaves. This play with lissome 
maidens had filled her life more satisfyingly than anything else she might have done. And dear
Nigel was so helpful in his physical ability to subdue rebellious female flesh. Undoubtedly she 
was greatly blessed.

When the Hacienda Clifton came into view the two sisters breathed sighs of thankfulness. 
Fatigue had set in and they were very glad they could soon be setting down the heavy chair. 
For the last mile they had been afraid they might drop it with all the associated terrible 
retributions that would follow. Whatever Nigel had in store would be different and not nearly 
so terrible. Perhaps what he did to them would enable them to sit down.

By the time Elizabeth Hampton dismounted, they were exhausted. Lola, the youthful 
dark-eyed maid took possession. Her greeting was warm as she unlocked the bracelets the 
girls had worn so long and put them to their normal use of confine wrists. She bathed her 
prisoners and fixed their hair to present a pair of beautiful but apprehensive young women to 
the family dinner table where their hostess smiled and Nigel glowered. While cheerfully 
hinting they should expect the worse in punishment, he and his grandmother engaged in 
sparking conversation while a couple of handcuffed girls ate moodily and wondered what they
would have to bear.

Nigel was still Nigel, and being led to his bedroom was no surprise. The girls had little 
doubt he consider himself sexually starved since they hadn’t been in the house for many days 
now. The bedroom had been repaired, including the missing brick from the ceiling. Each girl 
resigned herself to a reacquaintance with Nigel’s cane and the carnal conquest which always 
followed. Never had they yielded themselves more listlessly, bore their pain in stony-faced 
silence, or paid the tribute of their sex with less enjoyment. It was routine, what mattered was 
still to come.

“I suppose you’ve considered the matter of punishment,” Nigel inquired pleasantly after 
his physical efforts had satisfied at least him. “We never did get around to whipping your feet 
so, of course, that’s still on the books. But this running away of yours is another matter 
altogether. It cannot be overlooked. Have you thought of what you deserve?”

“Oh, Nigel, please! Girls don’t ask to be punished, they simply try to endure whatever their 
owner decides. I’m sure you know what you’re going to do to us.”

“I didn’t expect you to be exactly joyful,” Nigel admitted. “But let me run a few ideas 
before you as a start. How would a week in the oubliette hit you?”

“It would drive us stark mad.”

“It does have that reputation. So, how about tying you to separate trees out in the park, I 
mean a good, sound binding job so you can’t move and just have to stand there and watch 
the day fade and night come with all its ghosts in the dark?”

“If that’s what you wish for us.”

“You don’t sound the least bit grateful,” Nigel complained. “There’s also the idea of locking
you both in one of those cages in the old ruins and leaving you there a long, long time-you’d 
certainly have peace and quiet.”

“That would drive us crazy, too. Nigel, please don’t be too unkind, we’re only girls, you 
know.”

“Mentioning girls brings to mind an unusually feminine punishment in which you sit 
astride what is called a horse with your pussy squarely on a sharp edge. I understand its quite 
devastating if a girl is left like that for a long time.”

“It would ruin us. But if that’s what you want….”

“If you mean it will ruin your sex, you’re quite wrong, darlings. A girl’s pussy is 
indestructible.” Nigel paused for a reply that did not come. “Of course there’s always the old 
stand-by of suspension by your thumbs. I’m sure it gets to be frightfully painful and a terrible 
bore after a few hours of a day or two.”

Megan was breathing heavily. “Nigel, you’re being cruel. We don’t want any of these 
things but we know you’re going to punish us one way or another. You say that business of 
whipping our feet has been put on hold but it’s something that scares us to death and if 
you’re going to do it anyway, it would punish us for trying to escape.”

“I’m sure you know that isn’t enough. It will have to be something else. But anyway, and 
just for this one night, I’ll collar and chain you both so you can’t get up to any tricks and then 
we’ll enjoy ourselves.” He grinned boyishly. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. And 
Jill a bit of a bore. Get me those padlock iron collars from that draw and I’ll fix your tethers.”

Uncaring they allowed the collar and its chain to be locked around their neck. There was 
plenty of chain to allow them to do anything Nigel wanted them to. Nigel’s sexual activities 
were not limited to the conventional. He might even acquaint them with some fresh shame by
which they might be humiliated. Each girl instinctively moistened her lips.

Amaril was still handcuffed when Nigel cinched the noose over her arms and below her 
breasts before picking her up to lower her within the dread hole. When she reached the 
oubliette floor, she obediently widened the noose of rope and toss it over her head to be 
used upon Megan. By the time they stood together to gaze back up at the circle of daylight 
from which they came, both girls were shivering with fright. The oubliette was that sort of 
place, a place without hope and from which there could never be escape. The handcuffs did 
not matter since there was nothing they could do in this underground confinement. They 
watched two blankets and magazines fall but offered no thanks. The light came on and the 
stone slab rolled back into place like a tomb door.

When Nigel’s intent became evident as he led them through the park, they had begged 
and pleaded and finally fallen to their knees to beseech reprieve. But Nigel held firm, they 
must do penitence in the dreadful prison they feared most of all among his suggestions. Nigel
had sensed their fear and became more resolute. If they had not been handcuffed, the sisters 
would have clutched and clung to each other.

They knew they should feel grateful to the man for the stark electric bulb above their 
heads, but knew also he could turn it off as easily as he had turned it on. This they feared 
above all else.

“He didn’t say how long,” Amaril said slowly. “An hour down here will seem a day. Oh, 
Megan, what are we going to do?”

“Huddle in a blanket and read, I suppose,” Megan said bitterly. “The son of a bitch, I didn’t 
think he’d do it! Refusing to tell us how long we’re down her for is part of the torture. Look, 
darling, don’t let your imagination run riot. There are no ghosts down here.”

Amaril’s face was pure despair. “We don’t have anything to look forward even when we do 
get pulled out of here,” she mourned. “He really means it about our feet, you know. He’s 
going to whip our feet regardless. When I remember that poor girl at the prison farm and 
what they did to her, it gives me the willies. He’s a clever bastard the way he keeps our next 
punishment hovering over our heads the way he does. Oh, Megan, they’ll never find us. Even 
if Daddy sends an army, we’ll never be saved. We could stay here forever.”

The Summers sisters were imprisoned in the oubliette for twelve hours, during which time 
Nigel turned off the light only once but had enough sense to limit this mischievous act to only
five minutes. When he finally rolled back the slab and lowered the rope, he dragged up two 
girls so broken and subdued he was humbled by their gratitude for salvation from a prison 
they supposed had lasted days. They accompanied him back to the house like a pair of 
whipped bitches anxious to lick the hand that held the whip. It was not until they had been 
fed and taken to Nigel’s bed that they felt themselves once more among the living. Whatever 
he demanded of them, they performed in a shameful willingness to please.

Morning brought regeneration. The sisters were ashamed of what the oubliette had done 
to them, but each knew the threat of it could bring her to her knees. For some reason of its 
own, the Hacienda Clifton imposed both handcuffs on their wrists and leg irons. Amaril and 
Megan supposed the linkage of their feet was to inhibit flight in fear of the dreaded 
punishment still to come. Thoughts of whipped feet created a turmoil in their mind. Bitterly 
they wondered if the old lady had ever had her feet whipped or possessed any hint of the 
agony it would cause!

Their feet would be whipped for sure but the question now was when.

“Darlings, today you will attend me. We’ll have some lovely talks,” Elizabeth Hampton 
informed brightly over the last cup of coffee. “You can tell me about being down in the awful 
hole in the ground and about those two men who thought they owned you. Men are so silly! 
From time to time I’ll cane your bottoms just to make it interesting for all of us. Girls are easily 
bored unless something is happening to them. Nigel, darling, please attend to the dear 
creatures and deliver them to me in about an hour.”

The sisters Summers sighed in relief. It sounded harmless, and if it was Mrs. Hampton who 
caned them, she surely could not cane them too hard. There had been no mention of 
punished feet, a subject which they did not wish to bring up.

Nigel took them back to his bedroom. Nigel was business-like. “If you’re going to be alone
with Grandma, I’m going to have to fix you so you can’t do the old girl an injury,” he said 
thoughtfully. “I can’t leave your hands in front like that, they’ll have to go in back.”

“You don’t imagine we’d hurt an old lady of her age!” Megan stated indignantly. “She may 
be mean to us but I’m not sure she really understands what she’s doing. But, anyway, we’re 
not going to be mean to her. You needn’t lock our hands behind our backs.”

It did not good. Once more there was the familiar turning of a key, a moment of glorious 
freedom, and then the click of steel behind them.

“You look much better with your hands that way.” Nigel was examining them in a fine 
blend of carnality and caution. “I’m not too keen about what the old lady wants, having you 
alone with her. You ran away once and you’ll do it again do it again.”

“What! We all this iron locked on our feet! Nigel, please!”

He seemed not to hear, but, unlocking the leg irons, discarded one set and used the other 
to attach Megan’s left ankle to Amaril’s right. He stepped back satisfied. “That’s a nice effect. 
You can’t run away like that. And, if you trip over each other, it will amuse Grandma no end. 
But the ensemble still needs a little something.”

The “little something” was iron collars locked on their necks, locked by a padlock heavy 
enough to keep them well aware of slavery. There was no chain, the collars were simply a 
symbol of their lowly status and had the virtue, in Nigel’s estimation, of inhibiting female 
enterprise. A girl with a circlet of iron around her throat would be always conscious of the 
whip and her need to behave. The Summers sisters were ready for their day.

Elizabeth Hampt. I was delighted. “Nigel always knows exactly what to do with girls,” she 
said affectionately. “May I say how charming you are in the way he has fastened you. The dear 
boy is always mindful of my welfare and with your hands behind your backs, you can’t do the 
least bit of harm, darlings.” Her regard for her prisoners was one of pure love.

Megan felt only irritation and frustration. He had been a prisoner for months and months 
and had been kept under control not in a dungeon or a cell but mostly of the time by 
handcuffs or rope wrists. At the moment she was also shackled to her sister! It was all part of a
pattern in which escape dangled like the carrot before the donkey but remained out of reach. 
During this day she and Amaril would be compelled to obey an elderly lady they could have 
disposed of with a single hand. It was always the same-always.

“I’ve got just a touch of arthritis,” Elizabeth Hampton admitted modestly. “I mustn’t give 
way to it too much, and since we are enjoying each other for the day, I intend to limber up by 
getting out of this chair and using this lovely riding crop on your bottoms. Whipping or 
caning a girl’s bottom gives me so much pleasure, please bear with me.” She flexed the limber
instrument of pain lovingly between her hands.

“Here we go again!” Amaril muttered silently in disgust. Aloud, she suggested, “What a 
lovely idea, Mrs. Hampton, but wouldn’t you like us to talk a bit first?”

“No, dear, I much not give way to my silly old bones and joints.” Elizabeth Hampton slowly
rose from the chair. “I would like both of you to bend over the back of that couch over there 
and arrange yourselves so that your bottoms are nicely stuck out. Don’t worry, I’m not going 
to be too cruel.”

The sisters looked at each other and shrugged despondently. Their linking chain singing 
its song of mockery as they walked cautiously to the couch and proceeded to arrange their 
nudities in a manner they hoped would please their owner. It would have been nice to have 
their hands in front for support in the business of bending over. As it was they lifted and 
arranged their handcuffed arms as best they could. It was a poor start to a new day.

The silver haired old lady with the cane hobbled cautiously a couple of times around the 
girls before suggesting, “I’d like your heads down lower, dears, it won’t be for long. If you get 
well down in front, your feet will leave the floor and your bottoms will be even tighter than 
they are now.”

“We can’t without our hands. Really, Mrs. Hampton, we’re going to need our hands if we’re
going to do this properly.”

“Don’t be sly, dears, you know you can’t have your hands while you’re alone with me. Get 
those toes off the carpet and thrust you head down into the cushions. I know you can do it so 
don’t say you can’t. Don’t make me get vexed with you right at the start.”

It was possible. Elizabeth Hampton had no doubt had girls in this position on previous 
occasions. It was uncomfortable and embarrassing, and the girls wondered what they looked 
like from the rear! Mostly certainly their bottoms were taut and curved inviting for the cane. 
Their bare legs dangled ridiculously, the joining chain no hindrance. Their weight thrusting 
their pussies against the back of the couch was just another small discomfort they must learn 
to bear.

They should have known! Elizabeth might be frail but she had once been strong. She had a
supple wrist and a good eye. She swung the cane to etch a cruel design upon the soft flesh. 
Having delivered three strokes upon each of the quivering rounds, she sought diversion.

“You may stand up now, girls. This time I want you to stand with one foot up on the coffee 
table. Oh, and I should tell you how delightful your legs were as you kicked and squirmed. We 
will now get some quite different effects.”

Elizabeth chose to now crop her victims from in front, staring eye to eye as she swung a 
leather crop hard up between well separated legs. Amaril squealed at the first cut while 
Megan involuntarily put her raised foot back on the floor in the first shock of agony. But she 
was scared and lost no time in putting it back upon the coffee table. Once again there were 
three strokes each before they were ordered to kneel before the chair to which Mrs. Hampton 
now returned.

The burn of the crop upon their skin and sharp pains still tingling within their crotch held 
their attention while Elizabeth Hampton gazed down upon their dolor with bright and hungry 
eyes.

Wealed and hurting, kneeling in helpless humility, the Summers sisters did their best to 
provide sparking conversation. When it came her turn, each girl spoke graphically of pain and 
punishment to light a flame in ancient eyes and praise from ancient lips. They waxed eloquent 
over crop and whip and cane, finally finding mischief in their highly colored narratives of 
agonies now past. Their final chapter was of the oubliette and ho .v it diminished girls to 
quivering nonentities. There was another topic on which they dared not speak.

It was the whipping of their feet.





CHAPTER EIGHT - ESCAPE INTO PRISON


At the Hacienda Clifton the whipping of a girl’s feet was no small matter. The sisters had not 
been warned but instinctively they knew. The bright regard of their captors at breakfast, along
with an excited tension in the air. Lola’s face radiated pity. It was undoubted the day.

It was to Nigel’s credit that he did not gloat as he freed their hands of steel but only to 
cross their wrists behind their back and bind them with loving care. If such a thing was 
possible he combined tenderness with the harsh bit of cord on maiden skin.

“This way, my pretties,” he ordered. “You’re going to love every moment and I’ll bet you 
can hardly wait.”

Amaril wondered if the strange upside down set of stocks had been made especially for 
the occasion, the planks looked new and the awaiting holes for ankles spoke of things to 
come. Obediently the two girls slipped down upon the rug to lay face down while the shackles
were taken from their ankles. The rest was predicable. The heavy plank with its four holes was 
separated for their ankles and closed instantly when female feet were in place. The fit was 
tight and snug and would hurt if they chose to struggle. Nigel then positioned their knees to 
pass a strap over each knee hollow and buckle it tight. When he was done four feet could not 
move an inch.

Half her weight upon her breasts, Megan knew herself postured in a truly masterly fashion,
legs and feet immovable, able to roll her body only slightly from side to side, an exercise 
which only chaffed her breasts and teased her nipples. They were ready for the whipping of 
the soles of their feet.

Nigel busied himself with more rope to contrive an addition to their punishment he knew 
the girls would hate. Firsts a rope knotted around the bindings on their wrists, its other end 
inserted through a ring on the structure while held their feet. Inserting his arms beneath 
Megan’s shoulders, Nigel raised her from the rug while pulling at the rope. The effect was to 
bow her backward in an arc cruelly stressing wrists and arms and shoulders, and pointing her 
breasts. Megan’s only contact with the floor was belly and thighs. Nigel knotted the rope to 
hold Megan in that strained position. He did the same for Amaril, then stood before them 
smiling at their protests.

“Nigel, you can’t do this! It’s torture! You can’t do this and whip our feet as well.”

“We can’t bear it. Nigel, you can’t possibly leave us like this! Please….”

“I certainly can leave you, darlings,” he assured them carelessly. “I’m going to leave you a 
while to think about what is to come. But first I’ll give each of you a little taste of things to 
come. Just one stroke on each foot to give you something to think about.”

“Nigel, don’t … don’t … oh, please don’t!”

“I’m really being kind, girls, what you’re complaining about now will take you mind off 
your feet. You should be grateful.”

They were not grateful. When the first cut of the cane impacted upon a helpless foot, it 
seemed a horror from another world. Nigel caned from left to right upon pretty feet helpless 
to prevent a thing. Four feet provided four screams of agony as bowed bodies fought 
furiously against the cords. After drinking in the erotic vision of pretty girls in pain, Nigel 
silently withdrew.

The sisters dared not move. The only sound in the pain room was that of their labored 
breathing, fighting for air as their bent-back punishment contorted their body into unnatural 
position. There was a strange, unearthly beauty in girls so bound but the girls themselves were
limited to moans mixed with small cries of distress they could not control. After a while their 
heads drooped forward in defeat and the shattered hope of release that did not come. After 
an eternity the door opened to admit Elizabeth Hampton.

Mrs. Hampton found a chair to seat herself comfortably with a good view of the sisters. 
“As always, you are beautiful. What a magnificent configuration dear Nigel has contrived for 
you. I have never seen girls bound to better advantage.”

The Summer sisters did not respond. For a few moments they raised sweat-drenched 
heads to look back at the old lady from whom they could not expect mercy. When they 
drooped again in simply despair, their visitor was once more lavish with praise.

“I do declare, I’ve never seen two girls so sad. Does it hurt terribly, darling?”

In anger and frustration they told her of their pain with graphic, gasping sobs. Elizabeth 
Hampton nodded as though assessing sincerity and gauging the degree of anguish the 
captive girls might truly be suffering. Her voice was kind. “I’m sure you would like me to let 
you loose, but you know I won’t. You are such sweet girls and look so utterly charming in this 
bondage it would be sinful to change anything or give you freedom. You think you have been 
like this for hours but that is not the case. You have enjoyed this for only thirty minutes and 
have no more than thirty minutes more in which to give me the marvelous pleasure I feel in 
beholding beauty. Do you realize, darlings, how your sweat exudes your woman scent to fill 
this room? I am bathed in it. Nigel will get an instant erection when he returns.”

“Please, please untie us. We can’t bear this any more.”

“How very sweet! You do plead so prettily. But surely you forget your feet must yet be 
caned. Nigel tells me he has administered a single blow to each foot. I want you to describe its
agony.”

They did their best but their moans were more eloquent than words. “We can’t even 
struggle any more,” Megan said in hopelessness. “If you keep us like this much longer, we’re 
going to die. Please, can’t you realize, we’re going to die.”

Elizabeth Hampton smiled tolerandy at maiden hyperbole, these two sweet things would 
last for years and give her pleasure every day. Megan and Amaril were by far the best girls she
had ever had, superior in all ways. She should allow dear Nigel a greater liberty in his creation 
of masterpieces such as this one now regenerating her glands. Perhaps it would be as well to 
whip these maidens less and confine their sufferings to inventions as ingenious as this.

When Nigel returned before the hour was up, he wasted no more time in taking the cane 
to cut with calm precision the row of pretty young feet awaiting. It was not long before the 
screams reached their peak to die away into silence as sweat-drenched heads fell forward in 
unconscious to tell him and the watching woman how improbable it was these two girls would
ever run away again.

When Megan and Amaril came back into the world they had been untied and their feet 
taken from the stocks. For the first time since that brief incident with Stanley Dade they were 
completely free. But this knowledge came to them without excitement or anything other than 
a lethargic acceptance of a fact no longer of much concern. When Lola came with handcuffs, 
they held out their wrists for the clicking steel they no longer resented.

“You have been so very badly hurt,” Lola said anxiously. “There, I have cuffed you but I fear
you cannot walk?”

“We’re not going to try, Lola.”

“I think you must, our Master desires you in his office. There is business.”

“I suppose we have to move sometime.” Megan used cuffed hands to lift a foot, a sadly 
purple and swollen foot but not one cut to shreds as she had supposed. First rising to her 
knees, she accepted Lola’s helping arm and tried to stand erect. Instantly she fell under a pain 
too great to bear. But while Amaril watched she tried again and again until she could limp 
slowly, her features contorted by distress.

When Amaril had similarly conquered the flogging of her feet, Lola insisted she take them 
to the bath. They followed. When groomed and cleaned and perfumed, the sisters, now 
feeling half way human, trod their painful pathway to the office to discover the man sitting 
across the desk from Nigel Asbury was an owner they did not expect.

It was Joshua Morgan.

It was pleasant beneath the awning on the Judith’s deck. Megan Summers felt a deep 
sense of well-being as she listened to the man who was her owner and her master and the 
one who delivered her and Amaril from the Hacienda Clifton. Fervently she hoped that she 
would never see the place again.

“Damned good thing I got you out of there when I did,” Morgan said over the rim of his 
glass. “Your father was about to have an army of his boys take possession of the damned 
place until they found you.” He laughed. “But I will say this for the boy, he can see reason 
when it is offered. It was the old lady who didn’t want to let you go.”

They were a beautiful trio, a rich man and two rich girls. That the girls were naked an J 
handcuffed was of small account, on the Judith no one expected the conventional.

“You were determined not to let Daddy repossess us?” Megan cocked one arch eyt brow at
her master.

“Hell no, pretty girl, we’ve got a whole new deal. I got sick of this horsing around and went
to visit your old man. Not a bad old guy when you get to know him. Anyway, I laid it on the 
line and after thinking it over a bit he gave his okay. Wants me to marry you, of course, but 
he’s not in a hurry about it. Said you were a real pain in the ass in the office and that I’d do 
you a world of good. What’s you say to that!”

Megan was floating on a cloud. Her eyes sent messages to the man who owned her and 
was likely to own her twice over in time to come. But she had a sister.

“What about Amaril?” she asked hesitantly.

Morgan was enjoying himself. His world was kind, he owned Megan and the Judith, and 
for all he could tell, Amaril, too. He was not sure about Amaril. Megan was so perfect for him 
he doubted his wish for a duplicate. There was, however, Karl Kypers.

“Karl Kypers is in love with her and he’s in love with him,” he said bluntly. “But Kypers has 
been trying to edge in on the Triangle Corporation. That’s the reason he kidnapped you, 
Megan. And he’s still got this bee in his bonnet. He wants Amaril and Triangle, too. And old 
man Summers says he can’t have either.” He eyed the younger girl in beaming good will. “You 
want to be slavegirl to your sister, Amaril? It’s okay by me but I’ll make you toe the line.”

“Why can’t I go back to Karl Kypers?”

“I suppose you could. Karl Kypers might marry you sometime and make an honest woman 
of you. But so far as your father is concerned, Kypers is an enemy.”

Amaril’s mind raced. But before making a wrong decision, she held up her glass between 
hands linked by steel and asked, in sweet humility, “May I have another drink, please. Right 
now I’m not sure what I want.”

They had drinks all around with Amaril doing the honors. In this happy time there were no 
mistresses and masters. They were two girls and a man talking about things that really 
mattered. While doing her duty at the bar, Amaril’s mind computed swiftly. She could return 
to Karl Kypers and be his slavegirl with a nebulous promise of marriage in the distant future. 
But, she would be alone and she had become accustomed to her elder sister and the authority
of others. Loneliness loomed. But on the Judith and the Morganpride she would never be 
alone. Joshua Morgan had enough vitality to satisfy two girls and sufficient strength to whip 
them as needs might be. Amaril’s heart was torn between her sister and loneliness and the 
exacting authority of Karl Kypers.

In a pale, small voice she asked, “May I stay with you two for a while, Karl is in my blood 
but in these past few weeks I’ve loved Megan so. Yes, if that’s the way you want me, I’ll be her 
slave.”

“That wasn’t easy, was it?” Morgan grunted. “Congratulations, now I’ve got two pretty girls
instead of one.”

“Don’t I have something to say about this?” Megan inquired sardonically. “I’m not sure I 
can cope with Amaril, she’s a handful.”

“You have my permission to whip her as the need arises,” Morgan announced grandly. 
“You two have been through a great deal and I know you love each other. Actually you’ll both 
belong to me. But since Megan is my number one, you, Amaril, must be number two. Don’t 
you like the idea of Megan’s authority?”

“Okay, okay!” Amaril was laughing. “I’ll be glad to belong to Megan but I’ll bet you she 
never whips me at all. She’s a darling and I love her.”

Morgan fixed his number one with an authoritative eye, “I want you to understand this, 
pretty girl, you’ll get all the screwing you want but if it pleases me to take Amaril to bed when 
I feel like it, I want no beef from you. Understand?”

Megan was not sure she liked it but she understood. By way of changing the subject, she 
innocently inquired, “Will you always keep us handcuffed? I mean especially me if I’m to be 
your number one?”

“Both of you will always be handcuffed. It’s the very least restriction you can expect.”

“But why? What purpose does it serve?”

Morgan smiled at such naivete. ‘The purpose it serves is to please me.” He gave his 
number one the full impact of a hard stare. “Girls should always be handcuffed. I love to see 
you handcuffed and I won’t see you any other way Is that understood?”

Megan laughed. “You’ll whip me if I say no. So I’ll say yes it is and save my skin.” Her voice 
became a husky whisper, “Josh, what we want is for you to love and cherish us and never let 
us go. I understand about the handcuffs and leg irons and sometimes being whipped. I 
surrender, I belong to you. Amaril can tell you in her own way.”

A silence lengthened. Amaril was thinking hard and visibly torn. “I’ll go along with 
everything,” she finally said with sweet submission. “But you’d better keep me chained. If I get 
a chance to go to Kypers, I’m also certain to run and damn the consequences. Sure, I know I’m
silly but that’s the way of it.”

Morgan surveyed the younger girl with a vast tolerance. He was happy in his possession of
Megan and would keep Amaril captive only as a means of keeping the sisters together. But 
suddenly, in a small dramatic gesture, he tossed the handcuff key to where Amaril’s chained 
hands could reach it.

“You’re one hell of a girl, Amaril. If I didn’t have Megan I expect I’d grab you and never let 
you go. As it is, we’re close to shore right now. The dingy is at the bottom of the companion 
way.” He bellowed with laughter. “There, you’ve got what you used to talk about so much, 
your freedom.”

Amaril was visibly jolted, slowly she picked up the tiny key and examined it as she might 
have done some costly gem. She gazed in dismay at her sister and the man as they watched 
with intent curiosity her reaction to such a gift. Her mind was suddenly a shambles of 
indecision. To leave the warm security of Megan and Morgan tore her heart. On the other 
hand, the Kypers’ Queen was anchored very close. On it was Karl and all he meant to her! 
Quite probably he still had Donna and Phyllis, but of this she could not be sure. Separate and 
apart from these emotional demands was the fact of her father and home in California. With 
Morgan’s gift, some clothes and some money.

But the still captive girl now found herself confronted by the fact she was female, a female 
possessed so long and by so many that freedom was frightening, a strange condition in which
loyalty to one meant disloyalty to others. As if it were suddenly red hot, she dropped the 
handcuff key on the table. It was then the unbelievable took place.

The man appeared from nowhere, clad only in swimming trunks, he was dripping wet as if 
having just climbed from the sea. Smiling at the surprised trio, he produced a revolver and 
shot Joshua Morgan three times before leaping over the rail back into the sea. In falling, 
Morgan clutched the little table and dragged it down with him. The handcuff key flipped into 
the Pacific.

The scene was the same. Morgan’s body had been carried away and his place at the table 
taken by a suddenly authoritative Pansy who sympathetically offered Megan Summers a 
scented handkerchief.

“Don’t do no good to cry. Miss Summers, the Boss, he’s dead and all of us aboard this ship
have our orders by wireless from the islands. The Boss had a brother and he’s took over right 
quick. You now belong to him and I got my orders.”

“What do you mean, your orders?” Amaril felt her world slipping away.

“It means I’ve been put in charge of you. And I’ve been told to be real strict in making sure
you don’t escape.” The former maid servant was obviously glowing in her position of power. 
Even her speech cleared up to passable English.

“But who killed Josh and why?” Megan demanded between sobs.

“I don’t quite know but the U.S. ain’t the only place that has what you call ‘organized 
crime’,” Pansy said darkly. “Anyways, its the Boss’ brother Bunce who runs the show from now 
on. Bunce, he ain’t going to stand no nonsense. He’s been running the operation on the 
mainland while Josh ran the islands. But Bunce is back at Morganpride and that’s were we’re 
going.”

Pansy’s captive maidens stared in disbelief. This new captivity resulting from Morgan’s 
death was pure horror or pure farce according to one’s point of view. To be taken back to the 
islands as slaves was the last thing to be desired. But right now there was a quaint absurdity 
about being Pansy’s prisoners. Pansy was a friend but now a friend with a mission. The sisters 
sensed firm purpose in every word the youngster said. They looked down at their handcuffed 
wrists, and Amaril cursed her own stupidity in not using that key when she had it in her hand.

A grinning crew member brought a weight of shackles for captive ankles while Pansy 
blandly explained. “Ah ain’t takin’ no chances,” she declared grandly, return to the West Indies 
speech. “Yo’s might jump over the rail, so Ah irons yo’ feet to keep yo’ sensible. Ain’t no use 
yo’ looking at me that way ‘cos Ah gots all the help Ah needs.” She giggled delightedly. “Yo’ 
lets this nice gentlemen lock these here shackles on yo’ ankles then we’s all happy and yo’ 
won’t hurt no mores than yo’ hurtin’ now.”

Megan, seeing no prospect of hope anywhere, had passively allowed her ankles to be 
ironed, the twin clicks of the locks spelling a fresh enslavement to a master or masters 
unknown. As if the act had signaled the engine room, the Judith now thrust power into her 
prop and began slowly moving through the Pacific.

Amaril had been standing erect to watch the chaining of her sisters feet, her mind chaotic 
under the stress of emotion after emotion until, as the steel of slavery touched her leg, she 
leaped over the rail in a clear dive to cut the water and quickly climb aboard the forgotten 
dingy. She cast off the line and started its motor as the Judith began to move. Her goal was 
quite obviously the Kypers’ Queen.

Aboard the Judith, Megan joined Pansy at the rail to watch the dingy in its flight and 
condemn herself for not being in it with her sister. Pansy was loud in protest and berated her 
male companion in no uncertain way for failing to chain her properly and to stop her leap to 
the rail.

“If you had gotten the leg irons on her right quick the way you should, she wouldn’t have 
been able to do it,” she accused bitterly. “Yo’ is a real asshole and yo’d best do what Ah says 
with this gal what’s left and make sure she don’t get away no how.”

The seaman shrugged and sat at a distance in case needed. Megan turned to Pansy and 
said, “Pansy, this is all wrong! Josh had given Amaril her freedom. He had even given her the 
handcuff key but it was lost when he was shot. Didn’t he ever tell you he and I were going to 
be married? Pansy, Pansy darling, you absolutely can’t keep me prisoner like this. You can’t 
take me back to Lost Island. My father knows where I am and who is holding me. Set me 
ashore while you still can without trouble.”

“Won’t be no trouble, Ah gots yo’ safe and sound,” Pansy said. “Seems like Ah jus’ got 
them leg irons on you in time. ‘Nother minute and yo’d been over the rail, too, and Ah’d be in 
deep, deep trouble.”

“You’re in trouble anyway, Pansy, you’ve let Amaril escape. If you let me go free now and 
come with me I’ll make sure you’re a rich girl. Pansy, please!”

It was no use, Pansy had her own loyalties and her own ambitions. The irons on Megan’s 
feet and the cuffs on wrists grew heavier and tighter as the moments pasted. Her pleas fell on 
unresponsive teenager ears. Pansy was no bitch but was forced by rules and forces beyond 
Megan’s knowledge.

By this time the distance had widened between the Judith and the Kypers’ Queen. The 
dingy had vanished in the swells and distance. Megan Summers knew herself once more 
terribly alone. In the absence of Josh Morgan, the realities of imprisonment closed in on her. 
Her immediate prospects were made clear by Pansy, “Always Ah has to do what Ah’s told. 
Usually Ah gets ma fun from fuckin’ but on the trip back to Lost Island Ah gots yo’ all to 
myself, Miss Summers. Ah can whip yo’ ass and pinch them pretty tits all Ah wants. And yo’ 
can’t do nothin’ ‘bout it. That guy Bunce always wanted to get in ma pants. Now he’s told the 
crew they gotta do what Ah says. Mostly they ain’t sayin’ nothing. They knows how to run this 
ship and Ah don’t. But they help me with yo’s. Miss Summers. Ah gonna tie yo’ every which 
way there is and Ah’m gonna whip that pretty body of yo’s every place. What yo’ thinks of 
that!”

“Pansy, it’s horrible! I thought you were my friend?”

“Ah is yo’ friend. Ah’s real fond of yo, Miss Summers. But that don’t stop me from whippin’
yo’ ass and all them other things. Ah’s gonna kiss and hug yo’ aplenty but Ah’m gonna have 
my fun anyway. Don’t know what Bunce gonna do with yo’ when we’s gets back to 
Morganpride but that’s his affair. Ah’ll have ma fun with yo’ and if he whips ma ass, well, so 
what?”

“Ah thinks Ah calls yo’ Megan now. Yo’ ain’t Miss Summers no more. Yo’ jus’ a naked girl in
chains.”

Megan slumped, gazing bitterly at handcuffed wrists and leg irons. She was a captive for 
sure and the irons she now bore probably represented as much freedom as she could expect 
as the Judith carried her into the unknown.

“This fellow Bunce isn’t going to sell be to a brothel or some lousy Arab, is he?” she 
demanded.

“He will iffen he wants to! Yo’ best bet, Megan, is to make yo’self a good piece of ass like 
yo’s did with Joshua, that way he may want to hold on and keep yo’ chained around the place 
like a pet. Belief me, that’s good advise.” Pansy was sincere.

“Will he torture me the way you are going to?”

“Yo’ call gettin’ yo’ ass whipped bein’ tortured, Miss Summers? Yo’ crazy. Ah ain’t gonna 
torture yo, jus’ make yo’ toe the line a bit and be real polite like sayin’ please and thank you. 
Ah thinks Ah makes you call me Mistress while on the voyage. Best not call me that back at 
Morganpride or Ah be in deep shit. Hell no, yo’ won’t be tortured, jus’ punished enough to 
keep yo’ good.”

“But this business about being sold-he could do it, couldn’t he?”

“Sure he can, Miss Summers. He could sell me, too. An’ maybe it not be all that bad. A girl 
what gets herself sold often goes up in the world and jus’ get herself in a cage like a canary 
bird. She jus’ get took our every night to be fucked but maybe she don’t get whipped at tall.”

“But surely my families money interests you, there’s so much you could have just by 
sending me home and coming with me to be safe? I don’t understand why you won’t do this?”

““Cause Ah don’t wanta be the way Josh Morgan is right now, Ah wants to stay alive. Stop 
talking like that, it makes me nervous.” Pansy snickered. “Tell yo’ what, Miss Summers, every 
time yo’ talks ‘bout yo’ daddy, Ah whips yo’ real bad. Think that’ll help?”

“Yes, all right,” Megan conceded. “Look, it’s going to take us quite a while to get back to 
Morganpride. You’re not going to be unkind to me the whole time, are you? Pansy, up to now 
I’ve been real fond of you.”

Pansy’s features were warm and loving but there was a hint of meanness in her eye. “Tells 
yo’ what, Miss Summers, yo’ is all at sixes and sevens with yo’self and with me. Best thing for a 
gal when she’s all upset like that is to whip her real good. Make her stand all tied up so she 
has to think the whole thing out and realize she means everything to herself but not much to 
anybody else. That’s what Ah thinks Ah’m gonna do with yo.”

“No, please! I don’t want to be whipped on top of everything else, I’m miserable enough 
as is. Pansy, please don’t!”

“No gal every wants to be whipped,” Pansy agreed. “But Ah’m the boss now and Ah thinks 
it’s gonna be good for you. Ah’ll ask Fred to tie yo’ up real tight and we’ll leave yo’ a while to 
think ‘bout what yo’s gonna get. Honest, Miss Summers, this is the best thing Ah can do for 
you. An’ afterwards, iffen yo’ don’t bad mouth me too much, Ah’ll be real nice to yo. Leave 
everything to Pansy.”

It was absurd, insane and crazy. But Megan Summers remembered the punishments 
imposed on the voyage on down by the master who owned her then, a man now dead but 
who’s love was still heavy in her heart. When a male hand grasped Megan’s bare and pinioned
arm, she followed where it led.

“Best not to struggle,” Fred advised kindly. “I don’t want to get rough and that’s not what 
Pansy wants either. Let me tie your hands, it’s much the best.”

Once more it was the rigging, the network of heavy ropes slanting from the rail to the 
center of the deck above. As in a trance, Megan stood while her handcuffs were removed and 
locked above her elbow. She then obediently lifted one arm above her head while Fred corded
her wrist tight to the rigging’s stout rope. Many wrapping encircled each wrist, locking it firmly
to the rope. When both arms were secured, she was left to gaze out to sea and wait to be 
whipped. Fred regretfully summed it up before he went away, “It’s the way Pansy wants you, 
Miss Summers, ain’t nothing anyone can do about it. Pansy’s going to do the whipping and 
there’s nothing you can do no more. I’ve tied you good and tight so you don’t have to worry 
about getting loose.”

The Judith was now well away from land and the Kypers’ Queen and moving at full speed. 
Amaril was also far behind. And Joshua Morgan was no longer alive to give her comfort after 
she would whipped. It reminded Megan of the early days of her first kidnapping when Morgan
was training her to be a slave. She had thought her world was ending then, she thought it 
now as she stared at the horizon with only an occasional glance up at her bound wrists. She 
wondered what was taking place at the Triangle Corporation of which she was the president.

It was annoying to find herself following Pansy’s prediction. The turmoil after Morgan’s 
death had given way to this quiet stance with her hands above her head and her eyes fixed 
stonily upon a horizon she did not see. Megan thought of Amaril but Amaril would be okay, 
using the dingy to take her to heart’s desire. Save for handcuffs she was a free girl and could 
do as she pleased. Suddenly the thought occurred to Megan that perhaps Amaril did not go 
to the Kypers’ Queen. The coast of Mexico was close by then and she could have made it in 
the dingy if she was careful. Perhaps she was free on some sandy beach now, making her way 
for the border and help. She would be naked and handcuffed, a bad combination they had 
both found out, but she would be free and no one would know she was escaping. Karl Kypers 
didn’t know where she was and Elizabeth Hampton thought she was on the Judith.

Or had Amaril gone directly to the Kypers’ Queen?

Megan sighed and waited for the lashing of her skin. She longed to cry but had no tears. 
Perhaps Pansy would help her cry when she brought pain in a leather thong.

Time passed without either hope or meaning until Pansy’s fingers were gently on her flesh 
and Pansy’s voice asked, “How are you feeling, Miss Summers? You’re going to be whipped.”

“I’m feeling frightened, Pansy. And I’m feeling resentful because I don’t deserve to be 
whipped, I haven’t done anything.”

“That’s the whole idea, Miss Summers! Yo’ is gonna to get whipped to show yo’s Ah’s the 
boss. Yo’ll treat me proper. Every time Ah comes into view, yo’ goes down on yo’ knees and 
calls me mistress. Yo’ got that in yo’ pretty head?”

With an anger and bitterness she could not control, Megan retorted, “Pansy, you’re crazy, 
I’m not going to do things like that. You’ve no right to humiliate me or rub my nose in the dirt.
Go ahead and whip me and be damned to you!”

Pansy smiled. Miss Megan Summers was running true to form. Here was the rich, haughty 
bitch of every girl’s imagination. And the rich, haughty bitch was naked and bound for Pansy’s 
whip. Pansy took a deep breath of pure exhilaration in her knowledge of supremacy. Miss 
Megan Summers was going to kneel for sure and would call her “Mistress” in humble 
recognition of a fact. Pansy swung the whip to cut a most satisfying weal across a rich girl’s 
back.

From the first searing blow, Megan knew defeat. She would kneel and she would address 
this mischievous girl as “Mistress.” As the thong sliced her bottom, Megan knew she should 
have been more humble from the start. Perhaps if she had shown gladness at being the 
possession of a teenage girl from the very start she might have saved her skin. But that was 
doubtful, Pansy had her for days before delivering her, no doubt suitably chained, to a waiting
male who would use her in one of the several ways a girl enslaved must learn to expect. As 
stroke number three cut upward between her legs, Megan saw her future as empty of hope.

The whip was a very good teacher. Pansy, being a girl, knew where to hurt a girl most 
shamefully. Her leather tong sang a glad cry above the power of her young arm, and sought 
Megan’s flesh in places and ways the slavegirl had not dreamed. Soon, the President of the 
Triangle Corporation screamed a shrill and piercing response as her skin collected the scarlet 
weals which insured and firmly cemented the resolution to sink humbly to her knees before a 
girl and call her “Mistress.” As the leather sought her secrets again and again, Miss Megan 
Summers became convinced her shame would be a small price to pay for the ceasing of this 
pain. When she sobbed this promise, when she tearfully promised total obedience, Pansy 
appeared to no hear and continued to ply her wicked tong upon a rich girl’s flesh. But inside 
Pansy knew she had a broken a spirit to her will.

When the whipping of Megan Summers was complete she was not left to stand as was so 
often done to whipped and disobedient young women, but was immediately untied, with Fred
in the background to witness the final subjugation of the daughter of one of the richest men 
in the world. Megan wasted no time, but knelt at Pansy’s feet, her voice broken and anguished
in pain.

“I am sorry I was foolish. Mistress. I acknowledge you my Mistress.” Abjectly she raised her 
hands. “Please handcuff me once again. I am a slave.”

Thus easily is the enslavement of a girl.





CHAPTER NINE - BARTERED BREASTS


Three girls, naked, handcuffed, locked in a cage where they slept upon the floor and were 
taken once each day for some portion of their body to be whipped, or simply that they be 
suspended by hands or feet to endure an hour which seemed a century. Phyllis, Donna and 
Amaril were denied the solace of their master’s bed.

“I could kick Nigel Asbury’s ass,” Donna affirmed. “If I had to be some bastard’s prisoner, I 
figured I had it good with him. Even when the old lady sentenced me to some awful 
punishment, I didn’t always get it. Nigel enjoyed punishing a girl all right, but he enjoyed 
screwing her a lot more. The Hacienda Clifton wasn’t all that bad.”

“Not if you had to be a prisoner,” Phyllis said reflectively. “I’ve been a prisoner in that place
for so long I’d forgotten everything else. It’s pretty damned rough when a girl gets so she 
hopes her master will take her to bed because that’s the only pleasure in life. Nigel’s a clever 
bastard who kept us between hate and love. But I’d sooner be back at Clifton than handcuffed
here in this cage. This is for the birds, and if it wasn’t for you two, I’d go stark, raving nuts.”

Amaril added her own dolor to the trio’s complaints. All of them had been caged instantly 
upon boarding the Kypers’ Queen. The master they had hoped for was not in evidence. The 
crewmen saw to their needs and dispassionately punished them each day but showed little 
interest in naked girls. Perhaps they were eunuchs, the girls speculated. It was not until Amaril 
had been aboard the Kypers’ Queen eight days and nights before she was summoned to the 
Presence.

“Had yourself a time, heh? And I suppose you got yourself well screwed by Nigel Asbury?” 
Karl Kypers’ greeting was not friendly.

“I didn’t have to have a thing to say about anything, I was always bound or handcuffed!” 
Amaril was indignant even though her pulse was pounding in the presence of this man. “You 
know damned well I was kidnapped. Oh, Karl darling, please!”

“I ought to cane your ass!”

“Yes, of course, I want you to! Oh Karl, I want you so damned bad!”

She was suddenly in his arms, the glorious, wonderful male arms she dreamed of in other 
prisons. After a while, a most satisfying while, she whispered, “Karl, darling, please cane me 
and then I’ll arrange myself on the bed. Please, please, please!”

Kypers threw his slavegirl on the bed and ravished her without preliminary of cane or whip.
It was as if for the first time for them. He took her in great, pounding thrust to evoke cries and
moans of female subjugation to the male. When it was over and they lay quiet, he whispered, 
“I’ll cane your ass next time. This one was on the house.”

Amaril adored him.

It was a night wonderful and glorious in mixed pain and ecstasy. Amaril had her bottom 
burning before it was long over but loved the scold and pain because of who had given it to 
her. She took her own erotic pleasure from the rubbing of her tender skin upon the sheet 
while Karl laughed and pounded into her with vigor and pleasure unrestrained.

Towards morning she had generated enough courage to ask, “What are you going to do 
with me. Why don’t you take me back to Daddy and marry me? I promise I’ll be the best wife 
you ever had.”

“I never had a wife. If I married you, I’m sure you’d very soon start talking about your 
rights and all the things men simply do not do to their little women. No thanks.”

“But Karl, I’ll be different. You can do everything to me that you do now after we’re 
married. Don’t you understand, you big silly, I’m in love with you! You can whip me every day 
and I’ll do the most outrageous things for you every night and no one’s going to know. Least 
of all poor Daddy.”

“Your father’s not a dumb as you seem to think,” Kypers told her solemnly. “He knows 
damn well the things I do to you but he figures you’re a lost cause. That’s the reason he 
turned you over to that nut house and Doctor Norton.”

“But Darling, make sure I never get put in there again. That Norton guy is an absolute 
bastard. They ought to call the placed Torture Towers instead of Restwell Home. Holly Cow, I 
never got any rest there.”

“But you want me to marry you?”

“Every girl who’s in love wants her man to marry her. What’s so strange about that?”

Kypers laughed. “Look, sweetheart, we’ve got a problem. What about those two girls down
there in the cage?”

“That’s easy, let them loose.”

“You know I can’t, they’d blow the whistle on me and everyone else.”

“Then send them back to Nigel, he sent them to you in the first place. Kypers played with 
this slavegirl’s handcuffs, lifting them then letting them down, and threatening to tighten the 
steel circlets. When that amusement paled, he said quietly, “We’ll cruise down to that beach 
you know so well and we’ll put Phyllis and Donna in the dingy. But I want you to go with 
them. All you have to do is deliver a message and come right back. I’ll cuff the girl’s hand 
behind their back so they can’t give trouble.”

“Karl, that’s crazy! Nigel would latch onto me and hide me in some hole where you’d never
find me. He’s got lots of places to hide a girl. Suppose he doesn’t want Phyllis and Donna and 
sets them free. Where would you be then?”

“You’re dreaming, sweetheart, that isn’t going to happen. Nigel will be so damned pleased 
to get his two pieces of tail back, he’ll rest content. And that’s the last you’ll see of him.”

Amaril considered. It was such a little thing and surely the least she could do for the man 
she loved. But, woman-like, she persisted. “Well, okay, so I deliver the two girls back to slavery,
not that they’ve ever been out of it. But what’s this letter thing I have to deliver?”

“Just a letter giving him title to both of them and telling him not to try any tricks again. 
And telling him for sure to leave you alone.”

“But, Karl darling, you could tie this around their necks or something. I wish you’d deliver 
them to Nigel instead of me. I’m scared of the hacienda. Once it gets its claws on me it won’t 
ever let go. I’ve had bad times there.”

“But now you’re safe. I don’t see what you’re worrying about. Nigel wouldn’t dare hold on 
to you with me anchored out here in the bay.”

“Yes he would. You don’t know Nigel. He’s a sort of lovable bastard. And he’s shown me 
some of the places where he could hide me and no one would find me. He even offered to let 
you inspect the place. Darling, do you want him to get me?”

Kypers laughed at her concern. “Not really, sweetheart. But the point is that if he tells me 
he doesn’t know where you are, it won’t work. I’ll tear that hacienda of his down, stone by 
stone, until I find you. Surely he’s not dumb enough to think I wouldn’t do this.”

“I won’t be in the hacienda, he’ll have me off someplace else. You’d have to tear apart 
several hundred acres. He’s got hiding holes all over the place.”

Amaril looked at her master appealingly. Kypers said nothing but just smiled quietly in the 
assurance of a man who knows himself much loved. Finally Amaril exclaimed, “Oh, all right, 
you big blonde brute. I’ll take the girls and your letter, and if you never see me again, it’s your 
own fault. When do we start?”

It was a doubting and despondent young woman who did her master’s bidding the 
following afternoon. The Kypers’ Queen had entered the tiny bay where it loomed as a 
gigantic monster. Donna and Phyllis had been bound without mercy at wrist and elbow, as 
well as being roped neck to neck. But they looked happy. The Kypers’ Queen had soured both 
Phyllis and Donna as to its hospitality by confinement in the cage and no sex other than the 
little they could offer each other. They were looking forward to Nigel’s virility in bed. If they 
got whipped along the way, well it was no more than a slavegirl must expect. They stepped 
into the dingy without demur but showed surprise when it was Amaril who started the motor. 
Even though Amaril wore only handcuffs they were horrified.

“Darling, you’re crazy! Nigel will grab you right off!”

“If he does, Karl will tear his place apart. I should be safe enough.”

“You don’t even believe that yourself,” the doomed pair said. “Your face gives you away. 
You know damned well you’re walking into imprisonment. Darling, you’re absolutely crazy!”

It was a far from happy journey to the beach. But three naked girls stepped onto the warm
sand and walked up the lawn to the house.

The door was opened by Lola, smiling and warm and glad of the return of the two bound 
maidens and the handcuffed girl who’s heart was thumping painfully. Immediately the door 
was closed Juan and Manuel appeared and picked up Amaril bodily. Phyllis and Donna were 
easily controlled by a single hand on the rope linking their necks. All three were taken to the 
back door where they were dumped into a jeep with the motor running. Amaril supposed she 
could have leaped from the speeding vehicle at risk to life and limb, but what was the use! She
sat despondently beside her bound companions in a horrified conviction of their destination. 
It would be the oubliette for sure!

By the hacienda had a surprise, knowing full well Amaril would have told Karl Kypers of the
hiding places she had seen. This time the jeep veered in another direction to arrive at one 
more ancient, make-believe ruin Amaril had not yet seen. Interesting as its exhibits might be, 
the three girls were hurried through to where a door opened at the touch of a button to 
reveal nothing but space and open sky. Below the sill of the door was a concrete square in the
nature of the oubliette but with straight vertical sides and no roof. Manuel used a ladder for 
his decent and then caught each of the captive beauties as they were lowered by his 
companion, Juan. Chains and collars were in readiness and it was but a few moments before 
three sad young women stood in complete freedom, totally naked but with a steel collar 
locked around their necks. From the collars a ten-foot length of chain attached them to the 
concrete wall, each girl and individual prisoner but sharing a common prison. Manuel climbed 
back up the ladder to pull it after him out of sigh. He and Juan were gone without even a 
word of farewell.

“Quicker than I expected,” Phyllis said disgustedly.

“What the hell else could we expect!” Donna exclaimed. “It’s not you and me, Phyllis, it’s 
Amaril who’s getting the wrong end of the stick.”

Amaril said nothing. Her worse fears were confirmed and she was once more a prisoner in 
an unattractive prison. Moreover she was chained to its concrete wall by a weight of chain 
dragging against her neck.

Thankfully the three girls explored their new bondage to discover they could touch and 
fondle each other but could not walk to the opposite wall or climb upon each other’s 
shoulders.

Three girls clutched their chain to ease the burden on their neck and looked at each other 
without a smile. All three were cheated and deprived, Amaril of her freedom and her 
companions of the attentions of their master. They conceded the possibility of other worse 
prisons but this square concrete block came close to being the most hated of them all.

“They can toss a bit of bread every day and leave us forever,” Phyllis said. “They never put 
me here before and I never knew it existed. I spent a night into oubliette once and that was 
bad enough. I’m thinking of the way it’s going to be for us if it starts to rain. If I ever get close 
to Nigel again, I’ll give him a piece of my mind, even if it means being whipped.”

Miserably they crouched together on the floor, their backs against the wall and clutching 
hands to keep their fear at bay. Each girl well knew that so long as the Kypers’ Queen was in 
the bay they would remain chained were they were in a dismal imprisonment they did not 
deserve.

Since it was the topic on their minds, they spoke of the freedom each had once enjoyed.

“It was real enough but I gave up believing in it a long time ago,” Donna said soberly. “I’ve 
been a prison for so long I’ve come to see it as a girl’s natural condition. It is as if it is not us 
who is to be pitied, but those girl out there who’ve never known a chain or a rope or a whip. 
Girls who would laugh about us and wouldn’t believe a word about the way we are.”

“That’s right, if I’m not fastened someway, I can’t feel at ease or go to sleep,” Phyllis 
agreed. “It’s been years for me, too. So now I don’t try to escape or even think about it. If I 
simply try to please my master, maybe he’ll be nice to me in bed and won’t whip me more 
than once a week.” She mused thoughtfully for a few moments. “Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

The trio’s day passed dismally. At night they were tossed a couple of blanket and slept 
uncomfortably. In the morning the blanket had to be surrendered and they were given a loaf 
of bread and a pale of water. They ate the bread and drank some of the water. Before them 
stretched out a day that promised to be nothing but boring.

Amaril was the one who got the idea. “We’ve been trying,” she said slowly, “to pull out our 
chains. But what if we all pulled on one chain?”

They set the plan quickly into motion. Because of the limitation of the chains they could all
only get their hands on the middle chain, the one holding Amaril. Bracing their feet and 
grabbed the chain firmly as they could, they pulled. For several attempts the chain just 
laughed at their efforts. But when they moved the chain from side to side they were rewarded 
with a slight movement of the ring it was locked to. Back and forth they worked at it, tugged 
with all their strength and working the ring sideways until it suddenly burst free with a shower 
of dust. Amaril stood there holding her chain in her hand, but free of the wall.

Amaril went to Phyllis but their combined efforts could not make her ring move. Then 
Amaril told her to stand back and, taking a stance with feet spread and solidly set on the 
concrete, she swung her chain and ring. It impacted solidly against the ring in the wall but 
with no apparent effect. Again and again she swung, sometimes chipping tiny bits of concrete 
out, sometimes landing a solid blow against the iron ring, making a ringing sound of metal on
metal. Finally she saw the imbedded ring move slight at one blow. Phyllis and her then took 
up the chain and worked it back and forth until it also yielded and two girls were free. A 
combination of pounding and pulled freed Donna in short time.

The three girls were no longer despondent. Now three shining-eyed girls attacked the 
walls of their prison with a will. Donna stood with her back against the wall as Amaril, as the 
next biggest, climbed up her to put her feet on Donna’s shoulders. Then the lightest, Phyllis, 
climbed up, using both the other girls as a ladder until she could swing her leg over the edge 
to stand there in wonderment at being free of the prison. It was an easy task to lower the 
ladder back down for Donna and Amaril to climb out.

The panting but happy girls could see no one around but knew that Nigel or one of his 
boys could show up at any time.

“Our best bet is to make a wide enough circle around the hacienda to where we can see 
the Kypers’ Queen,” said Amaril. She fingered her weight of chain with the ring still attached. 
“Damn! I could swim to the ship if I were only handcuffed. But with this weight of chain….

It was while they were circling the house that a fact of life suddenly occurred to Amaril. 
She came to a panting stop. “We’re so use to being slaves that its a habit with us. Here we are 
trying to find our way back into slavery. I’m going to try and reach Karl Kypers but there’s 
nothing to stop you two from trying for complete freedom. If you creep up the coastline far 
enough, you’ll find someone who will help.”

“Sweetheart, you’re crazy,” Donna declared good-naturedly. “Who’s going to help two 
naked girls with a iron collar locked around their necks? You told us about the police and the 
police are about the best we could hope for. No thanks, I’d far prefer dear Nigel.”

Phyllis agreed. “I’m afraid I’m the same as Donna. If it wasn’t for the collar and chain, I’d try
it. But … sorry, darling, I’m a coward.”

They gathered their chain once more and ran.

Sight of the coast and the blue Pacific was like a homecoming. The three fugitives knew 
they were well to the south of the Hacienda Clifton. But as they approached the little bay of 
many memories, they discovered the Kypers’ Queen was not there at anchor. Instead it was 
considerably farther out to sea, probably to cope with the tides that could ground that large a
ship if it stayed in too close. The last ebb of which had left their dingy high and dry upon the 
sand.

Clutching their tethers, they ran in joy towards deliverance. They picked the small craft up 
and carried it to the water’s edge. It was at that moment Manuel and Juan chose to converge 
upon them.

The action was swift and to Amaril’s advantage. Phyllis fled in one direction. Donna in 
another. Juan and Manuel each took off after a girl. Since the fuel control had been shut, the 
little motor refused to start, requiring Amaril to delay while she turned it on. During that delay,
she saw the capture of Phyllis and Donna. One was caught and the other tripped and fell on 
the sand. Suddenly the motor kicked into life and enabled Amaril to point the dingy at the 
distant ship.

Space is deceptive. Amaril soon realized the Kypers’ Queen was farther from the shore 
than she had thought. It did not matter. The only thing the collared girl was concerned with 
was escape. She mourned Phyllis and Donna but consoled her conscious with the knowledge 
she could not have helped them at all and their treatment at the hacienda would certainly be 
better than for herself. It was then her ears picked up the sound of a second motor.

It was a cheap, unattractive in-shore fishing boat, actually an oversized rowboat but with a 
monster-sized motor. It had rounded the headland and was rapidly overtaking the dingy. 
Amaril instantly knew fear but quenched it with an inward assurance of safety on the sea. No 
doubt the approaching vessel was curious or not concerned with her at all. She kept steady on
her course.

The gap closed rapidly until it seemed foolish to run away since the fishing boat’s intent 
was obviously to intercept. Amaril slowed her motor to await events. She had become so 
accustomed to nakedness, it was a condition she entirely overlooked.

The two fisherman were swift. Their greeting was politely Spanish but after that they 
dropped pretenses of politeness. One grabbed the dingy and stepped aboard, threw Amaril to
the floor and tied her crossed wrists behind her back. Both boats then headed back around 
the headland. A very frightened girl sat up to behold the very last scene she wished to see. 
Laying helpless within the larger craft were two torn and ragged girls securely and painfully 
hogtied. Above the brutal gags which made them mute, their eyes met Amaril’s in wide 
sympathy. Her bound hands made her a sister in distress, a girl likely to share whatever their 
fate might be. Neither of them struggled and Amaril’s experienced eye told her they were in 
pain from the tightly knotted cords and rope. She slumped back to gaze at the man who had 
taken charge of her dingy and of her. He smiled winningly but what he had to say were words 
of doom.

“You are of the Hacienda Clifton. We know about you,” he assured Amaril with knowing 
leer. “The collar and the chain tell me you escaped. Is much bad. My cousin, Juan, he work at 
the hacienda. I will return you to him when I have the time.”

It was always the same, everyone returned her to the Hacienda Clifton! Amaril twisted 
savagely at the binding on her wrists and cursed the collar and chain which prevented her 
seeking refuge in the sea. Hopelessly she said, “My father is very rich. If you will return me to 
him, he will give you much, much money.”

Her suggestion was waved airily aside. “Juan, he tell me about this father you say you got. 
We not believe.” He motioned suggestively. “You see the two fine girls in other boat. We 
capture yesterday and take to whore house today.” He winked slyly. “Maybe you like to go to 
whore house, too? Whore house pay much money for pretty girls. Is much best to sell such 
pretty girls for cash, ransom and reward get Pedro and me in jail. We no want ransom, we sell 
for cash. You may call me Joe.”

Once more Amaril’s future loomed dark as she fought the cords so deep within her wrists 
and became increasingly aware of Joe’s admiration. His request came as no surprise.

“You sit up on seat, you spread your legs so I get nice view of cunt. If you refuse I drop you
overboard.”

It was probably and empty threat but the tied girl felt only defeat and for one more idiotic 
male to gaze at her pubic hair mattered little. Using bound hands, she -edged herself up and 
then divided her legs from side to side in an outrageous exposure of her sex. Her voice was 
devoid of interest, “You mean I have a choice?” she asked, puzzled. “Are you telling me I can 
either go to your whore house or to the Hacienda Clifton, and you don’t care?”

“No whore house. I keep you safe for cousin Juan. And those who live in hacienda are 
most generous.”

“Then take me back and get your money. We’re going in the wrong direction.”

Joe was upset. “We do with you what we want. Not what you say. I no go back. I keep you 
tied until Pedro says for you to go.” Joe’s eyes had never left his captive’s pubic hair. “Maybe if
you good girl I give you nice fuck before I send you home. You like?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Amaril replied without concern. “I don’t suppose your prick is any 
worse than the others I’ve had shoved up inside. But if you’re so damned concerned with 
money why not take me to that ship over there and sell me to the guy who owns it. He’ll pay a
lot more money for me than anyone else. Please, I’m begging you.”

Joe contrived a most eloquent shrug. “You clever girl. You want Joe and Pedro to wind up 
in jail. Joe not fool. Joe not take you out to ship. You come with Joe and be good girl.”

“What you mean is I should spread my legs whenever you want and let you tie me 
however you please. That’s what you mean by talking about a good girl, isn’t it?” Amaril’s tone
was bitter.

“That is right, you are knowing of the score.” Joe beamed approval. “You nice change from 
Mexican gals. Maybe Joe and Pedro keep you a while for fucks before we sell.”

It was all hopeless. A length of rope and a bit of iron around her neck made the Kypers’ 
Queen as distant as the moon. Amaril had no wish to be return to Clifton but did not say so. 
The less this local yokel knew, the better. All she could do was drop hints and hopes.

“I suppose you know you’ve stolen this dingy? The police will be looking for it. You’re 
playing with fire.”

“Soon we leave on beach. Is no more use. We leave little boat but take you. You very lovely
girl with nice slit. Pedro and Joe make you most happy.”

Amaril supposed she had the situation well in hand but only in the sense of understanding
its peril and limitations on escape. The simplicity of these two new captors was, strangely 
enough, a change from sophisticated ownership. She had always known she could never best 
Karl Kypers or Nigel Asbury. But these two might be weakened by her clever use of her body 
as a weapon. Miss Amaril Summers would have to play lust for all it was worth.

Cautiously she suggested, “Okay, I know you’ve got me. I know I can’t escape. But please 
don’t be in a hurry to sell me. Use me for yourselves for the longest time you can.” She gazed 
up at the male. “Pleeease…?”

By the strange chemistry between male and female, Joe might become Amaril’s slave 
without realization. It might not make him kind but it might induce carelessness. Amaril was 
careful to expose her sex most blatantly for the remainder of the voyage.

Nothing was ever as the captive girl supposed. When the dingy was run up on a fresh belt 
of sand in a tiny bay, she was left to sit while the two men discussed her future. Their frequent 
glances told Amaril all too well she was the subject of their discussion. But, since she was out 
of earshot, she could not tell what was said. The fishing boat with its hogtied cargo was not far
distant but Amaril dared not go to it. And, in any case, what good could she do? So she sat in 
the dingy, her feet now tight closed and thighs clenched in disgust at male stares. She awaited
a Mexican verdict. When it came it took her one step further into puzzlement and despair. She
was lifted bodily and carried up the beach into the trees. There she was placed against a 
narrow trunk and delightedly twisting her chain tether around and around to allow the ring to
hang from her neck.

Miss Amaril Summers was then bound as thousand others might have been in ages past. 
Her hands behind the trunk, ropes crisscrossing her shoulders and bisecting her breasts. Then 
a tight cinch around her tummy and a cunning crupper tie to punish her inoffensive sex. 
Finally her knees and ankles felt the bit of rope which Pedro summed up in unconcern, “We fix
you good. We know you clever at escape. You now belong Joe and Pedro. We now take the 
girls we capture to the Casa Grande where men go to get expensive fucks. It is short journey 
up coast. We phone Juan to come and take you back to Hacienda Clifton. Everything works 
out for best.”

Amaril was not sure she agreed, watching the two men depart in an uncertainty of being 
return to Nigel’s tender mercies. She pleaded after them to take her and sell her to the whore 
house. Such a plea would have been unthinkable not long before but the oubliette had 
broken her spirit so far as Nigel was concerned. Miss Amaril Summers saw neither good or 
hope in the Hacienda Clifton. She was a girl sadly torn as she stood there in her binding to the
tree. Both the tree and her bindings laughed at her puny efforts. Nothing came loose. No 
slack developed as she tugged and twisted. At such times Amaril was always convinced she 
would be better able to cope had she been clothed. In her heart she knew it a quaint conceit.

Being naked and being bound tight to a tree is an elemental experience for any girl, 
probably for any man but we are not concerned with that. We are concerned with the 
protruding and excited breasts of Miss Amaril Summers. And with her hot and bothered loins.

She wondered how long it would take for Pedro and Joe to return to claim their prize. She 
had no idea why she was left alone, tied to this tree. Why hadn’t they taken her with them? 
Savagely she fought her bondage until convinced of hopelessness. Then she simply stood 
passively as a captive maiden awaiting rescue.

It was lonely standing hard bound against the tree. The laughter of Joe and Pedro as they 
departed had left a vacuum the woodland sounds could not fill. Amaril was certain a fictional 
heroine would have struggles and freed herself one way or another. She tried every way she 
could think of without success. All she had left was to wonder when some one would come 
back. Had she understood Pedro correctly? Was Juan coming for her or were they going to 
deliver her to him later? And what would be done to her when the Hacienda Clifton had her 
once more within its grasp.

While her nakedness was held in enforced immobility, Amaril’s mind raced rapidly in a 
frantic search for a solution for a condition worsening by the minute. Emerging from the 
tumult within her mind was something to cause her shame and speculation. There seemed 
only two alternatives to the tree against which she was tightly tied. The tree was unimportant, 
it signified only the intent of a couple uneducated fisherman to use her body for as long as 
they could without hurting its value. After that she would be delivered into a fresh servitude 
which would teach its rules and regulations by the whip. She could think of nothing to do or 
say to stem this tide. But the decision was taken from her hands and neatly solved by the 
reappearance of Pedro and Joe, who told her in blithe unconcern of rejection by the Hacienda 
Clifton which left her therefore most obviously available for sale to a bordello. They untied her
from the tree with a stream of reassurance as to how happy she would undoubted by in the 
place to which they would take her now. Amaril knew words were useless against these men 
and the prospect of a cash return. These were simple men who could not be bribed by her 
father’s wealth. Or Karl Kypers’ wealth, either.

With the falling away of the last rope she accepted the inevitable. She sank down on the 
grass to yield her loins. Pedro and Joe used her to the full and expressed appreciation of her 
quality, promising her great success in her new career. They then tied her wrists and elbows 
with vicious twine and escorted her to the fishing boat in which the two other girls lay in 
agony. Soon Amaril joined them by means of a rope between bound ankles and tied wrists. 
She knew herself ready for delivery to the Casa Grande. Amaril longed to wept but had no 
tears.


THE END
