### HIT-183 ###
Cords & Nudity
By F.E. Campbell


CHAPTER ONE - KIDNAPPED

After the first skirmish, the girls of the Abutu Technical Academy for Young Woman were 
made tractable by the man with the whip plus the unkind bond of chain from neck to neck. 
There was no collar, just the chain looped once around the slenderness of maiden throat, 
made into a secure circle by the snap of a padlock. Except for the chain and threat of whip, the
girls were free. It was enough, none of the sixteen frightened maidens dared contemplate 
revolt.

For Eve Mallory the chain was bitter gall. In the couple of hours they had marched thus far 
her mind replayed over and over the manner of its happening. The Abutu Technical Academy 
gave tuition only to the brightest and more mature students gleamed from the other schools. 
The state of Rashwana had exerted itself handsomely in providing both the small, modern 
building and employing Miss Eve Mallory from Spokane, Washington, as custodian and 
mentor to its girls. What had taken place should never have happened.

The raiders had crashed open the classroom door to rivet every eye with a pair of huge 
blacks and a single, tight-lipped white who marched to stand before the blackboard to 
address the assembly he was about to abduct.

“You’ll file out one by one and allow the boys to secure you. If you behave yourselves, you 
won’t be hurt. Get with it!”

No gun was visible but from each black’s belt hung a short but wicked whip. When 
pandemonium broke loose with dusky maidens running hither and forth like startled fawns, 
they were plucked from their fellows one at a time by huge black hands against which their 
struggled were fruitless as their necks were chained and they were passed out beyond the 
door to stand fingering the metal around their neck in disbelief. The chaining of the sixteen 
girls was done with casual competence of power. When the last feminine student had been 
linked beyond the door, Eve Mallory found her tongue.

“This is insane!” Her breasts were heaving in agitation. “Release my girls or..’. or . … “

“Or what?” His demand was careless confident. Eve swallowed hard, knowing herself as 
frightened as her girls but her fear suppressed by outrage. ‘This is the twentieth century. You’ll
go to prison for years!”

“Well, you got that off your chest.” He smiled. “I’m going to chain you at the end of the 
line. Come here and turn around, I wish to tie your hands.”

It was too appalling for credence but the invader was playing with a length of cord, his 
eyes inviting.

“I’ll do nothing of the sort! There’s a military detachment not twenty miles away, they’ll be 
around your ears in no time.”

“That’s right. We’ve cut the wires and stolen the wireless. By the time they get around to 
doing something, we’ll be long gone. Come here, don’t quibble.”

Eve was still eyeing the cord as she might have viewed a serpent. Her hands instinctively 
linking themselves behind her back. “By why … what?” she panted out.

“The name’s Dillon Soames, Dillon from Nevada, you might say. I know all about you so we
can take Eve Mallory for granted as well as taking her along at the end of the chain. Come on 
now, don’t be silly.”

She backed away as he advanced. Dillon’s tone was deceptively casual. Had it not been for 
his treatment of the girls he would have held no menace. But his grey eyes betrayed a steely 
purpose. Backed into a corner, she glared at his approaching smile.

“Stay away! Don’t you dare!”

“You turn around, you cross your wrists behind your back, and then keep still while I tie 
you. While I’m doing it you’re welcome to come out with all the usual protests.”

“I refuse! Go away.”

“Want me to rough you up? I’ll happily oblige if it will give you pleasure or ease your 
conscious.” Eve knew herself helpless against him, he could handle her with ease and her 
flimsy dress was sure to suffer. To have a breast exposed was a risk she dared not take.

“But why do you want to tie me? What good will it do?”

“Save you making a fool of yourself. We both know you’re going to do it, so stop making a
fuss.”

Her cheeks scarlet in shame, the school mistress turned and crossed her wrists.

Eve had no experience in being bound. The cord felt harsh and brutal as it was wound to 
bite itself into rebellious skin in a tight knotted security from which there would be no escape. 
She stood erect and breathless but said no word as male hands stole her liberty.

Allowing Dillon to tie her hands should have been indignity enough but was swiftly 
followed by reproach in sixteen pairs of maiden eyes as Miss Eve Mallory, the source of all 
authority at their school, was marched out into the sun to receive the chain and padlock 
around her neck in the same manner as the seventeen years pupils who now beheld their idol 
with feet of clay. The now chained school mistress felt she had betrayed their trust but know 
not what else she could have done. She thought of Spokane and longed to cry.

The blacks used the whips with precision. Quite probably it was the only way the milling 
and disorganized group of dusky young womanhood could be made to understand and to 
obey. A black finally looped a rope around the first girl’s neck and tugged towards the 
pathway in the trees while his companions cut savagely at any female flesh disposed to fight 
the chain. Quite soon a rhythm manifested itself along the captive line as each girl became 
aware of inevitability. Disgustedly, Miss Eve Mallory followed the girls.

“Interesting situation.” Dillon Soames had fallen into step beside the blushing teacher. 
“Common enough a century ago but unique today. What is more, I’m going to get away with 
it.”

“You won’t. You ought to know you won’t! You’re crazy to take this risk.” Eve shook her 
head angrily against the chain. “What on earth are you going to do with us?”

“Sell you! I’ve got buyers waiting. In effect you’re already sold.”

“Me!”

“Especially you. Miss Mallory. I’m going to get a shamefully large amount for your friends. 
But what I’m going to get for you boggles the mind. You’re precious gold.”

Eve did not ask the sum, it did not matter. “I don’t believe a word of it,” she retorted hotly. 
“No man in his right mind will run the risk of keeping a girl chained around his house.”

“Maybe not in the state of Washington, but this is Africa. I’m getting a million dollars for 
you.”

She was in shock. The amount brought home to her more clearly than the chain the 
jeopardy she was in. Her hands had ever ceased to twist against the cords and now redoubled
their efforts which only chaffed her skin. Despite the heat she felt the cold hand of 
hopelessness.

“Who on earth would pay that for me?” she demanded.

“Arabs, oil men, they’ll take you back across the Gulf. You’ve an interesting experience 
ahead.”

Eve sniffed in partial disbelief. “I still don’t see why you have to tie my hands. It’s painful 
and degrading and you haven’t done it to the others. Why me?”

“Gives the girls the message they mustn’t look to you for help. You’re a fallen idol.” 
Soames chuckled. “Fact is I like to see you that way. Every girl should have her hands tied 
behind her back an hour a day. Marvelous for posture, a straight back and pointed tits. After 
you’ve been tied a few times you’ll see what I mean.”

“You’re saying your a pervert, enjoying what you’ve done to me. Is that it?”

“Not really. I’m simply honest. Most men would love to tie you and put you on a lease but 
lack the guts to either say it or do it. I have and I’m enjoying you very much.”

She could not be sure of him but her condition supported everything he said. Eve thought 
long and hard of the little school and the Rashwana Militia who might or might not catch up 
with them. Covertly she stole glances after glance at the male who at the moment held her 
fate secure on a chain.

Soames was maybe thirty-five with a solid, muscular build of an active man. Eve guessed 
he would top six feet and be hard to handle. Despite the quiet amusement he displayed, his 
features told her of strength of purpose and a will which might be stronger than her own. 
There was about Dillon Soames an atmosphere of freedom as opposed to her own condition 
of cord and chain. In executive blue serge he would be impressive, even sweating in tile sun he
controlled the lives of others, including herself, with the calm assurance of a man who invoked
obedience in those who served his cause. Fleetingly she wondered if he would have her 
whipped.

“Only if you cut up rough,” Dillon said, reading her thoughts. “So if you want to try it out 
for size, you know what to do. Believe me, it hurts! You probably won’t give cause, you 
showed good sense when you let me tie your hands.”

“You told me you’d rough me up. I don’t want to be roughed up. I don’t want my hands 
tied either but you’re stronger than I am.”

“I suppose you realize I’m going to use you whenever I feel like it.”

“Don’t be beastly!”

“Don’t believe it, do you!” Dillon chuckled. “Don’t worry, you will. Don’t suppose you’re a 
virgin?”

Once more the blush, this time accompanied by a fresh apprehension. The chain upon her 
neck told Eve she was reduced to being the spoils of war. “You have to be joking. You wouldn’t
dare.”

“Nothing to dare, sweetheart. I’ll give you an introductory course in good screwing when 
we bed down for the night. You’re going to be royally and truly fucked so you might as well 
get used to the idea.”

Eve was on the verge of mentioning the obligations of being a gentleman but decided to 
keep quiet. No matter what she said she knew it would sound like lines from a Victorian 
drama. In self-preservation she banished thoughts of ravishment to ask, “Look, Mr. Scarries, 
this bit of tying my hands and putting a chain around my neck is primitive, absolutely 
primitive. Will you take my promise that I won’t try anything?”

Dillon laughed delightedly. “It would work for an hour or two until common sense told you
to get smart.”

“No, really! It’s so much to my own advantage to avoid this discomfort and degradation. 
Honest, I really would keep my word.”

“Nice idea but I’m not going for it. Forget it.”

“But I’m not a criminal. I’m honest. Please unfasten me. You could easily catch me if I tried 
to run away.”

Her plea was ignored. “Maybe a few days before I get you sold so you may as well get 
used to what you call being fastened. Anyway, the guy who buys you isn’t going to allow you 
to walk around free. The best you can expect is to have your feet hobbled with an 
old-fashioned shackle. Subject closed.”

Eve sighed disgustedly but at least the conversation had placed the stamp of normalcy 
upon something incredibly bizarre. She had stopped trying to free her hands and shaking her 
head against the chain. Eve was beginning to suspect she would be driven to use woman’s 
oldest weapon and apply seduction as an aid to flight. In the meantime she sweated with the 
rest and marched mechanically to a promised fate she was inclined to doubt. Slavery was a 
thing of the past and this kidnapping of a teacher and her pupils was probably a political ploy 
by which the state of Rashwana would forced to yield concessions. Bitterly she obeyed the 
chain and listened to Dillon Soames dialog.

“If you’re wondering about this coffle, you’re right in believing we could haul you a lot 
more easily in a truck,” he said easily. “I’m being a real bastard in making you girls walk to 
slavery. Fact is I get a charge out of it just the same as seeing you with your hands tied behind 
your back. But it is also a marvelous way to break you in, to get you to understand a new 
condition and a status you’ll first resent but get used to. If there is any of you girls too stupid 
to obey the rules, I’ll have them thrashed until they smarten up. One good session with the 
whip is usually enough. Do you think I’m a son of a bitch?”

“If the cap fits, wear it.”

“Oh, it fits all right, but I do have tender side, I’ll show it to you sometime.” His chuckle was
sardonic. “On the other hand, I have to admit to a desire to watch your skin get marked. Or 
maybe mark it myself. I’ve plenty of whips around the place. Those cute little whips my boys 
carry are plenty good enough to teach any girl a lesson. Every watch a girl’s skin take on 
scarlet lines as a whip bites at it?”

“Of course not. You’re trying to frighten me. Can’t you think of something else to talk 
about?”

Shadowed by the trees which hid their march, the group walked steadily to the cadence of
chains and labored breathing. A few girls clutched the tether to ease its tug upon their neck 
while others walked listlessly. These girls knew that capturing slaves wasn’t all that far in the 
past of their country. The black overseers walked back and forth with an air of boredom. Only 
rarely did they find an excuse to use their whips.

Dillon Soames had every reason for satisfaction as he viewed Eve’s curves the 
sweat-soaked dress no longer hid. The girl was a beauty and would fetch a huge figure in the 
right market. But in the meantime, she would be his alone. He would enjoy breaking the 
puritan mores of the clan from which she came. Any girl, white or black or in between held 
infinite pleasure for a man. Dillon had tried them all but this white girl would be different Eve 
was special!

When the shadows lengthened, they made their camp beside a stream. The sixteen tired 
and dusty maidens were easily disposed of by locking the long chain at either of its ends to a 
tree thus giving them some freedom but not much. Eve was unlocked and taken the a tent for
a purpose she easily guess. The tent contained very little but there was a bed. There was also a
fairly solid center pole to which her arms, with wrists still tied, were bound to make her stand 
erect. She awaited her master’s pleasure. She thought of it in exactly those terms, quivering in 
suspense. Bound and helpless she awaited the coming of the beast.

The large tent held one other convenience, a tin tub which one of the grinning blacks filled
with heated water while the captive watched in the hope it might be for her alone. Eve was 
tired and dusty and was certain she smelt badly. A bath would be wonderful. When Dillon 
appeared and freed her arms from the post, she got the first of several shocks.

“You and I are going to bath together, sweetheart,” he said without concern. “Are you 
going to make a fuss when I undress you?”

“I’ll do it myself if you’ll untie my hands. And I’ll bath in privacy, if you don’t mind.”

“I figured you’d say that,” Dillon sounded tired. “You’re not going to be needing covering 
from no on, so I’ll just tear away that dress and leave your hands the way they are. That’s the 
best idea, anyway.”

What does a girl do when she is about to be stripped naked by a man and when her hands
are firmly tied behind her back! Eve did nothing, scorning flight or the indignity of a scuffle. It 
would not be the first time a man had seen her nude, but the previous times had been 
beyond her control. This was not, she controlled nothing, least of all Dillon Soames.

“This is quite a moment, sweetheart,” Dillon said soberly. “I know I’m going to uncover 
something beautiful. And I know you’re not going to like being uncovered but that’s the way 
of it from now on. Don’t bother with complaints, I’m not listening.”

Dillon tugged and pulled, laying bare Eve’s flesh with ease. When her breasts escaped 
from their flimsy bra, Soames paid genuine tribute, “They’re the best I’ve ever seen. I suppose 
you know they are. Each one of them’s worth a million for sure. Now, let’s take a gander lower
down.”

Eve could have kicked and screamed but stifled the useless impulse to stand stiff as she 
lost the last of her coverings. Dillon had early on taken the precaution of removing her shoes 
so a kick from small bare feet could do him no harm. Without asking permission, he held Eve’s
bound arms with one hand while employing the other to test her shining fronds of pubic curls
and cup the moist redolent lips they could not hide. The girl with bound hands had ever 
known such total helplessness or such degrading shame. When her captor announced she had
made his palm wet with sexual juices, she paid no heed but stepped into the hot bath mantled
in shameful scarlet. But when her nakedness was soaked and laved she secreted admitted to a 
quickening of the pulse and a wish for male hands to continue the soaping longer. Soames 
even washed his slavegirl’s face and hair before he, too, was stripped to join her in the very 
small tub. Her sex alive from a soapy message followed by drying with a rough towel, Eve 
stood in dry comfort to watch her master use soap and towel until he, too, was clean and dry. 
It was not until then she realized the full impact of her being naked in the presence of a naked
man. It had been a long time since she had had a lover. And this was different. Miss Eve 
Mallory could cover nothing, her hands were bound.

“You’re better than I thought,” Dillon praised as he viewed the intimate secrets of the 
female he was soon to sell. His own nakedness bothered him not at all. He chuckled. “I 
suppose you’d like to have your hands free so you cart play peek-a-boo,” he taunted. “But 
that’s one thing I dearly love, to have a girl stand just as you stand now and have her know I’m
enjoying what her grandmother probably called ‘her private parts’. Your breasts and cunt are 
delicious. And don’t you dare turn. In fact, sweetheart, I’d like your legs a trifle more apart.”

She was his. Eve knew she belonged and would find no mercy in playing coy. Reluctantly 
she adjusted her bare feet further apart for the male inspection of what they normally hid. It 
all seemed remarkably matter-of-fact. Eve had gone back a century in time.

“Scared?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be!”

“I got to hand it to you, sweetheart, you’re handling this damned well.”

“With my hands tied the way you’ve got them, I don’t have much choice.”

“If every girl’s hands were tied the way yours are now, this would be a better world.” Dillon 
chuckled. “Now I’m curious how you’re going to put a name on it. What’s it going to be, rape 
or a bit of fun?”

“Please don’t do it, please! You don’t have to do it to me, you know. Having me helpless 
doesn’t seem to me a good reason.”

“Good enough for me.”

“I’ve been obedient so far. You needn’t think it’s easy to stand here with my feet apart. If 
you’re going to try rape, I’ll fight you with everything I’ve got.”

“You can kick and bit but that’s part of the fun. If I slap you around a bit or use the whip, 
you’ll be a woman soon enough.”

Eve was panting as though the fight for her honor was past instead of still to come. They 
stood facing each other while she tugged at corded wrists. By the same reasoning in which 
she had submitted to being bound, she should now submit to the violation of her sex. But, 
even though she knew she could not win, there was resistance she had to make to ease her 
conscious, forcing him to use force and thus be morally in the wrong. To apathetically dispose 
herself on the-bed for a conqueror’s convenience would label her a push-over, a floozy. She 
did not want that. If only she had her hands!

“Lay on the bed, sweetheart, don’t horse around.”

“I won’t.”

It happened swiftly. Miss Eve Mallory was picked up bodily and tossed upon the waiting 
bed. In the same motion Dillon possessed himself of her right foot. There came the click of a 
lock and the naked girl found herself tugging angrily at an ankle chained and padlocked. 
Dillon chuckled at her dismay, pulled on his shorts and shirt and walked to the door. “Be 
seeing you, sweetheart.” His words hung heavy in the room as she closed the flap. Dillon 
Soames did not come back.

In the light of morning, Eve guiltily knew she had slept away fatigue. She had never before 
slept naked and left alone chained to the bed was sure she would not sleep in so painful a 
condition. But sleep had easily come between the chaos of the day and the long, forced 
march.

Both Dillon and his captive studiously avoided mention of the night before. Eve wondered 
with a touch of humor if she should thank him for not raping her but wisely kept silent. She 
knew she would not be allowed the luxury of decision, Dillon would call the shots. Standing 
erect at his command, she kicked fretfully at her chained ankle and inquired, “When you’ve 
unlocked me, can I please have something to wear?”

“No, you’ll be naked from now on.”

It was like a blow, an abstract rape. Her shocked exclamation lacked conviction, “You have 
to be joking!”

“You know I’m not, so don’t quibble. Your sixteen little sweethearts are all naked by now so
you’re not getting different treatment. Girls in slavery wear no clothes.”

Feeling ten times naked, Eve did the things she had to do and ate the sparse breakfast fed 
her thoughtfully by male fingers. “Aren’t you ever going to untie my hands?” she demanded.

“Not yet a while. That’s a good tie, you can’t get loose.” Dillon winked. “There’s a change 
from yesterday. No more chain. I’m sure you won’t object to a bit of rope.”

Once more the blush as a rope noose circled her neck to fall behind her back. For the rest 
of breakfast she endured its chaff and the slight tug without complaint as she was fed and 
watered and admired. With Dillon so close she felt herself ninety percent breast, they seemed 
always in his way as food and drink were lifted to her. Angrily she knew her nipples were rising
and becoming hard. Nakedness revealed more than just bare skin.

“But where are my girls?” Eve stared around at jungle foliage and bare space. “What have 
you done with them?”

“One of my boys is taking them to a truck. The sooner they’re delivered for sale, the 
sooner I get my money.”

Before Eve could protest her eye was caught by a pile of clothes she recognized with 
horror. “That’s the girl’s clothes you’ve got there! It’s … it’s all they had to wear!”

“That’s right, sweetheart, they’re as naked as you. Makes them a lot easier to control. Can’t
sell a girl with her clothes on.”

Eve allowed herself a vision of the naked girls she would never see again. Her poor girls 
would be crowded in a truck, no doubt still chained by their necks and jolted to their 
destination of sexual slavery. Why else would any man by a pretty teenager but for the 
convenience of an on-going ravishment. Bitterly she retorted, “What you’ve done is cruel and 
ugly and I hope the law catches up with you. Why wasn’t I sent along with the rest?”

“Different markets, sweetheart. And, anyway, I’m in no hurry to get rid of you.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart. Being your sweetheart is something I am most certainly not.”

Dillon did not bother to answer. Everything fell neatly into place as the one remaining 
black flashed white teeth in a good morning smile and picked up the rope which was Eve’s 
tether and walked ahead with it over his shoulder. Eve had to follow. Eve’s cheeks were once 
more pink as she breathlessly suffered submission to shame.

“Make a good scene for a movie,” Dillon commented casually as she walked beside her on 
the trail. “Pity you won’t be exposed on the block to watch the bidding, that’s always a scene.”

“Won’t your reconsider letting me promise to obey and untie me? What you’re doing to 
me now is just plain horrible. I feel soiled and degraded and close to tears. Please?”

“It’s all in your mind, you look lovely. No way I’m going to spoil the scenery.”

“You don’t need this rope on my neck.”

“Yes I do. Keeps you from leaping off into the brush.”

“Alright then, but at least untie my hands. You’re just being mean.”

“If I untied those pretty little hands, they’d be wanting to slap my face every time I touched
you. This way you don’t have to bother.”

Eve snorted. Dillon was impossible, not to be reasoned with. Eve was already hating the 
rope she must control by avoiding a taut tug or a trailing loop upon which to trip. With her 
hands bound behind her back a fall would be one more humiliation and painful to boot. 
Hating every step, she marched deeper and deeper into captivity.

“I hope you’re getting something out of this,” Soames spoke softly at her side. “You may 
be a rebel but this march at the end of a rope and sans clothing usually gets a girl into a 
tractable frame of mind. The effect is more lasting then the whip. I can get you to do or say 
anything if I whip you hard enough and long enough. But this way is for real. By the time we 
get where we’re going, you’ll be seeing things a hell of a lot more clearly than yesterday. 
Come on, sweetheart, loosen up.”

“I’m thinking of those poor girls and how I’ll probably be blames for their disappearance. 
I’m also thinking of my folks back home. Mr. Soames, don’t you have an ounce of pity?”

“Sure I do! Damn it, girl, I’m not leading you to the death chamber. Right now you are 
probably more intensely alive than ever before. To the type of guy I’m likely to sell you to, I’m 
probably doing you a favor. These boys enjoy luxury plus and you’ll enjoy it, too.”

“As a slave at the end of a chain!”

“Okay, have it your way. Enjoy your pout. That’s a lovely narrow waist you’ve got. I’ll have 
to find a belt for it, something sleek and expensive that won’t come off. You really are prime 
stuff.”

“That’s horrible. You’ve reduced me to the level of a cow.”

“You’re doing that yourself, honey. And don’t tell me not to call you honey. Damn it, 
sweetheart, I’m not going to keep calling you Miss Mallory.”

It was disconcerting the way he changed subject to catch her off guard. Eve was about to 
tell him so when she realized this would be her life from now one, always subject to the whims
of someone else. At the moment it was Dillon Soames but some day soon some lord and 
master would pick up where Soames left off! She hated to make the admission but the hours 
of marching and her tight bound hands told her with increasing force of departing hope.

On their second night there was no tent, their habitation was in the shadows of the trees 
with a mattress of coarse grass on which to sleep. “I’m going to take you tonight,” Dillon told 
her without emotion. “The smell of you tells me you’re ready even though you don’t agree. If 
you want to kick and scream you may as well start now.”

Hoping to catch him off guard, Eve aimed a hard, bare heel at his groin. But the thrust 
missed its mark and her ankle was gripped hard and noosed by the tether she had worn. 
Dillon drew it tight while she sprawled on the ground. He threw its far end over the branch of 
a tree and pulled until his captive squealed in dismay.

“Stop it! Oh, please do stop. You’re going to hang me like a side of beef.” Eve was 
frightened.

Dillon gauged his tie just right. Eve’s noosed ankle was high in the air and her bottom had 
started to leave the grass when he snubbed the rope against the tree trunk and stepped back 
to scrutinize a red-faced and distraught young woman who could only mutter again and 
again, “You son of a bitch, you rotten son of a bitch!”

The words or Eve’s manner of utterance hit home. Angrily Dillon retorted, “If that’s what 
you think of me, you can stay the way you are. If I’m a son of a bitch, I’ll act like one. Tell me 
when you’re ready to apologize.”

With sharp dismay, Eve watched him go before turning herself into a contorting bundle of 
femininity who’s foot was so high in the air she could nothing but flounder like a fish. She hurt
her ankle and chaffed wrists already raw. At the end she lay panting and bitterly ashamed but 
it was an hour before she found the courage to call her captor’s name. When Dillon once 
more stood admiring her open cleft she gathered her tiny store of courage and muttered, “I’m
sorry. I’m sorry I called you a son of a bitch. You’re not a son of a bitch. Please forgive me.”

“Guess you want that foot back on the ground, heh?”

Dillon’s tone was caustic enough to spark anger. Before she had time to think she spat out,
“If that’s all you think I wanted you for, you may as well let me hang here. I’m sorry I called.”

Once more Eve was alone. This time there were tears of self-pity which she tried to wipe 
against the bare thigh of her raised leg. She no longer struggled uselessly but did condemn 
her own tongue.

Dillon had neither whipped nor raped her, there had been no justification for called him 
names in that manner. Suddenly she needed his presence and called him again. When he 
came she said simply, “I apologize. I’m sorry for what I called you. I’m not saying this because I
want my foot back.” She paused uncertainly. “That doesn’t mean I won’t be grateful if you set 
it free.”

“How grateful?”

“I will do what you want, anything you want.”

“You sure?” He sounded almost concerned. “Yes, I’m sure. You seem to be right about the 
way we girls react. Please take me to bed.”

“I could do it to you just the way you are.”

“Very well then, if that pleases you.”

Dillon Soames freed the rope to allow the foot of Miss Eve Mallory to fall to the ground. 
Eve lay supine and breathless in relief. Her thank you was unquestionably sincere.

“This seems as good a place as any.”

Miss Mallory said nothing as she disposed her knees and shifted against the bare arm on 
which she was compelled to lay. She closed her eyes.

She was raped for a long, long time.

Coitus changes something. When it is done, for better or for worse, things will never be 
the same between the two people. Eve sensed this but supposed Dillon to be too blase to feel
more than the pleasure. Her own feelings were hard to define and better left alone. Pleasure 
would generate guilt in a coupling of this sort.

The following morning she passively accepted the noose upon her neck and admired the 
smooth muscles of the black who held the rope, her feet instinctively picking up the rhythm of
the march. Once again Dillon matched his steps to hers. An hour passed. So far she and her 
captor had said nothing of the night before but Dillon now came to the point.

“Enjoy yourself?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m certainly not enjoying this.”

“You know damned well what I mean. Did you like being fucked?”

“Don’t be disgusting. And, no, I didn’t!”

“You’re a lair, sweetheart. A girl can’t fool a man about that. I know damned well you came,
you even humped me back.”

“Must we discuss it. Surely there are other things.” Her voice was pure ice.

“How’d it be we talk about whipping your pretty little ass whenever you play the grand 
lady?”

“I’ve been expecting you go get around to that.”

“Come off it, kid, I’m going to screw you tonight again and we’re going to march all day. 
Make the best of it and get a laugh or two. Come on down off that high horse.”

Dillon was articulate and an amusing conversationalist. Slowly the captive girl relaxed as he
regaled her with anecdote after anecdote of his lurid past and shrewd comments about the 
present. Dillon had no illusions about Africa, it was still a place where anything could happen 
and brave men die. If a girl was sold into slavery, Africa would shrug its shoulders and care 
less.

“You’re not the first, y’know,” he ventured after a lull. “I mean you’re not the first white girl 
I’ve kidnapped and sold.” He shrugged. “If the others had been half as beautiful as you, I’d be 
long gone and comfortably retired.”

Eve reacted immediately. “I trust my sale will augment your finances, Mr. Soames?” Her 
exclamation was of hurt pride dipped in venom.

“Call me Dillon, none of this Soames business.” His voice was gruff. “If you bring home the 
bacon the way I figure, I’ll be buying that place in Palm Springs.” He laughed. “Maybe after a 
few years I’ll invite your owner to visit and tell him to bring you along. Be an interesting 
reunion.”

“Do you have to keep reminding me of what I’m going to be,” Eve asked. “I’m trying not to
think about it.”

“Okay, okay, just thought you’d be amused. You damned girl are all the same. Even if 
you’re scared to death, you’ll shaft a fellow every time. How’d it be I whip your ass?”

Eve’s heart beat hard at the course suggestion. To have her bare bottom whipped was the 
last thing she desired. But Dillon’s recent reference to the punishment made her angry.

“You seem obsessed by the idea, Mr. Soames. If it means that much to you, why don’t you 
do it and get it over with. I’ll hate it but I don’t matter.”

“Good idea!” Dillon exclaimed. “I can see a rock just ahead that should be exactly right for 
you. Don’t say you didn’t ask for it.”

It was wickedly unfair. Eve wanted to cry. Somehow she had been manipulated into asking 
for what she feared most terribly. Whipped! It was horrible, it was not to be believed. Certainly
it was a horror about which she knew nothing. Pitifully she tried to mend fences.

“Please don’t whip me. I’m just a foolish female who forgets what she’s saying. Dillon, 
please, I’m frightened.”

It went forward smoothly. The grinning black lifted her to set her down upon the hot 
stone. The tether to her noose upon her neck was snubbed to a convenient root while her feet
were spread from side to side to be fastened by rope.

The huge, smooth rock on which the naked girl now lay was hot and hard upon her belly 
and breasts. Eve was conscious of the revealing spread by which her bottom cheeks were 
divided for the individual attention of Dillon Soames and whatever form of punishment she 
must endure. It was demeaning and there was nothing she could do except wonder if it was 
too late to plead for mercy or humiliate herself with assurances of good behavior. She was not
entirely sure what good behavior was but obviously it did not include a sharp tongue. But 
when Dillon thrust a bit of rotting log beneath her loins to raise her hips, her mortification was
complete. Eve Mallory waited in tense expectancy.

Her master’s voice seemed far away, “This is her first time, Charlie, spread ‘em out slowly 
across her rump. Six will be enough but make them hard so she’ll have some marks to remind 
her what she is.”

Eve wanted to scream in outrage. Dillon was not going to whip her at all but had given the
job to a servant as if not wishing to soil his hands by punishment of a mere female. It wasn’t 
fair! Somehow she would make him pay for so degrading her. Pain was no longer in the 
forefront of her mind.

Eve Mallory closed her eyes.





CHAPTER TWO - ROPE AND IRON


Eve had expected to march in agony all afternoon. Her knowledge of being whipped was 
restricted to fictional accounts where the prisoner was allowed to retreat to a cell or bedroom 
or something comfortable to suffer the aftermath in relative comfort. She now discovered 
nothing was further from the truth.

The first blow of Charlie whip across bare skin had hurt so unbelievably as to leave her 
breathless in shock and tugging frantically at bonds. The second stroke thoughtfully delivered 
from the opposite direction laced its fire an inch below the first and this time Eve was ready 
with her screams. They leapt forth in full agony. She was still screaming and heaving at the 
ropes when cut by number three. In the pause that followed Dillon’s voice sounded cruelly 
casual, “It’s half way, Charlie, stop a minute a let’s watch the way she marks. Look at those 
welts rise up and change color. You’re doing a damned fine job.”

While male eyes approved bruised flesh, Eve managed to exclaim, “For heavens sake stop! 
Stop! Stop! I can’t bear it and I apologize for everything I said or have done. I’m sorry, I’m 
sorry, I’m sorry!”

Stroke number four returned Miss Mallory to her screams.

With the final searing of her skin, Eve was pathetically grateful for only six, certain that with
a greater number she would have died. She was swallowing hard and laying peacefully within 
her bonds while male eyes and male fingers explored the marked surface. Let them look at her
purple bottom all they wanted, she no longer cared. All she wanted at that moment was to be 
untied and allowed to stand.

When she was finally allowed to stand, she was astonished and more than a little 
chagrined by the absence of pain. She was tender and her flesh throbbed but the expected 
agony was not there. So great was her relief she was obliged to check herself from offering 
thanks for the whole affair.

“You handled them damned well, sweetheart. Charlie laid on six of his best and you took 
them like a Trojan. Never mind about the screams, they go along with the territory. Next time 
you’ll get a dozen and after that you may graduate up to twenty. But that’s enough on that 
subject, let’s get with it.”

They marched steadily, stopping every so often to admire the changing colors of Eve’s skin
and the rise and fall of weals. Eve took their security without complain, she was learning fast.

“Please tell me how to behave and I’ll do my damnedest.” She looked Dillon in the eye. “I 
don’t want to ever be whipped again, it’s too bloody awful. Please don’t whip me any more, I 
promise I’ll behave.”

For Dillon Soames it was undoubted a profitable day.

“Whipped and fucked, whipped and fucked!” The laughing litany played itself over and 
over in Eve’s mind. She hated its vulgarity but recognized its truth. That was exactly what had 
been done to her within the space of less than two days. She had been whipped and fucked 
and even though her spirit was not yet broken, it was badly bruised, as was the curves of her 
bottom. Eve supposed she should feel soiled and degraded and somewhat chaste, but some 
impish impulse was at work within her flesh and she felt none of these emotions but only a 
sense of victory in survival and the end of confrontation with things so greatly feared. The 
whip and male genital would still cause alarm but she knew she had taken them and could 
take them again. Her main concern now was freedom, she must be forever watchful for a 
chance at liberty.

At noon of the following day they came to the dirt road and the waiting van.

For Eve the end of the trek held no release. Phase one of her preparation to be sold was 
over, phase two now got under way. She was lifted into the van, laid full length while Dillon 
bound her ankles as he had bound her wrists. The two were then joined to leave her totally 
helpless as the vehicle bumped swayed away from everything Eve loved. She tested her 
bondage but soon gave up. There were times when it was best not to struggle, this was one of
them.

The van was closed so the bound girl failed to see the village. The van inserted itself into a 
lean-to shelter beside a mud walled hut. Eve was lifted bodily and carried into a surprisingly 
pleasant lounge where she was deposited on the rug and left. She struggled to sit up but had 
no sooner done so than Dillon appeared to toss his hat aside, sink gratefully upon a couch 
and cheerfully announce, “Well, that’s that. Welcome to the Soames residence where he 
perpetrates his dastardly deeds. Feeling okay?”

“I would if I was untied.”

“You girls, always nagging!” Good-naturedly, Dillon freed the hogtied girl and untied the 
bound ankles but left Eve’s hands still tied. “Want a drink,” he asked.

“Do you realize my hands have been tied behind my back for more than two days and 
night,” Eve demanded. “If you’ll untie them, I’ll get your damned drink and have one with you. 
I sure could use one!”

Laughing at her, Dillon unexpectedly retorted, “Come over here and I’ll untie your hands. 
Then you won’t have a thing to beef about.”

Wonderingly, Eve obeyed. As the last strand was peeled from her skin, she knew a pure 
ecstasy and spent the next minute messaging sore wrists and totally ignoring the watching 
male.

Suddenly she remembered. “Sorry, I forgot. We’re suppose to have drinks and I’m suppose
to make them. That the bar?”

The naked girl had known only two days and nights of roped wrists, but the freedom she 
now experienced was euphoric in effect. Eve felt lifted to the clouds and her world was 
suddenly a kind and friendly place as she took the glass to the waiting man. At his curt 
demand she even knelt and offered the glass in oriental humility.

“Isn’t this a lot better than having my hands tied?” she asked with a touch of mischief.

“It’s got its points all right, sweetheart.” Dillon took the glass. “Don’t get ideas, don’t try 
and fox me. For now go get yourself a drink.”

They were suddenly civilized, the trek forgotten. Eve’s hopes revived as she deliberately 
made needless play with hands most gloriously free. Her voice still held mischief when she 
returned. “Do I lick your feet while I sip this or do I rate a chair?”

“Don’t push your luck, kid.” Dillon motioned to the end of the couch. “Right now you sit 
and listen.”

So far, so good! Reason told Eve she was still in serious trouble but alcohol and hands 
were a heady combination. If only she could keep her hands!

“Best I brief you on how to behave when I bring in a prospective buyer,” Dillon continued 
casually. “Sorry about the auction block, it’s so beautifully dramatic but a bit passe. The guys 
I’ve going to bring to you, or you to them, will likely wear a business suit. They will be civilized,
they will speak good English, and they’ll take it for granted I’ve taught you how to behave. 
They’ll be a few who would prefer to break you in themselves but I’ll try not to sell you to 
someone who’s going to be that rough.” Dillon sighed. “You’re going to hate being humble 
but it’s that or be whipped so take your choice.”

Eve’s euphoria was dampened but not dead. “I don’t see why I have to be naked. I think 
that’s horrible.”

“The old story of a pig in a poke, sweetheart. These men want to see what they’re paying 
for.”

Eve let it go. Nakedness no longer seemed as it had. Dillon’s obvious admiration of her 
body had continually generated a small current of sexuality and pride in what she was. “What 
am I suppose to do? Walk around or sit on their lap or kneel at their feet and look up at them 
adoringly? I don’t have to be fastened someway, do IT’

“Just your hands behind your back, love. A girl’s wrists crossed and tied that way mean an 
instant erection for any guy, even me. Besides, it boosts your price at least fifty percent.”

Eve sniffed. “A man must be in a bad way if he needs a girl’s hands tied behind her to 
become potent,” she observed acidly. “What’s I’m learning from you is going to turn me off of 
men for life.”

“You can blame nature for the tied hands bit, honey bunch. Nature wants babies and she’ll 
use any way to get them.”

“Are you telling me I’ll get pregnant by whoever buys me! For goodness sake!”

Dillon handed her an empty glass. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves, sweetheart. You’ll be 
entering a new world for sure and I doubt you’ll ever be given a chance to escape from it. The 
treatment you get there pretty much depends on you.”

“When does this happen?”

“Tomorrow … maybe a month. I’m making your price so high the real buyer may take his 
time to consider. What’s it like to be worth a million bucks?”

Eve’s sniff was even more eloquent. “It’s like being naked and having men look at my sex 
and my breasts as if they want to eat them. It’s like having my hands tied behind my back so I 
can’t scratch my nose or swap a fly. It’s like loosing everything I’ve ever had and getting 
nothing in return. You’ve made me merchandise.”

“My, my!” Dillon’s grin was pure admiration. “Best you don’t talk that way to the 
customers. They like girls who can speak well but not in that vein. Blow off steam on me 
before they show. You mix a damned good drink.”

“If I please you, why don’t you keep me for yourself?”

The atmosphere was suddenly electric. Master and slave each gulped and swallowed and 
were in need of stimulant. Their eyes locked. Dillon’s voice was soft.

“You really mean that. I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be. It’s a case of better the devil you know than the one you don’t.”

“No romance, heh?”

Eve was about to scornfully toss romanced to the winds but suddenly realized her story of 
the past days and her plight right now was of the very essences of romance. All the stuff a 
fiction reader loved. She had become a damsel in distress. Soon there would appear a knight 
in shining armor. Or more probably blue jeans and a sweat-stained shirt. Mischievously she 
looked at Dillon Soames and wondered if the villain could also be the hero of the play. Dillon 
might also be her kidnapper who would parade her before the avid eyes of men for money. 
But he was also her only hope of something better than he promised.

“I’d be good for you and I promise to be obedient,” she suggested in what she hoped was 
a seductive tone. “You can teach me the things that please men and I’ll do them for you.”

“You’re trying to fox me, sweetheart. Lay off. It’s not that I don’t enjoy but, for Pete’s sake, 
don’t make it any harder for me to sell you down the river. We’d best not drink any more. 
Charlie and his girlfriend are making supper.”

What Eve could see of the village and its inhabitants from the windows of Dillon’s house 
failed to lend Eve any hope for her idea of leaping naked into the dusty street and seeking 
help. Closing her mind to everything but the present moment, she washed the glasses and 
followed the man who traded in beautiful girls to the dinner table with Charlie’s grin and his 
girlfriend’s obvious enjoyment of the whole situation. The two of them went back and forth to
the kitchen with unexpectedly flavorful food and excellent service. Dillon Soames was a man 
of unexpected resources.

As she ate Eve treasured a tenuous excitement in remembering Dillon’s admonition not to 
make it harder to part with than need be. The naked girl saw it as a beginning. She would 
work his liking for and, if he liked her enough…?

“I often get the hots over the girls I kidnap and sell,” Dillon observed thoughtfully. ‘They 
have to be beautiful or I wouldn’t have bothered with them. And to have a beautiful girl 
around the place is a problem for any man. Don’t think I haven’t ever thought of a cute little 
love-nest and a pair of adoring arms. I’m thinking it about you. But I see it as an occupational 
hazard so I’m warning you not to get ideas. Don’t forget it was me who had your ass whipped.
If I kept you around I’d do that to you often. I’m a real bastard and I’d keep you prettily 
marked.”

Eve scarcely heard. Dillon was simply being a man and acting male. Men were like roosters 
in a barnyard, compelled to flaunt their plumage and crow a lot. For the moment she was 
content.

The slavegirls happiness in the possession of her hands continued on through the after 
dinner brandy. But at the end of the evening, when Dillon produced the familiar length of 
cord. Eve’s hopes plunged. Her plea was instant, “Please don’t tie me again. It’s been so 
wonderful the two of us being like this. And when I go to bed I can do so much more. A 
woman’s only half a woman if you take away her hands.”

Dillon was playing ideally with the cord. “Carry on, sweetheart, I like it.”

Eve blushed, she was being played with but was willing to be an object of amusement so 
long as she might find some words that might make this man replaced the cord in his pocket. 
But having been given permission, she was no at a loss for words. She had already said it all, 
she simply did not want her hands tied behind her back. All she could manage, “It’s can’t 
possibly be as good for you. At least hold off tying me until afterwards.”

“Afterwards I’ll go to sleep and you’ll take a powder.”

“I’ll give you my promise. Please!”

“sweetheart, you’re forgetting I like to see you tied, and you’ve no idea what seeing a girl 
with her hands tied behind her does for a man. You just said a woman’s only half a woman 
without her hands but I’ll say for sure you’re ten times a woman when you have to lay on 
bound arms and your wrists are hurting.”

Dillon repeated suggestive motions with his cord. “You said to teach you all the tricks men 
love. That’s what I’m doing.”

Miss Eve Mallory sighed. She rose, turned her naked back and crossed her wrists. She 
stood erect and still while she was bound. The nylon’s bite felt good.

Eve accepted the ignominy of bound hands and shackled without further complaint 
Obviously there must be limits to the freedom she could expect. She simply ceased to 
struggle. In the morning she was bathed and feed by Charlie’s girlfriend who said her name 
was Fawana, and wasn’t Miss Mallory a lucky girl to be sold for so much money after being 
loved by Dillon Soames? Fawana undoubted considered the girl she tended as having reached
the peak of feminine ecstasy. She turned a deaf and disapproving ear to Eve’s plea for help.

“You and I have got a job. Eve,” Dillon said casually as they left the breakfast table. “There’s
a chap in the village who’s handy with metal, a sort of blacksmith. I’ve had him make you a 
few trinkets. He’s done it for all my girls so its no big deal. But don’t ask him for help, that’s a 
NO-NO. Asking for help the way you’ve just done with Fawana earns you a whipping. A man 
simply can’t have his staff continually bothered by pleading and threats. I’ll let you off this 
time but remember it.”

The reprimand evoked a blush but Eve silenced an angry retort. Instead she inquired, 
“These trinkets, I suppose you’re talking about some kind of shackles?”

“Let’s just stay with trinkets. Come alone.”

“I’m not going out in public naked and with my hands tied! Good gosh, Dillon, give me a 
break!”

Eve was given clothes. Well, sort of. It was really only the white innocence of an ordinary 
sheet cleverly arranged by Fawana and safety pinned tight above Eve’s breasts. It adequately 
covered her body even while revealing its curves but gave no hiding place for hound hands. 
Eve supposed she had to be grateful for what covering she did have.

There was a glowing forge and anvil in a shed loaded with tools. Its owner was a brisk 
black who wasted no time before producing exactly what Eve had feared. But the bands and 
connecting chains were shining and new and both wristlets and anklets locked and fastened 
with a key. It was a far cry from the heavy black iron shackles she had expected Africa would 
produce. They were tested upon her limbs in much the manner of the fitting for a dress. Both 
Dillon and the smith expressed satisfaction with the snug fit. Ruefully, Eve consoled herself in 
one more brief freedom from the cord. Wonderingly she asked, “But there’s so much chain, I’ll 
trip over it. All these links hanging from my hands, I could use them as a weapon!”

“You’ll have to learn to walk,” Dillon said. “You’ve got lots of time. And as for your hands, 
you might manage one good swat but then you’d immediately be getting the whipping of 
your life. You don’t like the word shackles so we’ll call them irons. And you won’t be wearing 
your irons all the time.”

Eve watched the shining metal poured into a wooden box. Without command she turned 
her back and crossed her wrists while reflecting how obedience made everything simple for 
Dillon. He carried the box while she walked beside him.

On return to the house, Eve instantly lost the sheet and was once more nude before her 
master who poured the metal onto the living room rug while sarcastically commenting, 
“You’re going to get untied again, sweetheart. I’ll bet you’ll love wearing these.”

It was nice to get her hands again but Eve felt silly with the chains. She and Dillon Soames 
shared chuckled as shinning steel was locked on female wrists and even heavier metal locked 
on obedient ankles. The connecting span of links looped from listless hands almost to its 
wearer’s knees while between Eve’s feet the linkage of steel seemed like a serpent. With her 
first tentative step there was a swirl of chain and a tinkling music. Beneath Dillon’s amused 
regard she kicked with first one foot and then another to test the limits before taking 
determined steps. She managed to circle the big room without tripping but it took all her 
concentration to the point where she forgot chained wrists. Coming to a pause before the 
watching man she demanded, “Well?”

“You are beautiful, Eve, absolutely gorgeous.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

“I know what you meant. Now try and run.”

She tripped and fell but angrily stood erect again. The second attempt had the same 
results. Getting slowly to her feet, she turned to Dillon. “I suppose what you’re trying to tell me
is I can walk but I can’t run. That it?”

“That’s it, sweetheart. Really lovely. You’ll grow to love your irons.”

“I’ll hate them!”

“Look, Eve, be reasonable. I’ve got business affairs to attend to so I can’t ride herd on you 
all the time. I can either leave you locked in these irons or I can imprison you in the little cell 
down stairs. The other alternative is to be bound hand and foot upon the bed. Which will you 
have?”

“You mean you’ll give me the freedom of the house so long as I’m locked in these metal 
attachments?”

“Metal attachments! Holly Cow! I’ve never heard a set of irons called that before.” Dillon’s 
enjoyment was evident. “Sure, you can stay the way you are all day. Practice walking and you 
can talk to Fawana in the kitchen. She doesn’t have a key so don’t ask her to let you loose. 
Looks like a good deal to me.”

“It wouldn’t be a good deal in Spokane. It would get you a lifetime behind bars.”

“Can that shit, Eve. You beef too much and I’ll warm your pretty! ass again. Understand?”

“Oh, sure, I understand.” Eve lifted two chained hands to examine them with disdain. 
“Good gosh, a few days ago I wouldn’t have believed this possible. If someone had assured 
me it could happen to a girl I wouldn’t have believed it. Run along, I’ll do my practicing.”

Being suddenly alone was strange. The irons she could not escape were strange. This new 
condition imposed upon Eve Mallory a distasteful decision over which Dillon Soames was 
probably chuckling. Should she now make a chained and naked exit from the house to seek 
succor or should she be a obedient little slavegirl and practice how to walk without tripping 
over her chain? Eve chose the latter and did her practice shuffling with ironed ankles in the 
direction of the kitchen where Fawana was busily peeling potatoes and exhibited no surprise 
at the presence in her kitchen of a naked white who who’s hands and feet were chained.

“Don’t let me hold you up, Fawana. I just wanted someone to talk to. I promise I won’t be a
nuisance.”

“You ain’t no nuisance. Miss Mallory. You’re sweet and you’re pretty. And you’re going to 
be sold for sure.” Fawana was earnest in her wish to please. “Ah just don’t want you asking me
to get you free of them there irons. Ah can’t do it no way and Ah wouldn’t if I could.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Now you is laughing at me, Miss Mallory. Sure Ah says it to all the girls ‘cause all of them 
asks it. Don’t do them a lick of good. How come you got them marks across your pretty ass?”

“Because Mr. Soames had your Charlie whip me, that’s why. I’m not sure about the reason, 
maybe there wasn’t any.”

“Hurts real bad, don’t it?”

“How would you know, Fawana? Surely you don’t get whipped.”

Fawana giggled. “Sure Ah gets whipped. There ain’t any girl what hangs around Mr. 
Soames too long what don’t get her ass marked up. Mr. Soames, he surely does love to strip a
girl. Best you be careful with your sassy tongue.”

“Don’t the police or army or someone get to know what Mr. Soames is doing?”

“Sure they does, Miss Mallory. Most of them knows but I guess quite a bit of money gets 
passed around and I guess you know the way things are. There just ain’t no one gonna hinder 
Mr. Soames selling a girl now and then.”

“But that’s kidnapping!”

Fawana giggled. “They got other names for it. Ah heard how they says it’s freeing a gal 
from her freedom. Another ones says a gal gets liberated, whatever that means.” Fawana 
giggled again. “The policeman in the next town, he tells me it’s just looking after supply and 
demand. He tells me Ah ought to let Mr. Soames sell me, says I should get a good price and 
could spend a couple of years. Then Ah could gets some of the money when I gets freed 
again. Ain’t that something!”

Fawana oozed pride.

Mischief prompted Eve to ask, “Why don’t you do that?”

““Cause I don’t think it’s much fun after a girl’s been sold and paid for. Most of them guys 
buy us want to whip our ass every day and screw us every night. An’ maybe yo’ gets to scrub 
the floors by day. Charlie gives me all the screwing Ah needs, and Mr. Soames, he’s a real 
good guy and will whip my ass anytime Ah ask. Or sometimes when I don’t. Ah got it good 
here and Ah knows it.”

“But, Fawana, about these men-one of whom is going to buy me-are they really all that 
mean?”

“Ah don’t know ‘bout all of them, Miss Mallory, Ah ain’t never been sold. Ah jus’ picks up 
what Ah hears around the village. Ah suppose there might jus’ be some real nice guy he’ll fall 
in love with a girl and maybe jus’ has her whipped on Christmas and birthdays.”

“Why on earth whip her then!”

“Well, that’s real simply, Miss Mallory. A slavegirl don’t need no money and she don’t need
no clothes. A slavegirl don’t need nothing but to get free and go home. And since that ain’t 
gonna happen, the guy what owns ‘em don’t have much he can give ‘em for a present. So, if 
he whips them real good those two times, she knows he love ‘em and ain’t forgot the dates.”

Fawana’s information was entertain but probably highly colored.

Changing the subject, Eve said, “What about this cell that’s down in the basement? Is that 
where Mr. Soames imprisons girls who don’t find a ready sale?”

“That’s a real pretty little prison, Miss Mallory. No gal don’t ever get out of that. You want 
we should put you in there? If yo’ wants to try it out. Ah got the key.”

“No thanks, Fawana, these irons are about all I want to cope with for one day.”

“You can go downstairs and have yourself a look,” Fawana offered generously. “Mr. 
Soames, he tells me you got the run of the house. That’s why he got you ironed this way.” 
Fawana produced her now familiar giggled. “There’s a punishment room down there. That’s 
where a girl gets herself whipped or has to stand in the pillory. Mr. Soames, he got it fixed up 
real nice.”

Eve found the stairs and descended to the floor below with a clatter of steels on stone 
steps. They sounded appropriate to the occasion and Eve had given up caring. A narrow 
passage brought her to what she sought. A tiny cell with concrete walls on three sides and a 
barred front and barred door. Eve clutched the bars to peer within to behold a very narrow 
cot, wash basin and toilet, plus as great many rings of steel within the concrete walls and 
overhead. A tiny window, high and out of reach, provided a little light. It was not a cheerful 
place. Picturing herself chained inside, Eve shuttered and drew back. She might find herself 
within soon enough without gloating over a dismal prospect. She turned away and sought the
other room of which Fawana so obviously approved.

The compartment was more frightening than the cell. Ropes hung from above and chains 
hung from rings around the wall. There was a central post with straps and buckles which Eve 
easily guessed the use of. There was a set of stocks and bench by which a girl’s feet could be 
clamped between two planks so she must sit on a hard and unfriendly surface. The piece de 
resistance was the pillory, dominating all else by its grim presence. Eve had never stood in 
such a thing but easily envisioned its potential. She shuttered and wondered if there was more
to Dillon Soames than met the eye. Everything she saw spelt out its message of being used. 
Girls had been hurt in this sad room which might not be actually a torture chamber but was 
half way there. Soames latest captive went thoughtfully back upstairs.

Charlie was the man about the house. But his companion during the kidnapping now 
reappeared with an expected burden. “Don’t you worry none, Miss Mallory,” he assured 
earnestly while easily controlling the struggles of the bound black girl he held. “Ah’m putting 
this little trick here down in the cell so she can’t go home to mother. Mr. Soames orders, Miss, 
in case you’re wondering. Her name’s Cupie.” He pronounced it “cue-pee”. “Cupie ain’t doing 
no talking right now ‘cause I got her gagged but you can go down and visit after I gets her 
properly locked up. Don’t you worry none-everything’s okay.”

He carried the girl downstairs while Eve stood with instincts in revolt against what she had 
just beheld. But she had nothing else to do and was curious. And to walk anywhere in her 
irons was good practice. She went downstairs.

The cell’s door was securely locked and Cupie was laying unhappily upon the unkind 
surface of the cot. She was still bound and gagged. Without thought of consequence, Eve 
demanded, “Hop over here against the bars and I’ll untie you and get rid of that horrible gag. 
Come on, I’m sure you can.”

Cupie sat up, not with hope but certainly with interest. Her wide brown eyes surveyed her 
visitor with some sort of wisdom of her own. Cupie shook her head against the gag and made 
what sounds she could. They sounded like gratitude and Eve was heartened.

“Please hop over. The ropes will hurt only a little while till I get them off. I’m sorry I can’t 
open the door and come in.”

Cupie possessed a sinuous grace of motion Eve envied. She was young, she was nude, she 
was frightened, but now unwound herself from the cot and hopped painfully towards help. 
The first thing Eve did as the lovely young nakedness pressed itself back against the bars was 
to free the gag and cast it to the floor.

“Gee whiz, miss, that sure do feel good,” Cupie said with feeling. “Ah’ ‘spects you’s the gal 
Mr. Soames is advertising. Yo’ sure is might pretty.”

Eve now tugged at knots, they were tight and brutal and she had to exert everything she 
had to get the wrists freed. When the bound maiden finally got possession of her hands, she 
lost no time in sitting on the floor and going to work upon tight bound ankles while pouring 
out a flood of thanks and praise.

“Yo’ sure is sweet, Miss Mallory, Ah jus’ hopes we don’t both of us get whipped for this 
here setting me free. Gosh, it sure do feel good to get rid of them ropes.”

“You won’t get whipped, Cupie, you’re locked up tight and safe, you can’t get free.” Eve 
was curious. “Where were you when you got kidnapped?”

Cupie looked up in amused surprised. “Ah weren’t kidnapped, Miss Mallory, it was jus’ ma 
Daddy wanted some money real bad on account of drink. Mr. Soames offered him enough 
money to keep him drunk for a year. So here Ah is.”

“You mean your father sold you into slavery!”

“Guess that’s what you call it.” Cupie was busily messaging wrists and ankles. “Happens to 
a lot of girls.”

Eve had heard of it without belief, this selling of teenage girls. Now she was rid of gag and 
cord the teenager seemed unconcerned. Perhaps iron bars and bondage was deeply ingrained
by memories and legends of the past. No doubt the poor girl thought it natural to become 
the plaything of a rich man who would whip her and use her as he pleased. Eve glimpsed the 
possibility that Cupie would see it as a new and better life than she had had.

They were suddenly joined by Fawana, who viewed the prisoner behind the bars without 
concern. “Hi ya, Cupie, us two gals went to school together, remember?”

Cupie brightened while viewing Fawana’s freedom resentfully. “How come Ah’s now a 
slavegirl and yo’s working for’Mr. Soames and getting paid for it?”

“Jus’ lucky, Ah guess,” Fawana conceded. “Ma Pa didn’t need the money like yo’ pa did. 
Gee whiz, Ah sure am glad Ah ain’t yo’.”

Eve was intrigued. There was little difference in the fate of these two girl but to them the 
gag dividing their conditions was wide and deep. Both would serve and both would be 
whipped as a man might please. It was a true Fawana might marry her Charlie but even that 
wasn’t certain. She didn’t know what to say. They wore no irons but, like herself, were 
condemned.

“Gosh, Miss Mallory, Ah sure does envy yo’,” said the girl behind the bars. “Yo’ gets yo’self 
sold to some rich man so you won’t ever be po’ no more. Yo’ sure is lucky.”

“But I’ll be whipped just the same as you.”

“All us gals get whipped, Miss Mallory.” The plaintive voice was telling a fact of life. “Ah 
expects it’s because our bottoms are nice and round and mark up real pretty like when us gets
strapped or caned or cropped.” Cupie informed. “It’s a gal’s back what hurts and it’s there they
use the whip. It’s when Ah gets my back whipped Ah’ll scream. Ma Papa did it to me once but 
Ah never give him any excuse to do it again.”

In the midst of so much feminine wisdom, Eve felt inadequate. Her knowledge of the whip 
was slight. She sensed possibilities to be greatly feared but cheerful inquired, “When do you 
expect to be sold, Cupie? What sort of a guy will buy you?”

“Ah don’t know, Miss Mallory, guess Ah has to stay behind these bars till Mr. Soames gets 
the word around that he’s got a nice, young black girl who’s willing to please. Mostly it’s a guy
from far off, the fellows from around here don’t want to be embarrassed by having me 
chained up around the house. That’s ain’t gonna matter none with you. Any man can buy you 
if he’s got enough money. Yo’ white gals has all the fun.”

Alone again upstairs, Eve turned her full attention on her irons. Since they appeared to be 
very much a part of her existence, it might be as well to learn what she could of them. She 
discovered that each metal band on wrist or ankle was identical and of metal heavy and wide 
enough to accommodate the built in lock and the almost invisible hinge. They clasped her in 
almost perfect circles. Only the metal loop stuck out and that was for the chain to be fastened 
to. The whole thing was heavy enough to foil attempts at breaking. The bands had been so 
cunningly constructed to the shape of girlish wrists and ankles that, after a few minutes of 
inspection, the girl they held prisoner knew for sure there could never be escape from their 
iron embrace. There was not much else to do so she spent her time perfecting her ironed walk
and even tried the quicken pace of a jog. But each time she did, she found herself sprawling 
upon the rug. Miss Eve Mallory knew herself a prisoner for sure. Throughout her first day as an
ironed captive”

Eve had thought with secret amusement of the night. Would Dillon free her of the chains 
or would he experiment once again. She knew the irons would hinder nothing they might wish
to do but she had become accustomed to the crossed and bound wrists behind her back, 
discovering how right Dillon had been when he said they would lend a stimulate in the sexual 
act. Finally alone with Dillon at bed time she made a deliberate clatter with her chains and 
asked, “Aren’t you going to take these off?”

“Hadn’t thought of it, love.”

“But don’t you want to tie my hands behind by back? I thought you loyed me with my 
hands bound.”

“Mustn’t get in a rut, sweetheart. Let’s see what those irons can do for us.”

“They’ll just get in the way!”

“Don’t tell me you’d like your hands tied again?”

“Well … yes, I would. It’s a lot more intimate and hurts my wrists less. Didn’t the Chinese 
have a belief that a girl needed to be hurt to give her best performance? Something to do 
with those bound feet they used to give women?”

“First I’ve heard of your enjoying that bit of cord. All you used to do was bitch.”

“So, alright, I beefed. But I’d sooner be tied than chained. Dillon, please unlock my irons?”

The irons were not unlocked. She was tossed on the bed and her person arranged in a 
surprising variety of postures to please the man who held the key. Under Dillon’s expert 
hands, it was impossible not to be involved and share his joy. They made love to the tune of a 
metallic clatter in which even Eve finally found laughter. Before going to sleep, Dillon told the 
chained maiden at his side that tomorrow a prospective purchaser would view her nakedness.

Eve’s irons were as heavy as her heart.





CHAPTER THREE - A DIVERSITY OF ANGUISH


The night brought resolution. In the morning, while Dillon was tugging on his pants, his 
ironed merchandise planted herself squarely in his path to plead,. “Dillon, don’t sell me, I don’t
want to be sold.”

“You don’t have anything to say about it, sweetheart.”

“Yes I do. I want to stay with you. I don’t even want to be sent back home where I came 
from. I’ll be your slave and do everything and anything you want. Please, please, please!”

Dillon Soames eyed Eve to demand, “What brought this on?”

“You big lunk, don’t you understand I’m sort of fond of you. I don’t know why I should be 
but I suppose it’s because you haven’t been cruel the way you could or the way I expected.”

“I’m flattered, but no dice.”

“Leave me chained the way I am now. Keep me like this always and do whatever you want. 
Whip me every day if it gives you pleasure. Dillon, don’t you understand what I’m saying?”

The slave trader could not fail to be impressed by such sincerity. He put an affectionate 
hand on each of Eve’s bare shoulders, kissed her lightly on the forehead in a brotherly sort of 
way and sadly shook his head. “You make me feel a bastard turning down an offer like you’ve 
just made. Honest, you’ve got to me. But put yourself in my position. If I fell in love with every 
girl I sold, I’d have a sizeable harem by now. This house would be loaded with chained and 
naked girls and I’d be dead broke. Eve, my pet, try and be reasonable.”

The ironed maiden could see her master’s point but refused to concede. Instinctively she 
slipped down on her knees and clutched his leg in chained hands to cling in a sudden, 
desperate need and say once more, “I’m offering you everything I am, every bit of me. Please 
tell me you’ll let me stay as you slave or mistress or whatever you want. I’ll make you happy, I 
promise.”

It was a poignant moment for them both. The distraught, clutching girl and the rugged 
male who owned her totally. Dillon looked down with real affection at the now sobbing nudity
clinging to his leg. The irons on Eve’s ankles made a pile of links beneath her feet. Dillon 
Soames found himself at the moment actually considering Eve’s offer, knowing her the 
sweetest thing he had ever owned and wryly admitting she was the best ever in bed. His 
hands found her hair and caressed it gently while he unhappily realizing the female he was 
about to reject was simply an occupational hazard. At the moment the girl no doubt thought 
herself in love. In a sense she was all he had. His words were tender.

“You’re in a panic, sweetheart. You’re seeing the fact of being sold to a man you don’t 
know as something frightful, a fate worse than death. It isn’t that, no really. The chap who’s 
coming to look at you today-his name is Janus-is some one you can practice on. I don’t 
suppose he’ll buy you and you mustn’t see him as typical of every man who will come to look 
you over, none of them are typical, they come in all kinds. Come along and have breakfast 
with me. Afterwards, Fawana is going to make you more beautiful.”

Eve was raised erect, her cheeks were dried, she was picked up and carried to toast and 
coffee and poached eggs. She wept quietly while she ate until Dillon was forced to threaten 
her with the whip. Testily he avoided her reproachful eyes.

Fawana was delighted to briefly possess the body of a naked girl and to use her 
considerable skills to make Eve more beautiful than she already was. The tears had dried, 
replaced now by a dull ache as the chained girl admitted in her mind that she had asked more
from Dillon Soames than she had any right to expect. With increasing interest she allowed 
Fawana to treat her as a doll, first in the bath, and then, dried, to have her nipples painted 
black. Her lips were made vivid before the serving girl turned her attention to the combing of 
pubic hair and making scarlet the vaginal lips the customer would wish to view. Fawana was 
expert in the arrangement of a maiden’s hair and at the end of her work insured complete 
approval by dowsing her subject with exotic perfume artfully applied to every secret female 
place.

“You’re making me smell like a scarlet woman, Fawana,” Eve complained. “Are you sure you
haven’t made me look like a whore?”

“Whore is very fine profession,” Fawana giggled. “But you no whore, you fine lady. Men 
pay a bunch of money. Now Fawana is finished with you, you must go and show your master.”

Dillon was visibly impressed as Eve stood for his inspection. She even twisted and turned 
to show off her beauty. Dillon’s office became vivid with heady scents, not all of them from a 
bottle. In the heat of the moment Eve was radiating eroticism in waves.

“Will I do?” she asked demurely. “Will you get an instant sale out of me because of the way
I smell?”

“Damn soon find out,” Dillon said dourly. “The guy came early. He’s waiting down in the 
lounge.”

“Not in the torture chamber!”

“It’s not a torture chamber, it’s a correction room. Damn it, Eve, you must be feeling 
better.”

“I’m not feeling at all, I’m numb. Master, please don’t sell me. Can’t you sell him Cupie 
instead? She’d be real pleased.”

“Don’t be silly. This guy has millions. He can get a Cupie anyplace.”

The silence was sudden. Eve was trying hard not to ruin Fawana’s work with tears while 
Dillon was having a difficult time with unexpected emotions. Gruffly he brought them down to
earth. “Try and please this guy. Don’t be smart-ass, don’t be resentful. Do whatever he want 
except give him a piece of tail. He may try for it but he’s been warned. Stick your tits out and 
let him have a good look. At anything else he wants to see.”

“All right, if that’s the way you want it, I’ll be a door mat for him to tread on. But I warn 
you, Dillon, if he gets too offensive I’ll swat him with this chain.” Eve held up linked hands 
accusingly.

“Glad you mentioned that, sweetheart, I almost forgot. There’s one other thing….” Dillon 
busied himself with a key. “Cross them behind your back, sweetheart, we’re aiming for that 
instant erection I told you about. It’s sure fire with your hands behind you.”

Without protest Eve turned and crossed her wrists. The cord bit hard in twist after twist 
was tightly wound strictures. Dillon sounded pleased as he said, “I’m not fooling, Eve. And 
there is a practice side to this because with your hands tied this way you can’t cover a thing. 
Janus will go for it”

His hand upon her back propelled her from the room.

Mr. Janus appeared to have Asia as his home, he was faintly round in face and figure. He 
was obviously enraptured to find himself alone with heart’s desire. Gallantly he rose and, 
behind Eve’s back, lifted her bound hands to view her bottom. Back on the couch he said 
without preamble, “You may stand very close. You are very beautiful. I wish to fuck you.”

“It is forbidden.” Eve let it go at that.

“Alas, yes, I must pay first the money. It is always so. I notice your bottom has been 
whipped.”

“Yes, six strokes.”

“A most mild punishment. You enjoy the whip?”

“No.” Eve’s negative was with feeling.

“Ah so!” Mr. Janus’ shrug said he knew a man couldn’t have everything. “I cannot fuck you 
and I must not whip you but I will do both very much to you when you are mine.”

Eve supposed Mr. Janus’ vow in the nature of a love song, giving her much to look forward
to with pleasure. She veered away from a distasteful subject by asking, “Would you like me to 
kneel with my knees well apart? I would offer you a drink but I can’t manage it with my hands 
tied behind my back. I’m terribly sorry.”

“Not to kneel but to stand close and spread wide the legs.”

Immediately Eve obeyed and a hand clasp her sex and squeezed it painfully. Prompted by 
her motions of dismay, the hands rose to her breasts to clasp both nipples between thumb 
and forefinger.

“You will stand as I desire or I will pinch these most painfully,” Mr. Janus promised. “May I 
assume you are completely obedient?”

“I try to be.”

Mr. Janus sighed. He was possibly accustomed to females who feared to commit 
themselves. “Trying is not enough. Is your obedience equal to holding out your hands to be 
caned? Canning a girl’s hands is something I much enjoy.”

Eve moaned inwardly, this was getting down to basics. Without hope she answered, “I’ve 
never had my hands caned, I simply don’t know. But I don’t think I could possibly do that.”

“It is most delightful punishment,” Mr. Janus advised. “When a girl’s hands are caned she 
tucks them beneath her armpits and moans delightfully. I hope you get the picture.”

Eve got the picture. Inwardly she cringed. Carefully she replied, “I don’t think I could 
possibly stand that. I’d be a disappointment for you. I’m not the least bit brave and pain tears 
me apart.”

“Ah, so….” Mr. Janus sighed. He was obviously making great concessions. “There is, of 
course, your bottom?” he inquired hopefully.

“I suppose so. If I have to be whipped, that’s the part I chose.”

“There is, of course, your back?”

“I don’t think I’d wish to belong to a man who would whip my back, the pain would be 
beyond bearing.”

“But you have nothing to say about such things, girl!”

Eve had nothing to add. She stood silently for inspection and wished she were somewhere 
else. Mr. Janus was equal to the occasion. “Please to turn and bend far down so I may observe 
your arse.”

Eve told herself it did not matter. If a man wished to pear into her anus, it could be no 
worse than the same man peering at her breasts. But it seemed worse and took every ounce 
of will she possessed to turn and bend. She knew perfectly well what Mr. Janus was looking at 
and blushed furiously.

After what seemed a very long time the client’s voice brought her erect. “You have a very 
fine arse. Both for whip and for fuck. I am much pleased. You may stand and turn around.”

Eve felt soiled. Janus was a horrid little man who would treat her wickedly if he gained 
possession.

“You tits have been painted black and one lip of your cunt has been painted red while the 
other has been painted a bright yellow. Perhaps it is this clever girl I should be purchasing.”

“Fawana is a servant, she is not for sale.”

“Everything is for sale, dear child. I have a girl like you at home who needs this crafty 
artistry before I put her up for sale. I will talk to Mr. Soames.”

Another silence followed Mr. Janus’ interest in Fawana. With a sinking heart the naked girl 
sensed his interest in buying her and felt only fear at the prospect of becoming his property. 
His casual, “Come forward, my dear,” told its own story. When she stood with feet apart and 
his questing finger found the moist, private place to thrust itself painfully within, Eve could 
bear no more. With a cry of anger she lashed out with a chained, bare foot at Mr. Janus’ 
complacent face. Eve longed to slap his face but had no hands. Her feet fell short of his jaw by
a bare few inches, snubbed by its chain. In frustrated fury she stood to hear her sentence.

Mr. Janus was striving to gather himself together after the momentary fright. His eyes were
fierce, his voice held menace, “You tried to kick me. And in the face!” He was furiously angry. 
“Go now to your master and tell him I demand you be properly punished.”

Eve might once have tried to make amends, but not now! Thankful for any excuse to leave 
this unpleasant little man behind, she sought out Dillon to pour out her story of disaster.

“You didn’t exactly connect, did you?” Soames was striving to place events in proper 
sequence.

“I’m afraid I tried but my foot got caught up in the chain and my foot fell a little short,” she
retorted without regret. “I don’t care how you’re going to punish me. He’s a horrible little man
to whom no girl should be sold. Not ever.”

She paused. “I’m terribly sorry.”

“But why kick the little bastard?”

“Because I didn’t have my hands. If you’d allowed me to have my hands I’d have slapped 
his face. I suppose by his book that’s just as bad.”

“Damn right it is! Stay here while I go talk to him.”

Eve stood. She had no hands, her feet were ironed. She could leave the room but where 
would she go? With a painfully thudding heart she awaited Dillon’s return.

“He insists you be whipped,” he said immediately upon return. “Whipped for real. I can’t 
talk him out of it. He’s threatening to black-ball me in this trade. He does have the power to 
do my business injury.”

Eve’s face was wane. “I’m terribly sorry. I suppose you’d better do as he wants.”

“I’m going to try and run a quick one on the little bastard but you’re going to have to take
a stroke or two. Yell your head off. Not that that will be too difficult, you’re about to be hurt 
more than you’ve ever been in your life. Come along, he’s waiting.”

The corrections room was just as Eve remembered. In wry humor she supposed herself 
about to be “corrected.” No doubt there had been other girls corrected down here, who 
knows how many. Perhaps these walls had heard a great many screams.

But it was nice to have her hands untied, even if only for a few seconds before they were 
snared in loops above her head to make her stand erect on tiptoes to be available for pain. 
Mr. Janus watched with bright and shinning eyes to prompt the pixie thought as to how many
orgasms would generate and flower within his pants while she screamed and screamed and 
screamed.

The leather bitting at her back held venom beyond belief. If there was any comfort 
anywhere it lay in the fact of the whip being held by the man for whom she felt some sort of 
love. If Dillon returned that love, he showed no sign as he intoned, “Number one.”

Eve heard the screams and knew them to be hers. Mr. Janus eyes were lamps of pleasure. 
When the fire and scold once more bit her from hip to hip and her screams were vivid, Eve 
heard her master’s voice, “Okay, Janus, you want her punished, she’s being punished. There’s 
no need for you to watch. Come along, I’ll give you a check for your expenses.”

It was heaven to be alone. The whip would undoubtedly return but for the moment there 
was surcease. Eve tugged at her raised hands while absorbing the leather’s cruelty in every 
fiber of her being. This was one of those moments when she thought longingly of Spokane 
and being a girl again instead of slave. In this standing pose she was wicked exposed, armpits 
revealed, flanks soiled by rivulets of sweat, and her sex exuding a woman scent she could not 
name. Most certainly it was not one of Miss Eve Mallory’s better days.

It seemed a long time, the scold of the two wounds her master had etched across her back
and bottom slowly eased before Dillon returned.

“I got rid of the little twerp,” he told her savagely. “Goodness knows if he’ll do any harm. 
But, anyway, he’s gone. I ought to do exactly what he asked and whip you good but I don’t 
seem to want to. Damn it, I’m getting soft!”

Eve felt herself in the grip of events beyond control. She had earned a punishment she 
would no doubt received even though her master seemed uninterested to inflict it now. She 
thrilled to the lowering of her arms and the freeing of her wrists and wondered if there was 
hope in the fact they were not immediately retied. In docile humility she walked beside her 
master from the room of correction, knowing herself hardly corrected at all and filled with 
wonder. Feeling herself borne upon a tide of venom, she asked weakly, “I thought I had to be 
whipped? You only gave me two strokes.”

“Want to go back and get the rest?” Dillon’s voice was caustic.

“No, I was simply wondering.”

“So am I, sweetheart. I hope that little bastard’s been appeased but I can’t be sure. Look, 
Eve, is that the way you’re going to behave?”

“I’m sorry, Dillon, he just got me so damned mad.”

“If you act like that with every client, you’ll have no skin left upon your back.”

Eve once again fell to her knees to clasp the male leg. “I let you down, I know I let you 
down. Punish me all you want but please, Dillon, don’t sell me. Don’t sell me. Don’t let 
someone like that horrible Janus take me away and do the things he said. He wants a girl to 
torture, not to love.”

“Okay, sweetheart, we get the odd kook. I wouldn’t have sold you to Janus at any price. I 
was trying you out and you didn’t make the grade.”

“I said I’m sorry. You must punish me. I know that’s what you must do.”

They reached the lounge and Eve used her free hands to mix them drinks. While she knelt 
naked on the rug they were both thoughtful, reflecting upon her mistake. After a while Dillon 
said heavily, “You’re right, I have to punish you. If I let you get away this once, you’ll do it 
again.”

“Now?” Eve was gulping false courage. “Dillon, I’m only a girl, give me a break.”

They decided Eve’s punishment could wait until tomorrow.

That night Eve’s hands were tied once more behind her back and her limbs freed of irons. 
She hoped it an augury of good even though she knew herself condemned. As usual their 
night ironed out the evils of the day.

“I’m in a bit of a bind and you might as well know about it, Eve,” Dillon admitted over 
breakfast. “I haven’t the least wish to punish you but if I don’t you’ll think you can get away 
with murder. And anyway, you could have handled this Janus affair one hell of a lot better 
than you did. You absolutely cannot go off the deep end every time a client sticks his finger 
where you think it shouldn’t be.”

“I’ve told you I’m sorry. Punish me and have done.”

“You are the most aggravating female!” He glowered across the table. “You’re becoming a 
menace. Look at you now, you don’t have a single bond on you. And yet you’re under 
sentence.”

“Thank you for not binding me some where. I’m enjoying breakfast a lot more than if I 
were tied or chained. I suppose that later I’ll get the rest of that whipping?”

“I’m damned if you will!” Dillon was suddenly heated. “I’m not going to whip you at Janus’ 
wish. Or someone else’s. You’ll be whipped when I want you whipped.” He sighed. “What it 
amounts to is you deserve to be whipped but I’m not going to let it happen. I have to be 
nuts!”

Eve was transported on a flood of joy. Dillon loved her or at least felt a warmth a master 
feels for a slave. She exclaimed, “Thank you, oh, thank you. I was so frightened.”

“Don’t get too pleased with yourself, sweetheart.” Dillon said. “I’ll punish you some other 
way. I simply cannot have you believing you can get away with caprice, not even with assholes
like Janus. But whipping your bare skin is a brutal thing I don’t enjoy the way I thought I 
would. You’ll wear those two marks I put across your back and bottom for a long time, it will 
be two or three weeks before they fade.” He reflected silently before adding, “For sure I’ll be 
whipping you in the future. That is if you’re around long enough. But I’ll be damned if I’ll do it 
because of a little twit with oily eyes and a fat gut. Eat your breakfast, Eve.”

The room of corrections looked much the same but now made Eve shutter. Dillon had not 
yet named her punishment and thus everything she beheld seemed to be waiting for her 
alone. When Dillon raised the heavy yoke of the pillory it was almost anti-climax.

“You want me to put my neck and hands in there?” Eve was scared, her voice trembling.

“Unless you’d rather be whipped, sweetheart.”

The half circles in the heavy wood seemed small but accepted Eve’s head and wrists as if 
made for her alone. “This has to be a bad moment for a girl,” Dillon suggested slyly as he 
carefully lowered the top half. “Get you hair out of the way so it falls beside one cheek. I don’t 
want you looking untidy.”

There could be no possible need of a padlock but one was used, the solid click sending its 
own wicked message of immobility. The imprisoned girl tested the tolerance of the pillory, 
finding it snug and quite impossible to withdraw her wrists, let alone her head. She had 
become a living part of these terrible machine from ancient times, a head and two hands with 
no body. At least none in sight. Absurdly she trusted forward one foot as if to make sure it 
was still, there.

If you think this is a bad deal, sweetheart, and would sooner be whipped, all you have to 
do is let me know.” Dillon’s voice was casual and from her rear.

“How can I let you know?” Eve asked indignantly. “I can’t even move.”

“You’ll have an occasional visitor.”

Eve could feel male hands lovingly frictioning the cheeks of her bottom and wondered if 
Dillon would cheat and cane her bottom anyway. She knew herself beautifully postured for 
such attention.

When Dillon’s hand slid into the moist place between her thighs, his voice held regret. 
“We’ll have to do this for fun sometime. But, if I keep on feeling you up right now, you’ll start 
enjoying yourself. So long, sweetheart.”

With a couple of not-so-gentle slaps he left his unhappy prisoner to her fate. The oak 
embrace failed to chafe, it was smooth to a degree which told of other girls standing as Eve 
now stood. The current girl wondered how many there had been and if they had all been sold 
or what. No doubt Cupie could err in some way so as to find herself thus fastened, perhaps 
even Fawana was not immune. Mischief prompted the thought of Spokane having a pillory in 
every home in which naughty wives and sulky daughters might spend a day each week. But 
this pixie notion vanished as Eve considered the awful plight of a girl should some evil person 
decide to inflict punishment upon the ninety percent of her body she could not see.

The room of corrections and the machine which held the nakedness of Miss Eve Mallory 
was indeed a place for somber reflection in which optimism and hope slowly waned. And 
negative thoughts seeped into her brain. It was an example of how physical discomfort diluted
faith and negated courage. Within an hour Eve was changing from foot to foot in an effort to 
find comfort that wasn’t there. From time to time she spread her fingers wide and looked at 
them longingly. She wanted to shake her hair aside from where it fell so charmingly beside her
cheek but the wood would not permit. At the end of two hours Eve was a somber girl indeed 
and dolefully watched a couple of tears splash upon the floor. Angrily she realized she could 
not dry their passage down her cheeks.

At the end of the third hours Fawana appeared with a glass of water Eve was forced to 
suck through a straw for she could not raise her head. Without a glimmer of hope or 
expectation she pleaded, “Fawana, can’t you get me out of this? Please let me loose, even if 
only for ten minutes. Do you know where the key is?”

“It’s hanging over on the wall. Miss Mallory, but there ain’t no way Ah’s gonna use it. Iffen 
Ah sets yo’ free, Ah’s gonna end up in that there pillory myself. And get my ass caned real 
good. Mr. Soames don’t no way want me setting his girls free so’s he has to chase after them.”

“I won’t run, I promise. I’ll arrange myself back in here any time you say my time is up. 
Please, Fawana, I’m so damned tired of this.”

It was useless. There was regret in Fawana’s voice as she refused-but that was all. The 
imprisoned girl wished Dillon had come instead of this timid girl. At least he had authority to 
grant her wish.

“Will Mr. Soames come to see me like this?” she inquired hopefully.

“Mr. Soames, he gone off on business. Miss Mallory. yo’ is gonna have to stand like this a 
long, long time. I’m not suppose to stand here and talk but Ah’ll bring yo’ another drink in a 
while. Don’t yo’ worry, Miss Mallory, he’ll be home in time to take yo’ to bed.”

“But that’s more than half a day away!”

“Sho’ is, Miss Mallory. Yo’ll be a real happy gal when he let’s yo’ loose. Ah had to stand in 
that thing once and Ah didn’t like it one bit.”

“Mr. Soames said if I decided I’d prefer to be whipped all I’d have to do is let him know. 
Are you sure he’s gone?”

“Yeah, quite sho’. But yo’ don’t want to be whipped, Miss Mallory. Yo’ jus’ thinks yo’ does 
‘cause yo’re aching all over and got yo’self to thinking how wonderful it would be to run 
around the room. If yo’ gets yo’self whipped jus’ to get out of this here pillory, yo’d make a 
bad deal. First time that whip hits yo’, yo’d wish yo’ was standing back right here the way yo’ 
is.”

The few scraps of comfort Fawana’s visit left behind soon faded. The captive in the pillory 
made vows never to offend another client. They could do as they pleased before she’d risk 
another day of this enforced immobility. Nothing she’d read of pillories in olden days spoke of
pain or prolonged discomfort but only of the degradation of the rotten objects hurled at the 
captive head by a ribald crowd. No doubt the unfortunate victims had endured such 
punishment for an hour or two and had then been freed to go their way and sin no more. Eve 
almost envied them.

When, in the dusk of evening, Dillon used the key, weariness and thankfulness combined 
to drive the maiden to her knees to once more clasp her master’s leg in thankfulness and 
gratitude which might have been inappropriate but were the only emotions she then felt. 
When Dillon tied her hands behind her back and carried her to bed, Eve did not care but 
thankfully surrendered her body as she was conquered once again.

The following day she was offered for sale to Ibben Ben Makah.

Ibben Ben Makah had the manner of an Islamic absent from one of those Arab meetings 
in which the price of oil was endlessly debated. From the neck down he was Western but upon
his head was Arab headgear. Hands tied behind her back, feet ironed, Eve stood submissively 
for his approval. Belatedly she remembered to thrust forward her breasts, spread her legs 
reasonably apart, and tuck in a non-existent tummy. Mr. Makah observed this window 
dressing in amusement.

“You have been well chained, dear child.” His voice was rich and deep with just a trace of 
British accent. “If I buy you, will you always protrude your breasts to catch my eye?”

“I will do whatever you wish, Sir.” The “Sir” was Dillon’s idea.

“You must have been severely whipped to evoke such a response,” he observed sagely. 
“You are white and from the U.S.. Being a slavegirl cannot be easy, surely?”

This man was civilized. Eve longed to pour out her heart and seek his aid. Instead she said, 
without humility, “I have been well trained, Sir. I have no wish to be a slave but it is my fate. I 
cannot escape. I am always bound or chained. I am resigned to being what I am.”

Ibben Ben Makah cocked a sardonic eye at the response. “You bear only two whip marks, 
surely they alone were not enough?”

“There have been other things, Sir. Yesterday I was made to stand in the pillory as a lesson 
in humility.”

Ibben Ben Makah was pleased with this girl who stood in such naked helplessness for his 
approval. “You are too glib, my dear. Are you that anxious to be sold?”

“I do not want to be sold at all, I want to go home and never see Africa again.” The words 
burst from captive lips. Eve’s eyes flashed. “You can have me punished,” she said, “but please 
don’t. You were right when you said I must find it difficult to be a slave. I’m simply making the 
best of it.”

“I will not ask Mr. Soames to punish you. But, should you become my property, I will have 
you whipped often to curb your tongue.” Ibben Ben Makah chuckled. “Those irons you wear 
assure your loyalty to Africa.”

Miss Eve Mallory was suddenly alone. Ibben Ben Makah had kissed her forehead before 
sweeping from the room where girls were given corrections they did not deserve. Eve stood in
contemplation of a performance Dillon might judge. Unhappily she contemplated another day
in the pillory or something worse.

But Soames was pleased. “The guy liked you and he’ll probably make a bid in a couple of 
days. These guys take their time.” He laughed at her visible relief. “Expecting the pillory, 
weren’t you? I know you said something to him but he’s a good sport and didn’t want you 
punished. But that’s okay with my because I’ve got another chap coming to look you over this 
afternoon. He’s a Texas oil man on his way south. I’ve met him before. I can’t imagine he’ll buy
you but with these guys they’ve got more money than they know what to do with. So you 
can’t be too sure of anything. He might just take you back to Texas and keep you in a cage in 
the garden. He actually did that with a girl once. Kept her in there six months before selling 
her and passing her on.”

“Dillon, please, I don’t want to be sold. I’m going to keep on asking you to let me stay. I’ll 
keep on asking until you punish me to death or one of these rich idiots takes me away 
screaming. Please, please, please!”

Soames bestowed a kiss Eve wished was not so brotherly. She also wished she had her 
hands to clasp this man so intent upon selling her. Hopefully she asked, “Can my wrists be 
ironed again instead of roped behind my back?”

“You want to do the clutching arms bit, heh! Sorry, sweetheart, I simply dare not let you 
get too deep beneath by skin. You’re addictive and I’m only a man. But if you keep on 
bugging me about keeping you, I’ll cane your seat so hard you’ll be glad if one of these bozos
buys you and takes you home.

“You look damned good to me but go and ask Fawana if she’ll give you a final touching 
up.”

Heber Markham was not as huge as Texans were suppose to be. Here was a lean, alert 
physical fitness type carrying his weight of wealth casually while assessing the world through 
grey, steely eyes. He studies Eve for a while before delivering his Texas verdict.

“Very nice, very nice! Honey, you’ve got everything and its nicely arranged, too boot. Want 
me to buy you?”

“If I please you, Sir.”

“Sounds to me as if that’s a whip talking.”

“Not really, Mr. Soames is kind. Would you really take me back with you to Texas?”

“I might. What good would it do you? I’d keep you a prisoner. I’ll bet Dillon told you about
that cage of mine.”

“I wouldn’t mind being in a cage, not if it was back in American.”

“You wouldn’t like it, the last girl hated it. I was forever whipping her ass to keep her in 
line. By the way, I’d be passing you around among the boys. How’s that grab you?”

Eve was liking him less and less. Heber Markham was cold and cynical and possessed of 
sardonic humor which would translate into pain for any girl he owned. Eve felt doubly naked 
and asked awkwardly if she should turn around to exhibit that part of herself not now on view.
But her offer was waved aside.

“You’re Eve Mallory, aren’t you? The girl there was a bit of fuss about a while ago. I’ve 
never owned a school teacher. I may try you out if I can come to terms with Dillon. Be seeing 
you.”

Alone with what she felt certain was failure, Eve felt like a discarded oil well but drew 
comfort from rejection. Being doubtful about shuffling her chained feet around the house 
while Heber Markham might still be present, she sat on the couch to await the master she still 
served. Again and again her mind played over the familiar tune-if only Dillon would keep her 
for his own, if only she did not have to be sold! If only …!

She gazed down at the shinning links by which her feet were joined and twisted the cotton
rope on her wrists. She was a slave and the wishes of slavegirls did not count.

Dillon Soames surprised his merchandise by encircling her in a brotherly embrace and 
kissing her in a brotherly manner full upon her lips. “Seem like you were too submissive, 
sweetheart,” he told her with a chuckle. “Brother Heber Markham would have liked you better 
if you’d talked back and tried to kick him. Heber likes girls he has to break. I’m not a bit sure I 
want him to have you anyway. I’m not sure I want you broken.”

“Then keep me. Oh, please, Dillon, keep me. But whether you keep me or not, I’m damned 
glad he doesn’t want me. Are you sure he won’t make a bid?”

“It’s just possible he might. He says you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. Forget 
him, tomorrow you get viewed by a real honest-to-goodness Rashwana Chieftain. I didn’t 
invite the silly bastard but he heard and is coming to have a look. He’s black as ebony.”

Their lovemaking that night was fast, intense and filled with pleasure. Eve was even 
allowed to have her hands and made full use of them, taking heart from the obvious effect 
they had upon her owner.

“Damn it, Eve, I should have let you have your hands before. They’re magic hands,” Dillon 
said with real feeling in the middle of the night.

“They’re your hands, Dillon, if only you’d keep them.”

Her master did not unlock the irons upon Eve’s feet. Mr. Jambuti was not only black but 
also plump. In his daily business life he wore business garb but for the purpose of purchasing 
a slavegirl had reverted to a tribal attire consisting of a loin cloth, a great many bangles and 
insignia of office and a great deal of bare black skin. Mr. Jambuti was one of the new breed, 
half of Africa and half of British university. To the ironed maiden exhibited for sale he lost no 
time announcing, “I am a product of Eaton and Oxford. All I learned at either was contempt.” 
He glared fiercely at Eve’s breasts. “Rashwana is where it’s at!”

It sounded like a slogan of the African onward and upward movement. But Eve was not 
going to argue with him and kept her silence.

“I suppose you realize I will purchase you only that your flesh may suffer as African flesh 
has suffered for three hundred years. You are white and have held authority over Africans for 
too long, your day is done. I shall whip you daily and make you suck my cock.”

It was not a good beginning, leaving Eve wordless and feeling nausea. But she did her best
for Dillon Soames. “Thank you for explaining things. I won’t insult you by playing coy or 
make-believe submissive.” She held up ironed hands and kicked one chained foot. “I’m a 
prisoner. If it pleases you to be cruel to me there is not much I can do about it except to 
remind you that no one at Eaton or Oxford was cruel to you.”

Her eyes sought his in mute appeal.

Mr. Jambuti grunted as if her words had hit home. But once more his dark, deep voice 
echoed in the small chamber. “I speak of the centuries on behalf of my nation. The shortness 
of your life or mine is of no consequence. We are an embattled people and wound our enemy 
where we can. You are our enemy.”

Eve wanted to laugh but was far too frightened. This man might be an idiot but if he 
purchased her, he would use her as he pleased. As if reading her thoughts, Mr. Jambuti drew a
graphic picture of intent, “I will exhibit you to important men of my tribe. You will hang naked 
by your thumbs and be whipped until blood flows.”

“You will torture me to death-is that what you’re saying?”

Mr. Jambuti shrugged. “If you die, you die. I am surprised you have not come up with the 
Western suggestion that mercy would be economic. Treated with kindness you might last 
must longer in degradation.” His smile was honey. “I will most certainly purchase you if I can 
come to terms with your greedy Mr. Soames.”

Naked in her irons, Eve wept.





CHAPTER FOUR - SUNDERED SLAVE


Eve’s tears took not only Dillon Soames’ brandy but also Dillon Soames’ arms to hold her 
close and cradled her head against his shirt. As he listened to her sobbing story of Jambuti’s 
intentions.

“Okay, okay, sweetheart, it isn’t going to happen. Forget that crass ass. I’m sorry I let him 
look you over. If I hear from him again maybe I can sell him Cupie.”

“It’s only a white girl he wants, I don’t suppose he wants to torture blacks.” Eve’s utterance 
was accented by sobs.

“The guy’s who buy girls in Africa aren’t exactly white knights,” Dillon admitted. “Pity it’s 
them that has the money. Isn’t there one of them you think you could tolerate?”

“I want to stay with you, I want to be your slave. Oh, Dillon, please keep me.”

Male arms tightened around bare shoulders while two eyes were gently kissed. “Damn it, 
Eve, you’re making me feel a bastard. Surely there was one with some appeal. What about 
Markham, he’d take you back to America?”

“He’d be mean, he’d never love me the way you do.”

“Who said I love you?” Dillon sounded odd and defensive. “Besides, what’s love got to do 
with it? I’m selling your for money and you’ll find a plush home with a rich guy who certainly 
isn’t going to injure a piece of property he’s paid so much for. How about Ibben Ben Makah?”

“He seemed the most civilized of the lot. I’d almost call him a gentlemen. But, Dillon, do 
you want me dragged away in chains? Or roped or locked in a box?”

Eve sniffed. “I know you do love me a little and I don’t see why you don’t let that little bit 
grow. I’d help you all I could by being everything you wanted. Please don’t sell me.”

Eve Mallory spent that night with Cupie in the cell.

The chained white girl knew well Dillon’s reason for putting her behind bars. They had 
become too intimate in bed and he was fighting his growing affection for this prisoner for fear
it weakened his resolve to convert her into a million dollars cash. Or more. Eve constantly 
reviewed the men who had thus far examined her nakedness with intent to buy. They made 
her shiver. Even Ibben Ben Makah failed to appease her panic and her longing to stay as 
Dillon’s slave. If only he would keep her, she would never mention marriage or nag for 
freedom. Or be guilty of any of the faults by which white women lost their men. Eve vowed 
this, but since the, vow was to herself, it did no particle of good. Cupie, with her own female 
wisdom, offered consolation. “Sure us gets whipped after we’s sold. Sure the guy will keep a 
chain on us. But he’ll love us a little bit, too. Men is crazy. They think what they want is to be 
whipping our ass all the time instead of holding us tight in bed so we could love them.”

Cupie added, without too much sadness, “Gosh, Miss Mallory, yo’ sure does look lovely in 
all them chains. I guess I don’t wear irons the way you do. I ain’t even been tied up since the 
boss man puts me in this cell.”

It was nice to be envied even though Eve saw Cupie as coming out ahead. No man who 
purchased Cupie would be motivated by a hatred or by revenge upon a race. Cupie was a 
lovely package of curves who stood a good chance of finding fulfillment in being sold. Eve 
rattled her irons in a sudden longing to be free of them. In bed with Dillon they had not 
seemed to matter but behind the bars they mattered terribly.

Later in the afternoon Cupie was sold.

The sale was effected easily to a middle-aged colored gentleman who listened to Dillon’s 
eloquent description of Cupie as a paragon of all the virtues but who’s eyes frequently strayed
to the white maiden who retreated to the farthest corner. Cupie’s new master was in the 
obvious situation of a man buying the cheapest economy model of a car but eyeing with 
longing the super deluxe edition beyond his financial reach. He paid Eve the tribute of asking 
her price and nodded wisely and regretfully as if he could pay it if he wished. He then turned 
his attention to Cupie’s insistence that her hands should be tied behind her back before she 
was led forth to paradise. As Eve kissed the delighted girl goodbye, she wished things were 
that simply for herself. When the cell door clanged shut she was fearfully alone.

Eve remained alone all night, sleeping on the narrow cot and eating and drinking the 
meager meals Fawana delivered through the bars. In the morning the sun was high before her
master came.

Eve stood and swirled the chain between her feet as she stepped eagerly to the iron 
barred door Dillon had made no move to unlock. They stood looking at each other through 
the barrier in an uncertain search for appropriate things to say. Finally Dillon finally used the 
key.

“Come on out, sweetheart. Damn it, I missed you!”

He picked her up and carried her to the breakfast Fawana had prepared. Casually, while 
they ate, he told her he had accepted the offer of Ibben Ben Makah.

“When does he take me?” Eve’s euphoria while in Dillon’s arms was scattered to the winds.
She had no more tears to shed so asked with hopelessness, “I hope you got your million 
dollars?”

“Twice that. He took a fancy to you. I sent word to the others that you’re off the market.” 
Miserably, he added, “Sorry, sweetheart, but it’s the name of the game.”

Constraint held them until the meal was done. Without explanation Dillon unlocked his 
captive’s irons and savagely picked her up and took her to their bed. Eve clung and prayed 
but his statements gave no hope.

“I’m going to love your ass off, sweetheart, before you go. I know what you think and what
you want. And no doubt I’m a fool and an asshole and a son of a bitch and a lot of other 
things. But this is Africa and we’ll both do the best we can with it. We’ve got at least a couple 
of hours before Ibben or his men show up.”

Even though sold, Eve found joy in the freedom of her limbs and used them shamefully in 
such arts of lovemaking as she knew while being ravished again and again by a man who 
should have been overjoyed by Ibben’s two million dollars but who thrust repeatedly at his 
slavegirl’s loins in an agony of loss. Laying exhausted with lust or love appeased, Dillon spoke 
the useless words of what might have been until Eve placed a finger upon his lips to shush 
him. “Don’t say any more, Dillon. You and I have been happy but now you’ve sold me and now
it’s over.” The girl who felt certain her life had ended was suddenly strong, for stronger than 
the man. “Ibben has purchased me and he’ll take me away and perhaps make me very happy, I
simply don’t know. But we both would be wise to be optimistic about the happiness. He 
seemed a decent man.”

In parting Eve clung to Dillon’s naked strength as if to draw courage from his body.

It was Ibben Ben Makah’s social status that made the delivery of his new slave accepted by
his servants. Two black women of formidable proportions who treated Eve like she was a doll. 
She was patted and kissed and turned around so cord could bit her wrists. She was firmly 
bound, cords encircling her elbows and pulling them tight to insure security. She was to be 
transported in a van which boasted solid benches against each wall. Upon the floor blankets 
had been placed that the captive slavegirl’s body would not be banged up from a rough ride. 
Eve was lowered carefully to the floor. She had expected her ankles to be bound together but 
her wardens knew a better trick, binding each foot to a ring solidly embedded in the bench, 
one to either side, to leave the naked girl laying on breasts and belly. She could move but any 
motions did nothing but add to the general discomfort. Miss Eve Mallory was firmly fixed and 
had best lay still.

Eve had expected better and felt sure the view she presented to the two women in the 
front seat must be almost obscene. She spared it little thought for her mind was taken up by 
the bitterness of Dillon’s failure to say goodbye. She had been wondering what to say to him 
when for the last time he clasp her tight. The bindings would not have mattered, it was her 
words which might swerved him into rejecting two million dollars and keeping her. But 
perhaps Dillon was a man who hated goodbyes. Or perhaps he didn’t trust his will power. 
Maybe even he felt guilt. Perhaps she would never know if his pain at their parting was as 
great as hers. The van in which she lay firmly bound was taking her further from Spokane and 
the slave trader named Dillon Soames. The purchased relaxed tension to lay her cheek on the 
blanket.

Eve’s first knowledge of something wrong was the stopping of the van. She was too tightly
bound and faced in the wrong direction to see much of what took place but knew her guards 
had left the vehicle and then she heard the sounds of male laughter. Followed by barked 
commands in a tongue she did not understand. With some painful twisting she contrived to 
look up but saw only the empty driver’s seat. Suddenly her guards were replaced by two 
swarthy males by no means black. They spared her only a quick glance before resuming the 
interrupted journey. Her questions were unanswered save for a mocking, “You lay still and be 
good girl.”

She did not like the sound of those words and she struggled against the ropes. But she 
was quickly reminded that she was nothing more than a package in transit. She must lay there,
filled with anxiety.

The unloading of the van’s cargo was without ceremony. Male hands freed bound feet 
before released ankles were tugged to draw the helpless nakedness on her belly to the exit 
and then to stand erect on firm ground and stare in dire dismay at a walled compound and 
the men who held her cruelly bound arms. One of the men cheerfully announced, “You now 
get jig-a-jig,” while his companion added his own, “And much whipping of pretty little ass.”

With a rough hand, the naked captive was dragged within a house which seemed more a 
minor fortress than a dwelling, a structure totally out of character with Ibben Ben Makah.

The room into which Eve Mallory was finally thrust was an office like no office she had ever
seen. For a moment she stood facing an empty executive chair behind a desk before turning 
her full attention upon the two suspended nude women who’s toes searched vainly for the 
floor beneath, and who’s shiny black skin and magnificent body’s were suddenly recognizable 
as her former guards. They viewed her in silence as their lips were covered with bands of tape. 
The office was large enough to accommodate the punished women. Placed for their full 
attention was a small stool upon which a slender, wicked riding crop was balanced. Before Eve
could utter a word, Mr. Jambuti, clad in a western business suit, hurried in to give greeting.

“I lost the bid but I have you, Miss Mallory. I bid you welcome.”

“You’ve kidnapped me!” Eve glared angrily. “Surely you don’t expect to be able to keep 
me!”

“You are already my prisoner, Miss Mallory.” Mr. Jambuti beamed. “May I say how 
charming I find you attired in these two pieces of rope which bind you so tightly? May I draw 
your attention to my other two guests? A pair of most whippable young women who made 
the mistake of entering employment of a man a most detest. Allow me to demonstrate a 
touch of African justice.”

Eve’s feet were free but she stood transfixed in a terrible fascination as Jambuti picked up 
the waiting crop, turned one of the suspended nudities to the angle desired, and then, 
without preamble, cut and slashed at the generous curves of her rump. She contorted and 
peddled air with frantic feet. Again and again he stroked to cause thin welts to mark the black 
bottom. Slightly out of breath, he expressed satisfaction with his work. “I will attend to her 
companion in a few minutes. After you and I have had a chat. Please do sit down.”

Eve was floundering in a growing awareness of a condition without hope or prospect of 
release. She sought the indicated chair while exclaiming, “Please don’t whip them on my 
account. I’ve seen girls whipped and been whipped myself. Please don’t hurt these girls who 
did me no harm.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Miss Mallory,” Jambuti reproved. “I whip these two on general 
principles arising from their employment They also had you uncomfortably bound in that van 
and I suppose you should be grateful to see them receive their punishment for that.” His 
manner become oily. “Or perhaps you would like to hang with them and share the crop?”

Eve did not answer. This man would do as he pleased with her and had already outlined 
her future. She thought longingly of Dillon Soames who would know nothing of her plight. In 
dumb misery she watched her captor once more pick up the limber crop and use it with 
savage precision on the second black girl. The gagged girls could make no outcry but when 
he was finished with the crop upon bare flesh, the whipped girl made such demanding sounds
behind her gag that, out of simple curiosity, he tore it from her lips.

“You are wicked and foolish, you Jambuti man.” The words spilled out, mixed with pain. “It 
is not because of Africa you whip us girls, it is because of you. It is because it gives you 
pleasure to hear girls scream and make your whip marks on our back. Our master find you! 
Our master has much vengeance to make you a most sorry man.”

Mr. Jambuti nodded politely while shrugging in disgust. Brutally he replaced the gag to 
seal the angry lips and turned to the white girl he would soon punish for the color of her skin. 
“If is always so, Miss Mallory, threats and boasts and promises. It is best to keep them 
gagged.” He sat comfortably in his chair.

Eve paid scant attention to him but looked in sympathetic horror at the swollen black skin 
of a pair of black bottoms which must have received upwards of a dozen cuts. The two girls, 
utterly helpless, demonstrated agony by still twisting against bound hands above their head 
and jerking and stretching bare legs as though in so doing they shed their pain.

“Are then not most beautiful?” Mr. Jambuti asked pleasantly. Eve stared at her new owner 
with a mixture of anger and disgust. She had forgotten submission and the seductive tricks by
which a slavegirl might please. But knowing herself in danger of whipped skin, she tried 
reason. “The way I’m tied hurts terrible but I don’t suppose it’s any use my asking for the rope 
to be taken from my elbows?” Her hopeful look fell on barren soil. “But I do ask-you to 
consider the results of having me kidnapped like this. I don’t know how powerful you are, but 
those others who sought to buy me were also rich and powerful men. I most sincerely ask if I 
am worth the costs and trouble I may bring upon your head?”

“Indeed you, dear, indeed you are!” Mr. Jambuti was enjoying himself. He added 
boastfully, “No man can harm me here, no man can rescue you. I can see in your face your 
resignation to my mercy.”

Eve’s mind was working furiously. “Why not have the best of both worlds?” she pleaded. 
“You love the whip, so why not whip me until you feel appeased and then send me back to Mr.
Soames or to the man who purchased me? Surely that is your most sensible course.”

“You speak as though from privilege, dear child, as though your fair skin is yours to give 
instead of being entirely mine to use as I see fit. Surely you realize you cannot bargain.”

“Very well. Could I please have my elbows untied?”

“No.”

Eve sighed. The negative was to be expected but the cords were hurting terribly as were 
her shoulders. And she didn’t miss the fact that Jambuti was constantly eyeing her protruding 
breasts, hold out by her arms and shoulders being pulled back so cruelly.

“Did I mention I will whip your breasts?” he inquired casually. “A woman’s breasts are a 
very good area to be whipped, don’t you think?” He continued without pausing for an answer.
“I will not fail to give them attention. There is also, of course your secret place-you know, up 
between your thighs. I am aware of it and how a girl dances when whipped there.”

Eve felt like tears as she sat in roped pain to listen to the horrors her flesh must bear. 
Jambuti was a sadist, there could be no doubt of it. If he possessed a conscious, it did not 
show. Knowing herself lost, she pleaded for the suspended girl, “Please let them down, give 
them their clothes and send them home. They’ve done nothing to hurt you. And you’ve 
whipped them both. Surely that’s enough.”

“They will hang as they are until I weary of placing marks upon their skin,” Mr. Jambuti 
informed Eve crisply. “In the meantime, I will dispose of you to give you time for quiet 
reflection upon the sins for which you will atone. You will make your first payment sometime 
tomorrow.”

There appeared to be no shortage of robust young black ladies to play the part of guards. 
The woman who now appeared could easily have passed as sister to either of the suspended 
females with hurt bottoms. She wore only the most modest of loincloths from which hung 
what looked like an American quirt. She grasp her captive by the arm and led her from 
Jambuti’s office/torture chamber. Two pairs of dark eyes followed her exit without envy.

The building boasted a huge central hall, its grim stone walls without decoration save rings
and rods and chains stoutly anchored and awaiting use. There were also several pillars of 
various size to support the roof and the constant of traffic by the staff was saved from 
boredom by a lavish array of what was presumedly delinquent young damsels getting 
deserved and needed punishment. The first of these was a girl who’s back was plastered hard 
against a pillar with arms and legs dragged back tight. This pushed her vagina into prominent 
display. She was not gagged but said no word as she watched the new arrival.

Jambuti’s hall boasted more than one delinquent beauty. The crotch of a second girl 
rested squarely upon an iron peg protruding from the stone, her arms and legs chained out to
either side to impose the maximum agony of the girl’s weight upon the softness of her sex. 
The girl’s head had fallen forward and Eve could not tell if she were conscious or not. By way 
of diversity, another girl stood listlessly against the wall to which her neck was collared and 
chained by so short a span of links as to compel her to simply stand in naked shame before 
the men and women who passed her by.

When Eve was pulled to a halt by her cheerful guard, she saw little evidence of 
punishment, ignoring the shapeless oddities protruding from the floor. But when she was 
backed into position the cunningly shaped strips of iron fitted the back curve of her calves to 
perfection. A metal band then snapped shut around each ankle while others bedded 
themselves in her flesh above each knee.

“Yo’ must stands that way, white girl, until we got a use for yo’,” her guardian informed. 
“Ain’t no way yo’ gonna get outta there so don’t bother to try. Yo’ jus’ stands and likes it.”

Unexpected she tore at the bindings on Eve’s elbows to peel the cords from deep within 
Eve’s flesh. “Best Ah takes these off in case yo’ looses yo’ arms,” she explained. “Yo’ blood 
being constricted too long and yo’ arms ain’t gonna be much good to yo’. Yo’ hands stay the 
way they is.”

Eve muttered a mechanical for the vast relief of elbows without bonds. Any way you 
looked at it, bound elbows were torture and hers had been tied for a long, long time. Tied 
wrists were bad enough but she could live with them. She knew the flesh above her elbows 
was sore and deeply marked from the cords but she could touch none of that part of her. 
Bending forward she examined the iron bands upon ankles and knees. She strained to move 
but found herself solidly anchored to the irons. Miss Eve Mallory had been put on hold.

It was several hours before Jambuti came to view his prize. By that time Eve was weary of 
stand still. True, she could contort her torso as she pleased but to what end? She stood there 
in metal bondage to eye her jovial visitor without hope.

“I’m sure I please you,” she said bitterly. “I cannot move and all your staff have seen my 
nakedness.”

“But you are not in drastic pain,” Mr. Jambuti sounded as if bestowing a great treasure 
upon her. “You simply stand and wait as you Americans do every evening to buy a ticket at the
box office of a theater.”

“Very well, I am grateful for not hurting.”

“That is better! Mr. Soames would be proud of you, dear. I have been in touch with him by 
phone and acquainted him with my diversion of your charming person. He was not pleased 
but he is a foreigner in this land and ( am not. He is tolerated only because he delivers a useful
service to those who rule.”

“You mean he kidnaps girls like me and sells them?”

“Precisely. A most useful function. I assure you, dear child, you are by no means the first 
white person to meet this fate. Unfortunately the rest did not fall into my hands in the manner
of yourself. I fear, therefore, you must bear the sins of the many.”

It was an uninspiring interview, leaving Eve in the same condition as when it started. She 
tugged fretfully at tied wrists and glared at a male servant who had paused in his duties to 
kneel and gaze up at her cunt. She supposed that for this incredible household it was simply 
one more normal day.

It was a great relief to be rid of the iron on her legs. Bound hands kept Eve impotent as 
she was led to a prison cell and locked within.

“You may pee and drink water and eat the food you find,” her female guard explained 
patiently. “When you are ready for the night, I lay you on the bench and fix your feet.” It was 
not worth an argument or even questions. Eve, with hands still bound behind her back, ate 
and drank as best she could and did what she had to. When her guard returned, she was 
made to lay upon a hardwood bench at the bottom of which were the divided yokes within 
which she must place her ankles to watch the upper half descend and lock solidly. She was 
compelled to sleep upon bound arms and with legs spread wide throughout the night. After 
hours of mourning for what was passed and what was still to come she actually slept.

It was late morning when Eve was once more conducted to the Great Hall. The huge space
had been stripped of all other attractions save for herself. When she was led to punishment it 
was through a widely scattered but admiring throng of Mr. Jambuti’s business associates and 
big-wigs in his tribe. They were drinking considerably amounts whiskey and soda and other 
drinks, served by Eve Mallory’s prior guards from the van. They shuffled back and forth on 
their duties with their feet securely chained. They seemed docile enough, at least for the time 
being.

They spared glances at the white girl about to pay a price far greater than their own. Eve 
sought a friendly face but there were none. She was an object of curiosity but not pity. When 
the guard drew her to a halt, Eve’s heart was thudding like a drum.

“You want to run away? I tie your feet,” Eve’s guard whispered.

“No, not now,” she answered wearily. I can’t possibly escape, so why bother?”

Eve was not alone in her curiosity about what was to be done to her. Many a male eye 
followed the bar as it came from above to halt before Eve’s startled eyes. At each end was a 
leather noose into which she was told to thrust her thumbs. When she obeyed the order, her 
guard went to great pains to fit the soft leather beneath the knuckle of each thumb and draw 
them tight. When the bar once more rose upward. Miss Eve Mallory went right along into 
suspension to discover fresh agony as her toes were lifted from the floor. Her naked body 
swayed in the hot air and she bit her lip to keep from crying out at the pain in her thumbs. 
She was then left to hang for all to view.

It seemed impossible she could not touch the floor. Driven by pain, her toes constantly 
sought the support of the floor. She looked up to see her thumbs held at a strange angle. She 
had thought it would be turning blue but it appeared fairly normal. Her fingers searched and 
crawled at the leather band but to no use. In the back of her mind there was the knowledge 
that she was in a perfect position for the whip.

In this period of her suspension from the tiny leathers, Eve came to understand how 
childish and insignificant were the probings of male fingers. Her breasts were mauled and her 
nipples pinched by the watchers who came close to observe this white girl up close. 
Sometimes her breasts were rubbed and responded by becoming rigid. Male hands took 
pleasure in the satin of her skin anyplace on her body they wished. Even her pussy was 
grabbed roughly and kneaded by any who wished to. None were too gentle.

One braver male finger probed within her sheath and she was amazed to find that she was
moist and ready for penetration. She bit her lip and fought any reaction, especially the 
growing excitement. One playful guest took her helpless foot, pulled it outward and tickled 
the bottom of it. But Eve was hurting far too much to respond. And she was glad. Normally 
tickling would have made her jerk her leg and that would have brought even more pain to her
strictured thumbs.

Someone put a glass to her lips and she drank when she sensed it was alcohol. Mr. 
Jambuti then came in to greet his guests and survey the naked entertainment. He also took 
stock of the audience. Hanging there, naked and thumb-bound, Eve Mallory wanted only to 
die.

Slowly the circle widened until the hanging nudity hung alone. Someone had dropped 
upon the floor the whip by which her flesh was to be scored. It was not a riding crop but a real
whip, severe looking and promising much pain, especially in light of Mr. Jambuti’s dislike for 
female white skin. Eve moaned in desolation, she had never felt more abandoned in her life.

The female guard was to be her executioner. The black girl stepped forward to pick up the 
whip and Eve noted that she was bare-chested. In fact, she wore only a loin cloth, hardly 
enough to cover her pussy. She wondered why she was being flogged by a servant instead of 
Mr. Jambuti himself. Perhaps that was part of the shame. But it made little difference, she was 
sure she would be well whipped either way. The black girl fingered the whip lovingly and Eve 
could sense the tension in the room increase.

Eve tensed her body for the blow when suddenly the silence was shattered by a pistol 
shot, followed by a dozen men pouring into the room. Each held a weapon against which Mr. 
Jambuti’s authority was nil. But that did not stop the furious waving of his arms as he stepped 
towards the girl he sought to torture. “Pay no heed, they will not shoot. Seize them and let us 
continue our noble work!”

This time the pistol shot was not aimed over the crowd’s heads. Mr. Jambuti crumpled to 
the floor. Bodies pressed against the walls as if to avoid both the dying body and those who 
wielded death so casually. Suddenly Eve’s feet were upon the ground.

“The impertinence of the fellow!” The richness of Ibben Ben Makah’s voice held loathing. 
“It is as well we have disposed of him. I must apologize, dear child, for the delay he caused in 
your delivery.”

Eve knelt as she had been taught to kneel. Soames lessons were still fresh in her mind and 
she obeyed. She had been once more clothed in irons and she was in a very submissive mood.

“I owe you much, Lord, I give you thanks,” she said in humble gratitude. “Jambuti would 
have whipped me to death. You saved my life.”

“Suppose I whip you, too, child?”

“Then I must bear it, Lord.”

They faced each other, Eve from where she knelt and Ibben Ben Makah from where he 
stood in the most magnificent room Eve had ever seen. When her new master smiled she 
found the courage to smile as well. “You are not as Jambuti, Master. I respect you. I am your 
property and will obey you utterly.”

Ibben Ben Makah laughed at his slavegirPs naivete. “Such promises are easily made but 
painful to carry out,” he told her softly. “I am not an easy master to appease. I with test my 
punishments upon your loyalty. I hope you understand you are bought and paid for?”

“Yes, Master, Mr. Soames explained.”

“It is not long since you were a teacher in a government school and before that knew the 
freedom of the United States. How now do you feel?”

“I am captured, I am trained. Today you saved me from being cut to pieces by a whip. I am 
your property.”

The master nodded, well pleased. His fine, rich voice rendered the verdict for which the 
kneeling girl was alert, ‘Tonight you will be delivered to my bed. Until then you will be kept 
within a cage and wear those irons which you have on. It is but a beginning so pay no heed to
it.”

Ibben Ben Makah swept majestically away to leave a chained slavegirl naked on his rug in 
the strangest mix of gratitude and fear. She would never be free, never, never, never! But Eve 
was happier then she had been since leaving the refuge of Dillon Soames. She no longer 
thought of Spokane as home. She looked at the irons upon her wrists and ankles and knew 
herself within the safety of enslavement. For the moment she was content.





CHAPTER FIVE - THE PAINS OF SLAVERY


Lisha had soft, doe eyes and the movements of a fawn. She came to the kneeling slave while 
Eve was still gathering her thoughts and thankfulness. The serving girl announced herself, “I 
am Lisha. You may call me that. I am the one who will insure your captivity and the 
punishments you must receive each day. Do not hate me, we may come to love each other.”

The chained girl struggled to her feet, taking heart from the simple beauty of the girl she 
must now obey. It never occurred to Eve to doubt this maiden’s simply statement of authority.
In any case, chained as she was, she could be easily controlled by any girl with one hand free.

“My name is Eve Mallory, our Master has just purchased me from Dillon Soames. I have 
been trained. I will try and be obedient.”

There began then for Eve the strangest human association of her life. Lisha was pure 
delight but possessed a surprising strength of will and muscle. At the start Lisha insisted upon 
a fight in which Eve must either win or suffer the rod. Lisha won easily and administered five 
strokes with a riding crop upon a submissive bent over bottom. Eve’s free hands rubbed her 
bottom ruefully until offering them once more for Lisha’s irons. Eve knew disobedience would 
profit her not at all and gave no thought to it. Behind Lisha, elsewhere in the massive house 
but within easy call, were dozens of male guardians. From that first fight Eve’s punishments 
began.

“Why must I be punished, Lisha?”

“Each Master places his hands upon his slaves,” Lisha said in sweet simplicity. “Our 
Master’s desires are each one different and we must learn their moods so we may respond 
instantly to their desires.”

“But I’ve said I’m willing to obey. Why then should I be punished?”

Lisha laughed as though at the questions of a child. “You are now obedient in memory of 
the man you call Dillon Soames. Jambuti had no chance to leave his mark on you but you now
acquire virtue as a slave by the punishments of Ibben Ben Makah. Fear not, I have suffered 
them myself.”

“You have been a slave and wore these chains?” Eve held up ironed hands. “Surely you 
were never a slave the way I am?”

“I was. I still am.” Lisha laughed at the puzzled expression on Eve’s face. “But I am now a 
trusted slave who will do her Master’s will as he desires. I have been told to punish you and 
this I now will do.”

It was crazy, out of this world! But the strokes Eve had just received across the bare skin of 
that on which she sat had spelt moderation, they had hurt but not that much. Timidly, she 
asked, “What must you do to me now?”

“Come, I show you.” Lisha grasped Eve’s shackled arm and led the way. “It will not hurt as 
does the whip but brings much shame upon a girl.”

It was another metal oddity the use of which Eve only gradually perceived. A slender 
stanchion, rising from solid anchorage in the floor to the height of Eve’s neck where it ended 
in an iron collar the right size for her neck. Another iron circle was obviously for her neck, 
below that a bracket upon which Eve feared she would be forced to rest her pussy. Since she 
was already well chained, there was no provision for either hands or feet.

“It is quaint, is it not?” Lisha laughed. “You will not understand its purpose until I fasten 
you. Come now, your back against the iron.”

The stanchion fitted the curves of a girl’s spine very well. Her waist was immediately 
confined by the two half circles of iron, constricting the waist considerably but not painfully, 
and snapping shut. Eyes alight with mischief, Lisha grasped the chain between Eve’s hands to 
raise it over Eve’s head to rest it behind her free neck.

“I need them out of the way for the next step,’” she explained. “You may thus look down to
behold something you will not like. When that is done, I lock the collar on your neck.”

Like all puzzles, it was simple when you know how. The bracket between Eve’s legs proved 
adjustable to enable Lisha to position it exactly as desired. When its use and purpose became 
evident to the chained girl, it drew an involuntary cry from Eve’s lips. “Oh, no! Lisha, not that! 
Please, please, isn’t there something else you can do to me?”

It was a magnificent dildo in an exact simulation of a huge male erection, a weapon to 
daunt the courage and affect the modesty of any female. The helpless girl felt certain she 
could not possibly accommodate so immense a weapon.

Lisha was amused. The base of the dildo fitted on the bracket with a solid click, its blunt 
snout was then anointed with lubricant before Lisha guided its upward thrust with’ caring 
hands and watchful eye. When Eve felt the parting of her lips as the monster began its first 
nuzzling within her sheath, she felt certain she would be injured. She could have kicked with 
chained foot but she was afraid that would only get her whipped. She tried to move her hands
but they were solidly cinched behind her neck. She could do little but wiggle. Eve stood 
breathless awaiting pain.

Pain might have come from hands less expert in their task than Lisha. The intent and 
smiling girl well understood that part of the female body with which she played. No girl had 
ever been impaled more competently than Eve was now. Inch by inch and gasp by gasp, the 
phallus took possession of her cunt. She could hardly believe her body could take such a huge
object inside it, but it did. Lisha pushed it up until the entire monster was within Eve, then she 
locked the bracket in place. Between the waist band and the monster within, Eve could have 
been otherwise totally free and still unable move. The two locked her hips in place and the 
rest of her body had to stay there, too. The base of the dildo formed a curved shield that 
pressed hard against and sealed her pubic region.

“It is a pity you cannot see it,” Lisha said. “It is most beautiful. Tell me it does not hurt.”

It did not hurt. Eve admitted the fact almost with regret and knew herself blushing scarlet 
under the regard of a girl who had probably performed this task many times before.

“You will certainly climax at least once, but perhaps only once unless you move your legs 
to make it happen.” Lisha smiled as she spoke. She lifted Eve’s hands back over her head to 
fall as she wished them. “And now the collar for you pretty neck.”

The collar was the worst of all, fastening snugly and firmly. Eve could scarcely move her 
head at all. Her captive fingers explored the iron bond but could find no release. Eve was 
molded rigidly against the metal post. The fact she could move arms and legs helped nothing.
And she was shamed for she knew that all who saw her would know what was buried deep 
within her. She hoped that the monster within would not excite her body to a shameful climax.

But her body betrayed her and the climax came. Eve stood by. clenching and unclenching 
fingers as her female body reacted to the invader as it would to any such invasion-it 
welcomed it. The heat grew and she found herself clenching the muscles of her thighs and 
hips. Soon she was trying to rip off the waist band while the heat in her loins exploded into a 
warm and wonderful climax. She felt like banging her fists against the steel monster that had 
so controlled her.

The pose was tiring. Ibben Ben Makah was not the sadist Jambuti had been but his 
punishment was an exercise in frustration. The fast clamped girl could not divorce her mind 
from the monster within her belly and it was not long before she felt the stirrings in her flesh 
announcing another build up to climax. There was also the matter of chained hands and what 
to do with them. Despite Lisha’s warning. Eve found herself shifting weight from foot to foot. 
After an hour she received an unexpected visitor.

It was the black girl who had driven the van, the one Jambuti had so abused on her 
bottom. Her Junoesque figure was clad only in a simply skirt, her breasts pointed like cannon 
at the ironed girl.

“She got you fixed real good,” she said without concern. ‘Tomorrow I am to be whipped 
because our Master blames me for what Jambuti did.” She paused in an emotion charged 
feeling. “I do not wish to be whipped. I do not deserve to be whipped.”

Eve searched for words of sympathy but instantly realized there was more to come. When 
it came its import was shattering.

“I take the van and run away. It is something I can do. I take you with me. We go to Mr. 
Soames.”

In pure shock Eve could only gasp, “But why! I don’t understand!”

“Is simply,” the black girl beamed. “I take you to Mr. Soames so he know me honest, 
perhaps give me nice present. I sell myself to Mr. Soames so he chain me to be sold to rich 
man who will beat me only now and then and give me fine, rich life. I take you now.”

The questions in Eve’s mind went unanswered. Against the vigor and purpose of the black 
girl, she was without defense but the name of Dillon Soames was magic. If only she could be 
delivered back to him, she could care for nothing else. He might be angry, he might even sell 
her once more to someone else but that was a risk she knew she had to take, she wanted 
Dillon more than anything else in the world and if this disgruntled girl could take her to him, 
she would not argue.

But Eve suddenly remembered! “But how can you get me free, how can you get the keys?” 
He voice was colored by a tinge of panic.

“Don’t need keys for what’s holding you now.” She giggled. “What you got up your belly, it
pop out real quick. The rest don’t need no locks ‘cause you can’t touch nothing.”

“But, my irons … my chains?”

“I stole a key. I let you loose.” Once more the giggle. “But I tie your hands behind your 
back just in case you thinks you run away. Ain’t no one gonna see us, I got the van outside the
back door.”

Eve refused to think of anything save the name of Dillon Soames. She could not tell if what
she had suffered in this place was by Lisha’s caprice or direct orders of Ibben Ben Makah. It 
did not matter, nothing mattered now except escape.

Eve Mallory stood breathless as the iron was taken from her neck and from around her 
waist but blushed again as the dildo made a disgusting plop when drawn from her body. 
Without a word of complaint she turned and crossed her wrists when the irons fell clattering 
to the floor. Dark fingers twisted and tugged and knotted her hands back into a familiar 
helplessness she would always associate with Dillon Soames.

“My name is Pangi and that’s what you calls me,” her rescuer imparted. “Now you come 
along and does what I say.”

Dark fingers firm upon her arm, Eve allowed herself to be led in a dream-like unreality to 
the waiting van. Pangi had judged her timing well so there were none to see as she hoisted 
her tied companion beside her in the front seat. For Eve it was a great contrast to being 
bound upon her belly in the back. She looked back and gasped at what she saw.

“But there’s someone in there, Pangi! It’s a girl tied the way you had me tied that time. 
What on earth?”

“That’s Lisha I got there,” Pangi said casually as she headed the van through the 
compound’s main gate. “I want Mr. Soames to be real pleased to see me and grateful for what
I does for him so I’m taking little Lisha along as a present. He can sell her for a lot of money 
and he’ll be so grateful he’ll all he can to get me sold to a good master. I got it all figured.”

Hearing herself discussed, Lisha strained against bound elbows and helpless feet to look 
back across her shoulder. Eve thought she saw a message the younger girl’s gagged lips could
not utter. Eve strove to reassure the girl, “Don’t worry, Lisha, everything’s going to be all right. 
I’ll look after you.”

Considering her own bound condition, it was an optimistic promise.

It was not until the guard at the gate had waved a friendly greeting to Pangi and the van 
that Eve realized how well the black girl had planned. But, weighing the possible 
consequences of what amounted to the theft of two slavegirls from the home of Ibben Ben 
Makah, she beheld the yawning chasm of dire consequence should Pangi and her prisoners be
stopped on the road. Pangi would be punished terribly and probably kept chained for the rest
of her life. Even she and Lisha might not be above suspicion and draw punishments they did 
not deserve. For certain Lisha was blameless but Eve was not. Had she screamed or refused 
rescued, Pangi would probably have left her fastened within the weird contraption that had 
raped her. But what was done, was done. In a mounting excitement, Eve arranged tied arms as
best she could and discussed Pangi’s glowing future with the girl behind the wheel.

Tomorrow was tomorrow.

However long Eve Mallory might live she will always remember the return to the village 
and the house of the man who bought and sold girls for profit, the man named Dillon 
Soames, the man-she loved. Eve took too much for granted and could not be certain of the 
reception she would get but nonetheless her euphoric excitement kept her quivering as Pangi 
drove the van into Dillon’s shelter wherein the vision of a naked girl with hands tied behind 
her back would raise no eyebrows. When Eve slid unaided to the ground the house door 
opened to disclose a man curious at the unexpected. For an emotion-charged moment Dillon 
Soames stared in disbelief while Eve’s bound hands denied her joyful greeting with 
outstretched arms. But the pause was brief. Dillon quickly closed to the shining-eyed 
nakedness he had recently sold, kissed her savagely, then picking her up and carrying her 
inside.

Once there he kissed her and hugged her properly as he searched for Pangi’s knots to free
her hands.

“Make yourself a drink, sweetheart,” he said quickly. “I’m going down to find out what this 
is all about.”

Left alone, Eve stood in blissful happiness. So far, so good! Dillon had shown love towards 
her or at least pretty strong feelings if not love. Eve would accept that for now. Not the least 
of her happiness arose from being free. Surely Dillon’s freeing of her hands spoke vividly of 
trust. And, if Dillon Soames trusted her this much, he must harbor deeper feelings. To calm her
excited nerves and the thumping of an ardent heart, she mixed a drink, wondering at the 
freedom of her hands.

So wonderful was having hands again that she filled in the time by doing exercises and 
motions as if dancing to an unseen and unheard orchestra. It might be silly but it felt so very, 
very good. And Eve could not yet be sure that tomorrow she might not yet be bound again. 
She gave no thought whatever to escape.

When Dillon returned, Eve sank to her knees before her lord to offer scotch on ice. 
Laughingly he sat the glass aside to gather her once more in his special, powerful arms to 
drive the breath from her. Her breasts flattened against his hard chest as he kissed her 
savagely again.

“I missed you.” It was a simple statement of fact.

Dillon sat in his favorite place, Eve knelt. They sipped their drinks and spoke not for a few 
minutes. Finally Eve blurted out the saga of what had been done with her and to her. 
Throughout her tail of woe there ran a thread of apology as befitted a slavegirl who had 
escaped.

Dillon nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve got those two females you brought with you in the cell.” 
He added with a chuckle, “I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth but I’m damned if I know how
I can sell them if Brother Ibben discovers where they are.

“I suppose you realize you’re in exactly the same fix-you’re a runaway slave.”

“I didn’t bring Lisha and Pangi, they brought me,” Eve vowed. “Why don’t you and I go 
back to the states where it won’t matter if I’m a runaway slave or not?”

“If we did that, we’d need his two million. To get that I’d have to turn you back over to him.
Catch twenty-two. Plus there’s a strange sort of honor that governs such matters in this trade. 
I can’t have you and the money too.”

“Then let him keep the money and keep me here.”

“Sounds easy the way you say it. Best thing I can do is get Ibben on the phone and ask 
him to reverse our deal. That way I can keep you safe. But if he says no dice and asks for you 
back, we’ll have that private army of his descending on us like a ton of bricks.”

“Is he that powerful?”

“Yes. Look what he did to Jambuti.”

Eve was impatient with Islamic honor. She belonged to Dillon and, as far as she was 
concerned, that was the end of it. At the moment she wanted nothing more than to prolong 
her happiness on and on forever. Archly she inquired, “Would you feel better about this if you 
put me in irons or tied my hands or something?”

“Don’t worry, I will. But not right now. I’m enjoying you far too much. Do you realize, 
sweetheart, that you’re holding your glass with just one hand and keeping your other as far 
away as possible? It’s a reaction from restraint and cute as hell.”

Eve glowed, thankful Dillon thought her “cute.” She would not care about the future, she 
would live for what the moment would bring. But she had not forgotten the two girl who had 
driven with her to freedom. “What have you done with Pangi and Lisha?” she asked 
innocently.

“Stripped them naked, tied their hands behind their backs and tossed them both in the 
same cell,” Dillon said with evident amusement. “If they were pals they could untie each other 
but I sort of picked up a coolness and I’m willing to bet they’ll both be tied in the morning.”

“Can you do what Pangi wants? I mean, sell her so she’ll be happy?”

“I could if Ibben didn’t find out. But considering the honor factor, I’d best speak to him 
about both those girls when I phone him.”

“But, Dillon, if you send Pangi back he’ll punish her terribly!”

“He’d do the same for you, sweetheart. You weren’t exactly innocent in this matter,” Dillon 
said savagely. “Damn it, I wish I’d never sold you!”

“Dillon, do you love me?”

“Of course I do, you little idiot. But look, let’s stop chatting. I want you so bad I’m taking 
you to bed right now and I’m not going to even tie your hands. For one night you’re going to 
have to put up with freedom. If I find you gone in the morning, I won’t chase after you.”

Dillon picked her up and carried her to bed where they did indeed forget about 
everything.

Even the phone call to Ibben Ben Makah.

In the morning, while Dillon Soames made his fateful phone call, Eve went downstairs to 
check upon the maidens in the cell. She found Pangi seated stiffly on the cot while Lisha had 
chosen to huddle in the opposite corner, as far apart as possible. Their hands were still fast 
tied behind their backs. As soon as she came into view they both lit up as they hastened to 
press against the bars.

“Please send me back where I belong,” said Lisha.

“I don’t thing Mr. Soames was all that pleased,” Pangi moaned. “Please, Miss Mallory, don’t
let him send me back. If I get sent back, I’ll be punished so bad I’ll like to die.”

“Would you like me to ask Mr. Soames to set you both free? We could give you both 
money and clothes and set you free.”

“Ain’t no place we can go.” Both girls echoed the same statement. “No body ain’t gonna 
help a runaway slavegirl. Best Ah be sold far away. Lisha here can be sent back without getting
her skin cut up. Please help us Miss Mallory. Please!”

They were sisters under the skin. Eve knew she had no more chance in lonely freedom than
did this beautiful black girl. Lisha was without guilt and must surely present no problem either 
way. Shuttering, Eve felt the venom of Ibben Ben Makah’s whip as it would bite at Pangi and 
herself if they were returned. When Eve returned upstairs it was to learn that Ibben Ben Makah
demanded the return of the three slaves who had escaped his chains. Dillon was pacing up 
and down in anger.

“I’ll send those two black girls back,” he said without preamble. “There’s no way I can do 
anything else. But I’m damned if I’m going to send you. The son of a bitch just laughed when I
said I’d send the money back to him. So far as he is concerned, I’m honor-bound to send you 
back. He told me some of the things he’s going to have done to you. After I heard them, 
there’s no way I’m going to let you go”

“You shouldn’t send Pangi back, either. He’d half kill her. She’s scared to death. Please, 
Dillon, please!”

“Okay, so what do I do with her. If I turn her loose, she’ll be hunted down like an animal. 
Someway I’ve got to think of something.”

Eve Mallory was female and still young enough to have lofty ideas. Suddenly she saw the 
light. She had had one night of glorious love but now she must surrender herself to the code 
of honor her lover lived by. She said, “There’s only one thing to do, darling, you sold me and 
you have to deliver. Tie me or chain me and send me back to Ibben Ben Makah. I don’t 
suppose he’ll kill me, I’m too valuable for that.”

“Like hell I will!”

“But you must! There isn’t any other way. What Was it Shakespeare said about star-crossed
lovers? Well, maybe that’s us.

Maybe Ibben Ben Makah will tire of me and sell me back to you. I don’t see why he’s so 
excited about possessing me anyway.”

“He’s an Arab, sweetheart, you haven’t a hope.”

They stared at each other, stricken in dismay. A fleeting memory told Eve of other girls 
saying a last farewell to their warrior returning to the war. She had never felt more helpless in 
her life. Ruefully she gazed at unfettered wrists and ankles and understood the potency of an 
emotional captivity without chains.

Pathetically she said, “You’d better tie all three of us up so we can’t change our minds and 
run away again. And then have someone drive us in the van back to Ibben Ben Makah. I 
absolutely won’t have him shooting you the way he did Jambuti.”

“No, sweetheart. The other two, perhaps, but not you. Maybe I won’t get killed. I own a 
gun or two myself, you know.”

They stared, two people facing a decision to change their lives. One a girl willing to yield 
her flesh to the bite of thongs and the other a man determined to never yield the woman he 
had sold. It was an impossible impasse.

Into this maelstrom of emotions walked Heeber Markham. “A door was open so I just 
came in,” he greeted casually. “I hear you’re in a bit of a bind.”

Eve and her master stared at the intruder in dismay. “We don’t have time for visitors,” said 
Dillon. “It’s nice to see you, Markham but it’s a case of hello and goodbye. With double 
emphasis on the goodbye.”

“I have the fastest car in Africa waiting outside your door,” Markham said pleasantly. “We 
pop this fair damsel in the trunk and before night I’ll have her so far away that Ibben Ben 
Makah won’t know he ever had her. You can give him his money back and tell him to fuck off. 
He can even search your house if he wants to.”

It took a moment to digest before Eve asked, “What will you do with me? Are you helping 
out or making a purchase? I don’t think I’m for sale.”

“So that’s the way of it, you two have got the mating disease.” Markham produced a thin 
lipped smile of disapproval. “Okay then, how’d it be I give a fellow American a ride back to 
civilization?” He turned to Dillon. “You could do that yourself, you don’t need me.”

“Thanks, Markham, but you’re right, we don’t need you. We’ll deal with this ourselves. Best 
you run along and don’t get involved. Ibben can be tough to tangle with.”

“Thank you, Mr. Markham, but I absolutely won’t leave Dillon,” Eve assured earnestly. 
“Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it ourselves. And we’ll stay together.”

“Love is wonderful,” Markham said scornfully. “I’ll bid you both goodbye and wish you all 
the luck I don’t think you’re going to get.”

In the vacuum left by Markham’s departure the lovers stared at each other before Dillon 
Soames barked, “Run and get yourself dressed, Eve.” His voice held decision. “Don’t ask 
questions, just hurry.”

Eve hurried. But while making herself uncomfortable in unfamiliar coverings, nobility 
asserted herself to tell her bleakly she was ruining Dillon Soames’ life. This house, which was 
his home and slave trading office, was everything he had. If she was not sent back to Ibben 
Ben Makah, vengeance would decent upon Soames and all his works. Even if they should 
escape, they could never return. For love of her, Dillon Soames would become an exile. From 
the start of this crazy adventure she had known full well it could have but one logical ending. 
The hours of happiness just shared were something she must treasure for they were all she 
would have. By whatever means possible she must quickly return to Ibben Ben Makah to 
absolve the man she loved from Ibben’s wrath. There was no other way!

When Eve returned to him, Dillon was playing his familiar gestures with a length of cord. 
Without thought of consequences, a now becomingly attired young woman turned her back 
and crossed her wrists. As the cord bit into her wrists she asked only the single word, “Why?”

Dillon waited until he had his loved one’s hands safely bound before replying. “Because 
I’m not giving you an opportunity to play the noble heroine.” His voice was of a man who had 
firmly made up his mind. “I’m taking you back to American. We’ll simply cut and run, and 
Ibben can do what he likes with this’house and everyone in it. Tying your hands, love, is 
because I don’t trust you not to run back and take your punishment just to get me off the 
hook. This way you’ll have peace of mind without wondering if you should or shouldn’t. Come
alone.”

Eve was suddenly happy. Dillon loved her and that was all that mattered. The two of them 
would be far away before Ibben Ben Makah and his army could arrive. Then there would be 
America and a new life. She would not have asked the sacrifice of Dillon but, since he had 
made it, there was a deep sense of contentment. Eve was strangely thankful for corded wrists. 
They were as reassuring as Dillon’s hand upon her arm.

They faced twenty miles of dirt track before reaching the coast road. They had traveled 
only five when their way was blocked by the massive bulk of a fallen tree. Dillon cursed and 
slipped into reverse. By that time another trunk had fallen behind the van. Suddenly men were
everywhere and all held guns. When Dillon jumped to the ground a rifle butt made contact 
with his head, sending his to the dusty grass. A grinning man in a make-believe uniform took 
his place at the wheel beside a distraught girl who’s hands were tied by a lover she had lost. 
The trees were moved and the van turned back upon their trail. The girl with tied hands could 
not look back but only forward in the certainty of a return to slavery.

“We were ordered not to kill Mr. Soames. Have no fear for him,” the driver explained with 
undue politeness. “Our Master, Ibben Ben Makah, has a regard for Mr. Soames and for 
yourself. But you are our Master’s property. You were a foolish girl to run away.”

The kind words were strange in the midst of violence but helped calm Eve and the 
bitterness of memory of Dillon falling to the dust. The man beside her was right, she had 
indeed been foolish to run away from so powerful an enslavement. But Eve Mallory knew she 
would do it again if it gave her twenty-four hours with her love. She refused to think about her
punishments.

The house of Ibben Ben Makah was not all fortress. In cleverly contrived niches and angled
walls were balconies shaded from the sun and commanding a pleasant view of gardens and 
beyond the wall. On one such balcony sat the master of this house at Tea with his most recent 
acquisition. He sought to comfort Eve’s fear and perhaps, too, to resign her to the inevitability 
of her enslavement. Sitting where her master told her to, Eve sipped tea her master poured 
and listened to her master’s words.

“Your transgressions are partly my fault, dear child.” The male voice was as rich and 
resonate as she recalled. Ibben Ben Makah was showing that side of himself Eve remembered 
from their first meeting. He might be a despot but he was also a charming sophisticate. “I 
should not have assigned you to Lisha’s mischief but dealt with you myself. But, alas, I am a 
busy man and my slavSgirls do not always get the attention they deserve.”

“I did not run so much from you. Master, but rather fled to the arms of a man I have come 
to love,” Eve admitted. “I’m sure I seem a foolish girl but I can only tell it as it is. I dare not ask 
forgiveness. Will I be punished?”

“Of course you will be punished, my dear.” Ibben’s rich tones robbed his words of their 
threat. “Often it pains me to punish a girl who has erred.” The master shrugged disarmingly. 
“But how else can discipline be maintained? How else can I sustain a girl in her knowledge of 
right and wrong save by punishment of her flesh? I hope you understand.”

Eve understood. But at the moment desired above all else to maintain this delicious 
moment, to delay the marking of her skin which would surely be the price she would have to 
pay for seeking her love. Out of simple curiosity she asked, “You have not had me fastened, 
you have not had me bound in any way, nor made naked. Master, I am confused.”

Ibben laughed at her admission. “Fear not, my dear, you will soon be stripped and well and
truly ironed in such ways as to inhibit thoughts of flight. I cannot trust you-not yet!”

For the moment Eve was an equal, an honored guest. But always confused her when her 
limbs were free. She had become so accustomed to various forms of restraint that freedom 
from restraint became something ominous. Being feminine she could not let it rest. “You make
me happy with this freedom of my limbs, Master. Could I not give you my promise so as not 
to be forever chained?”

“You would not respect your promise,” Ibben said gently. “You love for Soames would 
tempt you every moment. No, it is better you be chained.”

“May I know the nature of my punishment, Lord?”

“Only of the most ritualistic of them, the whipping of your bare skin.” Makah’s voice 
seemed saturated with regret. “The whip is basic to the punishment of girls. Girls fear the whip
and with good cause. Do you fear the whip, Eve?”

The use of her name in these full, rich tones of sympathy sent a thrill up and down the 
spine of the girl to be punished. Her punishment would not be light, that was for sure. The 
whip gave Eve enough to think about so she asked no further of travail to come. She drank 
her tea and ate the small, sweet cakes. Once more her master’s voice intruded upon her 
thoughts.

“I have decided to whip you myself. Eve. For such as you it is not a task I would relegate to 
others. It is a privilege I will enjoy myself. I do not expect you to stand still, you must be well 
secured in this and other punishments to come. Thus I impose the test by which you prove 
your worth. If you can deliver yourself willingly on each occasion, offering your person to be 
bound or chained or put within the stocks, helping those who punish, you will gain my 
approval. I want you to take a step beyond obedience.”

It did not matter. Eve knew she would probably have given such obedience without hope 
of reward. There was nothing for her now except obedience. Obedience was the only weapon 
she could use to buy herself immunity from pain. She knew herself a slave and accepted a 
slavegirl’s standards.

“Will you allow Dillon Soames the freedom to live his life in the way he always has?” she 
asked soberly.

“Soames has nothing to fear from me. I regard him as a friend.”

“Then I will obey you, Lord. I promise.”

Ibben Ben Makah took Miss Eve Mallory by the hand.

When you have suffered under them they all looked alike, Eve reflected as she beheld the 
instrument of agony and the waiting loops of rope. Instinctively she knew what she must do. 
Slowly she removed her clothes, placing them in a neat pile on a chair and robbing her master
of no single possible exposure of any female feature she could bare for his attention. Without 
pause she then went to the hanging ropes and thrust her hands within the hempen trap. She 
pulled down to tighten the rope and make herself their prisoner. Miss Eve Mallory stood 
naked with arms above her head to await her master’s whip.

“You please me, Eve. I am proud of you. But now there is one other thing before I mark 
your skin.”

Instantly Eve guessed. The catholic confessional. Automatically she intoned, “I have sinned 
against my master. Punish me.”

“You are perfection itself,” said Ibben Ben Makah.

After it was done, Eve could recall no single stroke beyond the first, the rest merged into a 
composite agony. She vaguely remembered screaming and tugging uselessly at bound wrists. 
Eve often lifted herself from the floor and danced on air when the pain exceeded her ability to
take standing still. Ibben’s first stroke across the bare shoulders of his slave cut her with a 
sound and agony so terrible as to divorce Eve from all else save terrible pain. The naked girl 
dance and jerked and screamed as the leather bit at every part of her body. When Ibben Ben 
Makah paused to search his whip for blood, his delinquent slavegirl hung in her bonds. His 
voice came from far away.

“You are exquisite when whipped. Eve.” There was the sound of love in his voice. “I should 
have a mirror so huge you might behold your response to pain. I could not ask for more than 
you have given.”

“Thank you, Lord.” From within the scold of Ibben’s cruel thong it was all Eve could think 
to say.

“I had intended another twenty strokes, but these I now remit. You are altogether too 
precious to bare injury.”

“Thank you, Lord.”

Eve hoped she said the right thing.

“I leave you thus, Eve. You will stand in pain to contemplate your sin. Lisha will then replace
your irons to tell you of your slavery.”

“As you wish, Master.” Again the paucity of words.

It was almost pleasurable to be alone. Eve’s hands noosed high above her head might well
be captive but they freed her from decision. She had only to wait, savoring her pain, until a 
fresh captivity embraced her limbs. If Lisha was once more her jailer, it meant Lisha had been 
repossessed. Dully, the whipped girl speculated upon Pangi’s fate. It was tiring to stand with 
her hands above her head but the rest of her completely free. Eve almost wished that she had 
been more totally tied to ease the irritation of being able to move without hope of release. 
Her arms were too wide spread for hope of bringing them to together to work at the nooses. 
The more she tugged and twisted the tighter the rope. Eve looked up at the two single bands 
of rope which forced her to stand in nakedness.

Eve Mallory felt herself at an end and a beginning. Her life with Dillon Soames was over 
and her new owner an unknown quantity, a charming man with whom she could never be 
quite sure. The scene with tea on the balcony had been delightful, a civilized exchange 
between a man and a woman. But it had been followed almost instantly by her stripping and 
bondage, and then the whip. And then the pain as the leather cut and marked her skin. It 
would be easy to see this as a bad beginning to a new enslavement, but the whipped girl 
knew herself now subject to different codes. Despite his marking of her skin, she sensed a 
benevolence in this man who had paid two million dollars to possess her nakedness. Perhaps 
if she pleased him enough…?

Lisha was long in coming. On arrival the trusted slavegirl embraced Eve’s tied nudity to 
pour out a torrent of words and a tale of woe about the manner in which Pongi had 
kidnapped her from a beloved slavery, only to be enslaved anew in Dillon Soames’s slave pen 
to be sold to a new master who might treat her cruelly.

“Pongi get punished real bad,” she informed breathlessly. “I whip her twice as bad as our 
Master whip you. Now she is chained with many heavy chains in a dungeon where she stay 
one whole week and then gets whipped again. After that I iron her feet so she do her work 
but don’t run away no more.”

Eve felt only sorrow for a fellow sufferer. But it was easy to understand Lisha’s enthusiasm. 
By Lisha’s code Pongi had done her wrong and was getting only what was coming to her. It 
was all too obvious Lisha was thankful for not being punished herself and being reinstated. 
The lovely slavegirl adored Ibben Ben Makah for the blessings he bestowed.

Eve would have liked to get her hands down from above but Lisha’s pleasure evoke an 
amused response together with a plea that Pongi might be spared further pain. Joyfully the 
younger girl who was now the mistress plied lips and tongue and finger tips to the nipples Eve
could not draw away. In the coming joy Eve swiftly forgot the weariness of raised arms and 
was on the verge of yielding herself to Lisha’s wonderful attentions when suddenly the 
younger girl stood back to launch her thunderbolt.

“I am suppose to iron you heavily,” she said in sudden urgency. “But I have a plan. I think it
bad you should be whipped and bad you should be tied. You shouldn’t be a slavegirl at all, 
you should be a school teacher the way you were.” The young eyes shone with a strange love. 
“I am going to set you free.”

The still tied maiden tensed. Eve had heard this one before and her back was now burning 
from the penalty it cost. In a bitter voice she said, “You can’t set me free, Lisha, no one can set 
me free except our Master.”

“I can!” The youthful eyes shone. “I have a plan. It is very simple and so easy. If you do as I 
say you can be back tomorrow with this man you think you love. The man who trades in girls.”

“But I’ve just been whipped because I ran away. It taught me how easily I can be caught 
and the terrible price I have to pay for being a silly girl. Forget it, Lisha, but I do thank you for 
trying.”

“I won’t untie you until you hear my plan,” Lisha affirmed stubbornly. “I untie you. Then 
you tie me hand and foot and gag my mouth so I can pretend I was careless and let you 
overpower me. I will tell you where Pongi waits in the van. I had already unlocked her irons 
and told her what to do. You will join her and you will drive away. I’ve given Pongi clothes and 
money. Pongi does not wish to be whipped again or to work with ironed feet. You may trust 
Pongi.”

“No! I won’t do it. Lisha, I’m just too scared.”

It was but a moment before Eve’s hands were freed and she was swinging her arms in 
thankfulness for release. Another moment and she was staring askance at the cord the young 
girl offered and then at Lisha’s back and crossed wrists as they waited to be tied. The 
youngster’s voice was compelling. “Do it. Miss Mallory. You must! Tie me tight.”

Eve would never know what power her fellow slave had but suddenly she found herself 
binding the slender wrists without mercy and then the slender ankles. Lisha’s last words were 
reassuring, “Pongi and the van are at the back door same as the last time. Now you must gag 
me so I cannot speak or scream. Please be a little cruel so I be not punished.”

The compulsion by the younger slave upon the older girl was something Eve must forever 
recall in wonder. She made the youngster utterly helpless before bending to kiss the warm, 
young lips. Then she turned and fled. But, once beyond the range of Lisha’s eyes and at end of
the first corridor which led to the back, the cold hand of reason clutched her heart. She 
paused. Just as Lisha’s urgings had given her feet and heart wings, reason replaced those 
wings to tell her what a fool she had become. Seeking freedom was impossible and very 
dangerous for a slavegirl. Miss Eve Mallory had been bought and paid for and would be a 
slave forever. Guiltily she beheld the kindly male features of Ibben Ben Makah as the shared 
tea and little cakes and talked to her as though she were a free woman. True, he had whipped 
her, but in the time since his last stroke had cut her skin, Eve realized he could have whipped 
her twice as hard and twice as long. By the standards of her sin she had been granted mercy. 
From that point on reason took possession. Eve Mallory was a slave and nothing would 
change that. As a runaway slave she would be terribly punished so why run that risk? She 
sensed that in Ibben Ben Makah she had a kind master, a master she should prefer to the 
others she had met. She would be crazy to throw all of this away because of an impulsive 
young slavegirl who should know better herself. Slowly she retraced her steps.

Lisha’s idealistic youthfulness still lay tied hand and foot and safely gagged. Her eyes 
widened at Eve’s return but she could not speak. Since Eve refused and explanation, she had 
to lay still while her feet were freed. Wisely Eve refrain from giving the young girl speech. Lisha
could easily find a fellow slave to free her hands. Eve kissed accusing eyes before she turned 
and fled to find the justice of her lord. The servants who’s aid she sought viewed her in pure 
astonishment but hindered passage. She found her master in his office and stood before him 
panting and awkwardly naked and short of words. Her master waited impassively for her to 
find her tongue.

When Eve remained silent with the familiar blush spreading its stain upon her cheeks, he 
suggested gently, “You have managed to free yourself. Why are you not on your way to Dillon 
Soames?”

It was too much, far more than Eve could bear. With a strangled cry, she advanced to kneel
against the legs of Ibben Ben Makah to bury her face within his robe and stain it with her 
tears.

Makah’s hand was gentle in his slavegirl’s hair, while a distraught and naked girl sobbed 
out the secrets of her heart. Finally the master’s resonant voice said quietly,. “You have made 
the right decision, dear child, the wisest of all the choices you were tempted with. Shed you 
tears, slavegirl’s tears are very sweet. Take heart, slavegirl, no punishment awaits you.”

Relief flooded Eve. Her sobbing slowed enough for her to plead, “Please don’t punish Lisha
and Pongi. They meant well and I expect I’ve let them down. Please have mercy on them, 
Master.”

The master permitted himself a tinge of laughter. “I expect Lisha is busy at her household 
tasks and deserves no whip. Pongi is not sitting in the van to await your flight, Pongi is in the 
dungeon to which I sentenced her. She is most heavily chained and in no condition to drive a 
vehicle anywhere.”

It took Eve a minute to grasp the import of the words but comprehension slowly dawned. 
She stammered, “You mean there was no van, no possibility of escape? Pongi was not going 
to drive me to freedom? Lisha was only placing temptation before me?”

“That is so, dear child.” The vibrant voice held laughter. “I laid a trap for you, but you were 
loyal. Before you discovered the deception you came to me. First the sin you had not 
committed. I am pleased with you.”

Eve Mallory was flooded with a great relief. She had done the right thing in not yielding to 
temptation and throwing herself on the mercy of this man. Within this was also her knowledge
of a total enslavement. By her act she had accepted slavery as her choice and way of life. Tears 
once more started in her eyes but she angrily choked them back as a traitorous weakness, a 
betrayal of the life she must now live. Brokenly she muttered, “Thank you, Master. I have a 
guilty feeling I should be punished but you are my Lord and will know what I deserve.”

“Surely your skin is stripped enough?”

Still kneeling, Eve shuffled her way back so she was no longer clinging to his legs. Dabbing
at wet cheeks with free hands, she gazed up with apprehensive eyes.

“What should I do with you?” Eve’s owner mused thoughtfully. “We have agreed you 
deserve no punishment but I suspect you carry your own burden of guilt and this I 
understand. Would it ease your quaint feelings if I order Lisha to whip your breasts?”

“Only if it would please you, Master.”

“Hmmmm. You are learning to be a slavegirl very fast.”

To be once more bound while Lisha whipped the tender curves of breast and nipples was 
the last thing Eve desired. It seemed a punishment so awful as to cause her hands to come up 
and cover her twin cones, while condemning herself for being more humble than need be. She
began to shed tears again.

It was then the miracle took place. Ibben Ben Makah left his chair to grasp his slavegirl’s 
arms and raise her erect, cradling her in a protective arm. “I have played with you enough and 
teased you cruelly,” he confessed. “But you pass every test. I have thought much of your 
enslavement in my house. I was lucky in buying you but I find I have no wish to bind your 
limbs nor keep you in a cage. I’m going to send you back to Dillon Soames.”

Eve Mallory stood rigid in disbelief, too choked by emotion to say a word.

“You and Dillon are of the same race. Consider the price I paid him as your wedding 
present.”

Eve clutched her master in grateful arms which spoke her gratitude more ardently than 
speech. It was Ibben Ben Makah who whispered in her ear the final word Eve had never hoped
to hear.

“I set you free.”





CHAPTER SIX - SIBLINGS


Miss Eve Soames spent her Mondays in the cage, Wednesday bound to a post or pole, while 
on Fridays she enjoyed the freedom of her home but with hands and feet well ironed. On 
most occasions she was released when Dillon returned from downtown around five PM. In 
addition, there was the wonderful Saturdays and Sundays she spent with her husband 
exploring unfamiliar country sides in search of backdrops contrived by nature in which a 
naked Eve was delightfully fettered for the camera. Dillon’s newly found enthusiasm for the 
shutter and the lens had lent a new dimension to their life.

Today was a Monday, the day Eve spent always in the cage. She stood now behind its 
black iron bars to gaze at the California sunlight giving radiance to the big room through a 
window she could not use. As had become customary, her wrists were crossed and tied 
behind her back in the manner of Dillon Soames’ original kidnapping of a girl he intended to 
sell into slavery. Had someone told him on that fateful day in Rashwana that his captive would
become his bride, he would have laughed in disbelief.

While waiting for 5:00 p.m, Eve spent much time in an old, familiar striving to free her 
wrists. She never succeeded but it was something to do, something making her captivity valid.
She would never simply a wife who’s husband kept her caged one day a week. Both she and 
Dillon still saw her as the frightened female merchandise forever yearning for freedom from 
cords and chains. Now they both agreed her tight bound hands were more implicit to her new
condition than any wedding ring could ever be.

Eve fought her husband’s cords just enough to slightly chafe her wrists, it was an 
automatic twisting and tugging from habit without expectation of freedom. For Eve her 
bound hands were far more potent than the bars and heavy lock which kept her caged. From 
time to time she spread her nudity on the thick pile rug and the huge oriental cushion which 
was the only concession to her comfort. A concession long debated before being employed 
but which made catnaps possible. There was also the dreamy memories.

Leaning against the bars, the one-time slavegirl allowed her thoughts to drift in fleeting 
recollection of what she would always thing of as their Flight from Rashwana, their air trip 
back to the U.S., their choice of California and their purchase of the house within the grove of 
orange trees. It had been a busy time in which Eve’s slavery was referred to laughingly but had
been brought face to face with themselves by the four inch steel post which formed the center
piece and roof support of their garage. Both had been struck by the same thought at the 
same moment. Eve instantly answered the thought he had not voiced.

“No! Absolutely no!” she affirmed, actually believing her negative herself. “Forget it, I’m a 
respectable married woman.”

“What me to use force, sweetheart?”

“Don’t you dare!”

Even as she uttered denial, Eve became conscious of an emotion akin to lust in which she 
longed ardently for her husband to do exactly that, use force to tell her she was a slave. But 
she sniffed disdainfully and turned to leave.

“Get those clothes off and get yourself against that post or I’ll do it for you.” It was the 
force of the Dillon she had first known.

But deeply satisfying for the girl who soon found herself stripped and her waist tight 
cinched to cool, unyielding metal. Despite her struggles, the bands around her tummy held 
her securely while Dillon stepped away to reflect on how he should tie his flushed and naked 
love. i

“May as well make you pretty,” he told the straining girl thoughtfully. “We’re not pressed 
for time, I’ll do a job on you.”

Eve pouted, flashed her eyes at him and grabbed at the ropes around her middle with 
hands her husband had not yet bound. She had even made protests, “Don’t be a brute. I’m 
not a slave anymore. Let me loose.”

Dillon continued his weaving with hemp and nylon without comment. His silence 
provoked some breathlessly delivered cliches. “I don’t know why you have to do this. I won’t 
speak to you for a week if you don’t let me loose this instant. I suppose you know you’re tying
me so tight it hurts?”

“You’re doing fine, sweetheart. Anything else?”

“Of course there’s something else. You’ll have to make your own supper because I’m not 
going to. And I refuse to be bribed with an offer of a fancy restaurant. Dillon, stop it! I don’t 
want to be tied.”

“You’re a liar, sweetheart. You’re loving every knot.”

It was true, Eve knew it was true. She also knew her flushed face and hardening nipples 
told of the weakness of her flesh. Her loins flamed with desire so she discarded the complaints
to stand hard pressed against the pole, breathing rapidly and from time to time snorting in 
disgust. When Dillon was through his beloved maiden was tastefully tied at ankle, knee, her 
sex pierced and bound back with crotch ropes. Her shoulders were also bound back hard by 
ropes that crossed behind the metal pole. Dillon kissed his product while Eve refused to use 
her still free arms to demonstrate affection.

“You’ll stay her, sweetheart, I won’t tell you how long. Enjoy yourself and don’t pretend 
you won’t. I may or may not whip you when I turn you loose.” He kissed her gently and went 
away.

The tight tied nude watched the closing of the door and heard its lock turn in a mixture of 
disbelief and quite jubilation. Dillon had forgotten to tie her hands behind the pole as would 
have been the proper thing to do. Her hands and arms were free! And within a few minutes 
she would walk in upon her chagrin owner to say something flippant such as, “Thanks for the 
tie, Dillon, it wasn’t all that good, better luck next time.”

Eve could not bend, she was held tight against the pole by roped shoulders and a roped 
tummy to say nothing of the outrageous crotch ropes. Her hands went feverishly to work on 
the strictures she could reach most easily. At the end of fifteen minutes she had not found a 
knot.

Well, she hadn’t expected it to be easy, Eve consoled herself. But surely no adult girl could 
remain thus bound when she possessed the freedom of her hands! Once more she went to 
work. But the end of another fifteen minutes found her considering the possibility of not 
getting loose at all. Perhaps in an hour or two or three she might still be bound like this while 
Dillon was quietly laughing somewhere else. She must not let it happen! Somehow her hands 
must be made to set her free. She returned to a task which already chaffed her skin and 
laughed at searching hands. Finally, in simple frustration and weariness, she conceded defeat, 
holding free hands before her face in disgust. It was lesson number one.

“I forgot to tie your hands, sweetheart.” Dillon said innocently when he returned. “Why 
didn’t you free yourself?”

“You know damned well why! Dillon, you’re an absolute bastard. You left my hands free on 
purpose and knew that they wouldn’t do any good. If I could kick you, I would.”

“Temper, temper!” Her husbands hands were busy with the knots she could not reach. 
“Don’t pretend you weren’t happy.”

“Well, what if I was!” Eve retorted. “I didn’t ask to be tied up like that for hours and hours. 
And don’t you ever do it again or I’ll go back to mother.”

“Darling, I think you’d love me to tie you again. Wouldn’t you?”

“Don’t you even think of it. I’m mad. And, if you want me to keep on talking to you, you 
can take me out to dine.”

“I seem to recall something about your not wanting to be consoled with dinner?”

“Well, I’ve changed my mind. That was awful being tied up like that. I don’t ever want to be
tied up that way again. Or any way at all!”

“Don’t be silly, you loved it.”

They stared at each other in what was for Eve a sudden discovery. Dillon was right, she 
wanted it, she loved it. Somewhere in Rashwana a yearning had been born, a yearning Eve 
knew was never going to die. In sober seriousness Dillon addressed a revelation of his own, 
“I’ve always loved a bound girl. When I grabbed you out of that school house I found my 
fantasy fulfilled in you. When I have you tied, you’re the most beautiful thing in the world.”

It was a new beginning, neither of them fought it. From then on they conspired only to 
devise the most delicious ways in which the slavegirl would be held in various captivities. 
Neither of them had looked back or held regrets. Their lives were made more intense by acts 
and emotions others would have scorned. Their discovery had not been that long ago but 
they were adhering strictly to what they called, “The Calendar.” On three days each week Eve 
knew exactly what her fate would be.

Eve Soames adored the man she called “Master.” But Dillon was master for three days only
and she had various terms of endearment for the other four. They had wondered if “the 
Calendar” would work or become a bore but it kept them both in constant excitement, 
looking back and looking forward with delight. They knew themselves fortunate and 
questioned nothing.

Except for the day she spent in irons, the heavy irons of Rashwana, Eve was always bound 
by cords or ropes with sometimes a strap for change or novelty. When Dillon casually 
suggested the purchase of modern handcuffs, Eve rejected the idea out of hand. Handcuffs 
were for criminals, handcuffs were gimmicks lacking the severity of the heavy irons locked on 
her limbs when Friday came around. Needless to say, Dillon purchased a pair anyway as his 
wife had known he would. Eve rejected the shinning steel in genuine dislike. They were not 
made for pretty girls, only criminals, nor intended to be a part of the love play between a 
husband and his wife. It was at least an hour before she extended her hands and said, “Oh, 
very well, if that’s what you want! I don’t think they’re a bit nice and I’m never going to like 
them.”

Dillon had extracted the utmost impact in his clasping the shinning steel upon the wrists, 
closing each circlet by slow and successive clicks until the girl he chained exclaimed 
indignantly, “They’re too tight! Dillon, take them off, they’re horrible.”

Her master paid no heed. Having secured one wrist, he snared the other in the same steel 
the wearer was professing to despise. With the final click he observed, “You can’t get loose 
but, by all means, try. They’re a new idea you’d best find out about. You look damned cute.”

“I look ridiculous. All I need is a policeman to haul me of to jail. They give me the shivers.”

Dillon watched as the girl who was still very much his captive struggled with her new 
restraint, tugging and twisting, raising and lowering to examine this new form of helplessness. 
She had never freed herself from cord and for very sure would never escape these bracelets of
steel which held her wrists only inches apart. Grudgingly she conceded, “I suppose they have a
certain attraction, like costume jewelry but they scare me. Take them off.”

On that occasion Eve wear her silver bracelets all afternoon, pretending annoyance but 
secretly thrilled by the new sensation of smooth metal on her wrists instead of chaffing cord. 
She soon discovered that worn in front the handcuffs gave her almost total freedom except 
that now she must always use two hands to do the work of one. If it came to a struggle they 
would be a decisive handicap. But worn on this first occasion, they were almost friendly. She 
refused to think of them behind her back.

Eve Soames enjoyed her Wednesdays least of all. Dillon never disclosed his intention until 
the final moment of his wife’s stripping naked to place that blushing nudity as he desired. 
Stripping always caused Eve to blush, a modest she could not defeat but secretly deplored. 
The pole in the garage had been their first design but was followed by others around the 
house and by an ideally dimensioned tree trunk which, although rough upon the girl’s bare 
skin, lent it’s slender bole to maiden confinement in rope and cord. Thus bound Eve was 
invisible from the road or from the house. Visitors would never see her bound nakedness 
struggling against its ropes or standing in listless hopelessness to await release. Wednesdays 
were all together charming and gave Dillon scope for ingenuity.

In her most recent restraint, Eve leaned against the bars within her cage, ruefully recalled 
another and most recent defeat.

“Well, sweetheart, off with the clothes. What are you waiting for?”

Eve sensed Dillon’s excitement. Within the shadowed privacy of the trees she gazed from 
the familiar trunk to which she had been bound so many times to the pair of slender trees 
previously ignored but now the target of her husband’s interest. Her rejection was instant. “No
you don’t! I know what you’re thinking and I don’t want it. It’s our usual tree or nothing.”

Dillon never said much on these occasions of revolt, simply stripping his protesting captive
and binding her in the manner of his pleasure. Eve was helpless in his hands, Dillon’s strength 
was often frightening as he handled her in such shameful ease. From these tussles lent realism
to a captivity which might have paled had not the slavegirl sometimes asserted herself to give 
Dillon the opportunity of proving how helpless she was against his strength. On this occasion, 
after a minimal tearing of her clothes, and still panting from the fight, Eve found herself 
midway between the two young trees with a wrist tight bound to each. Her arms were 
horizontal and taunt. She affirmed, “I’m not going to like this. Why can’t you be reasonable 
and tie me to the tree?”

“A change is as good as a rest, love. Stop beefing.”

“You’re being unkind. I’m going to get beastly tired standing without support.”

“But think how happy you’ll be when I let you loose!”

“But think how unhappy I’ll be for every hour in between. Dillon, don’t be mean.”

The man held the tied girl within male arms in one of those brief interludes by which they 
constantly reaffirmed their love. Insistently Dillon kissed the pout from lush, red lips. But his 
tone was severe, “You’re telling me what to do, sweetheart. You know that’s forbidden. All this 
beefing about being tired, you’re putting it on. If you want to be tired, I’ll show you how.”

Eve stood tense and helpless in alarm, knowing she had said one word too many. 
Immediately behind her feet was the broken stump of a young tree similar to the ones her 
wrists were tied to. Without warning Dillon picked up her right foot, bent it back from the 
knee and tied its ankle tight to this stump. Shocked and twisting uselessly. Eve burst out, “Oh, 
no! You’re not going to leave me like this! You can’t!”

“Why not, sweetheart?”

“Because! I can’t possibly stand on one leg all day!”

“If you’ve never tried it, how do you know?”

“I know already. Oh, damn, I can’t move anything! Darling, don’t leave me standing like a 
stork.”

Dillon kissed her once again, patted her pussy so easily accessible, then returned to the 
house to leave Eve tugging and pulling in three directions and panting in her knowledge of 
defeat. The bound ankle was as solid as the broken stump. She was fixed for sure! In 
desperation she looked around in sudden loneliness and knew herself a punished girl for sure.

During the three days each week when Eve was restrained in a nine to five enslavement 
she had never felt fear but only a tingling sexual excitement sometime tinged with weariness. 
But she felt fear now. Standing on one foot is almost immediately tiring and, since her arms 
were stretched straight out to either side, she could not used bound hands to supplement her
leg. But her real concern was the Dillon might consider her triple tie as a mild and amusing 
correction for a bad little slavegirl, and be unaware of the terrible stress imposed on her free 
leg. Which was not free at all but must remain planted firmly to hold her body up. It was one 
of those frustrating moments in which tears came easily but she blinked them back in an 
angry determination to stand upon one leg as long as she could, enduring the ache and pain 
which, for all she knew, might be only a minor misery she could put up with until Dillon came 
home at five. But slowly this courageous mood wilted beneath the steady stress of her triple 
bonds. When, at the end of an hour, Dillon reappeared to cheerfully untie her captive ankle, 
Eve knew only rapture in having both feet once more on the ground and being once more 
reassured of Dillon’s concern for her well-being. Had her arms been free, she would have clasp
him in ardent gratitude but now must be content to let him embrace her and the male lips hot
upon her own. Those male lips turned their attention to her nipples and the bitting of her ear 
while she breathed in ecstasy. , “Thank you! Oh, Dillon, thank you, thank you, thank you! I love
you so much.”

“Think you can handle it now?”

“Oh, yes!”

“But you said you couldn’t?”

“How silly can I get!” And that had been that.

Except on Friday when she walked metallically around the house, Eve never had access to 
time. This frustration irritation of not knowing how long she must remain under restraint until 
Dillon’s return always left Eve uncertain as to whether the results would be penalty or 
pleasure. But she was willing to conceded it was usually the latter for whenever she thought of
a non-existent clock, the fire burned more brightly in her belly. It was like that now, but she 
had learned to gauge the sunlight beyond the bars and estimated release was no more than 
one hour away. She sighed and sat upon the cushion for a change.

They adored five PM. Eve was never quite sure about the five PM because Dillon might be 
late or early and often in his own mordant humor was in no hurry to unlock her prison or 
untie her bonds. Often he professed to have forgotten something and would return upstairs 
to leave her fuming in the knowledge of being teased, more over, her hands were often left 
tied behind her back in make-believe forgetfulness or deliberate intent. Eve endured these 
impositions without complaint. By five o’clock she was usually so glad to be released that she 
would have worn a ball and chain had Dillon so desired. It was a delicious game in which they 
both were very happen.

Release followed a more or less normal course. While her hands were still bound she 
inquired flippantly, “How were the stocks and bonds today. Darling?”

“I’ve ordered the stocks in good, old fashion oak and a shining set of new chains for you 
wrists and ankles, sweetheart.”

“Very funny! I meant the paper ones?”

Dillon was suddenly serious, untying the captive hands as their owner could mix the drinks
they would now enjoy. “They’re doing nicely, Eve. I’m enjoying the business and getting a kick 
out of our investments. Ibben set us up for sure and I’ll never cease to be grateful.” Dillon 
chuckled, “I may never have to sell another slave.”

“I would hope not, seeing as I’m the only one you’ve got,” Eve delivered along with the 
glasses. She took her customary pose upon the rug, savoring freedom. She often admitted the
first few minutes after release made her day’s ordeal worthwhile. Dillon had sardonically 
suggested he leave her in the cage all night, enabling her to enjoy twice the fun. That 
suggestion was not met with great delight on Eve’s part.

Bright eyed, the kneeling girl watched her husband fingering the mail she had been 
unable to deal with in the cage. Dillon started and examined one letter with unusual interest. 
“Here’s one for you. sweetheart.” He tossed it at her feet. “It’s from Spokane.”

Yvonne Mallory was excited. Everything about her younger sister’s return to the U.S. 
packed a thrill. She knew nothing about Eve’s adventures but was thankful she had escaped 
the dark continent to settle in California with a husband, seemingly rich. Yvonne, along with 
the excitement, felt guilt in allowing her visit to accept delay. But now she was glad to be 
coming to her sister’s house. She longed to clasp her sister in her arms.

It was Dillon who opened the door, a brother-in-law to accelerate any sister’s heart. He 
kissed her soundly to tell her who he was. Breathless and happily bewildered, Yvonne could 
only gasp, “Where’s Eve?”

“Who’s Eve?” For a moment Dillon seemed at a loss. “Oh, Eve! Of course. Silly of me. Eve’s 
downstairs in the cage.” He consulted his wristwatch. “I’ll let her loose in an hour. In the 
meantime, how about a drink?”

Yvonne was at a loss, knowing that surely she had not heard correctly. Perhaps the cage 
was a polite term for the bathroom and the hour could have meant anything. Brightly she 
exclaimed, “I’d love a drink. Lead the way.”

Dillon was adept at conversation. He poured a doubly strong drink for his attractive guest 
and allowed its affect to soak in before approaching the main subject of interest. He did so 
with thinly veiled amusement.

“I don’t suppose you know I was a slave trader in Africa,” he said as if speaking of the mild 
weather. “That’s how I met your sister. I kidnapped her with a view to selling her.”

Yvonne made allowances, realizing there was much she did not know but was anxious to 
learn. Her brother-in-law’s extraordinary statement, so casually uttered, was probably in the 
same context as his reference to a cage instead of a bathroom. Clutching at her drink, the 
lovely visitor replied. “How ever interesting. I really had no idea!”

“Took her sixteen students, too,” Dillon continued. “They fetched damned good prices. 
They were mostly around sixteen or seventeen-just the right age for a black. I’ve never 
regretted getting Eve out of that damned fool school.” Dillon cocked an inquiring eye; “I 
suppose you wouldn’t happen to be a school teacher, too?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Well, I’ll probably find some way to get you off the hook, too. Teaching school is a waste 
of a good girl. You’d look good without (hose clothes.”

“Really, Mr. Soames!”

“I mean it. I can tell even while you’ve got them on. You mustn’t be offended. Call me 
Dillon. I’m certainly not going to call you Miss Mallory.”

Automatically Yvonne handed over her glass for a refill. Her sister’s husband was a new 
experience. Speaking as he did of unmentionable subjects. But even so he was a delightful 
looking male. Yvonne was acutely conscious that for the moment she was without a 
relationship. Cautiously she suggested, “I’m sure you’re coloring all of this just for my benefit.”

“Eh! I’ll bet you think I’m lying, sort of coloring things up for your benefit.” Dillon surveyed 
his wife’s sister, his new sister-in-law, with approval. With expert eyes he undressed Yvonne 
without her really being aware his thoughts were running to such extremes. Regretfully he 
thought of the colossal price he could have asked for her back home in Rashwana. He toyed 
with a pleasant vision of her standing in nude humility with wrists crossed and tied behind her
back. Brushing aside this pleasant vision, he said candidly, “It’s going to be hard for you to 
believe everything Eve and I have to tell you. So far you’re doing fine. Please don’t go off the 
deep end.”

“You think I should?”

“I don’t thing you should but I think you will.”

Dillon took a final deep breath before launching the bomb. “We’ve had a drink and gotten 
acquainted, sweetheart, how about we go back down and visit your sister?” Yvonne knew 
there was something wrong. Not terribly wrong but wrong enough to demand she brace 
herself. Dillon was either pulling her leg or a man utterly beyond belief. Primly she replied, 
“Yes, please! Poor, darling Eve, I so want to tell her how I sympathize with whatever she had to 
go through. That was a lovely drink, Mr. Soames, but two of them is enough.”

The business of going downstairs held menace but Yvonne set aside visions of dungeons 
and tortured young women. Dillon was all together too charming for things like that so she 
was prepared to make allowances. But the vision she finally beheld of her sister totally naked 
and with hands tied behind her back, peering through the bars of a cage with a welcoming 
smile was all together too much. This was most definitely not acceptable.

“Yvonne, darling, come and kiss me. It’s so good to see you!” Eve’s greeting could not be 
mistaken, it came from the heart.

Yvonne mechanically obeyed. The kiss was genuine, the bars of the cage served only as a 
minor hindrance even if it denied the use of hands and arms. Having achieved a most 
satisfactory kiss, the older sister turned to blast the man who kept her sister thus confined. But
Dillon had disappeared to leave the older sister alone with the younger. Even though there 
was only one year difference in their ages, it seemed a century. Determinedly, Yvonne took 
charge.

“What on earth are you doing naked in that cage!” she demanded in simulated anger. 
“And why are your hands tied behind your back? What goes?”

“Darling, don’t be angry. I spend every Monday in this cage. At five o’clock Dillon will let 
me loose and we’ll have supper.”

“He’ll let you loose instantly or I’ll go to the police.”

“Don’t be silly.” Eve dared not laugh. “Dillon puts me in here every Monday and here I stay 
until five o’clock. If you think this is bad, you should have seen some of the things I had to put
up with in Africa. Darling, stop worrying.”

Yvonne viewed her caged sister in silent disbelief. There was not only something wrong, 
there was something very wrong indeed. Mechanically she asked, “Is there any way I can get 
you out of that thing?”

“No, darling, only Dillon.” Brightly, Eve added, “Want to see the way my hands are tied?”

It was the last thing Yvonne wished but her sister turned and backed against the bars to 
reveal the manner of the binding of her wrists. At the same time she warned, “You mustn’t 
untie me, dear, it isn’t allowed. My hands have to be tied like this until Dillon decides 
otherwise. Please don’t fret.”

Yvonne took a deep breath, determined to be neither prude nor spoil sport. She knew 
there was something here she did not understand. Taken at face value, it was alarming but the
obvious unconcern of husband and wife reassured.

“You mean you can’t get out of that cage or have your hands untied before a certain 
time?” Yvonne inquired defensively. “That’s crazy. I don’t see why I can’t get you out of there 
right now. Are you sure I shouldn’t call the police?”

“The police would only embarrass all three of us, darling. Don’t even thing about it.” Eve 
played a trump card, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to be in here with me? I’m sure Dillon 
would lock you in with me if you asked. And even if he tied your hands like mine, we could rub
up against each other, it’s the nicest feeling!”

“Eve, are you out of your mind!”

“No. I suppose it’s because I’m farther alone the path and have become used to it. If you 
stay with us long enough, Yvonne, darling, you’ll get used to it, too. It’s lovely!”

Yvonne Mallory stood, her mind in a turmoil. But she felt only affection for a sister 
obviously in need of help. Very little of what the husband and wife had said since her arrival 
made sense. Yvonne was no longer certain her leg was being pulled. She must examine these 
absurdities before tossing them into the discard and leaving in a huff. She longed for the 
weight of authority and comfort of police uniforms. But truthfully saw no reason for the police
to be called in. Probably they had not broken any laws. Breathing deeply in decision, Yvonne 
was about to seek the absent husband to enlist his aid in entering the cage. But Dillon was 
ahead in this, grinning and eyeing his visitor’s flushed cheeks with obvious approval.

“Time’s up,” he said jovially. “Yvonne, my dear, you are about to witness your sister’s return
to normalcy.”

He unlocked the cage door and for a few moments held his beloved in his arms before 
suggesting they all go upstairs for a drink.

“This all makes sense to you,” Yvonne Mallory said accusingly as she sipped the drink she 
was sure she should not take. “But it doesn’t make sense to me. I think you’ve both got holes 
in your head. Do you want to clue me in as to what you the secret may be? I’m still thinking in 
terms of the police.”

They clued her in, taking turns to recount the joys and horrors of her sister’s enslavements 
and their belated awareness of desiring each other from the start. Dillon could have cared less
and was getting a sardonic pleasure from his role as a slave trader and Eve’s role as a female 
slave who’s price was high. But Eve was anxious to tell the whole story and gain her sister’s 
sympathy. Not with what was passed but with what they did now, the three days each week 
that she sent in bondage.

“I suppose it all seems incredible to you,” she finished lamely.

“It’s nuts. But, okay, I’m picking up the threads,” Yvonne said without enthusiasm. She 
sighed heavily. “You two have got something, I can’t help knowing you’ve got something and I
wish I had it, too. But I’ve never been to Africa.” She allowed her sentence to slither into limbo.

“No need to go to Africa, Yvonne.” There was a wealth of meaning in Dillon’s words.

“Darling, if you’re going to visit us often, it’s something you must accept.” Eve’s voice was 
gentle. “We’re not pushing this, we’re not crusaders. But we’ve got something a lot more than 
most people ever dream of. You can visit once in a while and take us as we are. But if you want
the feel of it, I’m sure Dillon will help. Yvonne, darling, do try and understand.”

Yvonne backed a little away from her sister and brother-in-law, looking at them 
despairingly. Thinking aloud, Yvonne said, “I might be able to sell myself on the cage, there’s a
touch of mischief in that cage. But why on earth do you have to be naked an with your hands 
tied behind your back? I suppose it damned miserable to have your hands tied that way all 
day and not even be able to scratch your nose.”

“Slavegirls don’t wear clothes, being bare makes them easy to tie and easy to punish,” 
explained Eve. “It was the first things Dillon did to me when he stole me from the school. As 
time passed I got used to it. And over there it was easy to see its logic. I wear clothes here four
days a week but I wished I didn’t have to.”

“But you can’t compare a bizarre and isolated incident in Africa to California. Darling, you 
just can’t!”

“I don’t see why not, it’s a very private thing.” Eve’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes shone 
bright. “I can understand that springing it on you like we did must be a shock. But if you’re 
really curious and seeing me with my hands tied offends you, why don’t you try it? Let Dillon 
tie your hands the same as mine for maybe an hour. You might find it different than you 
think.”

“Good heavens, no!” The negative exploded from Yvonne’s lips. “I’d Bate it and feel a fool. 
Besides, I’m not sure I can trust either of you to not leave me tied for the longest time. You’d 
probably think you were doing me a favor.”

It was heavy going but Mr. and Mrs. Soames were thankful the older sister had not 
stormed out of their house only to return with the police. The three of them had surmounted 
a hurdler and survived. Eve was fond of her sister and wanted only a continuing relationship 
with her. True she constantly had delightful visions of Yvonne stripped and bound and in the 
cage. But these she set aside to play hostess. The following day was Tuesday and the two girl 
went with Dillon to the city to do the things girls do with money and time to spend it. By 
evening Yvonne’s ruffled feelings were once more calm and during dinner fail to provide any 
acid reference to ropes or iron bars. The married pair sighed in relief.

But Wednesday loomed.

Dillon had decided on their favorite tree. The innocence of a tree was probably bad 
enough without the addition of constraints. The three of them went to the grove and, by the 
time they reached the slender trunk against which Eve was to spend her day, her elder sister’s 
displeasure become vocal.

“Really, this stuff is for children. Do we have to!”

“Don’t knock it,” Dillon cheerfully said. “Give it a chance to sink in a bit. Eve will be at your 
mercy all day and you can lecture her all you want.”

“I’m not in the habit of lecturing. Go ahead and play your silly game while I watch. I won’t 
promise what I’ll do after you go to the office. The day looks like being an utter bore.”

The visitor kept a tight-lipped silence while Eve stripped. When she thrust hard back 
against the tree, Dillon produced a surprise. As the handcuffs clicked Eve stifled angry protests
in the realization of the logic of hands securely chained behind the trunk. Without the key no 
one could set her free, especially not Yvonne. Yvonne made no comment, being far more 
concern by the tight strictures around her sister’s tummy, the cinching of slender ankles so 
they could not kick and the unkind cords which cut deeply into Eve’s bare shoulders to 
complete what Eve and the one trader in slaves considered an artistic and competent tie.

“Nice job if I do say so myself,” Dillon approved as he kissed his captive wife and the back 
of Yvonne’s shocked hand. Then he left.

Alone, the two girls stared, Eve in amused affection at her sister’s evident indignation 
spilling into words, “You mean he leaves you like this until five o’clock!”

“That’s right, darling, it’s only eight hours.”

“Don’t be so damned flip about it. As soon as I’m certain that man of yours is really gone, 
I’ll set you free.”

“You mustn’t, please don’t. Yvonne, don’t spoil things.”

“Then what am I suppose to do! I can’t possibly leave you in this appalling condition; 
naked and bound. And I’m sure those ropes must hurt.”

“You can sit and talk to me and then you can make lunch. After that there’s the TV or a 
good book or we can have conversation. We’ll have a wonderful day!”

Yvonne Mallory sniffed disgustedly. “I’m ashamed of you, Eve. All the private places of 
your body exposed. And standing against that tree like that can only be called torture. 
Perhaps only mild torture, but nevertheless torture. I shutter to think what Mother would say if
she were still alive.”

“Don’t you like my private places? I think they’re nice and they’re just the same as yours. 
It’s not fair bringing Mother into this. Mother isn’t involved.”

“I don’t strip in public. Really!!”

“Yvonne, you’re only a year older than I am but you make yourself sound about ninety. 
Loosen up.”

“That man of yours must be gone by now. I don’t see any sense in waiting any longer. I’m 
getting you untied.”

The bound girl stifled laughter but said nothing. Poor, dear Yvonne was in for a shock. She 
kept silent while big sister tugged and pulled at the bondage. As each rope was cast aside the 
maiden with a mission became increasingly cheerful. “When I’ve got you out of this mess, we 
can both go to town. I enjoyed yesterday.”

“But we can go to town again tomorrow,” Eve said reasonably. “I’ve always free on 
Thursdays.”

“You’ll be free for good by the time I’m finished with you.”

Big sister had now worked her way behind the tree to make the discovery Eve had been 
joyfully awaiting.

“Good heavens! What’s this he’s got on your wrists?”

“I think they’re called handcuffs, darling.”

“Yes, but how do I get them off!”

“You don’t.”

“You mean there’s some kind of key?”

“That’s right. It’s in Dillon’s pocket.”

Moments passed while Yvonne explored unyielding steel to finally exclaim, “But these are 
for criminals, they’re horrible things! I certainly never expected to see handcuffs on my sister.”

“There’s a first time for everything, darling.”

“You’re being flip again.” Yvonne exhaled heavily. “I really don’t know what to do with 
you.”

“Tie me again the way I was. We mustn’t hurt Dillon’s feelings.”

“I could care less about that idiot’s feelings. Look, there surely has to be some way I can 
remove these disgraceful objects you’re so proud of. A file or something?”

“Don’t mess with them. Dillon won’t want them all scratched up. They cost a lot of money.”

“You mean they wasted a lot of money.”

Yvonne abandoned her battle with criminal restraints to stand once more where the sisters
were eye to eye. “You knew about these handcuffs all the time;” she said accusingly. “You 
could have told me!”

“I didn’t want to spoil your fun, Yvonne. And I’ll admit it is more comfortable to stand the 
way I am without the rope. I’m every bit as much a captive, I can’t get the handcuffs off, either.
Cheer up, it’s not that bad.”

“Of course it’s that bad! I’m going to phone the police. I’m quite sure they’ll have a key for 
those beastly things. And then I’ll get you decently covered before they arrive.”

Eve was alarmed and suddenly wished herself free instead of at the mercy of a 
well-meaning girl who was going to mess up her life. Franticly she pointed out, “But think of 
the publicity. Think of the Press getting in on it and picking up Dillon’s past life in Africa! Think
of the headlines, ‘Slavegirl Says She Likes It!’. Or maybe something like, ‘Trussed Lust.’ Yvonne, 
for Pete’s sake, give us a break!”

Thoughts of publicity won the battle. The militant maiden visibly wilted in disappointment.
“Well, I suppose you’ve got a point. I couldn’t endure that kind of publicity, either.” Yvonne’s 
features lit up. “Since I can’t free you, you’ll have to stand like that all day. I guess it damned 
well serves your right. I’d tie you up again but I don’t know how and I’m not going to find out.
I’ve lost patience with you. Goodbye!”

Unable to do or say anything, Eve watched her sister go. She knew there was nothing she 
could say to make her stay. She had already tried to tell her that it was okay and she enjoy this
treatment. If Yvonne didn’t understand … well, that was that.

When it was too late to even shout, Eve slumped against the trunk to shed a couple of 
guilty tears she could not brush away. She had been unkind in thrusting upon Yvonne too 
much too soon. It was terrible to hear the sounds of Yvonne’s car as it backed into the road to
carry it’s owner away from two people she might have loved. Mrs. Eve Soames then faced a 
long, boring day as a prison to a pair of handcuffs. She would normally have enjoyed her day 
bound to the tree, even if Dillon had used the handcuffs. But her guilt at driving away Yvonne 
drove away all thoughts of eroticism.

By the time Dillon brought rescue with his key she was a sorry girl ‘ indeed.

Dillon Soames shared his wife’s regret but not guilty. “She would have reacted just the 
same no matter what we tried,” he told her. “There’s no way we should have kept her from 
finding out. If only the idiot girl had stuck around a while.”

“She isn’t an idiot girl, she’s my sister.”

“Well, okay, she’s your sister. What I should have done was use force and tied her up in the
cage. It’s never a good idea to be too civilized with a girl like that. Or any girl.”

“She would have been scared to death and had hysterics.”

“No she wouldn’t! There’s steel in Yvonne. It would take more than a night in the cage to 
break her. Damn!”

In somber mood they went to bed. Tomorrow was Thursday.





CHAPTER SEVEN - YVONNE


I should never have gone back. It was a mistake. On the Wednesday when I left I should have 
driven as fast as I could for Spokane instead of stopping in the tiny town near their house and 
renting a room in a motel. I told myself I was gaining time to think. I really can’t be sure about 
myself at that time because I was in a considerable dither of anger and regret. It was my only 
sister and I was very fond of her. After Mommy and Daddy passed away we had been very 
close until she embarked on that absurd adventure into Africa.

On Thursday morning I made a fresh start but didn’t cover more than fifty miles before I 
found myself in another motel wondering what to do next. I’d spent most of the time since 
leaving Eve with her arms behind that tree in trying to figure out the best thing I should do. A 
little voice inside kept saying I should forgive and forget. It was a fine jumble of emotions. 
Usually I have no doubts about the proper thing to do. But Eve and Dillon were hard to figure 
out. I got to wondering if I’d been to hasty or critical. Perhaps I’d been simply narrow-minded. 
I’d done a lot of reading but nothing in print had ever prepared me for discovering my 
beloved sister naked in a cage. But if you think about something long enough you fear it less. 
By Thursday midnight I knew I had to give it another try. After that I slept like a top.

It wasn’t easy. Perhaps I had ideas of redeeming my sister from danger and disgrace. But I 
stepped on the thought with both feet hard, telling myself about the open mind and sisterly 
love. Actually I had not disliked Dillon Soames. He was terribly masculine with a twinkle in his 
eye which told me he could be an amusing companion to anyone who gave him half a chance.
He “and my sister were tremendously in love.

Having got this far, the rest became inevitable. I told myself crossly I was not doing this 
because of Dillon’s physical attractions or only out of loyalty to Eve. I was doing it to be kind. I
wasn’t as stuffy as I’d made them think. After all that Rashwana deal must have been terrible 
for Eve!

At around eleven AM on Friday morning I was walking up the pathway to their door. I 
should have known! Eve had told me but it had sounded unreal, too unlikely to be true. Once 
more I was ill-prepared.

The door opened and there was Eve, but only Eve’s head peeking around the partly 
opened door. When she saw me her face lit up to tell me she was glad to see me and that I’d 
done the right thing. Her “Come right on it,” was hurried and a trifle nervous.

It’s silly of me to go on making exclamation. Once I was inside Eve slammed the door to 
stand looking at me sheepishly about the same way I was looking at her. But what counted 
were the irons, the irons of Henry Morgan and Captain Kidd, the Bridlewell Chains, and the 
ironed limbs of Newgate Prison. I had been drawn back two centuries in time.

My sister-was naked. I’d expected that. I’d expected some sort of restraints in metal but 
was unprepared for the massive anklets joined by quite a number of equally massive links of 
iron. The snug bands around Eve’s wrists were much lighter with a proper chain but still 
bespeaking dungeons and cells and criminals. Instead of inadequate words I threw my arms 
around her neck to hug her close and give her a chance to raise her shackled hands above my
head and return an embrace. It was the strangest home coming in the world.

It was lunch time but my sister refused to let me do a thing. I expected she wanted to 
prove something so, while I sat in idleness at the kitchen table, she hurried around making a 
frightful clatter with her irons upon the floor, while I watched in disbelief the ease with which 
she made coffee and sandwiches with a pair of hands she could never get far apart.

We were suddenly cozy. I made no mention of getting free of the irons she wore so 
carelessly. I was glad it wasn’t me because I would have been tripping all over the place and 
breaking dishes by the dozen. I wondered how many times she’d been confined like this but 
didn’t ask.

“It’s a gorgeous day, we could spend the afternoon in the sun.” She gave me a sideways 
glance. “Nobody can see.”

I tried to justify my running away but Eve raised a chained hand to place a finger upon my 
lips to tell me to shush. She said wisely she understood and I knew she did. Our coziness 
became even more cozy so I took the opportunity to blurt out a disclosure of which I was 
both ashamed and excited. Eve listened while I stumbled on with a lot of nonsense I need not 
have said until she gently interposed, “Oh, darling, do you really want to!”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

“Yes, I know. But you hated it so much!” Her eyes were wide. “I think you’re just doing it to 
make me feel better.”

“I’m doing it because I have to. I played the heavy part of a big sister for everything I was 
worth. It’s like all those things they tell you to do after you’ve nearly drowned or been in an 
airplane. Give me a break, darling, if I talk too much I’ll loose my courage.”

She nodded wisely and I saw how lovely she was and how the irons she wore were like 
costly erotic clothes enhancing what she already had. I knew it would take me a while to get 
used to her pubic hair but told myself it was not more difficult than getting accustomed to her
irons. Eve’s voice still held doubt.

“But naked! Darling, you made such a fuss about me being naked, and your hands tied 
behind your back? Yvonne, my lovely sister, it’s the damnedest feeling.”

“I’m sure it is. I expect I’ll survive. You can put me in the cage an hour and I’ll be safely out 
before Dillon comes home. I couldn’t bear to have him see me without clothes, I just couldn’t!”

I’d made Eve happy, I could tell. “Come alone then, darling.” Her eyes were shining, her 
voice held decision. “Don’t let’s have to hurry. If we start now, we can take our time and enjoy 
the whole thing. At least I’ll enjoy it, I don’t know about you.”

“Can I leave my clothes somewhere?”

“No where you’d want to,” my sister giggled at her private joke. “You have to undress in 
the big room outside the cage and you leave your clothes on the floor so you can see them 
but not reach them.”

“But, wouldn’t my hands be tied?”

“You’d be surprised what us girls can do with our feet. If you stick both feet out of the cage
with a bar between your legs, you can reach farther than with your hands. I’ve tried.”

Eve’s excitement was rubbing off on me. She must have been vibrating like crazy, I could 
feel the vibes. I was about to strip naked and allow my sister to tie my hands behind my back 
and then to lock me in a cage. It was crazy! But I felt a thrill, a different sort of thrill and 
guessed I was vibrating in my own way. Eve handed me a glass of brandy which I gulped 
down. Going to the place indicated, I shed my clothes. Gosh, this isn’t even easy to talk about.

The things I had worn made a small pile. I longed to use my hands to cover what I had 
previously called my private places. But I was certainly not make Eve laugh, and let dear Eve to
have a good look at me.

“You really are gorgeous, Yvonne. It’s a shame to cover up a body such as you’ve got. 
Dillon would flip.”

“We won’t give him a chance but thanks for the compliment. And now, about my 
hands…?”

It was the first of the strange feelings. I recognized it as something I’d never known. I 
stood very erect with my chin well up as my sister crossed my wrists behind me and went to 
work with cord.

“Why don’t you handcuff me?” I inquired for the sake of something to say. “Isn’t it a lot 
more convenient to use those police gadgets?”

“I don’t have the key, darling. And, anyway, this cord is a lot nicer. There’s a beautiful from 
me to you sentiment about cord. Hold still and don’t tell me it hurts.”

I held still. It hurt. Almost immediately I passed a point of no return and knew that no 
matter how I struggled my sister had me safe. I soon discovered it only took a couple of turns 
with a cord and a girl had had the course. I got more than the two twists. Eve was playing safe.
When she was finished, I went through all the motions I knew would gain release. I failed to 
get release but got instead chaffed wrists and one more laugh from the girl who tied the 
knots.

“You can’t get loose, darling. But please do try. You have to try or else you’ll never know. 
Don’t be bashful, it’s a really lovely sensation for you to work away all the time you’re in the 
cage. Go inside, you’re already my prisoner.”

It was one more of those moments! I could swear a small fire started inside my sex as I 
stepped through the cage door and turned to watch myself made a prisoner by a big key Eve 
turned in the lock. Then she hung it where I could see it but far out of reach. It might as well 
have been in another country for all the good it would do me.

I stared at my sister. She stared at me. This, too, was my first experience with iron bars. On 
this side of those bar? there was little of interest except the rug and cushion of which I was 
certain Eve had spent a good many hours.

“Want me to leave you alone? I mean, it’s sort of embarrassing this first time.”

She knew! But why not? There had been her own first time and no doubt she remembered
it. Uncertainly I said, yes, I would like to be alone. By now I really was curious and there was no
danger of Dillon coming back too soon.

“For the full hour, darling?”

I knew she was testing me. “Why not, let’s do it right,” I replied. But when she walked 
towards the door I almost cried out. Seconds thoughts about being alone an hour. Maybe I 
should have said fifteen minutes. An hour can be a long, long time.

Obviously I should devote my time to the freeing of my hands. It was obvious I could not 
break open the heavy iron barred door. But, if I could greet Eve in freedom from the cords, I 
would score points. At that moment this was something I wanted very much to do.

I did not get free! No doubt Dillon had taught my sister how to tie. Or she had picked up 
the skill from being tied herself. By the time I stopped trying I had a pair of well-chaffed wrists 
and was as tightly bound as when I started. Strangely enough this realization only added to 
the excitement of which I was becoming ashamed. I hoped it did not show. I made myself 
comfortable on the cushion to quietly consider this strange condition I had invited and to 
estimate its hold on Eve. Dillon was, of course, the instigator, so there was no need to waste 
time on him. Probably he had been born with the notion firmly planted in his mind of the 
bound and naked maiden he would one day own. Men have it good.

I had no means of telling time but when I felt certain an hour had elapsed without Eve’s 
return, I began to feel anxiety. When you’re naked and your hands are tied behind your back 
so that you knew you could not set them free, and you were locked inside a cage, panic easily 
follows your guess work on the time. When Eve finally showed up I was closed to hysteria and 
ashamed.

“Bet you were scared I wasn’t coming,” she reproved as if it were a great, big joke. “It’s an 
awful feeling, isn’t it?”

“It was awful!”

“Yes, but what about those other feelings before you got alarmed?”

“Don’t ask me, I’m ashamed. Damn it, Eve, what happens to a girl when she’s put inside a 
cage?”

My sister laughed. Mostly she said she thought about a man and what he’ll do to her 
when he lets her out. “I was going to tell you that you have been in there only forty minutes 
and I was going to leave you a while longer. But I cheated. Actually you’ve been in there ten 
minutes over the hour.”

“Is that all? I wasn’t sure I believed.” I struggled with my tied wrists to show her how well 
she’d done her job, then asked, “Aren’t you going to let me out, I’ve done my time?”

“Well, you’ve served your first sentence, true. But it seems you’ve had improper thoughts 
so you’ve received additional sentencing. It’s no longer an hour but has been advanced to 
two. That leaves you fifty more minutes.”

“Eve!” I added all the reproach I could to that single word. “We agreed on an hour. Don’t 
tease. Let me out.”

“Complaints will earn you additional time, darling. I suggest you watch your tongue.”

She meant it! My darling sister meant every word she said. My fears were being realized. I 
should have never taken that first step and let her tie my hands. Damn it, I told myself. You 
should have had more sense. Where did you get the idea Eve wouldn’t take advantage of your
helplessness. I looked at my younger sister smiling at me through the bars and knew myself 
foxed for sure. What I had to do now was make certain I spent no more than another hour in 
this cage. If Dillon walked in and found me like this, I’d die, I’d simply die.

Dillon Soames came home. The two hours became three and then four with no other 
excuse than that I’d made uncomplimentary remarks about my condition and the sister who 
held the key to my cage. There was no judge or jury so I knew I had to put up with her. Little 
by little I came to realize she would not deny her husband his pleasure in seeing me naked in 
his cage, my hands bound behind my back to insure him an excellent view of my body. I 
stalked up and down my cage, uttering threats interspersed with sincere pleadings. But I knew
I was sunk for sure. I was going to be exhibited naked to that man.

It was far worse than I had dreamed. The happily married pair entered the big room which 
held my cage, chatting animatedly about everything except ME. I thought about turning my 
back so my Brother-in-law could not enjoy my breast or pubic patch. But I realized he could 
walk around the cage and I’d have to keep turning around and around, too. The other 
possibility was to lay flat on the rug, but I didn’t want to. It would seem ridiculous and the 
curves of my bottom would probably interest him every bit as much. I stood inside my cage in
deepest shame, knowing I was blushing furiously while offering everything I had to pubic 
view. This was another of those moments I can’t define.

“That’s a lovely patch of pubic hair above your snatch,” Dillon observed conversationally.

“You wouldn’t see it if I had my hands. You’re both being very unkind.”

“Of course there’s also your breasts. Did you know you have perfect breasts, Yvonne?”

“You wouldn’t see them either if my sister hadn’t been so mean as to keep me tied until 
you showed up,” I said defiantly. “Let me loose.”

My son of a bitch of a Brother-in-law turned to my sister to ask, “Is it safe? Should we turn 
her loose?”

Eve had the effrontery to laugh at Dillon’s raw humor. “Let’s keep her in there where she’s 
safe and where you can keep on having a good look, darling, while I go and prepare dinner,” 
she said like a dutiful wife. She clinked her irons to sweetly inquire, “It’s past five, Dillon, 
shouldn’t you use your key?”

I stood there, visibly fuming while my sister was made a totally free girl. She did a few 
moves to demonstrate this unjustified freedom. At that moment I would have been more than
glad if Dillon had not unlocked her. When Eve went upstairs, I felt betrayed.

It was the damnedest communion ever. My Brother-in-law told me how beautiful I was 
and how .having my hands tied behind my back enhanced that beauty. I simply snorted. But 
then he went on to say how pleased he was over what I’d had the courage to do, telling me of
admiration and respect I had earned by yielding my wrists to Eve and allowing myself to be 
locked inside the cage. Dillon said it must have taken courage and a willingness to learn. After 
a while I found myself agreeing with everything he said. Gosh, how foolish can a girl become!

Strangely it was far worse when they let me loose and untied my hands. Almost instantly I 
didn’t know what to do with them. Or what to cover or whether I should cover anything! I 
stood there stupidly as I massaged chaffed skin before I caught sight of my clothes. I asked, in
outrageous humility, if I might put them on. Eve had obviously prepared our meal entirely 
nude so she and Dillon now professed concern as to whether or not I deserved clothes. It was 
decided I did not, They told me to cover myself would be premature to what they called my 
awareness of slavery. There wasn’t much I could do about it so the three of us went upstairs to
dinner with my sister and I being naked for the enjoyment of a man I was beginning to think 
of as “Master.”

I bet you’ve never eaten a formal dinner while entirely naked. I won’t tell you not to, it’s a 
most extraordinary experience and once more I was aware of the sensations within my sex. 
Even though it was outside Dillon’s range of vision, the attention he paid my breasts kept my 
pussy warm and tingling. I was constantly on the verge of getting up to go and find my 
clothes but Eve was the only sister I had and I envied her possession of Dillon Soames. If he 
had been available I might have latched on to him like a shot. As it was I knew myself secretly 
thrilled by his attention. We talked of ordinary things without consciously rejecting the 
slavegirl complex. We were three close relatives together and, since I’d briefly joined in their 
fun and games, I’d labeled myself a stuffy prude if I harped on disapproval. I think what 
bothered me most was the knowledge of how easily I could become involved.

Saturday and Sunday were fresh excitement. We explored the country side and whenever a
desirably backdrop came into view, my sister gleefully shed her single scanty covering to be 
prettily transformed into a damsel in distress for Dillon’s camera. Strangely enough, the 
camera added an element of normalcy to what we were doing. It was also an additional 
interest and I found myself making suggestion by which my sister’s bound exposure could 
make additional impact upon the lens. Neither of them suggested I take part but I got myself 
so interested there were times when I was tempted to emulate Eve’s yielding to the rope on 
bare skin. From time to time I caught Dillon’s sardonic eye. Dillon knew!

We used miles of film and went to the most expensive dinning place. I envied them all that
lovely money they had brought back from Africa, an income Dillon was increasing daily by 
whatever it was he did downtown. I’ve never understood anything about stocks and bonds. 
On Sunday evening I told them I was going back to Spokane in the morning. Their reaction 
was surprise.

“But, Yvonne, darling, Monday is my cage day!” Eve came out with it as if it were 
something I couldn’t possibly miss. “If you’re worried about being bored, Dillon can pop you 
in behind the bars along with me. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“I don’t want my last memory of you to be you stripped and tied and caged.” I sounded 
prim.

“But, Dillon can fix us so we can spend all day trying to free each other. Yvonne, darling, 
please stay.”

It was then Dillon caught my eye. “Look here, Yvonne, I can easily strip you and tie you and
put you in that cage right now.” He was using his slave trader voice. “It’s what I should do 
rather than have you leave feeling you’d done your duty and that was that. Eve and I want you
with us as much as possible.”

“So you’ve decided to keep me prisoner and have me around all the time. Is that it?” I 
wished I’d cleansed the acid from my voice.

“You know that’s not it. You know I won’t do it. But its the Rashwana way and it always 
worked. If it were essential to convert you, I’d have you in the cage so damned quick. But 
we’re all too civilize and both you girls would be offended by the force I’d have to use.”

“He Man? Caveman? The macho syndrome?”

“That’s right. I play male to your female. Eve and I have discovered how it works, you 
would too.”

He batted around the improbably subject of my captivity. I got so I didn’t mind just talking
and neither my sister or Dillon pushed too hard. I became no longer shy and found an 
mischievous pleasure in the sarcastic barbs in which my two relatives appeared to find only 
amusement. When the phone rang we felt only irritation.

Dillon was gone quite a long while to his office where he took the call. When he came 
back he was chuckling. “Remember Hebber Markham?” he said to Eve. “You’ll never guess 
what that call was about. He wants to buy Yvonne.”

I am so damned mad! I’m pacing up and down against the cage bars, my trouble being I’m
on the wrong side and can’t get out. My hands are tied behind my back and I’m refusing to 
tug and pull because I know damned well L can’t get free of the cords so why bother? My 
breasts are heaving, partly in anger and part in exertion. To see their performance I have only 
to glance down, I am naked.

I am disorganized! I’m up the creek without a paddle because I couldn’t make up my mind.
I’m breathing so hard because I fought Dillon when we had the struggle and he bound me 
and put me in her behind a locked door. I’m sure he really believed they tried sweet reason 
before resorting to force but I don’t agree.

And that ridiculous idea of a man buying me! No way any man is going to buy Miss 
Yvonne Mallory!

Later today a man is coming to see me naked and decide how much money I’m worth! I 
can’t give trouble because I can’t get out of this damned cage. But he can look in all he likes. 
And here I am, stark naked with my hands behind my back where they can’t do me a lick of 
good. I’m in such a dither I can’t even think how this all happened. But since my prospective 
purchaser is not due yet, I have to think of something. A replay of events is better than 
speculation on a horrid future.

I did the shocked silence bit after Dillon’s announcement. A customer for my body and 
charms??? The whole thing’s a pile of horse shit, it really is! I should have made a run for it last
night but I didn’t and here I am.

“What’s it like to be worth two million dollars?” Dillon was countering my shock with his 
sardonic grin.

“You’ve got two million dollars, so you should know,” I told him heatedly. “Are you trying 
to go for four?”

“Not me, sweetheart. Good old Hebber has bid that high and is willing to place it in your 
hot little hands in exchange for a year’s enslavement. Hebber has a thing about slavegirls.”

“If I ever get to see the bastard, I’ll tell him what he can do with his thing.”

“Hold on, sweetheart.” Dillon’s voice told me he’d been thinking. “Let’s give this a bit of 
thought. Two million dollars would give you a fine life forever. Get the drift?”

I got the drift. Being a school teacher is not a lush living but two million dollars, well 
invested, most certainly is. I found myself doing mental arithmetic, all very promising. By way 
of ending such thoughts, I said, “What would this scatter brain twit do to me in that year?”

“Pretty much what I do with Eve. You might get whipped a bit more but you’re a strong, 
healthy girl.”

“Whipped!”

“Don’t make it sound like the end of the world, Yvonne, my sweet. Girls handle it 
remarkably well except while it’s happening. Ask Eve.”

I didn’t have to ask. My bright eyed sister was tittering like a canary. “These things sound 
awful, darling, but a girl can handle them and then wonder what all the fuss is about. If good, 
old Hebber wants lead me to the whipping post for two million dollars, I’m sure Dillon won’t 
mind me saying yes.”

“We’re not talking about you, Eve, we’re talking about Yvonne. At the risk of sounding like 
a real son of a bitch, I’m going to tell her to accept the offer. It’s crazy to sneer at money. 
Money can make or break a life.”

The rotten bastard was actually wanting me to sell myself for cash! That was my first 
reaction. But then I got to thinking about two million dollars in my own pocket and for only a 
year’s work. Not the same kind of work as teaching a room full of brats, but….

“Do I get raped?” I demanded, still trying to ask a question they couldn’t answer.

“Probably. Now and then. No more than you’d give yourself to the horny young bucks you
meet on the job.”

“I don’t meet horny young bucks,” I told him acidly.

My fate was tossed around, bought and sold, and generally debated before bed time. This 
morning I was still saying no when Dillon simply stripped me naked, tied my hands and put 
me here in this cage so I could be viewed like any merchandise in a store. Oh, damn, I wish I 
could die or run away or blast this cage to bits. But the facts are that I’m going to be available 
for view when this guy comes. I don’t know what Dillon’s done with Eve, probably got her tied 
up somewhere around the place. Being Monday, I’ve probably stolen her cage.

As if this weren’t enough, I have to cope with the persistent realization of some sort of 
thrill, an excitation, probably sexual, that keeps telling me I have the opportunity to enjoy 
every erotic female thrill possible and, at the same time, get myself rich. I mean, I’m a very 
human girl, and two million dollars …!

It’s just not fair, I’m going to have to fight ME as well as HIM. Oh, shit!

Hebber Markham was not excessively middle age, not one of these ancient bodies who 
cling to the term long after it has passed them. He looked at me long and hard with rat-trap 
features. He came in and closed the door without any suggestion of this being a big deal. A 
couple of million bucks and a pretty school teacher were neither here nor there to him. I was 
already stripped but his eyes probed me like no man’s have ever. It felt like he was seeing me 
more naked than any other man.

Crisply I took the lead, “Good morning, Mr. Markham. I am bound in here against my will. 
If you are wise, you will insist I be released to return to Spokane.”

My comments may have hit a nerve. Hebber Markham smiled. “Why the hell would anyone
want to go to Spokane!” he exclaimed as if I had mentioned a really strange place. “That’s a 
lovely pair of tits you’ve got. They deserve a good pain job.”

“My home and my work are in Spokane.” I most have sounded haughty. “As for my 
nipples, they’re none of your business.”

“But you’re not trying to hide them.”

“I can’t, my hands are tied behind my back.”

“I’ve been talking to Dillon. He’s clued me in on where you’re coming from. I suppose 
they’ve told you that I once made a bit on Eve but Dillon sold her to someone else. That’s why
I’m here. Interesting situation, don’t you think?”

“It’s outrageous and can put you all behind bars for years.”

“I expect you’re right, sweetheart. But you’re behind bars right now and that’s what counts.
Tell me honest, girl, have you really and truly considered possessing two million dollars for just
one year out of your life? That’s all.”

I’d been considering it like crazy! My mind was filled with those seven digits. But I certainly
wasn’t going to say so. I was still wondering about the possibilities of getting in my car and 
driving north. Mr. Markham’s voice intruded, “Let’s call it three million, shall we?”

The thrill intensified. I even forget my nakedness and this man’s lecherous interest in my 
anatomy. I knew damned well that what I needed was Dillon Soames. He would have made up
my mind right quick. What I really wanted was my cake and eat it, too. I condemned myself as 
all sorts of a fool until the killer came in Markham’s measured tones.

“Four million.”

“How often will you whip me?” The voice was mine but I could not believe what I had 
heard.

“Whenever I feel like it. Slaves don’t dictate.”

Once more that flare of heat inside my sex! I had become a silly girl reading trashy novel 
and sitting in a theater’s darkness to gloat in my heroine’s travail.

“In case you’re wondering, my purchaser seemed to be thinking aloud, “these sums of 
money seem huge to you but aren’t really much to me. Once a guy’s up there, a few million 
one way or the other doesn’t seem like much. Make it five million if you want but I’ll expect 
value. Your sister Eve got well broken in. If I could buy her, I’d have a well finished product. But
you’re right out of the school room. Maybe you don’t even understand a lot of the things I’ll 
do to you. Remember, I can take you by force with Dillon’s approval. But I want consent all 
around. What do you say?”

Good gosh, what a decision! Mechanically I asked, “Where will you take me?”

“I’ve got a ranch, it’s not that far away.” He permitted himself a thin smile. “It’s not a horse 
ranch or a cow ranch. It’s a girl ranch. I’ve had as many as half a dozen there at times. But right
now there’s only one besides yourself-assuming you say yes.”

“Five million dollars in my sister’s hand before you take me?”

“That’ right, love, Dillon can invest it for you.”

“How will you take me?”

“One of two ways. Bound and gagged in the trunk of my car. Or drugged so you don’t 
know what’s happening. I think it would be nice if we rode together without a piece of rope. 
I’m not obsessed with tying you up but it’s a pleasant diversion when I’m in the mood.”

Another awful decision! In the end I said simply, “I think I’d prefer going with my eyes 
open and my hands free, if you don’t mind.” It didn’t sound like me at all.

For me everything was crazy. I was kissed and hugged both my relatives. Even Hebber 
kissed me on the forehead. I was reassured I was doing the right thing and had nothing to 
worry about except for a year’s discomfort. But what was discomfort???

Mr. Markham beamed. He was the one who would apply the discomfort. He had it good. I 
realized that in a little while I would simply allow things to happen. I thought about this all the
time I was putting on the clothes Eve return. She whispered, “It’s so wonderful, Yvonne, 
darling. Think of it, five million dollars! All Dillon got for me was two!”

She seemed honestly happy for me.

Everything is nuts. I felt a hell of a lot more naked and ashamed and scared as I walked 
down the stairs with darling Eve to yield myself to a strange man in a way I’d never dreamed. 
There was a sort of ritual about Hebber handing over the five million. The treasury bills by 
which he paid were certainly impressive enough to send shivers up and down my spine. For 
the moment I was happy.

I would have preferred to leave my sister and her love naked and chained and in the trunk 
of the car. That would have been high drama. To say goodbye and walk from their home to 
Hebber’s car took all the resources I possessed. As I was doing it, I positively longed to be 
naked and bound and gagged in the trunk. Make what you can of it but that’s the way I felt. 
Decision is of the devil himself.

I got a bit of courage back during our journey. Sardonically I

‘ suggested he might wish to tie my hands or place upon me some restraint from which I 
could not change my mind. When we stopped for gas or a hamburger I constantly asked 
myself why I should go back meekly to the car. But that’s exactly what I did. Or was it the five 
million dollars. Or the fire burning in my loins? Honestly, I did not know.

Hebber talked well and for a little while I forgot why I was in his car. When we got to his 
range, which wasn’t the least bit impressive, I found it hard to believe I was enslaved or could 
not turn around and go back home. But I was immediately handed over to a sweet thing of 
about seventeen and told abruptly to obey. I sensed a threat unuttered but implicit in the 
words.

Laurie was a sweetheart, I loved her at first sight and scarcely noticed Hebber’s excuses 
about his own affairs while Laurie briefed me on the things I had to do. She took me to her 
own bedroom where I was told to undress and allow her to fasten my hands so I couldn’t do 
anything that really mattered. It was no more than I expected, actually a lot less, so I did as I 
was told.

The handcuffs were a shock and for a moment I felt fear. Handcuffed I would be helpless 
in a way beyond rope and cord and straps. But Laurie was so sweet as I discarded the clothes 
which I would not need again for a long time. I allowed her to click the circlets upon my wrists 
behind my back. By this time I was seeing such impositions as de rigeur and beyond dispute. I 
had become a conditioned prisoner.

Somewhere after these events I was led to dine, naked and without hands. My owner rose 
in greeting, made certain I was comfortable and then ordered Laurie to attend my needs. We 
were served by a Mexican houseboy and his sister, both without the faintest interest in ME. I 
had to figure they had seen it all.

Hebber could talk. He told me of his early struggles in becoming a millionaire and of the 
fantasy with which he had been born, the fantasy of the bound and naked girl. He made no 
apologies but spoke of it as a fact of life with which he coped by maintaining this ranch. I 
gathered from this that his concerns with naked, tied up maidens was more than casual. I 
suddenly realized I had already gone too far down the road. I was naked and I was 
handcuffed. Escape was gone and whatever he or Laurie chose to do with me, they would do 
without hindrance. Once more I cursed in silence the heat my belly could not deny.

“Nice of you to come willingly,” Hebber Markham said from the head of the table. “Dillon 
would have used force if you had made a fuss. That pair wanted my money for you and the 
day will come when you’-re damned grateful to them.” He paused thoughtfully. “I understand 
about all you know comes from a tied up weekend with the folks. Scared?”

“Of course I’m scared. But I’m also curious. Please be merciful.”

Laurie fed me, a shameful thing but I was getting used to being helpless. By dessert I 
accepted her help easily.

“I usually whip a new girl first thing,” Hebber Markham continued while eyeing the 
merchandise he had just purchased. “Probably sounds like too much too soon but it’s the 
same principle as boot camp in the army, the worst comes first.”

“Why does it have to come at all, I’ll obey you?”

“You’re thinking of a reasoned obedience. But true obedience come from instinct. The 
seeds of that obedience are in you now, the whip is the best thing I know to make them 
sprout and flower. True, female obedience is a flower in full bloom;”

For a moment he focused his full attention on my breasts. “You are a very beautiful young 
woman, Yvonne, every bit as good as your sister. I would have paid five million for Eve if Dillon
had given me have a chance instead of hustling her off to Ibben Ben Makah on the first bid. I’ll
whip you after dinner.”

It was a good thing we had finished eating, the butterflies in my stomach were going crazy
and I’d be lucky to get down the cup of coffee still to come. I was frightened and became 
aware my hands were clenched into fists which pulled in opposite directions as if hoping to 
break the handcuffs link. I really believed that without those handcuffs I would have been off 
and running.

I did not know then that the whipping of a girl gives the ultimate in erotic pleasure to 
people of both sexes. It is almost an art form to those who appreciate it. One does not run 
into it in every day life but there are plenty of paperbacks in which the heroine is stripped and 
bound and most cruelly dealt with by the villain who later she decides to marry. These lurid 
accounts of female agony are accentuated by giving a blow by blow account as the poor dear 
reacts to each stroke of her sentence.

But I had never been whipped nor seen a girl whipped so I went to the marking of my skin 
in almost total ignorance. Eve had giggled with me about Dillon caning her bottom but I 
gathered that was very minor stuff whereas what I was about to receive was major league. 
Laurie whispered in my ear that I shouldn’t worry and I’d handle it just fine. But I noticed she 
didn’t say it wouldn’t hurt.

It was ray first glance at Hebber Markham efficiency. I thought it was just a funny looking 
couch up in the lounge but when I helped her pull it away from the wall she pulled a couple of
levers to bring into view a couple of solid wooden stocks, one pair for neck and wrist at the 
head and another pair for my ankles at the bottom. Laurie was contriving a lot of sympathetic 
giggling to tell me she would not unlock my handcuffs until I laid flat on my tummy and 
allowed her to fasten my ankles in the stocks. I understood her point and realized that from 
now on there wouldn’t be much freedom for me. When the wood clamped down hard to 
separate and hold my feet I was about as helpless as they come until my youthful jailer used 
her key to free my hands, allowing me a few moments to examine the circles on my wrists 
before inviting me to position hands and head to have them locked within wood. The wood 
came down and a lock was clicked and I was completely helpless. I was face down with legs 
wide spread and hands and neck held firm. He could do whatever he wished to my backside 
and I could do nothing. Laurie did something out of my sight and I suddenly felt the couch 
push up on my pussy, protruding my ass into the air. I’m sure it wasn’t more than a few inches,
but that was enough to make me feel as if my ass was sticking way out, as if asking for the 
coming whipping.

“I’m making your ass stick up,” Laurie said. “It’s for your own good. Maybe the Master will 
only use a riding crop on your ass and leave your back and legs alone.” Perhaps she sensed 
my doubt for she added, “Really, it is best this way.”

Men love girl’s bottom, so perhaps she was right. I sure felt like I was all ass and asking for 
it.

It was the damnedest sensation. The couch was comfortable and beside me stood a 
delightful girl who seemed to find nothing out of the way in my being whipped. But the 
manner of my bondage held my entire attention. I had never been like this, bound down or 
not. After what Laurie had said, my bottom felt cold, cold, cold. I felt like shivering.

When Hebber Markham showed up I lost no time in telling him I would like to go home 
and he could get his money back.

“A natural reaction, Yvonne. Would you like to be gagged?”

“No thank you, but please listen to me….”

That was as far as I got. The riding crop or cane or what ever it was cut squarely across my 
curves. The pain was terrible and beyond belief. Thereafter I made those outrageous sounds a 
girl in pain comes out with. There were moans and pleadings and sharp little screams when 
the instrument of torture impacted against my skin. I don’t remember what I said but I know I 
said a lot between the scream. I fought the stocks but they were as solid as granite. I could not
move but I never ceased struggling, I wanted out!

“That will do for the place on which you sit down.” Markham’s voice seemed a long way 
off. When my bottom was lowered back to normal I guessed I was only half way through. The 
whole of my ass was a burning, scolded blaze of fire. I used the time before he could begin 
again to tell him, with a terrible urgency, how obedient I would be and how he had only to ask
and I would do it. Anything. For a girl who had been a respectable school teacher a week ago 
this was a terrible surrender. But I was helpless and in pain.

“You’re coming along nicely,” Hebber Markham said. “This next bit will make you 
absolutely certain of what you’re saying.

The whip whistled and whined like a thing alive. Between every stroke I had half a second 
knowing it was on the way. The whip proved far worse than the slender riding crop he had 
used upon my ass. With me laying face down upon the couch he could deliver a stroke to cut 
me from the shoulders to hips. He also gave me a couple across my ass so I would know what 
the whip felt like there, too. By the time he had given me the twenty, which he assured me 
gravely was the customary dosage, I was hardly conscious beneath the waves of pain. Hebber 
Markham unlocked the stocks, pulled the levers which took them out of sight and stood there
watching as I lay there panting.

After a while, to make sure my master knew, I muttered, “I’ll do anything you want, 
anything.” And I meant it!

Hebber lifted me with that awful strength men have to seat me on another couch. A few 
moments later I was holding a brandy sniffer while my master did the same. I would always 
think of him as “Master”, it was the lesson the crop and whip had taught me. We didn’t say 
much while I drank the brandy. When Laurie took my empty glass, she clicked the handcuffs 
on my wrists before returning it to me. Then she left my master and I alone. I hardly noticed 
the handcuffs.

“Still want to go home?’ my owner inquired dryly.

I’m ashamed to admit it but I was once more seeing that five million that would be mine 
once this was over and done with. Hebber would probably not let me go anyway, so I said, as 
humbly as I could manage, “No, I want to stay. I’m your slave.”

We talked of this and that but said no word of what had just been done to me. At a still 
reasonable hour I was made to walk upstairs with the man whom I would soon be spreading 
my legs. His bed was wide and plush. I spread my legs upon it and was duly pierced by his 
erect weapon. He never offered to take the handcuffs from my wrists. He performed the 
sexual act with a cold competence as he had whipped my flesh. I tried not to respond but he 
mastered me in this as in everything else. I hadn’t expected to please him in bed but I did, 
probably owing many of my responses to the hurt flesh on which I lay. When Markham was 
satisfied, he unlocked the cuff from my left wrist to snap it tight upon my right ankle. In that 
grotesque contortion I was compelled to sleep, certain I would not run away.

In the morning my handcuffs were returned to normal and Hebber led me to a huge 
mirror to view my wounds. He explained he had not done this the night before because the 
best effect did not come until they had been allowed to “fester.” In disbelief I viewed the 
results of what Hebber had done. My first reaction was horror. He was all too quick to 
comment about how erotic my back and bottom looked and that every girl should be 
periodically whipped to improve her appearance. My feelings began to chance until I was 
again aware of heat below. In short, if I had been beautiful before, I was doubly beautiful now.

It was crazy and I expect relief at having it all over and done with was a contributing factor.
But, despite handcuffs and painful bottom, I was happy.

The first day of slavery was to be devoted to “lessons.” Good gosh, and me a school 
teacher. But I hadn’t been Hebber’s pupil too long before I discovered how much I had to 
learn. When you come to think of it, it’s amazing any American girl obey anybody. And if we 
don’t like something, we don’t do it. For me that day was gone. Tastefully attired in handcuffs, 
wom primly behind my back, I was taught to kneel and at the word “submit” to fall instantly to
my knees, which had to be well apart. From there we went to me standing before my master 
and reciting the four letter words for the most female parts of my person. My nipples became 
tits, my breasts were boobs. I need hardly mention the four letter word used for my female 
sexual organ. I blushed constantly.

Hebber Markham, in his role of ring master, held for my special attention, the slender 
riding crop by which my feet was scored. He didn’t use it. I never gave him the excuse. The 
hour I had spent locked upon his couch had made me the most obedient twenty-five year old 
woman in the U.S.A. Perhaps the whole damned world.

Next came some purely physical services I didn’t much care for but didn’t dare refuse. 
Every time I felt myself faltering, I looked at that riding crop and returned to my slavegirl task.

I kept assuring myself that this wasn’t me and this couldn’t possibly be true, that no girl 
could possibly change so much in the space of a few days, or maybe since my time upon the 
couch. These slavegirl lessons would have been impossible to the Yvonne Mallory of a week 
ago. Today I embraced them eagerly for fear of a return engagement with the whip. If this was
the instinctive obedience Hebber had spoken of, I gave it to him in full. With each command I 
did not stop to think-I did.

We went out into the dusty yard where a noose of rope was placed upon my neck so that 
Hebber Markham could hold the other end. I found myself running in a circle that led 
nowhere but in which I was told to keep the tether tight and given a specific and detailed 
account of how the crop would bit between my legs if I allowed the twenty-five feet of nylon 
rope enough slack to touch the ground. I was soon sweating in the sun and covered with dust.
In the brief periods I was allowed to rest, he assured me I was now giving off a very female 
perfume. My blush was becoming a permanent fixture.

I got a lot of this running around. Hebber assured me I was in poor condition and needed 
to be taut and lean for his pleasure. He wanted no fat on any girl he owned. Another of his 
cute notions was to have me stand breathlessly to rest while he kicked my feet apart and 
palmed my sex to discover if I was wet and juicy. At such times I tried not to meet his eyes for 
too often my puss was wet.

It wasn’t too long before I was really played out with this jogging routine. Finally I was told
I could “rest on a rail.” Shit!

I couldn’t climb the fence myself but Hebber lifted me and left me straddling the highest 
rail with a choice of falling off or sitting still. I wasn’t a bit anxious to fall off, not with my hands
cuffed behind my back. That left the sitting still which was also not pleasant. I wasn’t getting a 
rest, I was being punished. Sitting on the topmost rail in nude disgrace, I could not use my 
hands to ease my seat, nor was I permitted to use my feet to take my weight from my pussy. 
All my weight pressed my pussy into the rough wood. I tensed my thighs, I pressed my legs 
against whatever they could find.

In pure distress I sought my master’s eyes to plead, “I can’t stand this, Master. I’m sorry but
I’m going to fall.”

“You fall and it’s twenty with the crop.”

I found new courage. And prolonged agony. I was certain my pussy was becoming 
misshapen by this horrible punishment. I looked longingly at the ground but dared not fall. 
Twenty strokes on top of the marks my skin now bore was just too much. I hung on and 
moaned in misery.

About the time I knew I was going to die or be split in two Hebber Markham hoisted me 
back down to the ground and massaged the place where I hurt the most with a heavy and 
probing hand. But when I began to pant he discontinued. Sadists love to spoil a girl’s fun. I’m 
afraid I wished him to continue but I dared not ask for it. I stood there with scarlet face 
awaiting my next lesson and was horrified to learn it was to once more run in the endless 
circle at the end of a tether.

“But, Master, I hurt. It will hurt me terribly to run.”

“Snap out of it. It will do you good. Limber up your twat and get you back to normal. 
Don’t be a sissy.”

Once more I ran with the rope chaffing my neck as I kept it taut. If this was a lesson I knew 
not what I learned beyond humility.

Half way through the afternoon Hebber got bored. He said he had things to do and 
locked me in a cage, a big box affair made of four inch boards solidly braced and far beyond 
my capacity to move. There was room for me to stand and take a pace in any direction. I could
also sit down or lay upon the dusty soil. Thankfully I sat.

I had a lot to think about. After today there Would be three hundred and sixty-four days of
Hebber’s punishments. The five million seemed smaller. I wondered if I’d survive the week or 
what Hebber did with slaves who didn’t make the grade. For some reason my mind hooked 
onto the idea of being chained in a South American brothel or heavily ironed in Hebber’s own
dungeon, if he had one. I could not imagine Hebber being tolerant of weakness. I 
remembered the old proverb about buying a pig in a poke. I looked around my wooden 
prison and knew I came close to being exactly that. I sat there without trying to slip my 
handcuffs or trying to escape. What the hell, I wouldn’t get very far anyway!

It was Laurie who released me for dinner, keeping me handcuffed all through the bathing 
ritual by which I got rid of my smell, sweat and dust. It was replaced out of a bottle with a 
heavy perfume I felt sure Hebber would consider of lesser worth. My handcuffs were changed 
from back to front so Laurie would not have to feed me. Dinner was a pleasant return to 
civilization. Sure I was naked and chained but we talked of many things other than my day of 
punishment. Hebber talked pretty much the same as he performed the sexual act, cold and 
precise. From my lowly status as slavegirl I looked up at my master admiringly as he exhibited 
the same cold competence by which he had spread my legs and thrashed my flesh. With 
Hebber Markham I would never, never escape. But how could I escape-to do so would be to 
lose five million. That vast sum of money would hold me more securely than chain. But I 
longed most ardently to be back with Eve.

It was at this juncture my musings were interrupted by Lolita, the Mexican maid, tripping in
her haste to please and emptying the contents of a dish in our master’s lap. The silence was 
far worse than a bellow of rage. After standing stunned for a few moments, Lolita knew what 
to do. She fetched the riding crop, bent over and bared her bottom to demand breathlessly, 
“Master, please punish me.”

Hebber, who had by now dealt with the worst of the disaster and risen to his feet, inquired
casually, “How many?”

“Ten strokes, Master, I have been very bad. Please strike me hard.”

It’s crazy how the mind works but I found myself thinking of labor unions, government 
codes, and the possibility of legal action against a cruel employer. Lolita wanted none of 
these, she and her master had found the perfect medium. She would suffer pain and then 
resume her position. Breathlessly I watched while Hebber Markham, with immense accuracy, 
laid ten strokes across the plumpish bottom of a bright-eyed girl. Lolita was reasonable stoic 
but responded to each blow with a yelp and the swaying of her hips. The lines mounted on 
her stretched skin on which I now beheld the fading marks of a previous correction. I 
wondered what her brother thought of it all and why they stayed. But money probably 
enchained them as it did me. At the end of the last stroke, Lolita straightened up, rearranged 
her clothing, and said a modest, “Thank you, Master, I will try and be a better girl.”

It was my turn next but right then I didn’t know it. Hebber took me to his bed and, with 
the encouragement of friction of course covers on my whipped skin, I performed with what I 
felt certain was commendable skill. I had never been a sex pot but with the lessons of 
yesterday and today I felt competent to cope with the whims and fancies of this strange man I
must call master. But when he demanded I clean his phallus with my tongue and lips and then
to give him what he described as a “blow job,” I came close to being sick. Flatly I told him, “I’m
sorry but that’s more than I can do. Please sent me back to Eve and they will return your 
money. I’m no good to you.”

The silence was a fearful thing. I tried to rearrange my feature to hide the disgust but my 
master had seen all he needed to tell him what I felt. I think he might have beep searching for 
something devastating to say which I was realizing the enormity of my transgression. The look
on Hebber’s face was one of bitter hurt, wounded pride and a bruised male ego. Longing to 
retrieve my words, I knew I had broken a fence I could not repair. Kneeling on Hebber’s bed I 
bowed my head and waited for the lightning to strike. The handcuffs mocked my wrists.

Not words but action. I was flipped over on my face, my left wrist freed then joined to my 
right ankle. Not until them did my master pass judgment.

“Tomorrow.”

I was so frightened I did not ask what he was going to do to me. ‘Twenty strokes,” he said 
in answer to my unspoken question. “But my back is already covered with marks!”

“Not your back, your front” I cried myself to sleep.





CHAPTER EIGHT - PRISON


Over the rim of his coffee cup Dillon Soames grinned at his wife’s preoccupation. He 
conceded it natural for a girl to be deep in thought upon learning her market price had 
become ten million dollars.

“With the price of slaves going the way it is, we should have stayed in Rashwana, 
sweetheart. Maybe I should take you back and put you up for sale.”

“It’s put me in a dither,” Eve confessed. “My price started out at two million then Hebber 
Markham paid five for my sister, and now Ibben Ben Makah bids ten. Maybe you should sell 
me to him. With ten more million you wouldn’t have to go to the office every day. Once I 
would have thought two million was more than a man could want. But Hebber and Ibben 
make me greedy.”

“You are not for safe, sweetheart.” Dillon’s tone was firm, the voice of a slave trader who 
has made a deal and sticks by it. “But I am thinking about Yvonne. Five million is wonderful 
but ten is better. How long has Hebber had her?”

“Six months, poor darling.”

“Hmmm … she’s halfway through. When I told Ibben over the phone about our deal with 
Markham, he said he’d settle for that. He’s got a thing for you, darling, and even thought he’s 
never seen Yvonne he’s kidding himself that the two of you are twins.”

“In lots of ways we are.”

“Eve, my sweet, I have a devious mind. In trading slaves you have to give a little and take a 
little. What I’m wondering is if good old Hebber is bored with your lovely sister and might let 
her go if we return half his money. The dear girl would then have two million five hundred and
could go for Ibben’s ten. What did you think?”

“But the poor dear will spend all her life in chains! I’ll bet she’s pretty tired of Hebber right 
now.”

“Just one more year. Damn it, Eve, she’d be richer than we are!”

“And permanently scared?”

“Oh, come off it, Eve! These guys know what they’re doing. They value girls far too much 
to injure them.”

Eve giggled. Dillon, on the scent of millions, was a bloodhound. Mischievously she 
suggested, “Why don’t I go to Ibben? I’m the one he wanted in the first place. I think I’d like 
another ten million.”

“If you talk like that, I’ll put you in the cage even though it’s only Tuesday.”

“You could spare me for a year…?”

“If a man can spare his woman for a year, he doesn’t need her at all. No way!”

“Then let’s drive over to Hebber’s ranch and visit Yvonne and talk this new offer over with 
them both. I’d love to hear you and Hebber bargain.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. But it’s a cute idea. I’ll phone him right now but I don’t recall visiting 
privileges being extended. And ordinarily it’s best we stay away. But this … holy cow!”

On the way to Hebber Markham’s girl ranch Dillon was cheerfully cynical while Eve, at his 
side wearing handcuffs in the manner of silver bracelets, seethed with excitement. She would 
see Yvonne once more and run again into a man who desired possession of her body.

Hebber Markham greeted Mr. and Mrs. Soames with obvious warmth, his eyes devouring 
her. For Dillon Soames he reserved those quiet comments by which slave traders 
communicate. They understood each other. Yvonne was no where to be seen.

“She’s downstairs in the cage,” Hebber volunteered finally. “I like that one of yours so I’ve 
barred off half a stone wall and installed a few things around the walls. I like the effect.” He 
tossed Dillon a key. “This gets you in the cage. But it doesn’t get Yvonne out. You’ll see what I 
mean when you’re down there. In the meantime I’ve a few things to attend to. Help 
yourselves.”

Yvonne was naked and chained. The cage was half dungeon rather than pure barred cage. 
When she saw them enter she exclaimed in joy and leapt up to meet them at the eight foot 
limit of the collar and chain on her neck. Hebber Markham had been right in saying she would
not leave the cage. Dillon stood and enjoyed their pleasure in reunion. Eve was free and could 
clutch and hold enough for both. When the two girls calmed down something terrible took 
place.

As if seeing Dillon Soames for the first time the chained maiden kneeled at his feet to bow 
her head in submission and rest chained hands upon her pubic bush. “Welcome, Master.” It 
was all she had to say.

When Eve realized her sister played no mischief but was in dead earnest her heart was torn
in pity. Something was wrong.

“Yvonne, that’s not a bit funny,” she reproved sharply. “You know you don’t have to do 
that with Dillon. Does this owner of yours make you do it all the time?’

“Of course I do it all the time, I have to. Slavegirls must always be on their knees when 
their Masters enter.” The tone was one of patient explanation.

“But you don’t have to do that with Dillon!”

“Dillon is a man. I must kneel to him.”

It was beautiful but frightening. Such a change in a girl who had never knelt before a man 
in her life. Breathing heavily, Eve said, “If you’re so sincere about humility let me hear you ask 
Dillon to give you a whipping.”

The response was instant without pause for thought. “Master, please give me a whipping, 
a real one so it hurts a great deal.”

Tight lipped. Eve Soames gave her husband a single meaningful glance then marched 
upstairs to leave Dillon in a silent communion with the kneeling nude.

“Beautifully trained, isn’t she.” Hebber Markham was at his desk in the office. “By the time I
return Yvonne to you she’ll be totally obedient and utterly submissive. She will obey any 
command you chose to give.”

“She’s at that point now, you’ve broken her!”

“Broken is a bad word. Try ‘changed’.”

“Changed is worse, you’ve made her a zombie.”

“Only in so far as obedience and humility.” Hebber Markham emitted his short, thin laugh. 
“Send Dillon back up her while you do the visiting. Your sister will instantly revert to what you 
would call normal. She might even give you an argument.”

Eve tried again. Dillon was intrigued, seeing the whole thing as a psychological 
experiment. Less concerned than Eve, he returned back upstairs.

Alone, Eve found her chained sister and entirely different girl. Yvonne was suddenly 
animated and alive. Once more then embraced. It was obvious she was so accustomed to 
chains she no longer noticed them. “I’ll love being obedient for you, Eve, because I know I 
don’t have to,” she said solemnly. “But with men it’s different. My Master taught me to fall to 
my knees and do everything I’m told. Please don’t be mad at me but I sort of like it. It saves 
me wondering about decisions.

“You’re broken, that’s what’s happened to you!”

“Not really. I simply have to obey. If I don’t obey, I’ll be whipped and I simply can’t stand 
being whipped, it’s simply awful.”

“You just asked Dillon to whip you now!”

“That was a part of obedience. You told me to ask to be whipped and I obeyed.” Yvonne’s 
eyes shone with happiness. “But I hoped he wouldn’t whip me and he hasn’t so I’m really 
happy. It’s terrible when a girl is made to ask for the whip. It curls me up inside. But please 
don’t worry, I haven’t been whipped in weeks. Look at my back, the marks are almost gone.”

“What you’re telling me is you don’t stop to reason, you obey that man upstairs 
instinctively.”

“That’s right, darling. ‘Instinctively’ was the word Hebber used when telling me what he 
insisted on. Eve, darling, I know it was so different with you. He had to punish you only a little 
bit and other men punished you a lot. But by that time you’d fallen in love and your love for 
Dillon is far nicer than being trained. You’d do anything Dillon ordered you to and don’t 
bother denying. Well, that’s about the way it is with Hebber. Except I don’t love him. I’ve got a 
sort of slavegirl affection for him because he’s really wonderful in bed and he’s so ingenious 
with his other punishments. Think, darling, only six more months!”

“If I could arrange to take you home with us for just half the five million, would you 
come?”

“Not unless Hebber ordered. But I want to stay here, I want that five million. Please, 
darling, don’t make it any more difficult than it already is. When I say I want to stay her I don’t 
mean I’m in love with everything that’s done to me everyday.” She giggled. “Hebber says that 
this cage is the visitor’s room. I’m chained her only so you can visit me. But I can’t go upstairs. 
If I embarrass Hebber by things I tell you, he’ll whip me something awful after you’ve gone.”

“The guy is whip happy!”

“Not really, I’ve only been terribly whipped about six times and that works out at about 
once a month. There’s been lesser things, of course, like bending over to get six cuts with the 
cane on my bottom. That’s just part of being a slave. Lola in the kitchen is absolutely free but 
she often gets her bottom caned or cropped but she doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Yvonne, darling, Dillon is upstairs talking to Hebber about an extraordinary offer we’ve 
just had from that guy I told you about, Ibben Ben Makah. If you want to yield to him for 
twelve months, he’ll pay ten million dollars. He thought he was in love with me and I suppose 
that explains his generosity. Would you want to accept the offer?”

“Not unless Hebber tells me to. I’d hate the prospect of another twelve months of being 
chained and punished. But that’s an awful tot of money.” The girl who’s neck was circled by an
iron collar mused quietly for several moments. “I won’t make a decision, I’m not sure I can any 
more. The two of you must make whatever deal you like. I have to obey whatever I’m told so 
I’ll be no problem. You don’t need me in the decision making. I won’t tell you I’ll be happy 
either way, I’ll simply do what I’m told.”

Once more Eve Soames went upstairs.

“Hebber tells me he’s satisfied with the deal the way it is,” Dillon told his wife regretfully. 
“Yvonne is well broken and the way he likes a girl. Hebber’s not concerned with money.”

Eve considered that. She and Dillon were intruders in what seemed to be an ideal scene for
both Hebber and Yvonne. Hebber got his submissive, well-trained slavegirl, Yvonne got 
someone who would give her orders. That was the way she saw it. Yvonne had survived thus 
far and could probably serve the rest of her sentence without being scared any more than she 
already was.

Hebber Markham seemed to read Eve’s thoughts for he offered a sly compromise. “Look, 
honey, I’m not a bastard and I’m not going to be inflexible. I’ll accept you in place of Yvonne 
for the rest of her indenture.” He winked at Soames. “That’s a damned good offer. You’ve 
probably got a guilt complex about the whole thing so here’s you’re chance to get rid of it.”

“You always wanted me, didn’t you?” Eve told Hebber.

“Sure I did but Dillon horsed that up.” He turned to Eve’s husband. “You wouldn’t happen 
to be bored, would you? It’s an honest offer. Take Yvonne home and leave Eye here. I don’t 
feel I’m being that much of a bastard.”

Flame lanced Eve’s flesh in the familiar fire of lust. She had not real feeling for Hebber 
Markham but his wish to possess her was something no woman could fail to find flattering. 
Eve didn’t like that feeling and knew it was time to go.

“He’s a cold fish,” Dillon observed on the way home. “But the more you talk to him, the 
better he comes across. I’m damned certain he’s got your sister where he wants her and by 
the time we get her back she’s going to be so damned submissive I’ll find her hard to live with.
First thing you know I’m going to be an unfaithful husband. Submission is one thing I find 
hard to resist. When she knelt there, so humble at my feet, I could have screwed her right 
there and then. I don’t know if you realize it, darling, but you were looking at the very essence 
of femininity something most men would give their life to own and never will.”

“All right then, you like that. So take me back to Hebber Markham and go back home with 
Yvonne. I expect after six months of his tender care you’ll get me back a pretty submissive 
woman, too. Broken is a good word for it. If that’s what you want.”

“That’s what I want.”

“I’ll play it out for you, you’ll never know the difference.”

“I’ll know the difference, I’ll feel it.”

“Then you’d better take me back.”

At the next intersection Dillon made a U-turn that changed their lives.

“I’d suggest you tie her hands behind her back, she’s accustomed to being helpless,” 
Hebber suggested. “You’ll notice I already have your wife’s hands handcuffed behind her back.
This should be an interesting experiment.”

Dillon tied his sister-in-law’s hands behind her back, he tied her hard and cruelly but was 
unprepared for what came next.

“You must tie my elbows also, Master. Tie them so they hurt. It is only fitting.”

In a dither of lust, Dillon Soames bound the lovely elbows tight together while wondering 
if either he or Hebber Markham was not insane. Avoiding Eve sardonic eye, he carried her 
sister to the car and tied her ankles tight. He drove away without a backward glance.

There was no awkward silence. “You have tied me beautifully, Master. I cannot possibly get
free.” Yvonne might have been speaking of the weather.

“I’m going to be worrying about Eve,” Dillon confessed. “What will that son of a bitch be 
doing to her about now?”

“We do not know, Master. He loves Eve in a way he never loved me. I was flesh’s desire for 
him but Eve is heart’s desire. I envy Eve the love you shared. You must use me totally and in 
whatever way I may give you pleasure. I am a slave. I know I am a slave, don’t tell me 
otherwise.”

“Shit! What I’ve feeling now is guilty.”

“Then punish me, make me scream. Lust will banish my sister from your mind.”

Dillon spared his sister-in-law a sideways glance. “Wise little trick, aren’t you. Maybe 
Hebber has something, you’re not the same girl he took six months ago. Damn it, I can’t wait 
to get you home to ravish you!”

“You mean fuck me, right Master?”

“Good gosh, has he got you trained in four letter words?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what he taught me to do. Will you order me to give you a blow job, 
Master? I now do it very well, even though I hate it. But I will obey.”

Dillon laughed, for a moment guilt forgotten. “I don’t know how Hebber coped with you. 
I’ve had an erection ever since that first moment I saw you collared and chained to the wall. 
I’ve still got one. I’m sure a lot of guys would envy me but a permanent hard-on gets to be a 
damned nuisance. You’re dynamite.”

“If I offend you, Master, you can punish me. I’ll be no problem.”

“That’s what you think. Look, sweetheart, what’s Hebber Markham going to do to Eve?”

“He will whip her several times before placing her in daily restraint. Each night she will 
share his bed as I hope to share yours. Her left hand will be chained to her right ankle so she 
cannot run. Beyond these things I do not know.”

“Want me to untie your arms? They must be hurting.”

“No, Master, slavegirls’ elbows are suppose to hurt.”

Dillon spared a second glance, heavy with disbelief. “I don’t believe you,” he said flatly. 
“You’re just too good to be true. Are you sure you’re not having me on?”

“Master, if you believe me false then why not free me of these cords. I will still sit at your 
side and do your bidding. I have been well trained.”

On impulse Dillon did exactly that. Turning into a side road, he peeled cords from lovely, 
vivid flesh to drop them on the car floor beneath his slavegirl’s feet. She was free. Yvonne’s 
thanks were undoubted sincere, her voice becoming mischievous. “Now you can worry about 
me all the way home, Master. I will not leave you unless so ordered.”

Dillon Soames was uncertain of this lovely creature by his side. Hebber Markham had 
converted Yvonne into the epitome of the male fantasy. He had her, possessed her totally. But
the visions in his mind were those of Eve. A man was never satisfied with fortune’s bounty but 
wanted more. Hebber Markham had been kind, even generous. He could not possibly go back
and seek another trade. Savagely he trod upon the gas.

Safe within the home garage, Yvonne daintily stepped from the car to kneel upon the 
concrete floor, proclaiming submission with every fiber of her being. She radiated a childish 
wish to please. Dillon’s heart was torn but his voice was gruff. “Okay, gorgeous, you’re 
wonderful. Run on up to the lounge and mix us both a drink.”

Dillon took his time, knowing full well what he would see when he joined the lovely 
nakedness fate had made his captive. Once more his breath caught in his throat as he beheld 
the kneeling beauty sipping her drink, knees apart upon the rug before the exact place where 
he would sit. He accepted the offered drink and made a toast.

“Here’s to beauty.” He laughed. “Don’t think I don’t know it when I see it. Yvonne, you’re 
just too beautiful for words.” They talked in a comforting return to normalcy. Yvonne’s 
kneeling nakedness forgotten in an exchange of views and quaint comments. But Dillon was 
soon aware of an instability in the flow of words. Yvonne, with total naturalness, slipped back 
and forth between the school teacher from Spokane and the slavegirl created by a most 
unlikely male. In wonder Dillon came to concede these dual roles his sister-in-law played with 
such skill. Yvonne was a split personality, unconscious and at ease in both.

“Master, I should be free like this,” she offered.

“It pleases me to see you free. Don’t worry about it.”

“Master, I have enjoyed this freedom but I am a slave, I should be restrained.”

Dillon gazed down tenderly at this girl who’s life he had so changed for a price of dollars. 
Surely Eve could never match this selfless slavegirl. Eve had a spirit. But then he remembered, 
the girl who had come to them from Spokane, she had possessed a spirit, too. But look at her 
now! Hebber Markham had wrought change.

“Wear handcuffs if you wish,” he said indifferently. “You know where they are. You can click
them on yourself, you don’t need me.”

“That is not as it should be, Master.” Yvonne was hurt.

Dillon cursed himself for a fool. A treasure knelt at his feet and he was treating it 
off-handedly as if his mind was somewhere else, as indeed it was. Masters did not apologize 
so he avoided that mistake to laugh and say in his slave trader voice, “Get me the irons, I’ll fix 
you good.”

There could be no mistaking Yvonne’s satisfaction as she laid the heavy pile of metal 
beside him on the couch. It was not happiness but rather a sense of things being done 
properly. One by one she offered wrists or ankle at his command. With the irons heavy upon 
her limbs, she stood before him for moments in which he could admire the loveliness of a 
chained girl.

“My I refill your glass, Master?”

Dillon handed it over. “And you’re, too, sweetheart. Can you handle those chains?”

“Yes, Master, I have been ironed often.”

The clatter of links as Yvonne walked to the bar left Dillon breathless. This girl was perfect! 
He saw now how right her demand had been, the chains enhanced her loveliness.

“I cannot now run away, Master.” There was a twinkle in the slavegirl’s eye as she gazed up
adoringly over the rim of a glass now held by hands most properly linked. Such perfection 
would be habit forming for a man, tugging at him with the invisible chains of love.

Testing them both, he said, “Look, sweetheart, we’re together for six months, you’re 
my-slave and you can also be a good companion.” He sighed heavily. “But I’m not a bit sure I 
can live up to good, old Hebber’s standards. I can buy and sell them but I’m not a bit sure 
how well I live with one. Eve was different, I’m thinking of you.”

“You must whip me, Master. It is good for a new slavegirl to be whipped. It robs us of false 
pride.”

“I don’t want to whip you.”

“The man named Hebber, my former Master, whipped me terribly on the first and second 
days. The first was that I might understand his mastery. The second because I disobeyed. At 
the end of that second day he whipped my breasts to tell me who I was. He taught me the 
slavegirl’s daily pledge which I made to him each morning before my punishments began. I 
would vow it to you now everyday if you permit.”

Dillon was intrigued. Obviously there was more to Hebber Markham than met the eye. 
“You are on your knees, so make this pledge. I’ll treat it with respect.”

He smiled gently at the pleasure on her face.

“Please not to laugh, Master, this means much to me.” She drew in a breath and began the
pledge in a solemn voice. “You are my Master, the man who owns me completely. I adore you 
and will obey you in all things. Punishment me when I deserve or when it pleases your caprice.
Use me as you will.”

Her voice quivered into a silence vibrating with love.

“Come. Lay your head on my knees, it is what your sister used to do. You are very, very 
sweet.”

The slavegirl positively purred under her master’s fingers. Dillon played gently with every 
erotic zone within his reach. Her response to fingertips was ardent and instant. But even as 
she arched her body against his leg, she insisted, “You must whip me, Master. It should be 
done.”

“Damn it, Yvonne, there’s just no way I’m going to whip you. You’re too bloody beautiful.”

“How else may I call you Master if you have not mastered me?”

“Oh, all right! If that is what you want,” Dillon said laughing. “I’d better do this right so you
can tell me how Hebber had you fastened on these occasions.”

“He had a couch, Master. It had stocks for my head and wrists and others for my ankles. 
He whipped me from my neck down across my bottom. He whipped me very hard.”

“So you want me to whip you very hard?”

“Yes, Master.”

Dillon Soames drank in the loveliness of the bowed head, the superb breasts, and above 
all the heavy chains that held secure this slavegirl. He had not the faintest wish to whip her 
creamy skin but since it was her wish….

Dillon drank in the picture of the suspended nude, hanging by a noose around the big toe
of each foot while her irons hung between the tractioned legs. Yvonne’s hair swept back and 
forth across the floor as she swayed and awaited the lash. It was a strange posture in which 
her back from neck to bottom was completely open to the thong. Her big toes held her 
weight totally but the stain and agony showed in her face.

Curious, he asked the question, “Is this not punishment enough?-Must I whip you, too?”

“You must whip me, Master. This is less than I deserve.”

Dillon Soames whipped Miss Yvonne Mallory with the competence born from whipping a 
hundred female slaves in a distant land, condemning himself for the erotic arousal the wicked 
marks generated in his loins. The girl was no Stoic, her screams were vivid and music to his 
ears. Perhaps this suspended girl in pain was his beloved Eve!

Dillon could not tell but struck and struck again in a growing awareness of Yvonne’s need. 
For them, each strip would be a bond.

“Well, is that enough?” Dillon’s question held less venom than his whip. Somehow he must
cope with this gorgeous creature for the balance of Eve’s sentence. But surely no man. could 
whip Yvonne Mallory for half a year! Seated on his favorite couch, he gazed down in wonder 
at the kneeling girl.

“Toes hurt?”

“Yes. Very much. It is the first time I’ve ever been suspended by my toes. You are inventive, 
Master. Thank you.”

“You sure you’re not a masochistic?”

“No, Master. I get no pleasure out of pain. My pleasure comes from you, Master, as your 
whip bits my skin.”

Dillon Soames knew himself enmeshed. Here was the final eroticism to which a man might 
be exposed. This girl was glorious! If Hebber could thus mold a girl, what might he now be 
doing to Eve!

“You must fuck me, Master, while my back still burns from the whip. I give the greatest 
when in pain.”

Dillon Soames carried her thankfully to bed.

But there was still tomorrow!

Hebber Markham watched the red line form, tomorrow its color would change but for now
it was the purest beauty in the world. He thought aloud, “I’ve never known anyone to 
deliberately whip the armpits of a girl.” The tone was conversation. “Yet it is one of the most 
rewarding areas of maiden skin. Did that stroke hurt?”

“Most terribly, Master.”

The suspended nude had a quality all her own. The back of Mrs. Eve Soames was already 
well striped. But Hebber was intent upon exploring all areas of this lovely girl, all areas that 
might cause pain. He struck Eve once again with wicked accuracy to cause a second weal to 
rise in crimson glory in her armpit. Eve Soames whimpered but did not scream.

“Why do you not scream, Eve?”

“I should not offend your ears, Master. And I hate the sounds of screams. I do my best but 
the pain you give may become more than I can bear.”

“I suppose you have had the thong delivered upward between spread legs?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Tell me the place deserving of attention.”

“I cannot, Master. All of me has been well whipped by Dillon or yourself. You have whipped
one armpit but there still remains the other. You have whipped all else.”

Eve’s voice trembled as she hung suspended by noosed thumbs, her toes inches from the 
ground. She moaned steadily as Hebber’s leather scored the female secret places. She fought 
back the screams.

Hebber Markham’s voice pursued. “You have forgotten the soles of your feet. Tell me of 
them.”

“They have not been whipped, Master. Please, I beg of you, Master.”

It was at least a short reprieve while the owner of the girl ranch bound back each of Eve’s 
feet against her thighs to point her soles towards the ceiling. In anticipation, Eve Soames 
could do no more than plead and moan in despair.

“Please no! Please, Master, not my feet! Not my feet! I think it is an agony no girl can 
bear.”

Hebber Markham whipped his slavegirl’s feet.

It was an agony beyond imagining. The suspended girl forgot her pride, her wish to 
please, everything but the pain she could not fight. Each blow of the leather evoked sounds 
such as Eve had never heard. It was a pain like no other, far worse than the cropping of her 
bottom or the whipping of her back, possessing no virtue of the erotic such as the lashed 
breasts, caned bottom, or the seeking thong between her thighs. The entire world became the
pain exploding in her feet. She forgot her aching thumbs, her scolded and smarting body, 
even the prospect of six months of this man’s cruel attentions. In anguish, Eve knew with 
certainty she would not be able to walk, perhaps never again.

Had she been suspended by her wrists she could have contorted and twisted to make his 
task more difficult but such jerking would have hurt her thumbs terribly. She hung and hurt.

When Eve slipped into unconsciousness, Hebber tossed aside his crop and kissed the 
bruised flesh his whip had kissed first. Swiftly he lowered the girl to the floor, freed the swollen
thumbs but not the red feet, and carried her upstairs to his bed. He brought his slavegirl back 
into the world with generous amounts of brandy before mounting her fiercely in the strangest
coupling either of them had ever known. It was long after their final gasp of ecstasy, Eve’s 
agony returned.

It had been two days and three nights since Eve’s “welcome.” The terribly whipped girl was
puzzled in a fresh enslavement in which everything was suspect but during which Hebber had 
been kind. They had agreed with their first laughter after the event that Eve was unlikely to 
run away on punished feet so no irons were placed upon her tender skin. Only her wrists were 
crossed and tightly tied. She did not mind such mild bondage. Each night she lay across a 
bound forearm for her master’s pleasure and, shamefully, her own. Hebber Markham was very
potent and could never get enough of her. They spent their time in a conversational 
exploration of each other during which Eve’s fear of once more being whipped was dissolved 
by normalcy, a normalcy which accepted both nakedness and bound hands without concern.

Eve could walk only a few steps before collapsing to the floor but Hebber always gathered 
her up and carried her where ever the need might be. As she knelt beside his chair at 
mealtimes to be fed, or upon the rug in the familiar lounge, or on the shaded porch were they
could view the broken landscape around the ranch. Gaining courage, Eve dared to ask 
questions.

“Am I the first girl who’s feet you’ve whipped?”

“No.”

“Don’t you feel sorry for what you’ve done to me?”

“No.”

“Then I can expect to be whipped again?”

“No.”

The three negatives brought laughter to them both. “Fact is I simply don’t want to whip 
you again, honey bunch,” Hebber admitted as if puzzled by the fact.

“I’m terribly grateful. Six months is a long time. So now I’m wondering about daily 
punishments. Dillon punishes me three days a week by taking away my freedom. But you 
punished Yvonne every day. Why aren’t you punishing me every day?”

“Damn it, Eve, you asking for it?”

“Gosh, no! There’s something kind about you I hadn’t realized. Are you sure you really 
want a slavegirl and not a wife?”

“Eve, honey, there’s just no way I can marry with all my money. Money screws the whole 
thing up. I can own a girl like you for a sum I can easily afford. Most girls can stand being 
whipped a time or two, and put up with the other tricks I play on them. Slaves don’t demand 
or nag or try and make me over.” Hebber sighed. “No. This is best.”

Eve let it drop. Hebber Markham was a strange man, a vastly different man to the one she 
remembered in Rashwana. Mischievously she asked, “Will you take me to Rashwana when you
go?”

“Sure, I’ll ship you in a crate.”

“Please don’t bother, there’s no need for that. I’ll sit beside you in the plane and won’t say 
a word. I suppose I’ll have to wear clothes.”

Hebber chuckled. “You see what I mean, honey, you’re wanting things, trying to persuade 
me. That guy Dillon hasn’t done a good job of training you. Not nearly as I have with your 
sister. He’s getting the best of this deal all the way around.”

“Aren’t you pleased with me?”

“Hell, yes. But as a female, not a slave.”

“I’m a lovely slave and a lot more obedient than you deserve.”

“There we go again!” Hebber was vastly amused. “But you’re a pleasant change from 
Yvonne. I had Yvonne well broke but nobody’s broke you at all. After a whipping you come up
asking questions and telling me what I should do and what I don’t deserve. Want me to break 
you for sure?”

Eve knew he could and probably would if she provoked him enough. She had the chance 
to immediately say no but the familiar fire within her sex slowed her tongue. She remembered
Dillon’s delight in her submissive sister. Not truly believing she could ever emulate such sweet 
humility. Once more her voice seemed to come from some one else. “Sure, you should break 
me. That’s why I’m here.”

She knelt in stunned silence at what she had said. “You won’t like it”

“I know. And I know it will last a long time.” Her tone became sardonic. “But, Master, I’ve 
every faith in you. If you decide to break me, you’ll succeed.” She paused to look up hopefully.
“We may have trouble with this rapport you and I have reached. I don’t know if a truly broken 
girl can retain her ability to reason. Yvonne told me of your principle between reason and 
instinct. I’m still in the reasoning phase.” She grinned up a rueful, small smile. “But I’m sure 
you can deal with that. I may not be a very good slavegirl but you’re a Master for sure.”

Nothing happened. In the next few days Eve’s feet healed enough to walk. She was then 
heavily ironed. She clattered her chained way around the ranch without concern and with a 
grace perfected from long practice. Both she and Hebber knew there was no actually need for 
her to be broken into total submission. No doubt Hebber would begin his process of breaking
her spirit when he got around to it. In the meantime they were good friends but without Eve 
being given the faintest possibility of escape.

“I have to go to the city tomorrow. Want to come along?”

The question stopped Eve in her tracks. “But I can’t go to the city like this!” It was the 
feminine plaint of “Nothing to wear!”

“I’ll take you beside me on the seat. Don’t ask questions, say yes or no.” Hebber was 
playing with his pet.

“Of course I want to go!”

When, on the following morning, Hebber unlocked the irons from Eve’s ankles and wrists, 
she stood nakedly submissive to await events. She would not spoil things by asking questions 
but was determined to be a very good girl indeed. When Hebber tossed her the white tee 
shirt, she delightedly held it up to view before she suddenly blushed. The tee shirt was 
absurdly small.

“Go ahead, put it on. You can, I know you can.”

It was a struggle, her breasts fighting every inch of the tight material. When Eve had pulled
and tugged the stretch material to its limits she was giggling. Her breasts seemed huge, her 
nipples erect. Before the mirror she beheld her triangle of pubic hair exposed in pure mischief,
the tee shirt falling well short of reaching its top most curl. She was about to point out the 
garment’s deficiencies when Hebber cut her short.

“Get with it girl, I know you cunts shows, you don’t have to tell me.”

Seated, Eve felt obscene but realized that no one in casual observation could possibly tell 
her true condition. If the tee shirt was unduly tight across her breasts, so what! It was not until 
Hebber produced handcuffs and locked her ankles in them tight that her fire flamed and the 
semi-naked girl knew herself on the brink of adventure. If Hebber Markham wanted to take 
this risk, why should she complain?

“You must enjoy creating quaint situations,” Eve said brightly. “This one’s a honey. I’ve 
never been fixed like this before.”

“There’s a touch of danger but that adds spice.”

“You’re not leaving me alone, are you?”

“Damn it, Eve, I can’t take you up to the office but you’ll be parked in my private place.” 
Hebber chuckled gleefully. “All the time I’m gone you’ll be trying to make up your mind 
whether you should crawl out and shuffle away on handcuffed feet or go to sleep.”

“Okay, so I go to sleep. This is a delicious feeling but there’s no way I’m going to get out 
and hop around. You’re a clever Master, you’ve got me fixed.”

It was a day when Fate played tricks to keep the girl with handcuffed feet with her fire well 
fueled. The first was the police at the intersection when traffic forced Hebber Markham to stop
across the pedestrian sidewalk. The policeman leapt to the open window to bark, “Think you 
own the damned road. Watch it.”

The hard cynical eyes followed Eve’s contours down across her breasts to rest on her hairy 
patch. “That’s girl’s cunt is showing. Best you watch that, too.” He failed to note the handcuffs 
on Eve’s ankles.

“Pee your pants, honey?”

“You know I haven’t any pants! But I almost had an orgasm. That amuses you?”

“The whole damned thing amuses me. Let’s try again.”

Hebber Markham drove into a super market parking lot and deliberately touched bumper 
to bumper with a woman drive leaving her vehicle. Anger was instant. “What the hell do you 
think you’re doing!” his victim barked angrily as she came to the window. The nape of Eve’s 
neck vibrated in pure fear. “It’s guys like you….” She broke off in delighted amazement as she 
beheld both tee shirt and chained ankles. “That’s the only way you can hold a girl, Mister?” she
sneered. “You making sure she don’t spread her legs for anyone else? Damn it, I’ll get a pair of
them things for my Jennie.”

They watched her depart, anger dissolved in delighted humor. “Seems like I can’t get you 
arrested no how,” Hebber remarked without concern as he backed up and drove out of the 
parking lot. “Pick a hazard and we’ll try it out.”

“I don’t want any more hazards, they scare me to death.”

“I promised you fun, honey, stop beefing.”

Hebber’s next choice was a construction site where he deliberately drove in the path way 
of a crane. The giant who stuck his head within the window eyed Eve’s charms appreciatively, 
including the chained ankles she could not hide.

“You a pimp, Mister? That you girl? If you’re renting her out, I’ll buy a piece.”

“Sorry. Not for sale.”

“Want to go home to mommy, eh? That why you got her feet fixed?”

“Of course, better than beating her up.”

“Mister, everything’s got a price. Come on now, what’s an hour with that dame gonna 
cost?”

“She comes high. One thousand.”

The giant gestured in disgust and went away. Hebber chuckled. “Could have made yourself
some dough, honey. It’s a damned good business but not with your feet tied together.”

It had been an agony. The hard-hatted giant had been totally aware but unconcern. If a 
nearly naked girl whose feet were chained tightly together could be driven all the way across 
the city! The thought was frightening.

The garage was a heaven of relief, a vast underground labyrinth of parking places with 
special walled alcoves for the VIPs. Hebber drove into one of them. He took his briefcase, 
kissed his bound slave, and said, “Well, here we are, honey. Not much of a view so you’d best 
go to sleep. It’s liable to be a while.”

He went his way.

Underground parking places are far from cheerful and Eve was far from tired. Sleep did 
not come and boredom took over. She spent a little time exploring the metal by which her 
feet were joined and searching the car for coverings. Nothing helpful was found so there was 
an inevitability about what happened. The abandoned slavegirl opened the car door and slid 
her feet over to the concrete. She made certain the latch would not lock her out, closed the 
door and then hopped painfully to where she could look around. Her whipped feet were not 
completely healed and the hopping was painful enough to tell her she would not hop far. It 
was a useless exercise expect to ” counter boredom. The hopping hurt her still tender feet but 
to shuffle against the handcuffs was total frustration. It was strange to have hands but no feet.
Eve used them to tug uselessly at the tee shirt which refused to stretch any more. Eve’s pubic 
hair was like a waving flag for anyone to see. She knew it dangerous to go too far from the car
for she could not make a speedy return. But this was both challenge and excitement. Eve 
hopped to the end of the private stalls area but, as she made her final hop around the corner, 
came face to face with authority. He was a florid middle aged security guard who stared in 
amazement, first at her face then at her exposure. Eve gasped out an illogical, “Excuse me,” 
and, careless of the pain, hopped back towards Hebber’s car without a backward glance. Once
there she sat trembling in anticipation of the worst.

Nothing happened. The uniformed man had failed to follow her retreat. No doubt security 
guards saw many strange sights and her bareness beneath the shirt would make a wonder 
store to tell.

As her heart slowed, Eve wondered why she had not thought of escape. After the first 
embarrassment the guard would have helped. She wondered at Hebber’s craftiness at the 
locking of her feet. Whoever helped her would inevitably look for a handcuff key from the first
policeman they could find. From that point her trail of embarrassment might lead anywhere, 
even to a cell while she was checked over by the Law. No, it was best to sit and wait Hebber’s 
return. In any case escape was not for her. It would mess up the finely balanced five million 
dollar deal and hurt .three people she had no wish to hurt. No doubt Hebber was chuckling, 
knowing where her reasoning would lead. Because of the terms and conditions of her 
enslavement, Eve knew herself as securely fastened in the car as if she had been weighted 
down with a hundred pounds of iron chains. And tightly bound with rope, too. She managed 
a smile over her strange condition. It was many minutes before she heard the voices. 
“Hopping like a bare-assed jack rabbit.” That was followed by a grunt from someone else. A 
moment later the guard and a policeman were knocking at the glass.

Disgusted with herself for allowing this to happen. Eve lowered the window to explain in 
her sweetest tones, “I’m terrible sorry that all this happened. This is a rather silly joke. But 
please don’t worry, I’m not being kidnapped.”

“Please get out of the car, Miss.” It sounded just like the movies.

“I’d rather note, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind. Please get out of the car.”

“But I’m not properly dressed. In fact, I’m rather indecent.”

“So I’m told.” The Law opened the door to reveal Eve’s bare skin and handcuffed ankles. 
“Step down.”

“I’m afraid my feet are … well, sort of joined.” She protruded bare legs invitingly. “Would 
you mind?”

It was the most shaming incident in Eve’s life, far worse than the first baring of her body 
for a man. The policeman had no trouble with the cuffs but put them to good use by pulling 
the nearly naked girl from the car, turning her around, and cuffing the resentful wrists behind 
her back. A search was obviously inappropriate.

“Want to tell us about it?” the Law inquired without sympathy.

“She’s probably a hooker drumming up business in my garage,” the guard said helpfully. 
“If you take her to the station, I’ll bet you find she’s got a record.”

It was total frustration. Whatever Eve did was wrong. Whatever she said would be wrong. 
She knew she was not thinking clearly but was more concerned for Hebber Markham’s 
reputation than she was for herself. To be dragged up to his office in this condition was 
unthinkable. It would be best to be taken to the precinct station where Hebber could come 
and bail her out or whatever else was necessary in reasonable privacy. She longed to be safely 
chained back in her cage.

In mute misery she listened to the reading of her rights and suffered the clutch of hard 
hands upon her bare skin as she was tossed in the back of the police car. When the two men 
searched Hebber Markham’s car and returned with several packages of cocaine her cup of 
misery was full.





CHAPTER NINE - CONVICT


Eve only remembered a cold police station, being shuffled back and forth in handcuffs and a 
plain prison tunic given her when they removed the tee shirt. Her one and only phone call was
ended by an irate secretary in Hebber’s office who told her he couldn’t be bothered. A young 
court-appointed defender entered her plea of guilty and she heard herself being sentenced to
seven year in the state ‘pen.

The trip there was in the company of a black woman who was cheerful and talkative. But 
she could be cheerful, she was used to all this and going to see old friends. The third prisoner 
was a young prostitute who wept until she heard that Eve has a seven year sentence as 
compared to her two. All three wore handcuffs, leg irons and a connecting chain that 
prevented them from raising their wrists above the level of their waists.

Once there, Eve was held until last then taken to a meeting with the warden, which she 
gather was not the norm. She was stripped, given a delousing and bath, and taken to the 
warden’s office without having her tunic returned.

Miss Sofia Hardian had reached her present position by bending carefully to the winds of 
political change. She looked up from the slip of paper holding Eve’s name to eye the chained 
girl before her. “She’s a twenty D,” she informed the guard. “You know what to do with her.”

With that amount of greeting and a warning that lesbian activities and drugs were not 
tolerated, she was marched out of the warden’s office and downstairs to a barred cell with a 
tiny barred window.

The door slammed on a desolate Eve standing in the middle of her tiny cell, naked and 
ironed. She never felt so helpless. To the retreating guard she protested, “Haven’t you 
forgotten? I’m still handcuffed and leg-ironed?”

“Ain’t forgotten nothing, honey, that’s the way they want you. Don’t you worry none, 
things always get worse.”

“But I haven’t any clothes! I’m naked.”

“That’s right, honey. You sure is!”

Miss Eve Soames was suddenly alone.

The narrow bench was hard. Eve assumed she would have to sleep on it, there was nothing
else. With a clatter of chain, Eve sat on the hardwood bench to discover that by raising her 
feet and lowering her head she could bury her face within chained hands to weep. Sooner or 
later her husband would find her. Or perhaps Hebber Markham would straighten out the 
whole mess. But rescue, even if it came, would be far distant. And in the meantime …!

The tears restored rationale. Even to dry the wetness of eyes and cheeks she had to force 
her hands up against the chains. Eve tried to think but there were too many things wrong, 
some how this was just not right. Almost false.

It was only an hour before she was visited by the august Miss Hardian herself. She 
unlocked the bars to join her latest captive in her cell.

“I’ll save a lot of time, honey, with questions by giving it to you straight. You’re to be 
punished. Being naked and chained this way is only the beginning. I don’t know who sent you 
or how long he or she wants us to keep you. But forget escape. Forget everything except 
doing what you’re told. You said no to some rich bozo when you should have said yes?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t know I had enemies.”

“Who knows!” Miss Hardian produced a thin lipped smile. “I’m damned glad I never was a 
pretty girl. I never had no bastard with an erection sniffing at my ass. Looks to me like that’s 
what’s happening to you.”

Eve stood erect to fully display the metal by which she was restrained. “You have no right 
to keep me right like this, have you?” she asked.

“Hell, no, sweetheart. You know damned well we don’t have that right. But who’s going to 
know? You won’t tell anyone that matters.

When you get out of her you’ll be so damned thankful and so scared of getting back in 
you won’t say a thing. Honey, you’ve had the course.”

“But I haven’t done anything to be punished for!”

“Who has? But when it’s hurting I want you to remember there’s nothing personal about it.
I like you. I can’t expect you to like me but that doesn’t matter. You’ll think me a real bitch 
before we’re through.”

“I could handle this better if I knew what it was all about.”

“Don’t kid yourself, it’s hell either way. Look, sweetheart, I’m going to give you a change of
pace. Do you want to give me static so I have to call one of the guards or will you do what I 
tell you?”

“I’ll do what you say. Please don’t hurt me.”

It was nice to loose the handcuffs, the chain and leg irons. But the relief was short. Eve’s 
face and breasts were thrust against the bars which ran from the door to one wall. A handcuff 
bit her wrist which was then lifted high and the empty cuff locked around a cross piece. When 
the same was done for the other wrist. Miss Eve Soames found her nakedness standing with 
arms upraised and spread apart and an excellent view of the blank wall. She was not stretched
or on tiptoe but was entirely helpless.

Awkwardly she gazed backwards to inquire, “Is this the punishment or what are you going 
to do to me?”

Miss Hardian laughed. “You’re thinking I’m going to whip your ass, I can see it in your eye. 
Don’t worry, sweetheart, I may get around to that but not today. By standing the way you are 
for a while and you’ll get an idea. By the way, there’ll be people passing but don’t dare ask for 
help or beg to be let down.”

“Will a man see me like this?”

“Will it matter, sweetheart? Will one stripped board more or less mean much to a guy in 
this bird cage filled with girls? You’ve been naked before, I can tell by the way you’re handling 
it. I’ll be glad to listen to your story sometime but not right now.”

It was an unkind concept of the way a girl should spend her afternoon. Soon she would 
tire and change from foot to foot. Also, anyone who passed could do anything they wanted to
to her nakedness, it was all on view and even thought the door was locked the parts that 
mattered could easily be reached and handled. Eve looked up at the cuffs that held her hands 
and knew the awful conviction of “no escape.’” She would stand and stand and get more and 
more weary of the whole thing. There were no options.

There were plenty of hands, none really brutal, but all exploring her breasts and sex, 
sometimes a vulgar comment but mostly no comment at all. She was a female package with a 
number and did not matter.

Eve knew that had her husband done this to her there would be the familiar heat within 
her loins but now there was nothing. It was her first vivid opportunity to consider the widely 
divergent facts of punishment with love and penalties without. Standing against the bars she 
felt no thrill at all.

That evening she was freed but then handcuffed and leg-ironed as before. She knew the 
steel restraints were shameful and pointless, a part of punishment. Had she been completely 
free, she could not escape the bars.

There were too many days, soon as Eve would count them. Day two introduced her to an 
infliction in which there was no pain at all but only infinite frustration. It was a belt of heavy 
leather buckled at her back with a padlock to secure it there. To each side there were wristlets 
attached by two links of chain. When they were buckled tighter than need be, there were no 
padlocks for no matter how Eve tried she could not reach one hand to the other. She was 
firmly held but the state pen could not resist one final touch. A crafted leather strip came from
behind to sweep down between Eve’s legs before being drawn up to bisect her pussy and 
proceed on to the belly and buckle to the belt. Since her straining fingertips might touch this 
crotch strap, there was a small padlock worn in front.

“I really can’t tell you why you get the cunt-cutter, dearie,” the guard told her. “Guess it’s 
to teach you not to mess around with men when they’ve got dough.”

The door clanked shut. Eve’s waist protested the stricture of the belt. Her hands were lost, 
held pathetically to either side, helping her in nothing. It was a long, dull day.

There was no pain, only utter boredom and sometimes shame. Day three brought the 
Oregon Boot. The two ugly things were wheeled in on a small trolley. “They’ve been made 
over for a girl. Maybe they’ve made them new, I don’t know,” the guard advised as though 
delivering two slices of bread. “Stick your feet inside and I’ll do the rest.”

Once more shame. Eve didn’t want to comply but she saw no profit in a struggle. She had 
been clearly given to understand that a whipping would follow rebellion. She inserted her feet
within the iron boots which rose up above her knee. There was a metal band that tightened 
with the turning of a screw and that locked the top around her leg as it cut deep into her 
flesh. There was a second band that tightened about the ankle. Had Eve been in the process of
transport from one prison to another a single boot would have insured she could not run. But 
within the tiny cell they were punishment, nothing more. And when she tried to walk it took all
her strength to lift an iron-clad foot an inch at a time nor could she bend her knee. Most of 
the day was spent sitting on the bench and gazing at her imprisoned feet.

“So they’ve got the boots on you, eh?” Sofia Hardian was laughing through the bars. “I 
won’t bother to come in but I’m keeping you in mind. You can handle it, can’t you?”

“Will it do me any good if I couldn’t handle it?”

“No. I suppose not. Damn it, girl, I like you and I’d take you back upstairs if I thought I 
could get away with it. But these prison walls have a hundred eyes. Your sponsor would know 
about it within a week and I’d be in for it. New wardens aren’t hard to find.”

“Is there anything you can do for me? I mean send messages or anything?” Eve asked.

“You know that’s forbidden. You’re hidden away here. Look, honey, you’ve been whipped, 
want to tell me how and why?”

Miss Hardian listened with great interest as Eve explained of being sold into slavery and 
finishing out her sister’s sentence.

“I’ve heard of this sort of stuff. There’s been quite a few girls go through here with whip 
marks on their skin. One or two have been branded. Can you handle a whipping?”

“Oh, don’t whip me!”

“It’s on the list, sweetheart. But I’ll save it for the end. Tomorrow you’ll wear a yoke around 
your neck and your wrists locked in it out to either side. By noon you’ll hate it.”

That was the way it went until one day when Eve looked up to find Hebber Markham 
smiling at her through the bars.

“They giving you a bad time, sweetheart?”

In pure joy the slavegirl leapt towards her master until her neck was painfully snubbed by 
the collar and chain which was that day’s punishment. All she could say was, “Oh, Master … 
Master!”

Hebber unlocked the doors and took possession of his slave. Eve clung to him in an 
ecstasy of joy. She mixed pleas for release with reaffirmations of his status as her master.

“Okay, okay!” Markham was pleased by this ardor of affection from the chained girl. “I’m 
going to take you home.”

Eve’s retort was instant, “But how can you! I’m in prison. I’ve been sentenced to spent 
seven years in this awful place. Oh, Master!”

“Don’t worry, Eve, so I can get you out. We’re going home.”

“You put me in here??” Eve was searching for sense. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand, honey. Like I told you once, money does everything. I got 
you in here and I’ll get you out. That’s all there is to it. Look, they haven’t been real mean, 
have they?”

“Not really, it’s been about the way you see me now. Can you unlock this collar?”

The heavy collar and its chain fell to the floor. Eve saw Hebber Markham almost as a god. 
Who else could have accomplished such a miracle? Humbly she pledged eternal gratitude and
obedience.

“That bad, eh!”

“It’s worse. It’s not what they do to me but it’s the hopelessness. That seven year sentence 
is something I can’t handle. You really mean I’m going to be free?”

Hebber chuckled. “Well, not really. You’re forgetting you’re my slave. When I get you home
you’ll be well hobbled. I’m not a bit sure I shouldn’t give you another welcome whipping to 
get you back on track.”

“If you wish, Master.”

For the moment they left it at that.

“I’m sorry to lose you, sweetheart,” Miss Hardian. “I guess you know who put you in here 
now, he’s taking you out. I suppose you’re a lucky girl-no man every bothered with me one 
way or the other. I’m beginning to think I’d sooner have a whipped back than be ignored.” 
She looked at Hebber Markham mockingly. “I don’t suppose you would want another 
whatever you call them. I know I’m not half as gorgeous as this creature you’re taking away. 
But I’ve got a lot of skin you can whip.”

“You have to be nuts, you’re the warden.”

“So what! How about next weekend?”

Eve had supposed their little talk was without substance but now realized a serious intent. 
Sofia Hardian was by no means a pretty girl but as Eve tugged on the tiny tee shirt there was 
hunger in the woman’s voice. “You’re going away and I’m staying here,” Miss Hardian 
mourned. “It’s me who’s the prisoner. By the way, Mr. Markham, you’d better whip this pretty 
little girl because I never got around to it.”

“Will do.”

In a daze of happiness Eve sat on the nearest chair and extended her much punished bare 
feet to be handcuffed. Hebber made them a notch too tight but then carried her through the 
corridors and bars to place her beside him on the seat. Miss Hardian waved, the motor 
started. The captive girl sighed happily. How simple it all was when you were a slavegirl who 
belonged to Hebber Markham!

That night, as Eve’s ankle was locked to her wrist, she asked with a voice made dreamy by 
sexual satisfaction, “Will you really whip Miss Hardian if she comes to call on you?”

“Of course, why not?” Hebber laughed. “Couldn’t you see the poor creature’s starving. 
She’s got all those girls in that bird cage but can’t do a thing about it. She fell in love with you 
and that’s the reason you didn’t get hurt. If you hadn’t given her hot pants, you would have 
had a real bad time.”

“Did you want me to have a real bad time?”

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

Obedience was gorgeous.

Casually, over breakfast, Hebber Markham told his ardent slave he intended to whip her 
sometime that day as her second welcome to his home and a cementing of her enslavement. 
Eve said the dutiful, “Yes, Master,” without demur but through the morning found herself 
cringing more arid more in anticipation of the lash. Why could not men be sensible and love 
their slavegirl for what she was. Why always go around marking her skin, trying to make her 
something she was not.

It was over lunch, for which Eve had no appetite, Hebber again brought up the subject of a
whipping. “This business of whipping your hide, sweetheart, can get old and stale. How about 
hanging by your toes instead?”

“Thank you, Master, but I’d rather not.”

“Well, if that’s how you feel. But maybe you’d like a nice brand somewhere on your bottom
or thighs? My initials, of course. But I do have the branding iron. You’d be real proud of it.”

“I think I’d rather be whipped.”

“Oh, all right, the whip it is. sweetheart, you’re in a rut. If it wasn’t that you’re married to 
Dillon, I’d brand you anyway. But I’ve got to consider his feelings. No one’s going to complain 
if he brands Yvonne.”

Eve quenched a hot denial. It was stupid for her sister to be branded with anyone’s initials. 
Soberly she faced a bleak future. When she was taken to the place of punishment and her 
irons replaced by leather anklets buckled tight and snug, she guessed the worst. But, quite 
differently from the state pen, her fire burned bright within her loins. It was crazy, crazy, crazy!

“I’ll leave you your hands, sweetheart. You’ll find them a damned nuance.” Hebber 
chuckled. “Every girl does different things with her hands when she’s being whipped while 
she’s hung upside down. Give me credit for not suspending you by your toes.”

“Should I say thank you?” Eve was striving for orientation, her view of Hebber and his whip
was pure nightmare. “I suppose there’s nothing I can say or offer to get me out of this?”

“That’s right, sweetheart, nothing. I’m going to enjoy this and there’s nothing you can do 
about it.”

“If you want more options, would you prefer to go back to the prison? Sofia Hardian has 
got hot pants for you.”

“Master, I don’t ever want to go back to that place, it’s deadly. Go ahead and whip me. If I 
make too much noise, go ahead and use the gag. I hate screaming but I know I’m going to. I 
can handle other things but I’m not the least bit heroic about the whip.”

Hebber whipped Eve Soames with his usual competency. The force of his blows caused her
nudity to sway and twist. Her cascade of hair brushed the floor as she jerked. He was right 
about the hands! Eve wished she had no hands for there was no where she could put them. 
They were always in the way of something as the leather thong bit and burned. Whatever Eve 
Soames’ weaknesses as a slave might be, she was experienced beneath the whip. Oddly, she 
wondered as the leather pained her, how Yvonne was doing. Perhaps it helped her counter the
burning. Had she the courage she would have kidded with him, but she lacked it and only 
screamed.

There was not count, no tally. Eve was simply going to be whipped for her master’s 
pleasure. Surely she had not earned as awful a punishment by her trip to the state pen! She, 
herself, had done nothing! Everything had been done to her. This meant that she suffered 
merely for the pleasure of this man. Hebber had taken her for that tee shirt drive to test her 
willingness to run away. She had failed because of Dillon and Yvonne and would now pay the 
price. The cuts went on and on.

There was a difference. A girl suspended by her hands offers her back and bottom as the 
principle targets. But suspended by her feet, with feet spread well apart, there comes into view
another intriguing area. After the fifteen lash between hips and head, Hebber paused to place 
his hand upon the moist secret place.

“How about this, sweetheart? I’m sure it’s in your thoughts.”

“No, oh, please no! Don’t whip me there.”

The hand withdrew. The leather bit and burned to match the heat within. The upside down
girl contorted and jerked and screamed. Frantic fingers scratched at the floor but found no 
refuge. She tried to bend up to place her hands protectively over scolded flesh but the leather
thong was cruel across her fingers to cause her to jerk them away..

Satisfied at last, Hebber Markham lowered his whipped slavegirl to the floor then seated 
himself to watch Eve’s struggle back into this world. She lay panting and motionless until the 
moment when her fingertips began to search her punished skin. Satisfied there was no blood, 
she cupped the swollen lips as if to comfort them. Even then her eyes stayed closed and head 
bent. When her eyes began to focus and she pushed herself up into a sitting position, she 
beheld the watching man and automatically did what slavegirls had to do.

“Thank you, Master. Thank you for whipping me.”

She was beautiful beyond words! Hebber Markham could not take his eyes from the 
whipped maiden, still dazed from pain. He could read the pain and ache in the lines of her 
face and in her eyes. Finally the demands of so intense an eroticism became more than 
Hebber Markham could endure, driving him to ravish Eve as she lay on the floor to complete 
his double welcome to his slavegirl.

If Sofia Hardian had been honest with herself she would have admitted her failure to find a
man was due more to the driving ambition than to the absence of feminine allure. Her 
features were not as she might have wished but the body she now examined in the mirror was
better than most women of thirty-five could boast. For the first time she twisted and turned to
examined the curves and the dimensions of her middle which she found still satisfactorily taut 
and without bulge. No child bearing had stretched her skin or caused her breasts to be less 
than perfect. He had to admit to herself that perhaps Hebber Markham would forget Eve 
Soames for a few hours to indulge himself with her wish to be whipped. There was nothing 
coy about Sofia Hardian. Hebber Markham had taken her fancy and she had decided to use 
such female weapons as she possessed to capture. Sofia Hardian had not come up the hard 
way for nothing!

The downstairs cells had taught Miss Sofia Hardian much about human frailties. At first she
had approached the punishment of girls with disdain but soon acquired a serious interest in 
the psychology of female submission and punishment. From there it had been an easy step to 
find herself wishing for an involvement of her own. She knew herself born to command, a 
natural dominant. But, in Hebber Markham she discerned a quite new and different interest in 
the emotion she intended to explore. Sofia Hardian, on her with to becoming Mrs. Sofia 
Markham, would become submissive, yielding herself to the rigors punished maidens, such as 
she seen and ordered performed on girls downstairs. Despite her plans, she approached the 
day of her visit to the Markham ranch with an ever-increasing suspense, a suspense born of 
the rampant lust she had so long suppressed. For Sofia Hardian, the owner of the girl ranch 
represented the possibility of both emotional and financial release.

With forthright determination she exhibited in all she did, Sofia now experimented with 
the painting of her nipples. Satisfied that brilliant red was the best, she turned her attention to
her pubic hair, debating whether to shave herself bald for the forthcoming event. But she 
possessed a truly magnificent patch and decided to leave them as they were. For all she knew 
Hebber Markham might enjoy her sex thus enclosed. Thoughts of Hebber Markham examine 
those portions of herself arouse an undeniable thrill.

She hoped she would be whipped and was strangely unconcerned at her feelings about 
punishment as applied to her. The secret orders had often required her to whip a weeping 
maiden as a part of the punishment the man who paid the bills demanded. Some girls had 
taken their strips in stoic silence while other had fought and contorted within whatever 
bondage held them for the whip. But they all had one thing in common, a recognition of the 
inevitability of the bitter thong.

Had it not been for Eve Soames heavily ironed nakedness, the scene might have been 
purely social. Sofia Hardian compared a girl she had kept captive in a cell to this exquisite 
nudity who’s chains maintained a constant metallic overtone to the serving of cakes and tea. 
The girl had been whipped, terribly whipped, her weals fresh and vivid to proclaim a 
punishment quiet probably unearned. But the most delightful part of this situation in which 
Sofia Hardian was now the honored guest was the easy and naturalness of communication. 
The girl was humble and obedient beyond the norm but within the context of her slavery was 
as much a part of the conversation as Hebber Markham or herself.

Striving for the proper tone, Sofia commented casually, “You’ve whipped Eve terribly, Mr. 
Markham. Those red and purple strips set off her nakedness very well. They become her. May I
expect the same?”

“You don’t want to be whipped.” Hebber laughed. “You kidding yourself. You’re just 
curious.”

“So, okay, I’m curious. But you know why I’m here, you’re not going to cheat me, are you?”

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” Hebber Markham shrugged. “I find you 
remarkable.”

Eve arranged her chains to sit upon the rug and sip coffee while the man and the woman 
assist each other in discovery. Obviously a chemistry had formed to impel them to ways and 
acts which might be interesting. For herself Eve did not wish to see a whip again but could not
avoid the thrill that thoughts of whipped and still tender skin brought. She knew herself still 
far from Yvonne’s perfection in submission but was painfully aware that, should Hebber whip 
her again tomorrow, she would become abject. It was all an enigma but she would be a 
prisoner for months and in that time….

Hebber’s voice broke her thoughts. “Drink your coffee, woman, then I’ll whip you. Or 
would you rather start out on something else?”

Sofia sat and sipped, her eyes shining, her voice held mockery. “Look here, Hebber 
Markham, I came here to learn a lesson, to fill a gap. Don’t let’s natter. I’m making a gift of 
myself to you right here and now. Don’t ask me things, don’t give me choices. I make 
decisions elsewhere but not here.”

“You want to be like Eve?”

“I can never be like Eve but I can be someone like ME. What that ME becomes is up to you.
Make me over!”

“I’ll make you the way I want you. Strip!”

Sofia Hardian took off her clothes to reveal scarlet nipples and a fine form, certainly more 
than Hebber expected. This was no slim and slender girl but a firm maturity hungry for the 
lash. But the lash would be denied, Sofia was panting in expectation but would be accorded 
an unexpected prelude.

Two adults and their slavegirl went downstairs.

“Hands behind your back, Sofia. Unless you want to go home?” Hebber’s voice became 
steel. “This is your last chance.”

“I don’t want a chance. I told you, don’t hand me decisions. I’m a gift, use me.”

Eve watched breathlessly as Sofia Hardian obeyed, crossing her wrists and standing taut 
and erect with tilted chin. Here was quality! This was a female determined to find her Fate. 
Tugging and knotting his cord around feminine wrists, Hebber dryly observed, “I’ll have you 
feeling sorry for those little tricks you’ve been logging in your cells.”

“Perhaps.”

“You know what this thing is you’re looking at?”

“Aren’t you going to whip me?”

“That comes letter. What is this?”

“I don’t know. Looks like a pole on a couple of supports. I suppose it hurts.”

“You’re going to sit astride it like on a horse.” ‘That thing will break under my weight. Is 
that the best you can do?”

Hebber replaced the slender wooden pole with a two inch plank set firmly on edge. ‘This 
will hold you,” he said tersely. “Get with it.”

For the first time in a long while, Miss Sofia Hardian blushed. She had caught the drift of 
what was going to be done to her but made no demure. With agility she swung her leg across
the piece to settle downward with the eight inch plank between her thighs, edge-on so that it 
thrust it’s two inch thickness into her sex. She made no comment, realizing there was more to 
come.

Eve longed to protest. To ride the horse was bad enough when a girl sat on a pole or pipe. 
But the narrow size of this wooden edge with its sharp corners would be an absolute killer. 
But, obedient to Hebber’s command, she strapped the anklets tight on Sofia’s ankles and tied 
the ropes tight while Hebber lifted the warden’s bound hands to the waiting hook. Miss Sofia 
Hardian was now ready for pain. Eve took one rope and Hebber the other. When they pulled 
the fine, firm female feet sprung out wide and taut to either side while their owner gasped in 
shock. Miss Sofia Hardian was well mounted upon an evil invention of ages past.

Eve had been compelled to sit on a pole but never on a plank’s sharp edge. She knew the 
agony must be intense. Her breathing quickened but she dared not say a word.

It was worse than Sofia had imagined, far, far worse! She refused to scream but could not 
stifle the moans and gasps evoked by the thrust of wood within her crotch. Her breasts 
heaved until she managed to articulate, “Isn’t this a bit rough, I’m a novice, you know?”

“Sure it’s rough. I wouldn’t insult you with anything less.”

“I wouldn’t be insulted.” The assurance was weak.

Markham’s responses were deliberately casual. “I’m debating whether to keep you on 
there an hour or all afternoon.”

“I can’t stand even an hour. Look, I know I asked for this but give me a break.”

“You’re doing fine. I want to see if you will scream. I would admire you if you don’t.”

“You’re a bastard, Markham! I knew you would be.” The words of the woman on the plank 
were without malice. They held a grudging admiration for the man who could hurt her thus. 
Nothing more was said. Sofia did not scream but Eve found the small sad words of agony 
which left her lips far more heart-tugging than a woman’s screams. Except for labored 
breathing the room fell silent.

The man and the girl in chains examined the contorted nudity and the changes the 
punishment imposed, the. raised arms, the wracked shoulders, the taut, stretched breasts, and 
the tensed belly. It seemed the forest of pubic curls accepted the wood and embraced it. Her 
thighs and legs were rigid with stress with anklets biting savagely at the flesh of her ankles.

Time passed but the watchers couldn’t drag themselves away. It had been the man’s 
intention to leave the girl on the plank for thirty minutes but that limit came and passed while 
feminine lips were silent while the sweat dampened head refused to rise to meet his eyes. 
Both slavegirl and master knew they beheld an incredible woman.

“How did I do?” It was Sofia Hardian’s first words, uttered a minute after release as she 
gazed bleakly at the plank, still soiled by her sweat. When Hebber had lifted her from its 
punitive edge to pant in labored breathing and seek communion within herself.

“That’s a bloody awful thing to sit a girl on. Like I said, Markham, you’re a bastard.”

“Want to get back on it?”

Eve knew it a battle of wills. Sofia’s hands were still tied behind her back. The question hit 
Sofia hard. She swallowed hard a couple of time and looked round as if seeking help which 
she knew was not there. But she stretched her backbone tight, raised her chin, and, with 
glinting eyes, proclaimed her quality, “Sure, put me back on and be damned to you!”

Hebber Markham kissed her damp forehead and untied her hands.

Eve felt decidedly de trop. She guessed correctly the institution warden would not be put 
back upon her painful perch. When they retreated to the lounge, she busied herself with 
serving something stronger than coffee, wishing herself unchained and relieved of the 
constant clatter of links.

Sofia Hardian was confident she had own the first round. It had been a matter of pride to 
play the Stoic and now to refrain from any mention of any damage to that portion of herself 
so dear to her. With sincerity she raised her glass. “Here’s to you. I’m not sure who won but, 
anyway, thanks for taking me off that blasted thing before the hour was up. If I’ve got 
anything left down there, it’s a miracle.”

Solemnly they clinked glasses. But the chemistry was back at work so whatever either one 
of them said to the other would contain a significance beyond the mere words. Cheerfully the 
woman asked, “I suppose somewhere along the line I’m supposed to become submissive? 
You’ll break my spirit. Is that the drill?”

“It will happen.”

“Okay, but I’ll check with you. I seem to be pretty much the same as before you cut my 
cunt with that blasted plank. Maybe I’m just me and a waste of time. Right now I’m not the 
least bit fussy about being whipped.”

“But you will be. You’ve had the first course and now it’s time for the main course.”

“This time I’m suppose to run screaming from the room?”

“What! With your hands tied and stark naked?” He chuckled then offered her another 
drink.

“I’d like more than just one.”

Eve held the drink to willing lips, remembering herself in similar condition. Sofia, too, 
understood the way things were.

“Okay, so I can’t run away. But give me time to get my breath.”

“I won’t let you get drunk, you have to feel each stroke.”

“I mentioned your being a bastard before, didn’t I? I’m beginning to get the feel of this 
thing that’s puzzled me. I’m trying to kid myself that I belong to you and have to do anything 
you say. I haven’t got there yet and it’s up to you to take me the rest of the way. But, for Pete’s
sake, not right now.”

The line brought laughter. With it, Sofia endeared herself to the other two. Striving for 
helpfulness, Eve suggested, “Master, if you suspend Miss Hardian by her hands to be whipped,
why not do so now as a sort of beginning? I will feed her drinks while she must stand.”

“I’m not using that pose, she’s going on the couch the same as you that first time.”

“Yes, Master. But I can use a straw so she can drink.”

“There’s a slavegirl for you,” Markham said directly to his guest. “She thinks of everything. 
What do you say?”

“You asking me if I want to be fastened some way upon some thing so you can whip me?” 
Sofia’s query was acid.

“That’s what I said.” Once more the meeting of their eyes, once more the chemistry at 
work.

Haughtily, as if speaking to a serf, the warden gave consent. “Very well, if that’s the way 
you want it. Now, let’s see you break me.”

Eve wished she had kept silent. If only this woman would curb her courage she would 
suffer fewer strips upon her skin. But Sofia Hardian was in full flush of defiance, uncertain 
whether she or Hebber Markham would emerge from her coming ordeal in triumph. With a 
casualness she suggested, “I think that’s a good idea.” She deliberately sought Hebber’s eyes. 
“Do it!”

“That sounded like an order,” Hebber said. He was touched by this girl.

“Sure I was telling you.” Sofia’s eyes met his in superb insolence. “Damn it, do I have to 
fasten myself?”

The job of pulling the lever and clamping the stocks on wrists and neck and ankles fell to 
Eve as if Markham, in disdain, could not lower himself to such a task. With chained hands. Eve 
sought to give what comfort she could in arranging the inexperienced nudity upon the couch 
of pain. When the amazingly obedient warden had been locked tight, Eve found the control 
by which a feminine bottom could be raised invitingly for the crop. With this task well done, 
she went to the bar to mix the very strongest of drinks for this woman. She would need it to 
keep that insane courage up once the pain started. Hebber Markham knew himself the most 
fortunately of men in watching these two diverse personalities.

“You can stay there fifteen minutes, Sofia, and think what’s going to happen. I’m going to 
break you.”

“Go ahead.”

Eve fetched the drink and held it up. Hebber’s eyes were intent upon the feminine curves 
within his stocks. And yet there was a hint of doubt in those eyes. He knew himself on trial. 
Sofia Hardian would instantly discern weakness but she must be broken this first time or she 
would never come again. He was careful in his selection of the proper riding crop. He struck 
with vigor.

Sofia Hardian knew herself in a world far distant from the state pen where she was ruler. 
The girls in the downstairs cells had never been slashed with a riding crop as viciously as she 
had just been. It was in the same class as the unbelievable anguish of the horse. She had 
delivered herself into the hands of a Master. But, if she was whipped into unconsciousness, 
she might still achieve her goal. Miss Hardian clenched her teeth and wished for another drink.

Without knowledge of time and without an official sentencing of strokes, the whipping of 
Sofia Hardian went on and on. She believed it went on and on forever, but in actually fact it 
paused it the tenth stroke.

“Who am I?” The demand was firm. “You are my Master, I will obey you.”

The crop continued upon the Stoic flesh until the stroke of twenty. “Tell me Who I am.”

“You are my Master. I beg of you don’t whip me any more. I yield.” ‘Tell me what you are.”

“I am a whipped woman. I have no will. I belong to you.”

There could be no doubt of Sofia’s sincerity.

“I have cropped your bottom. I have still to whip your back.

“Please whip my back. Whip me until I scream.”

Hebber Markham, in his triumph of possession struck savagely again and again and again, 
until the fourteenth stroke the woman screamed. Thereafter he whipped the bare flesh of Miss
Sofia Hardian to the accompaniment of screams. It was impossible or beautiful according to 
the point of view.

The watching Eve tried to sort out emotions but in the end conceded that the whipped 
woman was far more beautiful than the one who had held office in the state pen. 
Undoubtedly Miss Sofia Hardian had come home. When Hebber Markham tossed his lash 
aside and made the signal, Miss Eve Soames mixed the strongest drink of all and held its straw
to thankful lips. There could be little doubt Miss Hardian was conquered.

Hebber Markham was a despot. He had broken the will and spirit of a woman he admired. 
But as they sat once more in comfortable communion with two slavegirls kneeling on the rug 
he demanded, “Okay, I’ve broken you. Do you wish to be whipped again?”

“No, Master. I have been whipped enough. I concede you the victory. Please chain me as 
Eve is chained and keep me always.”

Hebber Markham savored victory. But he was a business man and practical. “I will chain 
you for this night. And perhaps I will whip you once more before you leave. But you have a 
position of responsibility and cannot possibly disappear.” ‘

“Then may I come again to pay you tribute. Whip me as much as you wish, I will not 
complain.”

“Next weekend?”

“Yes, Master, next weekend. Do you not wish to use my sex?” Hebber Markham laughed in 
victory. “You desire the impalement of your sex?”

“Yes, Master. There is an ugly four letter word I will not use.”

“Next week perhaps you will receive your reward. But not this week. For now I’ll tie you 
naked to the fence of my corral and leave you to commune with what ever spirits you can 
find.” Markham laughed at Sofia’s dismay. “A female must be not only whipped but also 
bound to know herself a woman. Come, what do you say?”

“Whatever you wish, Master.”

Shortly thereafter they adjourned to the corral, Eve’s chains making music as she walked.

Eve was forgotten, Hebber knew her heavily enough ironed to inhibit wandering. In any 
case the bond by which she was constrained was not of metal but of her love for Dillon and 
her sister. He gave his full attention to the marked nude. The corral was old and a relic of the 
past but Sofia Hardian was ordered to sit upon the dust against a still solid post. Her middle 
was quickly belted very tight indeed. His next order was instantly obeyed, “Stretch your arm 
out along the rail.”

Hebber securely tied the extended member at the wrist and elbow, his cords deliberately 
made to sink deep into female flesh. When his task was done, Sofia tugged and twisted 
against an arm now lost. She smiled in rueful recognition of helplessness but said no word. 
Automatically she raised her other arm to be tied. When it was done she could scarcely move 
but Hebber was not done. With enjoyment, he drove the two short stakes deep into the dirt, 
leaving only enough above the ground to serve his purpose. He pulled her foot out to one 
side and bound its ankle tight. In order to treat the other foot in similar fashion, he had to pull
and tug until Sofia grunted. But after that she simply watched the process by which she was 
not only secured but needlessly shamed by the exposure of the soft lips she had hoped 
Hebber would use in a quite different way. The master had cunningly bound each ankle six 
inches above the ground thus making the infliction of his authority doubly hard to bear. She 
faced a sad and lonely night but as she tested the harshness of her bindings she delivered 
herself a silent reprimand, “You horny bitch. You’re getting exactly what you asked for. Maybe 
it will teach you some sense.”

They left her there against the rail. “What do you think of her?”

Hebber inquired of Eve as they walked towards the house. “She’s turned out different to 
what I expected.”

“I feel sorry for her. I doubt she’ll sleep much the way you tied her up. You gave her a real 
rough day.”

“Rough?”

“You’ve made her a happy woman. The two of you have found something. Why don’t you 
send me back to Dillon and keep her in my place?”

“What brought that on! You jealous?”

“Master, don’t be angry but suddenly I don’t want to be locked in these irons any more. I 
felt silly trailing them around today. I never felt this way before.”

“If that’s the way you feel now then for sure I’ll keep you ironed.”

“Yes, I know. And I expect you’re right.” Her voice was listless. “But if you use me in bed 
tonight, please take them off. I’m tired of them and you can always keep me helpless with 
rope or handcuffs. Please, Master?”

Markham was touch by the appeal. Eve was very sweet He envied Dillon’s possession of 
this loveliness. But at the moment his mind was filled by the vision of the woman bound to his
corral. Sofia Hardian had personality and force, she made the slender little tricks of his past 
possessions seem trivial. Unconcerned, Hebber unlocked the irons on Eve’s wrists and ankles 
and restrained her only by tying her hands behind her back with twine which they both knew 
she could never free herself from. “Thank you, Master.”

They laughed at the absurd exchange. There was between them a most satisfying rapport. 
It would be ridiculous to compare Sofia and Eve but each now tugged at Hebber’s heart. 
Despite the naked woman bound so cruelly in his corral, Hebber Markham was as vigorous in 
his lovemaking to Eve. Afterwards they slept.

Eve never knew why she came awake, no doubt her mind was giving a message. She 
stared into darkness a full minute before realizing that while her hands were still tight tied 
behind her back there was no other restraint on her. Had she paused for thought she might 
have rolled over and gone back to sleep. But she did not think. A compulsion stronger than 
reason caused her to put her feet on the floor and flit silently from the room, a pale and naked
ghost in the gloom seeking the kitchen and a knife. She had long since discovered the 
crevasse to hold the blade while she rubbed against its edge the cords upon her wrists. More 
and more excited she grew as the cords parted and then her wrists separated. She fled the 
kitchen and went to Hebber Markham’s car. But she found no keys there. Her next try was 
Sofia Hardian’s car which still had the keys in the lock. For a moment she thought of freeing 
Sofia to share her flight but Sofia had found something and would offer no thanks for 
separation from her new man. By now the woman would be in pain but it was a pain she 
would bear with Stoicism and a fire burning bright between her legs.

Eve turned the switch and the motor started. In grim determination she drove as fast as 
she dared down the road. It was not until she approached the highway that she remembered 
she was naked. Nakedness had become a fact of life to Eve Soames and she tended to forget 
it. After a few more miles she would search the car. In the meantime the tank told her there 
was enough fuel to reach her home. She then turned her thoughts to Dillon and Yvonne and 
the pact she had broken. She should not have fled from Hebber Markham. Her sentence still 
had five months to run. Grimly she dismissed the possibilities of financial loss by assuring 
herself that as a last resort she would go to Ibben Ben Makah for his offered ten million 
dollars, a sum to make them all rich and perhaps worth whatever pains she must suffer in the 
process. She wondered why she had not been more jealous of Yvonne. Dillon was her 
husband and presumedly using her sister as his wife as well as his slave. Mrs. Eve Soames 
dismissed the whole mess and drove, still in the excitement of fresh freedom, to a destiny of 
which she could not be sure.

She had driven an hour before the police car flagged her down. She had forgotten the 
legal speed limits in her haste. Edging the car over to the shoulder, Eve sat in a trembling 
apprehension of a hazard she had not foreseen. Immediately the lawman beheld her 
condition, he fell back upon the rules.

“Please step out of the car, Miss. Please you hands upon the roof.” His hand rested upon 
his gun.

“But I’m naked!”

“So I noticed, Miss. Please step out.”

There was no hope. Eve stepped out onto the road in all the glory of total nudity. She 
placed her hands upon the car’s roof in the manner she had seen in the films and longed to 
die. Her heart was in her words, “Please don’t take me in. I haven’t done anything. Being 
without clothes was just a joke with friends. We meant no harm.”

The policeman assessed his captive with an experienced eye.. “You’re a looker, kid, you 
ain’t running around naked for no reason. You was driving eighty-five.”

“I’m sorry. I was in a hurry … well, because of the way I am.

Please don’t ruin my life by arresting me.”

“It’s your life, not mine. Hands behind your back.”

It was so painfully familiar. The handcuffs now snapped on her wrists behind her back and 
she was on familiar grounds. And afraid. The arresting officer used his radio, including a good 
deal of chatting and glancing over at the naked girl. Finally the arresting office came over, 
grinning from ear to ear.

“Seems you are an escaped convict, Miss. And you’re driving a car belonging to the 
wardress of the state pen. I’m taking you in.”

The handcuffs on Eve’s wrists were far more potent in effect than either Dillon’s or Hebber 
Markham’s had ever been. These were the real thing, she was handcuffed to make sure she 
did not escape the Law. She had escaped the Law and would be returned forthwith.

“You’ll draw extra time for this little adventure, Miss,” her guardian said with all too evident
satisfaction as she produced a second pair of handcuffs which he snapped on her feet. “Sorry 
about this but you’re dangerous. The place for you is in a cell and I’ll see that you get there.”

“I’m not dangerous! Oh, please, don’t do this. I’ve never hurt anyone, I don’t want to go 
back to prison. Don’t take me back to that awful place.”

“You’ll face a charge of car thief as well. Lady, you’re a glutton for punishment.”

With two pairs of handcuffs tight upon his prisoner’s wrists and ankles the officer felt safe 
in lifting her to the seat beside him. She was helpless and that was the way he wanted it. He 
locked the warden’s car and turned his own towards a destination from which his captive 
shrank in desolation.

Eve’s hands had often been fastened as they were now but never with such intent. She was
going to prison and the handcuffs would insure safe arrival. She could do nothing except to 
resign herself to being a package for delivery. Somewhere ahead a number awaited to replace
her name. Unashamed she wept. The policeman paid no heed, no doubt he had transported 
weeping girls before.

The desk remembered Eve, they had her file. The officer was complemented upon his 
work, his handcuffs were return. The file revealed her as a twenty D so she was escorted 
through the clanging barred doors and down the fateful steps to be thrust within the same 
cell she had previously occupied. As a thoughtful gesture and as a salute to her prowess, her 
wrists were once more circled with smooth steel behind her back and her feet were ironed. No
multiple murder was ever viewed with more grave suspicion.

The little cell was the same as handcuffs, it was for real. It would hold her caged for the 
convenience of an unfeeling authority which had no name. Seated miserably upon the bench 
the helpless nudity reviewed possibilities. She could remain as she now was for the rest of her 
seven year sentence plus whatever might be added for grand thief auto. By the time she 
gained release her youth would have departed and hope would have been canceled from her 
life. Perhaps Hebber Markham would extract her a second time as once before. But her escape
would have pissed him off and probably diminished his affection. He might well leave her as 
she was as punishment for injured pride. There was Dillon but what could Dillon do against 
the Law? Eve knew herself legally imprisoned, she was a documented convict and even though
Dillon might spend every dime they had, it would avail them nothing. The last hope was Sofia 
Hardian.

Eve and the warden now shared a secret but had Sofia Hardian the power to set her free? 
Eve knew her disappearance had been noted as “escape”, and escape which would remain a 
mystery. But her recapture by the policeman was something else again. It would not be so 
easy Eve to disappear from her cell a second time. The naked girl laid down upon the bench 
and cried herself to sleep.

Morning brought the assistant warden, a woman not unlike Sofia Hardian, a woman who 
knew something was wrong but willing to leave her superior to deal with it upon her return. 
For now she was briskly efficient.

“The warden is on a short holiday. You stole her car. Where is she?”

“How would I know!” Eve dared not tell the truth. “It was there beside the road and I 
needed a car so I took it. How many extra years do I get for that?”

“More than you’ll enjoy. That’s a likely story about the car. If you’ll tell us where the 
warden is, we’ll phone and let her know she doesn’t have to worry.”

“I told you all I know.”

The smart uniform well contoured with breasts and hips shrugged. The assistant warden 
was accustomed to girls who could remember nothing about anything. Girls who’s solemn lips
and hostile eyes proclaimed them enemies. Stiffly she rejoined, “Very well, if that’s the way you
want it. As a twenty D you give us more freedom for punishment.” Her tone changed from 
cold to a warm curiosity. “You’ve been horribly whipped since you left here. How come?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters! A girl doesn’t get herself whipped the way you’ve been without a 
reason.” She snorted disgustedly. “I had intended to have you whipped to loosen that 
stubborn tongue and get some sense into you, but I can’t add to that collection of weals 
you’ve already got. We do have other things.”

Eve knew herself lost. In despair she pleaded, “You don’t need to keep me naked. You 
don’t need to keep my handcuffed and leg-ironed, I’m not going anywhere. Please don’t hurt 
me. Honest, I haven’t done a thing to deserve punishment.”

“That’s what they all say.”

In bitter defeat Eve followed where she was led.

“We call this the horse. You’ll sit on it until you smarten up.” The warden’s tone was brisk 
as she motioned to the muscular women who held Eve’s arms.

“Sure, tell me about it!” Eve exclaimed bitterly as she remembered the warden’s travail of 
the day before. It took so little time and Eve was no more than a naked girl helpless against 
uneven odds. She lost her irons to stand in despair as her wrists were crossed bound in the 
manner of a hundred times before. Unwillingly she straddled the pole, her arms were raised, 
her legs pulled to each side to place the punished girl’s weight upon the sex she could not 
see. Ruefully, she acknowledged to herself that it was not the sharp -edged plank of yesterday
but a rounded pole which would become bad enough as the hours passed. Even now it was a 
pain.

“I don’t expect you to break down right away,” the assistant warden said in the tone of 
sweet reason. “But you will break, you’ll get to hate that thing you have to sit on. You’ll ache 
and hurt everywhere so I’ll visit you from time to time and when you’re ready to tell me where 
you stole the car, I’ll set you free to go back to your comfortable cell. In the meantime have 
fun.”

The naked Eve did not have fun. From the very first the pole thrust within her sex in an 
ever increasing aggression. Pain was constant and would increase. She knew the score and 
moaned in the silence of the empty room. It was hard to think, all of Eve Soames hurt and all 
her mind wanted to think of was release. But there would be no release until she was prepared
to talk. What she did not know was how potent was the name of Hebber Markham in this 
painful place. And how would Sofia Hardian” be compromised by the action. Eve supposed 
she might get away by speaking of Sofia as a guest at Hebber’s. By the time the assistant 
warden came again the pole on which she sat had made her more than ready to take the 
chance.

The only thing swift in prisons is punishment. But Eve was taken from her perch of pain 
and once more handcuffed and leg-ironed in her cell. The assistant warden would make 
phone calls which, should they fail to check out, would result in the naked girl’s return to sit 
astride the pole once more until she chose to tell the truth. Aware of improbabilities, Eve sat 
alone upon her bench without much hope. Freedom seemed so far away.

It was not until the following day she beheld Sofia Hardian gazing at her from beyond the 
bars.

“You silly little bitch! What the hell did you have to run away for? Damn it, Eve, don’t you 
realize how you’ve screwed us up?”

The warden had entered the cell of the girl whose flight had achieved nothing. Her anger 
showed along with pity. “Damn it. Eve, if only you’d have talked to us. Or let me go before you
stole my car. Haven’t you any sense at all!”

“Am I that absurd?” Eve asked wanly. “I wanted you and Hebber to enjoy each other. I was 
just getting out of the way. If that damned policeman hadn’t stopped me….”

“But he did stop you and you’re back in here. You’ve been properly booked and the staff 
has had a look at you. And that damned cop has his story to tell. How the hell do you think I 
can let you loose! What’s worse is that every day you stay here I have to punish you. You can’t 
be whipped again in that condition, and I suppose that’s the reason you ran away. It’s a good 
thing I can wear clothes or I’d look about the same. Damn it, girl, you’ve put me on the spot.”

Suddenly Eve was once more crying. No body wanted her, no one loved her and there was
no escape. But suddenly she was enveloped in the warm comfort of female arms while a 
female whisper admonished in her ear, “Hush, honey. But go ahead and cry. You and I are two 
of a kind. I don’t suppose you’ve told anyone?”

“I haven’t said a word and I won’t.” The muffled sobs continued.

“I suppose you know I intend to marry Hebber. We’re right for each other. The poor son of
a bitch doesn’t know it yet but I’m going to get him.”

“That’s the real reason I ran away. That’s the reason I didn’t cut you loose from the corral. 
I’m terribly sorry about the car. But if it hadn’t been for that damned cop…!”’

“So, okay, we understand each other. Honey, I think you’re a sweetheart and I don’t want 
you in this place any more.” Sofia Hardian held the anguished nudity close in two strong arms 
and kissed the youthful lips with real affection. Her whisper was for the two of them only. 
“Look, I’ll get Hebber on the phone and tell him to pull his strings to get you out of here. Any 
message for him?”

Eve poured out her heart. “Only to tell him had sorry I am. Tell him I want to be punished 
but not by anyone except him. Tell him I’ll be more obedient than I’ve ever been. And, even if 
you two get married, I’ll obey both of you.” Eve cocked a doubtful eye. “Is that okay? I mean, it
isn’t silly?”

“It isn’t silly, sweetheart. Maybe we can make it happen. Meanwhile I have to make sure 
you’re punished. You’ll simply have to put up with it until Hebber comes.”

Eve was not left long alone. A pair of the smart uniforms took her by the arms and 
escorted her to a room containing many aids to the punishment of a girl. They took her to a 
stoutly made wooden box standing on end in the corner of the room. It was very simple as a 
neat disposal of a naughty girl. The front opened like an Iron Maiden. Eve was backed within 
and the section closed again to leave her standing where none could see but with her head 
and hair free at the top end as they stuck through the circular hole in the rough wood. She 
was told, laughingly, to have a. nice day while the second uniform locked the swing front with 
a large padlock. They went away.

It was a boring ordeal. Eve found that the box was heavy enough not to topple and 
certainly solid enough that she couldn’t break her way out. She explored around the inside 
with her handcuffed hands, finding nothing worth consideration. It was later in the day when 
she realized that her hands had been left cuffed behind her because that gave her no chance 
to seek comfort with her own fingers. In other words, she couldn’t even masturbate herself!

It was a frustrating way to spend the day. Longingly the convict girl thought back to the 
brief freedom she had enjoyed upon escape from Hebber Markham’s girl ranch. The best she 
could hope for now was a return there to a fresh bondage and punishment for escape. She 
was sure Hebber Markham would make sure she never escaped again. Somehow that idea 
didn’t bother her much. At least she wouldn’t be getting herself into trouble if she were 
constantly chained and bound and unable to escape. But the punishment for a successful 
escape attempt….

She would be lucky if he whip every inch of skin off her body.

Sofia Hardian brought bad news. “Hebber’s mad at you, sweetheart, he’s taking a short 
business trip some place and says you are better off here than anywhere else. Looks like you 
stay a while.”

“Punished every day?”

“‘Fraid so. I can’t order you left alone without raising eyebrows and starting rumors. But I’ll 
given orders that you should not be whipped. The other tricks they’ll play on you won’t mark 
you skin.”

“Will you phone Dillon Soames for me? Tell him what’s happened to me?”

“Hebber says no phone calls.”

The convict girl shrugged and unseen within her tiny wooden prison. Hebber’s decision to 
punish her was no more than she expected. She could now damned well spend the minutes, 
the hours and the days of acute discomfort in a repentance becoming more and more sincere 
as she remembered the good things she and her master shared. In the state pen there would 
be no cocktails before dinner and no ecstasy at night.

The prison boasted a recreation yard, the high stone wall of which robbed the inmates of 
much of the pleasure they would have gotten from the sunshine. It was a wall of menace, a 
constant reminder of the punitive purpose of prisons. No convict girl had ever escaped over 
that wall and, seeing it for the first time, Eve was certain none ever would. She looked at it and
shivered even thought the air was warm.

“Just making sure you get a bit of sunshine, honey,” said the uniform named Nance.

“And the light of the moon as a bonus,” added the uniform named Sue.

It was another of the place’s deadly simplicities, a six foot concrete slab rising twelve 
inches above the soil and at its center a massive iron ring. Eve had been led to this exposure 
by a heavy chain attached to the large iron collar around her neck. As she walked to this new 
disgrace, she could have sworn the whole thing weighted a ton. At the end of the eight foot 
chain, a padlock was attached to the ring. It matched the smaller padlock at her neck collar. 
Nance and Sue made some crude jokes at Eve’s expense and departed.

Eve found herself in a tiny courtyard facing bare walls all around. She had lost her 
handcuffs and leg irons but her wrists were now corded tight behind her back. “So you can’t 
play with yourself, honey,” she had been told. “Can’t have you slapping faces, sweetheart,” was
added but she didn’t care. Now, with her hands lost behind back the worse infliction of the 
punishment would be the nagging weight of chain and collar.

Left alone the naked girl stood unhappily and wondered if it would be worth sitting down. 
She lowered herself as gently as possible on the concrete surface. She soon discovered it was 
best to lay flat for in so doing the weight of the tethering chain felt to the concrete and not 
her neck. The other option was to sit hunched up with her chin resting on her knees. Either 
was an indignity she knew Hebber Markham would chuckle at if only he could see. She dared 
not think of Dillon and Yvonne, they were far distant from this bleak place.

Eve Soames had been chained in that courtyard in the afternoon. That afternoon blended 
into evening and the evening blended into night. Uncaring about such ghosts as were created
by moonbeams, Eve did as best she could with the brutal chain and the concrete.-Sleep was 
hard but the slab was warm from the day’s heat and she finally fell into fevered dreams of 
endless punishment.

Morning brought Nance and Sue but no release. “Cheer up, honey, we won’t keep you like
this for more than a month.”

And then from Sue, “How’d you like us to tie your feet, sweetheart? Wouldn’t that be more
interesting?”

“Please punish me some other way, I can’t stand any more of this.”

“Yes you can, honey. You can stand it for as long as we want you to.”

“Can’t you at least let me have my hands?”

“What do you want hands for? There’s no one to play with except yourself.”

It was no use. Eve watched them walk away. To relieve her own aches and pains she paced 
back and forth within the frustrating limits of the links.

Sitting in humped up dejection, Eve was suddenly startled by the flood of inmates pouring
into the courtyard and realized that the guards were using this as an exercise yard. Being seen 
in her present condition was a humiliation plus. When she was surrounded by curious eyes, 
she saw the possibility of a brief respite from boredom. But even this was denied by a warning
voice, “She’s a twenty D, girls, better leave her alone.”

The faces faded, backs were turned. Eve was close to tears.

The coming of evening brought the two guards and her return to her cell. But her hands 
remained bound.

Between the two smart uniforms Eve’s slender nudity seemed pathetically feminine. The 
hands of Nance and Sue led her on the following morning to be confronted by a timber 
structure she had previously seen, a heavy vertical post surmounted by a shorter length to 
make it somewhat less than a cross.

“How lovely!” the guards both said. “You’re so lucky!”

Eve refrained from comment, remaining silent as her hands were untied and her back 
pushed up against the timber. Nance took one hand and Sue the other and they raised them 
to the cross piece where they strapped the tender wrists tight to the ends. Their captive was 
forced to stand erect with arms outstretched. A terrible fear was forming in Eve’s mind.

“You’re not suppose to whip me. This is a whipping post, isn’t it?”

“Good of you to tell us, sweetheart.” Sue’s voice dripped honey. “We’ve turned you front 
side out because your back’s had a real bad time.”

“But you can’t whip a girl like this! But you mustn’t! You’ll injure my … my….”

“You thinking of these, honey?” Nance said as she fingered the lovely bare breasts. “Or 
maybe this little thing?” Her hand slid lower to pluck a pubic hair. “You’d be surprised what we
can do.”

Eve was frantic in dismay, tugging at strapped wrists and arching her back from the post 
as if to get a way from it. “Please don’t whip me. Talk to the warden first! The warden doesn’t 
want me whipped, she said she had given orders.”

“Did she now! We never heard no orders, did we Sue?”

“Then go and ask her. Oh, please don’t whip me until you’ve spoken to Miss Hardian. 
Please!”

“Don’t take on so, honey, we’re not going to cut these off.” Hands returned to her heaving
breasts. “A little warming up will be good for their circulation, keep your tits pink. As for lower 
down….” The taunting voice trailed into suggestive silence.

Eve was well secured, she could not free herself from the smooth bands of leather buckled 
tight around each wrist. Struggle as she might she could not budge the post. By the time she 
stopped for breath she was alone.

A girl never really gets used to being whipped, Eve reflected wearily. And to be threatened 
with a whipping on her front was terrible. She didn’t want to stand around and wait, that was 
almost worse than the actual whipping. But she waited. And waited.

Terrible thoughts filled her mind with her mind, wondering how her breasts could possibly 
take a whipping. And she cringed at the thought of a leather thong swinging up hard into her 
cunt. She stood and waited and trembled. It was a long wait.

It was hard for the girl strapped to the timber ‘X’ to be optimistic.

The whip was such a terrible instrument, its very convenience gave it a special horror. If 
only Nance and Sue informed Miss Hardian of the punishment they planned. If only!

Miss Hardian came at four PM. Eve was so far gone in weariness she no longer cared much
what happened. But Sofia did. “I could kick those two for this,” she said savagely. “They knew 
they weren’t suppose to whip you. But it appears for reasons of their own they very much wish
to do it. Have you sassed them?”

“Gosh, no! I thought I was a model prisoner.”

“Well, anyway they know one of the board of directors, a real dragon of a woman who 
sees her mission in life as whipping everything in skirts. She’s phoned to tell me to give Nance 
and Sue a free hand. Damn it, we know what that means!”

“My breasts!”

“And your pussy. All I’ve been able to do is stall them off until tomorrow, sweetheart, if 
you don’t want that whipping there’s only one thing to do. You’ll have to escape.”

“That’s crazy! No girl can escape from this place. Especially me with these chains or ropes 
always on me! And the guards are watching. What am I suppose to do, bend bars?”

“I’ll give you a chance and take a chance myself,” Sofia Hardian affirmed. If those bitches 
had turned you the other way around on this thing, I might have let them whip you. But not 
with you facing this way. Those breasts of yours are far too beautiful to whip. I don’t care what
they say, whipping a girl’s breasts doesn’t do them a bit of good. Hebber adores your breasts, 
he told me so.”

“You’re going to get me out of here?” Eve couldn’t believe it. “But if it’s going mess up 
your career, you’d better let them whip me.” , “Don’t play the noble heroine. Somewhere past 
midnight I personally escort you through the check points. If that board member gives me 
static I’ll go to our beloved Hebber and get myself properly looked after. I’m about ready to 
do that anyway. I’m damned good and sick of looking at you behind iron bars.”

Sofia Hardian kissed her captive’s parched lips. “I’ve come her now just to brief you and 
have you ready so I don’t have to make explanations when I come tonight. They’ll probably 
iron you heavily but I’ll get you out of them.”

The irons were indeed heavy. The two guards, giggling as if the whole thing were a lot of 
fun, scorned both police handcuffs and leg irons, replacing them with the heaviest iron 
shackles Eve had ever been forced to bear. In addition there was a heavy iron collar around 
her neck and a tantalizing length of heavy links attaching her to the wall of the cell. It was all 
punitive window dressing for a delightful prisoner who they sensed had great potential. They 
also sensed secrets and things unsaid about Eve Soames and this minor mystery excited their 
sadism. When they left Eve for the night she could scarcely move for the weight of iron on her 
limbs. Sleepless she awaited the appointed time.

Late at night she heard approaching footsteps and her spirits rose only to be dampened 
immediately. These were not the footsteps of a woman but of a man.

It was Hebber Markham.





CHAPTER TEN - CHAINS AND SLAVERY


“First off, I’m not going to whip you again,” Hebber Markham said heavily. “You’ve been 
whipped enough, perhaps too damned much. And I should never have sent you to that 
damned place.” He cast a sideways glance at his slavegirl. “Forgive me?”

“I’d forgive you anything for getting me out of there. Oh, Hebber, you do the most awful 
things to me but they’re never as impersonal as I’ve had to put up with in that awful place. I 
want to say thank you a thousand times.”

“Once will do. You aiming to behave?”

“I’ll be the most obedient slavegirl you’ve ever had. Why haven’t you tied me for the trip? I
shouldn’t be free like this. Don’t you realize that when you make me free like this you give me 
ideas?”

“I enjoy testing you, sweet. We’ll stop for gas somewhere along the way. If you want to 
run, I won’t stop you. You know I’ll be mean when I get home. You’re free to run.”

“With nothing on!”

“Sure, with nothing on. I’m damned if I’m going to make it too easy.”

“Master, I feel a bitch for running away. I honestly want you to punish me.”

“We’ll see about it.” Hebber’s tone was gruff “In the meantime tell me what to do about 
Sofia? She’s coming over again.”

“Be cruel to her, it’s what she wants. But give her a little love as well. All girls want a little 
love.”

“Know it all, don’t you! Damned pity you’re married to Soames. I’d rather have you than 
Sofia any day.”

“Don’t talk about her any more, I’m jealous. Tel) me how you’ll punish me without using 
the whip?”

“I’m damned if I know. Got any idea?”

“Slavegirls are not suppose to name their own punishments, their Master does that. 
Slavegirls are suppose to suffer and be very polite and adoring while they hurt. At least I think 
that’s the way of it.”

“Okay, I’ll think of something. Enjoying your freedom?”

“It’s heavenly. It’s gorgeous. I don’t know why you allow it.”

Hebber grunted. “How would it be I send you back to Dillon? Declare you a free woman?”

“Would you do that!” Eve was startled.

“Why not?”

Eve was suddenly concerned. “But you can’t! You can’t set me free. I have to be your slave 
for another five months or so. You send me back home and Yvonne is going to have to pay 
you back all that lovely money.”

“She put in half her time. It’s okay by me if she keeps half of what I paid.” Hebber 
chuckled. “What will you bet she doesn’t decided to come back and get her pretty little ass 
whipped every day for the next five months so she collects the whole thing?”

“Would she do that?”

“Okay. You go to Dillon, Yvonne comes to me to finish her training. I’m willing to be she’s 
done some backsliding with Dillon. Dillon’s not half as severe with you girls as he should be.”

“Gosh, when he kidnapped me in Rashwana, I thought he was a monster.” Eve paused to 
think. “I suppose you realize you haven’t had the same effect on me. as you had on Yvonne? 
I’m not nearly as respectful as I should be. And I talk to you like an equal and sometimes 
forget to call you ‘Master’.” She giggled at the memory. “You promised Dillon you’d return 
him a beautifully trained slavegirl. But I don’t think I am. I’m just ME.”

“The way I figured it you got inured to slavery with Dillon, the two of you developed a sort 
of technique so that when I whip you it doesn’t take you any farther down the road.” Hebber 
sighed heavily. “Then with me, I think I’ve maybe worked myself out on your sister. Sure I got 
results but I don’t really want to break your spirit the way’ I did with her.”

“You didn’t break Yvonne’s spirit. You simply conditioned her. I’m sorry I’m so difficult.”

“It’s my fault for not maintaining pressure on you steadily. I whip you cruelly and then let 
you know I’m in love with somebody else’s wife. Your training got shot all to hell.”

Eve had sensed the love of this strange man, sensed also that the terrible second 
whipping, the marks of which were still vivid on her skin, had been an expression of 
frustration. He hadn’t broken her spirit but had most certainly bruised her heart. Thoughtfully 
she said, ‘That prison is the place to break a girl. If you left me there and gave them a totally 
free hand, it wouldn’t take long before I would have no spirit left at all. If you told me now you
were going to turn the car around and take me back and leave me there, I’d do some fancy 
groveling right now. Those girls didn’t love me at all. I expect that’s the difference.”

“I was an asshole to put you there in the first place. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“It was a good idea, it taught me a lot. Hebber, darling, I really will try and be a better 
slavegirl for you.”

“What was that word?”

“I called you darling, it sort of slipped out. I’m sorry, I won’t forget again.”

“I liked it.”

Eve clasp the arm at her side to whisper, “I liked it, too. But let’s just say that even a 
married woman could spare a little of her love for a Master she admired. Dillon gave me to 
you for six months, he won’t mind.” She released her grip to say, forcefully, “Look, don’t allow 
these admissions to spoil anything. Be my Master, a real Master.”

Without a word, Hebber Markham slowed the car and turned into a small dirt road among
trees. His voice was gruff. “Get out and stand still.”

Eve obeyed. Her sexuality burned with a fresh intensity as Hebber crossed her wrists 
behind her back and corded them ruthlessly. With the final knot he picked her up and tossed 
her on the seat. Getting behind the wheel, he spared a sly grin to match Eve’s blush.

“Oh, Master!” She was breathless with pleasure. “Oh, Master, that’s what I needed. And you
knew! Am I crazy?”

“So, okay, we give it another try. I’ll make damned good and sure you don’t run away 
again.”

“I said I don’t want to be whipped. When you get me home I think you’d best whip me. 
Just to get us back on the right track. Besides, you have to punish me for running away.”

Hebber Markham grunted and patted Eve’s bare thigh reassuringly. “I won’t whip you. 
Don’t ever ask for punishment. You’ll get all you can handle without asking.” He gave her his 
sideways grin. “Remember, I’m a bastard.”

It was like heat in winter and sun in summer. Eve Soames glowed. She had never been 
more happy. She supposed it had to mean something that she was not even twisting her 
wrists against the hurting cords around her wrists. She accepted the hurt as right and proper, 
and that she could not free her hagds. It seemed right an proper that she could not. It was 
also nice to think of Markham’s girl ranch and what would be done to her when they arrived. 
Wistfully she thought of Dillon and Yvonne but they were once again five months distant. 
Perhaps when she returned to them, she would be well and truly trained. Perhaps!

“How is Sofia Hardian treating you, sweetheart?”

“As best she could within the rules. I felt a bitch for running away and getting myself 
caught and taken back there. There I was waiting for her when she got back. By rights I should
have had all sorts of punishments waiting for me. She was kind, she’s nice. I suppose you now 
she intends to marry you?”

“I sort of picked it up along the way. But a man would be a fool to take her away from that
damned jail of hers. She’s just like a lot of other people in high places. She wants her ass 
whipped. The best thing she can do is come visit me on weekends so she can have her ass 
marked up all the time.”

“Was she mad at you when you untied her from the corral?”

“Some. Said a few things she should have kept quiet about while I was untying her.” 
Hebber chuckled at the recollection. “I simply tied her hands again and roped her to the rail 
and used my belt. By the time I got tired of laying it across her back and ass, she’d gotten 
back to normal and was anxious to please. She’s quite a woman.”

“Why don’t you marry her, she’d be good for you?”.

“So would you. So would Yvonne.”

Eve let the subject drop. She would let Sofia Hardian fight her own battles. And she was 
sure Sofia could fight a pretty good battle, too. Eve smiled inwardly at the prospect of being a 
witness to so strange a courtship in reverse. Since she had to be prisoner for five more months
she might expect to behold an interplay of wills and personalities such as she herself had 
done with Dillon. She could well imagine Miss Hardian yanking her back into prison for a week
or two as her contribution to the training of a slave. Eve shuttered.

It was good to be home. The girl ranch extended a dusty welcome. Joyfully they went 
immediately to the lounge and its bar. “Damned it if I’m going to pour the drinks,” Hebber 
said. “Think you can?”

“With my hands tied behind my back? I can try but there’ll be some spills for sure.”

“Come here!”

Once more the thrill. Cords came off. It was good to feel his strong hands on her wrists, 
working the cords off. It sent a tingle of excitement all the way down to her loins which were 
growing warm. She had expected handcuffs but Hebber took her wrists, put them together 
palm to palm in front, and tied them. She obediently mixed the drinks and brought them one 
at a time for her master and herself. It was a good feeling, a homecoming. She was not even 
going to be whipped! With her hands tied as now, it was easy to hold a glass. Eve was well 
aware of the eroticism of her pose as she knelt and sipped and listened to what he had to say. 
But his speculations as to how to punish her were cut short by the arrival of Lolita. A Lolita 
with shining eyes and a giggle she could not suppress.

“While you were gone, Master, the so lovely lady you had here for so long a time was 
locked in the cage. She is there now.”

“You have to be kidding!”

“No, Master, I have given her food and drink but she wants you very bad. The Senor 
Soames who brought her here said she would tell what there is to tell. The Senor Soames was 
in very much a hurry.”

Eve wanted to laugh. Poor Hebber Markham was now saddled with three females, two of 
them slaves and one wishing to become one. With Lolita gone the master said, disgustedly, 
“Well, I’ll be damned! There has to be a story to this but let’s finish our drink first.”

Eve glowed She wore no irons and was not to be whipped. And now Yvonne was added to
her blessings. Soon she would learn about Dillon and her puzzled master was going to have to
make up his mind over the disposal of such a plethora of feminine bodies. She knew it was 
not beyond Hebber Markham’s sardonic sense of humor to put them all in the cage and whip 
them everyday. But on the other hand..

Yvonne had heard their steps. She was ironed and nude, kneeling with head bowed in the 
manner of Markham’s training. The movement of her breasts betrayed her inward turmoil, her 
submission coupled with Eve’s bound hands made a sisterly embrace difficult.

“You can get up and say hi to your sister, sweetheart,” Hebber said cheerfully. “Then you’d 
better tell me what the hell goes.”

To cages girls standing nude and taut, plus the man who owned the cage. It was a 
dramatic scene as Yvonne gave her simple message. “My brother-in-law, to whom you gave 
me, has received an offer for his property in Rashwana. He has gone to conclude the matter 
but does not know the time involved he gives me back to you for the time of his absence. I 
am yours to do with as you wish. Master, should I once more kneel?”

“You can both kneel while I sit on the bench.” Hebber chuckled, beginning to enjoy the 
situation. “Why didn’t Dillon stay to see his wife?”

“We didn’t know where you were or how long you’d be gone. Master, will I be whipped?”

“No. I’m getting soft in my old age. But you’re still well trained, a hell of a lot better than I 
thought old Dillon would manage.”

“He respected your wishes, Master. He punished me terribly if I disobeyed or failed to 
please.”

“Dillon seems to have made a good job of marking you.”

“I have been well whipped, Master. And punished in ways you would approve. More than 
ever I know myself a slave.”

Eve’s heart felt a great tenderness for her sister in whom enslavement was so deeply 
ingrained. Eve had supposed herself accustomed to rope and chain and whip, but knew she 
could not yet match Yvonne’s deep emotional involvement in what she had become. At this 
moment Eve’s knees were hurting on the hard floor but her sister showed no signs of 
discomfort or concern. The irons she bore so gracefully set off her loveliness in a perfection no
jewelry could achieve.

“What does our Master expect to do with us?” she asked. “Did Dillon not consider our 
Master might not desire two slaves?”

“You must trust our Master’s judgment,” Yvonne told Eve. “Our Master will do with us as 
he pleases.”

“Seems like I can’t whip your ass and send either of you home,” Hebber observed. He 
winked at Eve. “How’d it be if I send this sister of yours to Sofia Hardian for her vacation?” He 
laughed at the look of horror the question had created. “Don’t worry, honey, I love her, too, 
and I’ll continue her training myself. I’m damned near given up on you.”

“Has Eve not become obedient, Master!” Yvonne said in sincere shock.

“Suppose she has in a half-assed sort of way. Let’s say we’ve a working agreement.”

Yvonne’s glance a her sister was pure reproach. “Have you not become obedient, darling? I
can see you have been horribly whipped.”

“I’m kneeling on this hard floor, aren’t I? My knees are hurting me but I haven’t 
complained. At least not yet.”

“That is a complaint, dear, it is not respectful.”

“I’ve been too easy with her,” Hebber said. “I whipped her so bad a couple of time I felt 
guilty about it. She ought to be whipped again right now but I haven’t get the heart. It’s a real 
pain in the ass the way you girls get under a guy’s skin. I send Eve to jail to get a good 
working over but I kept thinking about her having a bad time and first thing you know I go 
and bring her out again. The strange thing is I don’t know that I wouldn’t feel the same way 
about you. How’d you like to go to prison?”

“I will go to prison gladly. Master. But I am a slavegirl and slavegirls do not thrive in prison.
Slavegirls should be trained by their Masters.”

“Damned if that doesn’t sound like I’m getting a verbal shaft.” Hebber Markham grunted 
in fake disgust. “You telling me what I should do with you?”

“I would not dare, Master. I want only to obey.”

“I’m taking Eve back upstairs. You’ll stay here,” Hebber said thoughtfully. “But don’t worry, 
your sister will be locked in with you soon enough so you can get your girl talk off your chest.”

“I suppose it’s no big deal,” Hebber said thoughtfully, once more in the lounge. “Here, give
me your hands.”

Eve, quivering with speculations she dare not voice, watched her hands get untied and 
then scampered to the bar for more drinks. “Put yours where you kneel,” Hebber instructed. 
“Then stand and turn around.”

It was innocent yet deadly. The master might have punitive things in mind or be only 
mischievous but Eve’s hands were once more placed palm to palm, bound tight and then, as 
though to give clue of what was still in store, a rope snared her elbows to draw them close 
and impose a kind of pain, a pain the slavegirl loathed.

“Sticks your tits out nicely. Now you can kneel.”

Even with tied elbows their communion had an element of fun. Hebber fed her from the 
glass as desired and permitted her to sit back on her heels. When she ventured, “t suppose 
you know the way you’ve tied my arms hurts,” he retorted cheerfully, “Glad you told me, I 
might never have guessed.”

The kneeling girl was wondering if she dared protest further but what Hebber now said 
made hurting elbows seem trivial. “How’d you like to take a holiday? Have a day with your 
sister in the cage and then go home. Whether Dillon’s there or not doesn’t really matter, it will
still be a change for you. I’ll look after clothes and money.”

“Oh, Hebber, would you … really!?” Wonderful visions floated before Eve’s mind.

“Sure. You may as well stay until Dillon returns. Then you can decided if you’ll return here 
and Yvonne will return to Dillon! Getting so I enjoy forcing decisions on you more than 
whipping your ass.”

“Oh, Master, if I had any arms I’d thrown them around your neck and kiss you.”

“That’s my rope around your arms, I’ve got them anyway. What’s your answer?”

“Yes! Oh, yes! You’re the most wonderful Master a girl ever had.” They left it at that.

The home of Mr. and Mrs. Dillon Soames looked exactly the same and Eve’s key still fitted 
the same lock. Inside the air was warm and there was a sound of a chain Eve easily recognized.
When Fawana came into view with ankles ironed to make a sound Eve knew, she was greeted 
warmly by Eve, and there was hugs and kisses.

“Where’s the Master,” Eve demanded breathlessly.

“Alas, F do not know,” the young slave mourned. “Our Master chained my feet so I could 
not run away and then he took your sister and said he might be gone a couple of weeks. He 
told me to be a good girl. That is all I know.”

“He didn’t say anything about Rashwana?”

“No, Mistress. But he told me to tell you, should you come, not to worry he’d soon be 
back.”

Everything was as it should be, nothing unexpected, nothing out of place. Eve felt a let 
down, in a limbo between one master and another.

“Mistress, would it please you if I bound you well and locked you in the cage until our 
Master’s return. I would guard you well.”

It was a sweet suggestion but Eve was in no mood for the loss of liberty. She was sure that 
if she agreed she would indeed remain within the cage and bound up for how every many 
weeks it took Dillon to return. Fawana did things properly! She was, admittedly, tempted just 
for old time’s sake but saw herself impatiently pacing against the bars awaiting a husband that
did not return. Quite suddenly she knew what to do.

Rashwana looked and smelt the same. On her way to the house in the distant village, Eve 
paused at the school where she had taught but saw no familiar face. She nosed the rented 
jeep along the familiar dirt track where she had once walked in shackles with her class of 
sixteen girls soon to be sold. Despite vastly changed circumstances, Eve shivered at the 
memory. Had she not felt certain of Dillon waiting for her at the end of the day she might 
have turned back.

Memories came back. The dusty trail, the simple house in which Dillon had kept her 
prisoner carried for her fanciful notions for Dillon and herself to return and take up residence. 
Once more Eve shivered. She was thankful Dillon was selling the property and in so doing, 
ridding himself of that part of him that was so African. If he had not kidnapped her, he would 
still be a slave trader in that same house. She nosed her jeep within the shelter of the lean to 
beside the house and then, with beating heart, knocked firmly at the door.

It was not Dillon. Coffee colored male features told her the master was in his office. Intent 
upon a glorious surprise, Eve swept the servant aside.

“It’s all right, I know the way. I don’t wish to be announced.”

Once more the familiar passages, the familiar doors. Eve wondered how often they had 
echoed to the sounds of irons and maiden tears. Her pace quickened as did her breath.

Once more it was not Dillon. Eve stood aghast at her intrusion upon the florid-faced, burly 
man behind the desk, a man who looked up in startled amazement, rose to his feet in greeting
and ejaculated in unmistakable Cockney, “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Miss, but where in hell 
did you come from?”

His name was William Watts, call me Bill. He had that day competed the purchase of 
Dillon’s property and Dillon had departed to a destination unknown. Mr. Watts imparted this 
information while admiring Eve’s breasts. As if my magic, a gin and tonic was suddenly offered
her.

Once more the let down, the vacuum Eve wanted to escape. She was irritated by bad luck. 
But perhaps if she could catch up with Dillon before he went too far.

Mr. Watts was sympathetic. “Cor blymey, Miss, it’s a ruddy shame to come all this way for 
nothin’.”

“I was aiming for a surprise. It’s my own fault.”

“Well, no great harm is done. You’ll catch up with him sooner or later. If you would like to 
stay the night, I can give you a girl as lady’s maid. Nice little thing who does everything she’s 
told.”

“No thank you. I’ll head back. I was never happy in this village.” Eve hesitated, faintly 
embarrassed. “I do hope you do well in this business, I wish you luck.”

Mr. Watts produced smile. “If you’re Mrs. Soames, I don’t have to tell you what this place is
all about.”

“No, I’m afraid not. My husband was a slave trader and I expect you’re the same.” Eve 
contrived a chuckle. “It appears to be an honorable profession here.”

“Damned right it is! England would be a lot better place if a man could go to a place and 
buy a girl on the block. I’m enlarging the place and aiming for a weekly auction, or maybe 
once a month. If I can get the merchandise. Did you leave word where Dillon can find you?”

“I didn’t bother, there was only a servant and I wasn’t sure how long I’d be.”

“I’m English, you know.” Mr. Watts made the announcement as if it were very important. 
“We English don’t pry but there’s a rumor around the village that you were once a part of 
Soames’ merchandise. That he keep you chained and offered you for sale to the highest 
bidder. That you know the inside of that cage downstairs. Damned intriguing, say what?”

“It’s more or less true but I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Sold you a couple of times then fell in love with you. So they say.”

“That’s right. Dillon still calls me his slavegirl.”

“That right? He should!” Mr. Watts said approvingly. “And a very lovely slavegirl, if you’ll 
permit me to say so. Will your husband know enough to get in touch with us here?”

“‘Fraid not. I left in such a hurry. But it doesn’t matter, I’ll catch up with him.”

“What about your family, wouldn’t you like to phone them?”

“I’ve only got a sister and she’s … well, she’s not available.”

Mr. Watts nodded sagely. “Damned frustrating the way these things work out sometimes.” 
He mused thoughtfully. “And you drove all by yourself down the coast in that little jeep?”

“Why not? A lot of the road was familiar.”

“Quite so. Quite so.” Mr. Watts beamed in understanding. “I’ve often remarked how easy it 
is to disappear in this part of the world. The language and all….”

“I suppose so. Anyway, thanks for the drink. I’d best be heading back.”

“I’d prefer you to stay.”

Thinking of it afterwards, Eve remembered it was at that point she got the message. “It’s 
kind of you to offer. But, really, Mr. Watts, there’s nothing to keep me here.”

“I can keep you here.”

“Perhaps you’d explain that?”

“Well, luv, that’s not hard to explain.” Mr. Watts produced another smile. “During the last 
five minutes you’ve ceased to be Mrs. Dillon Soames and became merchandise. I’ve decided 
to include you in my inventory.”

In icy hand was on Eve’s spine. She realized that everything she had said to this man had 
insured him reaching this conclusion. Cursing her stupidity, she brought out the heavy 
weapons. “If you mean what I think you do, let me advise against it. A great deal of wealth and
influence would be brought to bear should you make so stupid a mistake.”

“By that time, luv, you’ll be sold.”

Once more the icy clutch. It was easy to follow this man’s reasoning, it was logical. Eve 
looked longingly at the door.

“Your name’s Eve, isn’t it? Well, Eve, if you’re thinking of doing a dash for the border, you’d
best think again.” Mr. Watts oozed concern. “I’ve got an adequate staff here, brought them 
with me. Do you want me to clap my hands?”

“Not if it means what I think it does.”

“It does indeed, luv. Might as well face the fact, you’re back at square one. You’re a 
slavegirl the way you were before Soames married you.”

“I’m not, that’s absurd! Haven’t you got more sense?”

“Oh, sure, I’ve got all the sense there is.” The slave trader eyed her with benevolence. “I’m 
wondering if I need to turn you over to the staff or whether you have enough common sense 
to yield yourself back over to where you belong. Interesting situation, isn’t it?”

Eve was furious. She was also frightened. Memories crowded, none of them good. She 
could almost feel the iron collar on her neck. Thoughts of standing naked before this 
self-assured male were repulsive. With all the determination she could muster, she said, “I will 
treat what you’ve said as a joke. I will now be going.” Mr. William Watts clapped his hands.

A man and a woman, both large and muscular. One glance told Eve not to resist. “Send 
them away, I know the drill. Let’s stop fencing with each other.”

The smiling faces went away. Mr. Watts suggested softly, ‘Take off your clothes.”

The ancient ritual of defeat! With out coy hesitations Eve took off her clothes until she 
stood naked before the scrutiny of a man who could probably assess her worth on the open 
market to the dollar. Mr. Watts was impressed. “Holly cow! You’re quite something, Eve. A 
whole lot better than I’d hoped. You’ll fetch top priced and beyond.”

“I’m sure I will, I did before. But can I make one last appeal to reason?”

“With those tits and legs you can’t. Usually I don’t mess with the merchandise. But in your 
case….”

“Yes, I know. You can ravish me, before or after you’ve tied me down. But look, Mr. Watts, I 
don’t want to be whipped. I know this whole drill and I’d be crazy to get myself lashed and 
flogged and caned for a principle I can’t uphold. You’ve got me! I’ll do what I’m told.”

“Damn it, I wouldn’t have missed this for worlds.” Mr. Watts was fascinated by her 
loveliness and his good fortune. This girl would make him a rich man, and properly handled, 
without suspicion. He could have his fill of her during the coming night and sell her tomorrow.
He was no novice in the slave trade and know several customers who would jump at a fine 
woman like this. Regretfully he said, “Look, sweetheart, I can’t sit here talking all day. I’ll have 
to put you in a cage. And maybe a piece of rope, too-for old time sake, you know.”

Eve let him take her arm. She longed to scream but no sound left her lips. In dumb misery 
she walked the passages and passed the rooms. Whatever happened to her from now on 
would be the end, the absolute end.

The cage was empty. Mr. Watts was apologetic and said he had not had time to round up 
much of an inventory. Those few he now possessed were locked away in cells. But a prize of 
Eve’s quality deserved the cage. “I’d like to tie you very tight with rope, Mrs. Soames,” William 
Watts explained. “There’s something very personal about rope. A little here and there will be 
nice. Now, just stand still.”

Eve stood still, reliving the agony of the past. It seemed impossible that this should 
happen but the bit of cord on wrists and elbows told her it was real. Her knees were also 
bound but her ankles were free so she could shuffle around the cage. The iron collar locked 
upon her neck was a reminder of what she was and would forever be. It certainly wasn’t 
needed to keep her prisoner. Mr. William Watts locked the cage door upon his most recent 
acquisition and went on his way. The girl who would once again be sold wept in desolation of 
loneliness.

Tied as she was, sleep was difficult. The girl who tended her had little sympathy, saying 
only that it was better not to struggle against the cords, she would never get loose, not ever. 
Morning brought Mr. Watts to again inspect his prize. “Have a good night, luv?”

“No.”

“Want to be untied?”

“I’d be grateful if you would.”

“How about tying your hands above your head? Damned flattering to any girl.”

“Look, is there any need to tie me! I’ve delivered myself into your hands, what more do 
you want?”

“What I want, Eve, is to give you a good whipping. But whip marks give a bad impression 
to a client. I have seen you’ve been whipped not too long ago. But I’m too much of a 
gentleman to ask how and why.”

“And I’m too much of a lady to tell you.”

They stared in mute hostility until Eve wiggled against the ropes and pleaded, “Please let 
me go. Please don’t sell me. If you let me go I’ll make quite sure you get a lot of money.”

“sweetheart, you’re just talking. You know damned well you’ll never be free again. I’ll be 
surprised if I don’t sell you before nightfall. You’re prime stuff and I’ve got clients on the way. 
Can I rely on you to be sensible?”

“You mean the act of submission?”

“You see, you’re already trained!” William Watts was very happy. “Yes, that’s exactly what I 
mean. Do it for me now.”

“I can’t. Not tied up like this.”

Watts unlocked the door and untied the attractive knees. In desperation their owner 
kneeled and spread her legs wide. Her head bowed. William Watts stared in awe. “I’ve never 
seen anything like it,” he said admiringly. “I want you to greet each client as you now greet 
me. If you ball things up, I’ll thrash you within an inch of your life. Understand.’”

“I understand. I’ll be what you wish.” Eve’s voice held all the bitterness in the world. “I’ve 
been well trained.”

“Damned funny Soames would retire from the trade when he can produce girls as lovely as
you.” He paused a moment. “Look, sweetheart, you and I are both doing what we have to do, 
making the best of things. I know there’s a story behind that pose of yours. You want to tell 
me?”

Eve told him everything. She was lonely and at least she was talking to someone. When 
she was finished she asked, “Won’t you please untie me? These ropes hurt horribly and there’s
no need of them. And there’s no way I can get out of this cage. Haven’t I humiliated myself 
enough?”

William Watts tugged at knots, visibly touched by the story of a slavegirl’s life. “Damn it! If I
hadn’t gone too far with it already, I’d let you loose.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m going to leave you with only your hands tied behind your back. It’s a sure-fire seller 
and I’m in love with it myself. It suits what you are down to a tee. I’ll send in a girl to freshen 
you up before the clients come. I’d take you to bed but it with show on your face.” He paused 
in vague embarrassment. “Look, we may not see too much of each other so I’m going to say 
good bye even before you’re sold. Once you’re sold they whisk you out of her damned quick. 
You’re a damned good girl.”

“Then keep me for yourself, don’t sell me.”

“Can’t afford you, luv. What I’m going to get out of you is independence for the rest of my
life.”

Eve watched him go. She tugged at tied wrists but soon abandoned the useless effort. 
Soon she would be sold and that was the end of everything. Unhappily she allowed herself to 
be worked on my the servant girl who came down. When the girl was gone, she leaned 
against the bars to wait. After an hour she heard the footsteps of the first client. Mrs. Eve 
Soames fell upon her knees and bowed her head.


THE END
