HIT-184 Chained Destiny
By F.E. Campbell


CHAPTER ONE - The Seventy-Third Day

This is the seventy-third day of my imprisonment. It is no different from those already 
etched upon my mind. But since I must start somewhere, I will call it the beginning.

Michael Torrance is clever, he conquers the female by attrition, but by such means will not 
bend me to his will. We play a waiting game, he secure in his possession of my body, I equally 
secure in possession of my mind. I will defeat him but this he will not accept. We both know 
he can whip me into a bruised and bleeding package of female, anxious to say yes to 
anything. This is understood. But Michael Torrance knows such victories are without honor. He
will bend and break me by other, more subtle, ways. Or so he thinks!

Four instruments are used in his hopeful subjugation of Denise Chartrand. They are the 
utter total boredom of being held naked behind the bars of this cage in which I am locked.

The second is the handcuffs on my wrists and the heavy shinning links of the chains and 
bands linking my ankles. Within this cage they hinder nothing, but if the door were upon they 
would impede escape. I find shame in wearing them but have no chose. The third infliction is 
nakedness. It is hard for Denise Chartrand to dispose herself within this cage for others to 
behold. His other instrument is fear, fear of what he may do with me and fear of feminine 
weakness within myself. I must never let him see this fear-never!

During my first couple of weeks behind these bars I was allowed the daily paper. In it I was 
able to peruse the media reaction to my disappearance, all the way from shocked surmise 
about a love affair to ransom demands. And then on down a declining interest in the 
vanishing of a girl, albeit a very rich and prominent girl, to where I merited only a few short 
lines, then nothing. Kidnapping a socialite appears to be the easiest of crimes.

The paper’s stopped and the woman who tends me said there would be no more. From 
that day on I was to sit in my cage, a captive canary, without benefit of perch or swing.

Judging my condition I was forced to conclude I was lucky Torrance had not tossed me in 
a dungeon, at least this huge room in which the cage is housed is bright and cheerful but the 
hours are slow to pass, and the weeks and months are pure punishment. I am visited several 
times by the jailer who calls herself Mrs. Kathy Trimby, and this visits keep me sane. But since 
the first day the visits of Michael Torrance have been few. Since his ultimate and statement of 
purpose, he refuses to speak while circling my cage, his eyes feeding upon my womanhood, 
his half amused smile waiting for my capitulation. But I do not give in. So far our contest is a 
draw. He nods and goes away to leave me behind these bars with only chains for company. 
His is very clever, but I am clever, too!

The first day is etched in memory. I came awake slowly from the drug, naked upon the 
cushions in this cage. Orientation came in the form of disbelief, my paramount concern being 
handcuffed wrists and chained ankles. They made no sense to me and I spent the first minute 
of returning consciousness in a conviction I could be rid of them if I tried hard enough. It was 
only when I discovered I could not free myself that I turned my attention beyond the bars. 
Michael Torrance was standing there in the pose I now know all too well.

My first reaction was gladness at a familiar face. That was followed by swift concern about 
my nakedness. Instinctively I embraced a cushion to hide those portions of myself which are 
not normally seen. But I was not concerned then and came out with the cliches of which I am 
now shamed.

“Michael, thank goodness! What on earth has happened?”

He took his time in answering. “You’ve been kidnapped, Denise. Don’t let it bother you, it’s
no big deal.”

“But I’m … I’m naked!”

“So I noticed. Don’t knock your knockers! Nice patch of hair down below, too. I wouldn’t 
bother with that cushion, either.”

Torrance was no gentlemen. And no friend, either. I had always found his down-to-earth 
vulgarity obnoxious and snubbed him. More than once. But I found him welcome now on the 
basis of any port in a storm. Clutching at self-control, I said, “Please don’t joke, this isn’t a 
joking matter. I’m naked and chained.”

“That’s right, you are. You’ll stay that way.”

Awareness was sweeping away the last of the drug. And it became obvious that Michael 
Torrance was less of a friend than I had supposed. But I gave him another chance.

“Please get me some clothes. I’d be grateful if you’d take me home.”

He did not answer. His silence was more eloquent that words. In one swift flash I got the 
message. “You’re not here to help! You’re here because you’ve had this done to me!

Michael, can’t realize this has gone altogether too far? I could have you in jail!”

“It’s you who’s in jail, sweetheart”

“Don’t call me sweetheart! I’m not sure I’m understand any of this but it’s outrageous. I 
want it to end. I wish to go home.”

“I’ll just bet you do.” There was laughter in his voice, “sweetheart, you’ll never go home 
again. Where you’re at right now is home.”

I found his “sweetheart” offensive, such easy familiarities had always offended me.

Reviewing past associations I realized Torrance might have little incentive to unlock the 
door to my cage. I still did not comprehend the enormity of his ambition.

“Look, honeybunch,” he said easily, “let me put you in the picture. It’s best you 
understand.”

I said nothing, just stared, clutching my cushion and still hoping it was all a dream. It was 
not a dream. Michael Torrance’s voice was incisive.

“This is an oldie but goodie, you haughty bitch!” Torrance found a chair and seated himself
in careless comfort while he talked. “Remember all the stories of the haughty maiden forced 
to grovel at her captor’s feet?” He grinned. “It’s a pretty theme, one I’ve been toying with for a
long time. I finally decided you had a good enough body to warrant the risk. If there is any 
risk! You simply spat in my eye once too often.”

Torrance was probably right, I had never liked him. He was plebeian and vulgar to boot. I 
had scorned his invitation to bed. Icily, I retorted, “I’m sure there are plenty of other girls who 
detest you as much as I. Why pick on me?”

“Have to pick on one of them. Miss Chartrand. You’re simply the bitchiest of the bunch and
happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. So here you are where I’ve always 
wanted you.”

“Any man can take a girl by force. It’s nothing to be proud of. I wish you’d take that smirk 
off your face.”

“Make you a deal. Throw away that cushion and stand up so I can get a good look for you.

Do that and I’ll arrange my features anyway you wish.”

“Drop dead!”

“I guess this is where I explain about the use of force, sweetheart.”

His tone was actually serious. “There’s Mrs. Trimby, whom you still have to meet. There’s 
also a couple of men whom I can call on to work my wicked will with you. I don’t enjoy force 
any more than you so why not be reasonable. Let’s forget heroics.”

The drug had left memory of rough males hands and strong female fingers. The last thing I
wanted was more men to stare at my breasts and pubic hair. Torrance was one too many. But 
at least we’d been properly introduced. I tossed aside the cushion and stood erect to face him 
through the bars, knowing myself a vast blush and uncertain of what to do with handcuffed 
hands. I allowed them to fall limply upon my pubic patch and tried to stare him down. Michael
Torrance’s eyes were stronger than mine, he had ever advantage while I had none. I stood 
naked for his pleasure while silently vowing to put him in jail for the rest of his life. His retort 
was typical.

“Lovely tits and twat, sweetheart, you’re a winner! I always knew you were. Those tits of 
yours don’t sag an inch. I’ll get around to your pussy in my own good time. Come over to the 
bars.”

I was Denise Chartrand. Men catered to me, not I to them. But I was anxious to end this 
farce and had shown myself naked to chosen men often enough to break the stupid rules of 
modesty. If showing myself nude to Michael Torrance would get me out from behind the bars,
it was well worth it. Cautiously and metallically, I took snubbed steps to where I could clasp 
two bars with my handcuffed hands.

“Look all you want,” I told him insolently. “You won’t see many naked girls where I’m 
sending you.”

Torrance’s obvious enjoyment did nothing to lessen my blush. I clutched the bars. His 
disclosures continued and my heart sank.

“What I intend to get from you, Miss Denise Chartrand, is total submission. If I open the 
door to that cage, will you come out and kneel to kiss my feet and tell me you’re my slave?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Think, sweetheart, I hold the cards, you hold none.”

My blush intensified at the mental picture his demand evoked. On my knees and kissing 
his boots! I’d see him dead first. Or die myself. There was just no way!

“Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re being absurd, Michael, you know damned well I won’t ever do that. No decent girl 
in her right mind would ever do such a thing.”

“You will.”

I did not answer. We simply stared until I felt the bars a protection from what I saw within 
his eyes. I was suddenly terribly afraid.

“Look, you snooty bitch, I can easily beat you into submission but I won’t. What I will do is 
leave you locked inside there until you get wise to yourself. You can have freedom now or stay
there the rest of your life. I like seeing you the way you are so I don’t give a damn if you 
decide to be obstinate. You’ll get damned good and sick of sitting in that cage.”

He would not dare! Michael Torrance was all bluster and vulgarity. I’d be a fool to pay 
attention to his threats. His position was weaker than mine, and than he supposed’. I was 
more concerned with other things than his senseless threat of life imprisonment. I held up my 
cuffed hands.

“Why these?”

“Purely symbolic.” He shrugged. “You don’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain.

But those handcuffs and leg irons will tell you ever day who you are and where you’re 
going. Wear ‘em and weep.”

I watched my captor made a swaggering exit, slamming the door and making needless 
noise with locks and bolts. I did not know then he would not speak to me again.

Michael Torrance has a presence which seems to fill a room. The big room in which my 
cage was anchored seemed suddenly empty and very silent. There were big, gaudy cushions 
all around but nothing with which to cover myself. I scorned the clutching of a cushion to hide
my breasts and my pubic area. There are worse things than being naked, but in my exposure 
Michael Torrance had scored a victory. I hated him with all my heart.

I now examined the shining chrome cuffs on my wrists and their joining link. Handcuffs 
were shameful things designed for criminals. I loathed them far more than I hated the heavier 
links and wide metal bands by which my feet were joined. I tested the leg irons by taking a few
steps back and forth. Inside the cage they would impose no hardship other than the 
humiliation of metallic sound with every step I took. But if ever got beyond the door they 
would make escape impossible. I was very much a prisoner. And after a series of tugs and 
turns and twists knew I could never free myself. The shining metal would restrain me for as 
long as Torrance wished. Disgustedly, I chose a cushion on which to dispose my nudity, all too 
conscious of harems and captive girls. There was nothing I could do about that picture except 
live with it. I was seething with both anger and fear but also with a growing frustration which 
drove me to clutch the iron barred door and push and pull with frantic efforts. They did not 
move.

I went back to my cushion to blink back tears.

Being chained is pretty much like a Rosary, a girl tells her beads, or links, over and over in 
endless tedium. There are fourteen links joining the anklets I cannot escape. I know each link 
as an old friend, or as an enemy laughing at me. I have become used to them, and with the 
handcuffs which compel me to use two hands for everything. But none of this matters, all that 
matters is that I do not kneel to kiss the feet of Michael Torrance.

I owe my sanity to Kathy Trimby who relieves the boredom of my captivity with cheerful 
laughter and comments. From day one, we have understood each other. Kathy has hung a 
snake-like whip upon the wall, short but deadly, and assured me she will use it if I disobey or 
cause her trouble. My retort to this was that our only contact is through iron bars and I am in 
no condition to cause trouble for anyone. She agreed that this was so but it did no harm for 
me to see the whip and know it would be ruthlessly used if I gave cause.

Mentally I consigned the ugly object to the same place as Michael’s ugly threats. Neither 
would ever touch me, I was certain of it.

Kathy Trimby and Michael Torrance had one thing in common, a pleasant, easy vulgarity.

Probably this earthy quality caused them to see me as stuck up or haughty and 
condescending.

“Bet you’re thinking you’ll walk out of this place inside a few days, Miss Chartrand,” Kathy 
observed. “Best forget it, honey, unless you want to be reasonable. The boss says for me to 
take him the message any time you say the word. You kiss his ass and you’re home free.”

“I thought I was suppose to kiss something far lower down,” I said icily. “There’ll be no 
message.”

“His foot or his ass, what’s the difference! Just his way of having you admit who’s boss,”

she laughed. “It’s the same as telling him he can put his hand on it whenever he likes.”

“You’re being unnecessarily vulgar.”

“The facts of life ain’t never vulgar, honey. And that little thingie between your legs is the 
fact that tells the story every time. Shit, if I were in your place, I’d kiss ass and be right out of 
there real quick!”

I held up the linked hands and kicked the chain between my ankles. “Are these really 
necessary? I’d be grateful if you’d take them off.”

“Hell, no! They ain’t necessary at all. You’re wearing them as a part of getting yourself 
broke in. The boss could break you easy with the whip I hung on that wall but that ain’t his 
way. I don’t agree with him but got his own ideas and you don’t have a hope against them.

Honey, I don’t want to be mean. You’re far too damned pretty to sit in that there cage for 
all to see. Why don’t you act sensible and get back into the world?”

“As Michael Torrance’s chattel? No thanks!”

“Have it your way, sweetheart. If you like sitting there, looking through the bars, I’ll be the 
last to complain. But, damn it, Miss Chartrand, you got a shape to stop the clock. And that 
lovely blonde hair! Wish I had it. You wouldn’t see me playing no jailer’s part.”

“Look, Miss Trimby, if you’ve got ambitions, I’ve got the money.”

“Stow it, honey, stow it! Don’t make me no offers. There ain’t no way I’m letting you loose.

The boss and I, we got our own understanding and I ain’t doing nothing ‘cept what he 
says.”

“I’d make you rich?”

“I’d bet you would! But I’d have the sorest ass this end of town when the boss catches up 
with me. No gal gets away from Michael Torrance, not ever!”

I sighed, nothing was going to be easy. But I tried another approach. “Very well, but on the
grounds of humanity and mercy. Kathy, you surely don’t want to consign me to this cage for 
life?”

“Don’t matter to me none. Look, honey, I’m going to call you Denise and you call me 
Kathy. I got a notion I’ll be looking after you a real long time behind them bars. You’re acting 
like a real dumb blonde.”

“You’ll have to let me out sometime. The bathroom. You know?”

“I’m surprised you ain’t looked at them two pails at the other end of the cage. One’s full of
water and the other’s got a lid on it. There’s a little door in the bars where we exchange them 
every day. That answer you question?”

It answered my question. I felt the cold clutch of imprisonment forever upon my spine! For
the first time I confronted what Kathy saw as common place. Desperately I pleaded, “Please let
me out of here, please, please!”

Kathy Trimby served two masters. I could not doubt her sympathy but it was a casualty 
before her loyalty to Torrance. Her next cheerful remark was a shock, “I ain’t letting you loose, 
honey, face up to kissing a male ass or resign yourself to sitting behind them bars forever. 
Shit, you got a free choice, what’s you beefing about!”

“There’s nothing free about any of it, I was kidnapped, I’m a prisoner.”

Kathy considered me and my imprisonment without concern. “That’s one way of looking at
it,” she considered doubtfully. “But I want to tell you, you ain’t the first gal in that there cage. 
Whenever the boss gets a new one I make a little bet with myself about how long she’ll hold 
out. Most of them give in after the third day. There’s something about the third day. One girl 
lasted forty days but in the end she was damned glad to get out and kiss a pair of shoes. I 
ain’t got you figured yet. I’ll make an estimate after I’ve had you here a week.”

“A week! Other girls!” This was another side to Michael Torrance I had not seen. “You 
mean, he’s kidnapped other girls and kept them in this cage?” I asked in pure shock.

“Sure he has, honey. It’s easier to kidnap a girl than you think. The boss, he likes them sort 
of snotty and stuck up the way you are. You’re being awful sweet and you think I’m shit, don’t 
you?”

“But, how many? I mean, what’s he do with them all?”

“He breaks them, he uses them-what I mean is they get right royally fucked. When he gets 
them so they’re falling in love, he sells them off someplace I don’t know about. Maybe best I 
don’t know, maybe a brothel. That’s a polite word for a whore house.”

I looked at my jailer askance. I expect Kathy thought she was being reassuring but I did 
not pick it up that way. I was familiar with the Michael Torrance of this world and what Kathy 
had told me made sense. He’d pick a girl he considered above his station, break her, use her 
carnally, and then sell her to a destination unknown. Kathy’s guess about the brothel was 
probably correct, it would be one surefire way of preventing a girl testifying against him in 
Court. I felt utterly diminished to less than nothing, female flesh to be used and disposed of 
for the pleasure of a man. I grasped the bars and was about to plead on the basis of one girl 
to another, but Kathy waved cheerfully and made a hip-swaying exit.

The door slammed shut with its usual thud of bolts and lock. I had made progress but in 
the wrong direction. Unhappily I returned to my cushion.

I told myself I could believe nothing, but on the other hand could prove nothing false. I 
had become simply a captive girl, subject to another’s will. If my eventual submission, 
supposing it took weeks, would earn me nothing more than to be chained in a brothel for the 
delight of men and the profit of the owner, there would be no point in surrender. The longer I 
held out against the bars and the chains, the greater my chance to force Michael Torrance to 
come to terms. True, there was the possibility of his impatience driving him to sell me before 
my time, but that was a chance I would have to take. I looked at my handcuffed wrists, I kicked
at the chains upon my feet, I had no options.

Kathy Trimby brought the evening paper. From it I learned of my disappearance, my 
family’s concern, and the fact the FBI was following clues. There was quite a write-up and, for a
few moments, I felt certain that with such a to-do, Michael Torrance would want to come to 
terms. But my euphoria was short-lived. When I analyzed the report a second time, I realized 
everyone was in a dither with none having any idea where I was hidden.

Michael Torrance was no small potatoes, no one would even think of him.

My dinner was bread and fruit. Kathy told me seriously it was all I was going to get but 
assured me my figure would respond. I ate some fruit but ignored the bread. That was long 
ago, now I eat the bread in all humility. Captivity has taught me much. On that first night I 
kicked around the pillows to make a comfortable couch on which a chained and naked girl 
might sleep. I was surprised by the result. When I awoke, my cage was bright with sunlight. 
Kathy was opening the tiny door in my cage.

Any way I chose, the cleansing of my body must be fraught with shame. Kathy offered a 
bowl of warm water in which I could stand and bath myself as best I could. There was little 
alternative. It was degrading to have to bath oneself in such a way before the eyes of a 
stranger.

I ate my fruit and began my day.

Nothing happened! Nothing would happen unless I so decreed. I could make the shameful
choice or stay behind these bars forever. The whole damned thing was too terrible to believe. 
Soon it would pass and I would once more be the Miss Denise Chartrand of the day before 
yesterday. I made assessments. I was rich. I was twenty-seven years old with a figure 
photographers drooled over. I was a platinum blonde with enough hair to play Lady Godiva if 
I so chose. Michael Torrance had got himself a prize, but at the same time a girl who had 
consistently scorned his unsubtle approaches. I had never understood male conquest, it had 
always seemed to me a girl must be out of her mind in yielding to such ploys. I was certainly 
not going to barter my beauty in return for a freedom I must inevitably gain anyway. The 
more I thought about it, the more absurd Michael Torrance appeared in this kidnapping of a 
socialite and keeping her in a cage like a bird or something. From the evidence at hand I was 
forced to assume he was prepared to forgo the choice of rape. Perhaps he was impotent! 
Impotence would explain a lot in his kinky handling of a naked girl, the cage, the chains, his 
words replacing acts. And then the attitude of Kathy Trimby to top the whole thing off. On her
next visit I attacked her with the possibility.

“Hell no! The boss ain’t no way a kook. He fucks real good and he’s handling you the way 
he does because he’s been around and you ain’t no way the first. He’s playing with you, 
watching how you’ll respond. After you say ‘Okay, you’ll kiss his ass’, he’ll let you out of this 
cage but the experiment will still go on. Hell, Miss Chartrand, he’s got the cutest harness he 
straps on a girl with electrodes where they’ll do the most good. He let’s you dress and takes 
you downtown for dinner but keeps a wired control real handy. All he has to do is press a 
button to send you around the bend in agony. I tried it out once just to see and I’m telling 
you, honey, I would have done anything he said just to get that thing turned off! You ain’t got 
a chance against Michael Torrance.”

I accepted her word, it was plausible enough. But it was a pathway I did not intend to 
tread. Torrance has chosen a battle of wits, a test of my endurance, and this was the way I’d 
play it. I was glad the whip had not come into play-that would have change everything. I 
would just wait him out.

The second day’s newspapers were not encouraging. With no clues to go on, officials had 
nothing to say and the Press turned to the delightful possibility of a secret love affair, a 
runaway marriage, and even a possible defection to the Russians. After I’d read the nonsense 
the bars of my cage seemed twice as large and my chains twice as heavy. I listened to Kathy 
Trimby only for diversion’

“There’s only been a couple of girls in that cage he’s had to whip,” she told me 
confidentially. “Something must have made him mad at them. But, anyways, he had me drag 
them out and bind them up so he could lace into them real good. They’d been snooty to me 
so I wasn’t bothered none by watching the whip crack on their pretty skin and hearing the 
noise they made. Believe me, it was one of a hell of a lot of noise. But the boss, he don’t pay 
no heed but went right ahead laying on the leather until they promised, not just to kiss his 
feet, but to clean the whole damned floor with their tongue. He didn’t bother with them 
afterwards but had them shipped right away to where ever he sends the girls when he’s 
finished with them. I can’t always figure him out.”

I realized I could not figure Michael Torrance out, either. There was more to him than I had
supposed on those social occasions when it had pleased me to knock his arrogance down a 
peg or two. It had never been difficult, after all I was Denise Chartrand while he was nothing 
but a vulgar male. If there were those present when I shot my barbs, they were on my side.

“You realize, Miss Chartrand, you could get out of that cage by offering to marry the boss.

He’s more sweet on you than any of the others. That’s the reason you ain’t getting a taste 
o’ the whip.”

The suggestion didn’t go over well with me. But I didn’t tell her so, I valued her on my side,
or at least as a neutral friend. My money would be enough to drag me to the altar either by 
my will or his. I had many times been described as the “Catch of the Season” in the society 
pages. Any man would consider himself lucky to get into that sex between my legs. More and 
more I realized how much a prisoner I was.

Day three and four passed with nothing happening. I saw nothing of Torrance but listened 
to Kathy Trimby with respect. The daily papers told me I was an enigma but had relegated me 
to an inside page. Girls vanished every day and the only difference between me and them was 
that I was rich. The paper gave no comfort. I could imagine Michael Torrance laughing 
somewhere in the wings.

Day five marked the first of his visits. I was sitting and counting the lengths of chain 
between my feet when the nape of my neck tingled to warn of being observed. I looked up 
and there he was, lounging in his chair beyond the bars and surveying me with quiet 
amusement.

He spoke no word but I had words enough for both. “Can’t you realize this is not going to 
work?” I asked reasonably. “The police are tracing me. Surely I’m not worth a lifetime in prison.
Am I?”

He did not answer. This was the first of the frustrating visits from which I never contrived 
to profit. Michael Torrance listened to what I had to say then went away as silently as he had 
come. Such disregard for all I had to say was a destruction of the female spirit against which I 
had no defense. He left me as he had found me, a prisoner behind bars. After the first few 
times I did not even cry.

The days slipped slowly by without real incident. I believed each one was shattering a link 
in my captivity because time was on my side and I would win if I could just hold out. I was no 
longer given newspapers. The last one had carried an air of finality as I was reduced to the 
smallest of fillers on a rear page. An heiress had disappeared and left no trace. What else was 
new!

Kathy summed it up. “They ain’t concerned with you no more, Miss Chartrand, you ain’t 
providing fireworks. Old news is dead news. The FBI ain’t saying a damned thing and that 
means they ain’t got nothing to say. You’d best kiss the ass of the boss and get it over with.”

I kissed no ass. Instead I sat in my cushions to idly play with the shining metal by which I 
was restrained and to consider my past life and wonder what I had done to deserve this sterile
captivity. Sure, I had been intentionally rude to sundry oafs. But more in a rejection of their 
vulgarity than of their persons. Nothing I could recall warranted my sitting behind these bars 
in chains.

The days of my captivity dragged slowly by. Torrance honored my with brief but frequent 
visits, sitting in his chair to listen to what I chose to say. After a while I realized I was being 
played with. I refused to plead. Instead, I chose conversation gambits by which I recalled our 
previous meetings and my own former existence. I knew I was annoying him. But never once 
did he mention the whip Kathy had hung so blatantly upon the wall. I was forced to realize I 
was dealing with no ordinary man. His patience might outlast my will.

Not that I allowed my desperation to show but it was there! Whenever he went away to 
leave me lonely in the cage, I longed to cry.

“You gone and broken the record,” Kathy Trimby told me with obvious respect. “Damn it, 
Miss Chartrand, you’ve out distanced Sally Hawkes. I thought she was doing fine to last better 
than forty days. But you’re still sitting on them there cushions and playing with them there leg
irons like you was enjoying the whole thing. I know you ain’t, but that’s the way it looks. The 
boss is getting real mad at you. If you want my advise, you’ll kiss his ass next time around.”

I ignored her well-meant advise. I was wining! So why weaken now, after all this time. I 
tried to be double bright and normal for my captor’s infrequent visits. I often believed he 
fought back words, but that was his affair. He had chosen a roll and was stuck with it. I talked 
of mutual friends, the stock market and of politics, and wondered often if I played with fire.

My skin remained unmarked by the whip. I was not suspended by my thumbs. None of the
obvious tricks were employed to break my will. In the beginning this had seemed a weakness 
in my advisory but now I understood the potency of isolation behind iron bars and the chains.
I was being tortured only in the abstract, there was little over which I could complain. It 
became doubly important I should not yield.

“You’re doing real good, honey, the boss, he’s getting more and more mad at you,” Kathy 
Trimby advised me in a friendly fashion as if she were upon my side. “But you got to 
understand, you can’t ever win. I know right well you’ve had a belly full of bars and handcuffs 
on your wrists. But suppose the boss orders me to string you up so he can whip you to bits? Is
that what you’d call wining the game?”

I knew she was right but was determined to hold out even thought it might cost me the 
best years of my life. If Torrance decided to bring matters to a head by whipping me-well, I 
would deal with that as best I could when it happened.

I had never in my life been whipped. The thought was utterly bizarre, beyond credence. I 
had read of it in fiction but had no idea how I would react in reality. Perhaps it was a pain I 
could bear as I had borne the passing of the days. On the other hand, the whipping of my 
bare skin might introduce me to an agony beyond anyone’s courage. That would spell defeat! 
I wondered how a bound up girl, hanging to be flogged could sink to her knees to pay 
homage to the Male. I supposed there was humor in the thought but I did not laugh.

There came day seventy-three, the present. It was early in the day and nothing has 
changed but Kathy told me that I may expect a visit, a visitor no longer mute. I awaited 
breathlessly in the hope of victory.

Michael did not creep upon me silently. I was alert. He set the chair aside and stood for 
what I know to be a considered verdict. I was trembling and clutching the bars while my 
captor spoke.

“Okay, you silly bitch, you’ve become a bore. If you play the brave girl long enough, no 
one wants it. I’ve become bored with you so I’m calling a halt.”

“You’re going to send me home?” I tried to keep the hope from my voice.

“Like hell I am!” His tone was bitter. “You’re thinking you’ve won, thinking you’ve waited 
me out. Wait and see what I’ve in store for you. I’m putting you up for sale.”

I clutched the bars and stared at the door he slammed behind him. Damn him, he caught 
me unaware! Now I was afraid in a way I had never been before. I returned to my cushions to 
sit and think and reassure myself everything will be okay. That’s a laugh for sure!

Michael’s slamming of the door leaving me high and dry in cruel suspense was mastery.

At first I was deathly afraid, but that was before the possibility of benefit entered my mind.

I refused to consider the brothel-it is too impossibly hideous. So I sat that idea aside for 
more hopeful prospects. But the best I could come up with was to hope for a kind and 
considerate master who will put my womanhood to its normal use and not beat me too often.
The other possibility that jumped into my mind was that I might become the property of a 
sadist, someone who hurts girls for pleasure. That also is hideous and I tossed it in with the 
brothel, leaving me with only the hope of being purchased by a man who won’t be too 
unkind. He’d have to keep me chained, of course, so I can’t escape. He has to do this and I 
understand that and shrug it off as a fact of life-my life!

Boy, what a prospect!





CHAPTER TWO - Cords of Passion


Being sold turns out to be a prosaic sort of business. Kathy tells me it will happen tomorrow 
so I spend the day and night in the company of fearful fantasies. Michael Torrance has been 
bad enough but I cannot imagine a less painful fate, there is not a mark upon my skin and the 
handcuffs and leg irons do not hurt. Above all I have not been raped. I ponder this rape thing 
and wonder if the term is technically correct when it is an owner who simply uses what he has 
bought. The sex thing bothers me. I’m glad I am no virgin.

The opening of my cage door is an event in itself. Breakfast passed and Kathy assures me 
she is sorry about what she had to do but she does it anyway. I acquire one more bit of chain, 
locked between my cuffed wrists and locked again to the cage above my head. I stand, fully 
revealed, dead center for anyone to see. Kathy tells me the customers will examine me 
through the bars but will not touch. I can talk all I want but none will pay attention. If I protest 
or demand help or release too much, I will be gagged. If I tire of standing, that’s just too bad!

Soothingly she explains that if one of my visitors wants me to open my legs as wide as my 
chain allows, I had best do so. Should I fail in this, my ankles will be strapped to each end of a 
bar to leave me no choice. And they will hurt. Thus I am briefed for what may be the most 
important day of my life. Kathy kisses me, holds me tight for one moment before again 
locking me within the cage. But I notice that she leaves the big door of the room open, no 
doubt denoting my changed status from prisoner to merchandise. In any case, I am so 
damned helpless standing like this with my arms aloft, I could scream with frustration. Instead 
I stand and wait.

There is no urgent rush of buyers. It is close to noon before a pudgy little man struts and 
walks slowly around and around the cage. I shrivel and blush beneath his gaze and obediently
separate my feet at his command, thankful for the chain which limits his view of my private 
parts. He nods and bids me good day before departing. Thought of being owned and being 
forced to sleep with such a funny little fellow is purely ludicrous. If it were not for the cage and
chains I would laugh.

In all, five men and two women. The women are a surprise and I take the chance of telling 
them I am kidnapped and a prisoner against my will. They nod and smile and that’s all. In the 
whole collection there is none who’s chains I’d wish to wear.

But one of them wants me!

I am now damned good and weary but am given plenty of time to reflect upon my fate.

Disgustedly I recall each one of my visitors had wanted my legs as far apart as my irons 
allowed. The whole affair seemed sordidly heavy with sex. The two women had given no clue 
as to why they wanted me. Perhaps they were lesbians or the owners of a bordello.

Kathy Trimby now had a cheerfully busy air as though a long task was coming to an end, 
she was loaded with surprises. The first was the relatively open door of my cage. The second 
was the unlocking of my leg irons to allow me to use my legs in exercises long forbidden. The 
third was less pleasant: a rubber ball deftly thrust between my teeth to be strapped tight at 
the nap of my neck. Kathy had gagged me so neatly and swiftly, I had been given no chance 
to struggle or demur. It was the damnedest feeling and I was certain it made me look 
ridiculous. I shook my head again and again in anger but the strap had my mouth tight under 
control. I could not speak but glared accusingly instead.

“Don’t take on so, dearie,” Kathy advised. “It’s much the best you don’t talk for the next 
hour or two, you’d only get yourself into trouble and say the wrong things. I’m also going to 
ask you to behave yourself this next little while when I change your handcuffs. Keep your eye 
on that whip on the wall, I can still use it.”

It felt so good to lower my arms I scarcely noticed Kathy unlock one cuff to lock it again 
with both my hands behind my back. I suppose I could have struggled but I never even 
thought of it. Escape to my home, my friends and family was a thing now so abstract as to no 
longer claim my thoughts. I was seething with joy over leaving my cage. But as I stepped, 
unfettered, through the door into the larger room I felt an absurd pang of affection for a 
prison I would never see again. It had housed me in comfort for seventy-five days and I was 
leaving it now for an uncertain fate I could not even ask about. I continued toss my head 
rebelliously against the gag, and with the new sensation of hands behind my back I found 
myself instinctively fighting the metal on my wrists. But I did not run for the door but stood 
quietly to await my jailer’s pleasure. It took the form of a handle on a short stem at the end of 
which was a metal circle Kathy now clasp tight into the soft flesh above my elbow.

“Don’t fight this thing, honey, I’ll show you how it works, just so you’ll know,” she said.

A moment later I was on my knees gasping in agony. All Kathy had done was give a short, 
sharp twist on the handle. It was more than enough to kill any thought of resistance I might 
have had. She helped me back to my feet, her voice concerned, “Sorry, love, but it’s best, you 
know. Like I said, don’t fight it.”

My feet were freed and a hand helped me out of the trunk. “I have no need to keep your 
gag on now,” she said pleasantly, “you can scream your head off and it will do no good. I think
you’re a sensible girl, Denise, and that’s the way I’ll treat you.”

My thanks were sincere as I stood in relative freedom, using my tongue to get my mouth 
in working order. We were in a two car garage but my owner’s hand was a firm grip on my 
arm. I was led through a smallish house to a comfortably furnished lounge. It was a middle 
class sort of place with a tiny bar. Alice sat on the couch.

“Make yourself at home, Denise, feel free to move around-or do those handcuffs hurt?”

“No, they don’t hurt. But thanks anyway.” I stared at Alice levelly. “I’m not sure I 
understand this moving around bit. Don’t you want to chain my feet?”

“Would you like me to?” Her laugh was genuine. “I was told you wore handcuffs and leg 
irons a long time. Does a girl actually get accustomed to them?”

“In a way, yes. But that’s because I was kept in a cage so they didn’t matter much.” My 
words were faltering. I sensed something wrong. “But don’t worry about me, I’m quite 
helpless.”

“I’ll keep you like that a while. But how about coffee? You’re probably pooped.”

“That would be nice.”

Alice Murdoc chuckled at me. “You’re scared, aren’t you? You’re waiting for the big man 
and the rape scene? Or maybe a nice hot iron on your tender skin?” She laughed outright.

“Nonsense! I’ll go start a brew. You can stay here or go with me as you wish. Like I said, I 
think you’re a sensible girl.”

There was something wrong for sure! But there was something wrong with me, too. I 
chose to accompany this woman I was compelled to view as owning me totally. There was a 
warmth about Alice Murdoc, something maternal. Her features are normal enough and her 
smile was kind. I could not rule her out as the owner of a brothel about to break in a new girl 
with tender loving care. Somewhere between the lounge and kitchen I stopped pulling at the 
handcuffs. I was prepared to wait and see.

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked to be covered,” Alice said as she busied herself with the 
coffee. “Or do you enjoy being naked?”

“I’ve been naked so long I’ve ceased to notice. I bothered me a lot when those men looked
at me in the cage but that was all. I really don’t care any more.”

She spared me a shrewd sideways glance. “That’s interesting. I know what Torrance did 
with you, you’re a product of damned unusual treatment. Do you hate him?”

“Not as much as I should. I’m afraid I can’t tell you why. My imprisonment in his cage was 
so featureless I’m probably not an interesting subject for analysis. Right now I’m just so 
damned happy to have my feet free and be allowed to walk around. Or is there a cage 
awaiting for me someplace?”

“Sorry, no cage.” She came to clasp my cheeks and kiss my lips. It was not a lesbian kiss.

“What I intended to do would shock the pants off you-if you were wearing any! But let’s 
enjoy our coffee, it’s such a comfortable, civilized thing. I’ll carry the tray.”

I felt useless and guilty over being useless. Alice Murdoc did not compel me to kneel at 
her feet or anything so melodramatic. We i shared the couch and she held the cup to my lips 
as needed. Her eyes were alight with interest over my helplessness.

“Those handcuffs interest me, Denise. You’re right, they keep you helpless.” She laughed 
delightedly. ‘They’re damned useful for a kidnapper.”

“You’re hardly a kidnapper, you purchased me, didn’t you?”

“Oh, sure.” He answer was casual as though apologetic over the cash involved. “I’m 
enjoying the sensation of owning you. This is the first time I’m indulged myself with a slavegirl.
You’ll have to make allowances.”

I wondered is “slavegirl” was the key. Everything had been so pleasant so far that I found 
courage to ask, “What are you going to do with me? I’m sure there’s something here that I 
don’t understand.”

Alice sipped comfortably and made me sip, too. “That question is a no-no, dear. Don’t ask 
again. Right now I’m simply enjoying you, enjoying those handcuffs and the way you cope.

Michael Torrance’s cage must have taught you a lot. You’re like a girl born without arms 
who’s never known the difference. Michael never whipped you or did anything nasty?”

“No,-just kept me prisoner.”

“I saw a whip hanging on the wall?”

“It was never used on me. I was told it was there to insure my good behavior but I’ll never 
know if they would have used it. Probably.” Mischievously I asked, “Do you have a whip?”

“Don’t be silly.” Alice mused thoughtfully as if my question had evoked memories. “I will 
admit I’ve often thought most girls should be whipped occasionally to keep their feet on the 
ground and their heads out of the clouds. Since women have been liberated, they’ve become 
a bunch of bitches. She matched my own mischief with a grin. “Were you a bitch when you 
were free?” , “Michael Torrance thought so.”

“Yes, he told me. And I can see it might be truth. Shall we say captivity becomes you?”

“It’s made me humble. I’m tremendously grateful for your kindness now. I’ll try to deserve 
it.”

Alice Murdoc eyed me quizzically. I knew myself evaluated. I was thankful her eyes did not 
linger on my breasts or seek out my private place. What she was looking at was me.

“I think you will, dear,” she said gently. “Goodness knows what you’re thinking you have 
do to please me but that’s beside the point.” She rose to pull my arm and make me stand.

Strong fingers turned me around to enable her to closely examine my handcuffed Wrists. I 
felt her insert the key before I realized the extraordinary feeling of hands with no restraint of 
any kind on them. Alice placed the handcuffs on the coffee table and the key with them 
before returning to her seat on the couch to leave me standing there in total bewilderment.

It was my first freedom since being kidnapped. Uncaring of my companion’s laughing 
gaze, I used my arms in every way I could think of to rid them of the ache of over two month’s
captivity. I was totally engrossed in the strangeness of freedom until, in decency, I felt 
compelled to ask, “Would you like to handcuff me some other way now? Perhaps in front?”

“I’m not going to handcuff you at all, Denise. You’re a free girl. Enjoy!”

It was one of those moments. There is no name for them. They transcend even the magic 
of words. I stood transfixed in disbelief. I looked at the door and then at Alice Murdoc. I raised
my hands to view a pair of pink, chaffed wrists were the handcuffs had clasp me tight while I 
resisted. It hand been seventy-five days since I had seen my wrists without steel around them. 
I was positive it could not last.

“But I … I think I said this before … I don’t understand. I’m terribly sorry.”

“Nothing to understand, dear. I felt sorry for you in that damned cage to set you free.” Her
laugh was joyous. “You’ve heard of people doing that with birds and other wild things, haven’t
you?”

“You mean I can walk out of that door over there and go home? That there won’t be 
someone waiting to grab me and bring me back?”

“Just you and me, Denise. You’re a free woman. Try and get used to it. I’ll give you clothes 
and money and call you a taxi. I can see you’re shocked, sit down and let it sink in.”

I did just that. I was actually trembling. If it had not been for the seventy-five days I would 
probably have bolted for the door and freedom. But now that thought was far from my mind. 
What I was concerned with was Alice Murdoc and the gift of freedom she was granting. I had 
a terrible need to express my wonder and gratitude. I knelt beside her and, placing my face 
deep into her lap, wept like a child while her hands played gently in my hair and patted my 
bare back. We were like that a long time. When the communion was over I stared up into her 
earnest features to blurt out, “I’d better go now, I suppose. This doesn’t seem real yet but if 
you’ll give me clothes and call a cab-“

“You’re really serious, Denise.” Her tone was almost somber. “I hate to ask this but there is 
a way you could say thank you.”

“Of course, what is it?”

“Allow me to tie you up with rope so you’re quite helpless and keep you overnight. I know 
it’s bizarre and you have to be suspicious but will you? I promise in the morning you will go 
free.”

“Of course, I’ll let you do that! It’s such a small thing after what you’ve done for me. Oh, 
Alice!”

My exclamation had been involuntary. To be bound overnight seemed a small token of my
gratitude. Alice Murdoc’s request did not seem either bizarre or unkind in the light of things 
Kathy had told me of and others I had read. Alice Murdoc wanted to tie a girl with rope-and 
why not! It seemed a small thing to either ask or give. I laughed and demanded, “When do I 
get tied: now or later?”

“Not right now. I want a little time to consider whether to have you bound to my own bed 
or in the guest room. I’m an absolute novice.”

“Whatever you want, I don’t mind. It’s such a little thing to ask when you’re giving me so 
much. You’re giving me back my life. I’m afraid I must have cost you a terrible lot of money. 
You will let me pay you back?”

“Don’t worry about it, Denise.” She laughed ruefully. “It’s probably the only charitable 
thing I’ve done.”

“But I’m rich, you can even hold me for ransom.”

Alice chuckled at the thought. “Don’t tempt me. But I think you’re forgetting, I can’t even 
hold you for anything anymore, you’re free. There’s not a bit of rope or metal on you. And I’m 
sure I couldn’t get the best of you in a fight. So let’s enjoy ourselves as we are.”

“Michael made a big thing over selling me to a brothel, I’m afraid when I saw you I 
thought-“

“And you would have been absolutely right, dear. I do run a brothel, although it’s usually 
called a whore house. And other things. But I keep this house separate from that side of my 
life. There’s no red light above the door.”

I was filled with wonder and a sense of something missing. I pointed out the obvious, “But 
you could put me in your brothel and make a lot of money off me. You’d have to use force, of 
course, but you could easily have done that. I’m curious why you’re being so kind.”

“I’m no angel, love. Sure I thought about it but you’re a person and a name. Sooner or 
later some man who knew you would walk in and find Miss Denise Chartrand tastefully attired 
in collar and chain, padlocked to the wall. No thanks!” She shrugged. “Don’t think badly of me,
I wouldn’t have wanted to do it even if there was no danger of discovery.

There’s a touch of something immaculate about you. You’re about as far removed from a 
whore as a girl can get. Let’s stop talking about that side of my life, I’m really quite nice.”

I supposed myself naive in the presence of this woman. I could not judge her motives but 
had to take them at face value. Looked at from a certain angle it all made sense and I thrust 
my linger doubt into the deep recesses of my mind. It was then that Alice Murdoc shocked me
once more.

“There’s a shopping center down the road a way. It has a hardware store. What do you say,
Denise, that you and I walk down there and buy some rope. You can select it if you wish. I’m 
afraid I don’t have any. I .really am a novice. Some of my girls practice what they call B&D but I
never bothered. Want a walk?”

“But I could run away!” I stared at her almost in dismay.

“That’s right, you could. It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

She laughed thoughtfully. “You’re full of surprises, dear. I think you’ve forgotten you’re 
naked. You didn’t mention clothes. Let’s go upstairs and dress.”

Ecstatic moments were crowding on me fast. I had been sold, I had been freed. Now I was 
to be clothed after seventy-five days of nakedness. I’m sure my eyes were shinning at the 
prospect of pretty things to wear. But when I had chosen panties and bar and dragged them 
into place, I discovered myself bothered by something I did not need. When I added nylons 
and a dress I felt positively stuffy and shared laughter with Alice at the discovery.

“If you find you cannot stand clothes or freedom, Denise, my dear, you can always ask me 
for a job. My girls don’t wear many clothes. Some wear none at all. Whatever Michael Torrance
fed you must have been good for you, your figure is about as perfect as they come.

“Come along now and, if anyone at the store wants to know about the rope, we’ll tell them
it’s for a clothesline.”

Outdoor air is different, I know it is! I look deep breaths as though I could never get 
enough. The sights and smells of summer were pure magic after Michael’s cage. I found it 
hard not to run and jump and dance. If I harbored a tiny, small doubt about what we were 
soon to buy, and the use it would be put to, I said no word to my companion. Instead, I 
pointed out, “I hope you realize I don’t know any more about tying a girl up with rope than 
you say you do. Up to now I’ve been kept prisoner by handcuffs and shackles on my feet.

Are you sure you want me to chose the rope?”

The nice thing about stores today is nobody serves you, nobody cares. I passed over the 
thick and thin and choose soft nylon of dimension in between. We giggled over how much it 
would take but Alice played safe by buying the whole spool. Absurd as it may have seemed, 
we could scarcely wait to get back home and try it out. I knew myself intoxicated by freedom 
and this small loss of it to give Alice pleasure was providing me with an excitation all its own. 
This was a day of discovery!

I was to get the guest room. Alice had decided against sharing a bed, pointing out it 
would be more authentic if I was left alone, and both of us would probably sleep better-if I 
slept at all!

Under her direction I removed everything I had just put on my body. Nakedness felt good 
but we now faced each other awkwardly and I knew myself starting to blush. Alice had 
provided a pair of heavy shears and cut herself off a generous length of the nylon rope which 
she was now tugging testingly from hand to hand while gazing at me in wry embarrassment.

“I have to start somewhere, so I’ll tie your hands behind your back, dear,” she said 
doubtfully. “If you think I’m doing something wrong, please tell me.”

This was woman stuff, truly female. The only female I had know for a while was Kathy 
Trimby but she had been only jailer and friend, nothing like this. I trembled deliciously as I 
turned my back and offered my arms for whatever Alice Murdoc chose to do with them.

Soon I would be helpless once again but the idea didn’t brother me at all.

“I think I’ll have your hands palm to palm for a start,” Alice said briskly as though 
determined to be decisive. “I’ll try and tie you tie but not too tight. I’m afraid I may be very 
slow.”

She was right, she was slow but as she carefully wound strand after strand around my 
wrists my excitation grew by leaps and bounds. As she tied and tugged and knotted my sex 
was flaring with pure lust. I said no word but stood demurely for the binding of my arms.

Alice tugged and tugged until my wrists were nearly welded together. Even without trying 
to free them, I knew my hands were tied but good! Alice used the shares with a sharp snap to 
cut off loose ends.

“There you are, Denise dear, I’m proud of myself. Do you want to back up to the big mirror
and have a look? And you might as well try to get loose to check that I’ve made no errors.”

I followed both suggestions, peering back over my back shoulder at a work of art. The 
struggled I was making told me I didn’t have a hope. I told her so.

“Well, that’s the name of the game, dear, isn’t it?” was her reply. “I got a charge out of 
tying your wrists like that. What about you?”

“It’s made me helpless and it’s made me horny as all get out,” I admitted. “Being 
handcuffed in the cage never made me feel like this. I’m ashamed!”

“Don’t be. It’s the woman thing that does it. By the time I’m finished with you, we’ll both 
be horny as hell.”

Next my elbows. Alice drew my forearms together with the effect of straining my shoulders
and protruding my breasts. The two speedy circles of nylon bit deep into the softness of my 
arms to make me squeal in dismay. They were instantly loosened but joined by a third strand 
and a forth, all seeming to me to be too tight but not actually painful.

“I’d like you elbows and forearms tight all the way, dear,” Alice said thoughtfully. “It’s the 
way I’ve seen it in those books. And it’s a beautiful effect. But I expect it’s too cruel for an all 
night tie up. So I’ll leave a little space I can use for a cinch at the finish.”

I was too excited to trust myself to say anything. My breath was quickening as I stood very 
erect and felt the winding of cord after cord, having the effect of easing the compression of 
my skin. But anyway I looked at it I knew my arms were in a tight, tight bind. After they were 
cinched and tight knotted we took another trip to the mirror and I gasp at the beautiful 
symmetry of what I beheld.

“You can thank the magazines, dear, this seems to be a favorite to tie a girl. I hope you 
won’t mind me being so conventional this first time.”

“You mean there will be other times, too!”

“Only if you want them, dear, we can try this as an experiment.”

I had only just been granted freedom, yet here I was discussing a return to a corded 
captivity, not actually imprisonment but far more arduous. I did not care! I sat back on the bed
and watched the encirclement of my legs above my knees. Alice made the prettiest job of it 
and never in my life had I known such constriction of such a sense of belonging to someone 
else. A woman! I think I would have hated had it been a man who was tying me.

In the binding of my ankles I was robbed of my last bit of freedom. Once more I watched 
the careful circling and tugging of the nylon about my ankles that clamped my two feet as 
thought they were one. I kept gasping with emotions I could not be sure about. But when 
Alice paused to look up in concern, I assured her I was okay and to keep on doing what she 
was doing. When the shares were used again I was what Alice laughingly called a “tight 
tressed Package of girl.”

I was not exactly comfortable. I could not move above my hips without placing stress upon
breasts, elbows and shoulders. I knew I could ease this when I lay down but I was not yet 
ready for that. Alice assured me I was the most delicious package she had even seen.

She even helped me to sit on a chair to enable her to work on my hair which had been 
sadly neglected for seventy-five days. I could see what she was doing in the big mirror, being 
a little ashamed of the way my face was blushing and the slight blush of the skin of my chest. I
wondered if she could smell my woman scent as strongly as I could. I was sure she could.

She sighed regretfully. “I wish I was a lesbian but I’m not. You haven’t a thing to worry 
about.”

I didn’t tell her I wasn’t worrying. This was unfamiliar ground and had best be trod with 
caution. Alice’s hands were soothing on my hair and what I saw taking shape in the mirror was
one more cause for gratitude. I was looking better and better even though rather bizarre in 
my nudity and bondage.

‘Tell me something more about your … place, you know what. Your place of business.” I 
asked with genuine curiosity. “I’m grateful you didn’t put me there but I can’t help 
wondering…?”

The deft fingers did not slow their task. “Probably not a bit like what you think, honey,”

Alice said with a chuckle. “I’ve got girls who come to me of their own free will and make a 
deal for either a nine to five or a five to midnight shift. We split the take. They’ve got their own
clients and I don’t have to bother. Sometimes I learn about an extra special girl who I have to 
go out and bribe, any house has to have a few really top notch lookers. At the other end of 
the scale are the girls, and you might have been one of them, who are delivered to me in 
handcuffs and who I have to chain in a cell when they’re not in use. I get them from unhappy 
husbands or boyfriends and I’m not too sorry for them. They’re usually bitchy so I have to take
a whip to them. It cools them down real fast but it’s not the real cure. I have to put a collar on 
them and about eight foot of chain linking them to the wall and promise all sorts of penalties 
if they don’t behave.” She shrugged. “I’m not too proud of that end of the business but, like I 
say, most of the girls have it coming. I didn’t figure you had it coming so you’re not there. You
can thank yourself for being what mother used to call ‘a nice girl’.”

It was one more quite ridiculous thrill. This first hand account of whore house life was 
titillating stuff. The knowledge I was escaping by a hair’s breath added a potency of its own. I 
was going to remember Alice Murdoc for a long, long time!

My purchaser allowed me to sit admiring myself until she was smitten by an idea. “Denise, 
you can say no to this and I won’t mind ; but there’s a finishing touch to this tying up 
business. We have to suppose that this binding of a girl probably should included a touch of 
punishment alone with preventing her from straying. If you really examined those books you’d
know there’s something missing. How’d it be I clip clothespins on your nipples to emphasis 
your helplessness?”

I remembered the pictures. I had dismissed them at the time but did not dismiss them 
now. If I hadn’t been so damned excited with my sex on fire I would have yelped out a protest.
But I realized Alice was dead right. There had to be something extra to emphasis the fact of 
vulnerability-I could protect nothing from nothing. Breathlessly I told her to hurry and get the 
clothespins I was probably going to hate. I sat with heaving breasts while she was gone.

“I’ve tried one of these on myself downstairs,” Alice admitted on her return. “They hurt 
more than I thought. Do you still want them?”

“Of course! Do it quick and don’t listen to whatever noise I make,” I invited with courage 
that was more sham that real. “If I can’t keep still after the first one, you’d best tie me back 
against this chair.”

I was not to be given a chance to struggle. A couple of loops circled below my breasts and
a couple above. They cinched me back tight and hard, preventing any movement on the part 
of my breasts. A dozen currents of emotion were coursing up and down my spine.

Suddenly Alice’s hand came from behind holding an almost living clothespin with jaws 
hungrily open to bit what I suddenly realized was the most tender thing I had. I sat breathless 
and helpless while it nuzzled into position before its jaws were allowed to bit their mouthful of
ME. I managed not to scream, the effort demanded all my self-control.

Once more I watched and winched as number two sought and found my flesh. In disbelief 
I looked down at two perky little wooden demons appearing to feed hungrily upon my 
breasts. They even move their wooden tails up and down as though alive. I was so fascinated I 
forgot to complain about the pain. But the pain was bitter, a steadily increasing burn I longed 
to be rid of but lacked whatever it took to say so.

Alice’s voice was concern, “Bad, honey?”

“Bloody awful! But don’t touch them, leave them be.”

Thus invited, Alice contented herself by winding the ropes around my chest. I could 
struggle all I liked but the clothespins would simply bob up and down and hurt. When Alice 
invited me to hop back to the bed I began my hopping with full knowledge of what to expect.
With each hop the little wooden beasties jumped up and down in joyous response to motions
I could not lessen. Those two damned clothespins had their way with my nipples every inch of 
the passage to the bed. Their bit was on my breasts but the effect of the hungry little jaws was
concentrated within my loins. Reaching the bed, I flung myself face down in total disregard of 
added pain and orgasm so explosively it was a long time before I turned over to see Alice 
Murdoc’s smiling face.

“That’s a good girl,” she said encouragingly. “Just what you needed. Now I’ll let you go to 
sleep.”

She picked up my bound legs and tossed them up on the bed with the rest of me. Then 
she plucked the little horrors from my nipples, she kissed each one, and then my lips 
good-night. I turned over and despite the flaming fires at the tips of my breasts, went straight 
to sleep.

It was several hours before pain dragged my back with the realization I had been an 
absolute idiot. Alice’s cords now hurt so bad I didn’t even want to turn over. The room was 
darkness and in the .darkness were all the demons of doubt. Alice Murdoc had me completely 
helpless and tomorrow would deliver me to her whore house as it’s newest girl.

I condemned myself bitterly for being foolish enough to accept freedom and then let it 
slip from my fingers. The ropes, especially my elbows, all bit at me with a steady burn, and 
such struggles as I wished to make were so futile as to stop me from trying. In bitter 
resentment at my own stupidity I hoped painfully to the bathroom and back to the bed, 
squirming in search of comfort until I realized the heat within my sex was once more stirring 
from the embers of the prior climax. Determinedly I lay still and wondered what life in a whore
house would be like. Tears flowed and suddenly I slept.





CHAPTER THREE - Return to Irons


I found freedom a heady intoxicant heavily laced with embarrassment. I had no wish or intent 
of going to the police and telling them the truth. Michael Torrance was safe as he had always 
guessed he would be. There was no way I wished to testify in court, no one would believe my 
story. My seventy-three days in the cage would seem altogether improbable. Instead I 
concocted a bit of fiction about being kidnapped and being held in a locked room by a 
woman who treated me kindly but would not let me go. I said I had been blindfolded at the 
start and finish of this unlikely adventure so could guide no one to the place where I was held.
Everyone was forced to accept this for it was the only story I would tell but I sensed it became 
understood I had enjoyed an love affair with a man I did not wish to name and who obviously 
did not want to marry me. I held fast to my story but contradicted nothing of other’s opinions.
They could think what they wanted. All I wanted was to return to the possession of my 
property and become Miss Denise Chartrand once again. This was easy, like I said, I have a lot 
of money and cash excuses everything.

When I went to the house in which Alice Murdoc had kept me in brief captivity, she was 
not there and those who answered my inquires professed to know nothing of her. They 
suggested I had probably been the victim of a practical joke. I realized Alice had probably 
been protecting herself but I could neither repay the money she had spent on me, nor forget 
the impact she had on my life. It was a loss.

There had always been men in my life. Michael’s summation of my attitudes had been 
absolutely correct, I had used them shamefully and, while in the cage, had often ruefully 
supposed I was getting my just deserts. But now free again, I found myself using them with 
the same haughty bitchiness which Michael had assured me was what had put me in his cage 
in the first place. I had always felt contemptuous of men, nothing had changed. I slipped back 
into the social rounds to find it strangely without savor. The whole business of spending 
money and trying to impress each other had no interest. I suddenly had no wish to be locked 
again in Michael’s cage but the cage had taken something from me besides my freedom. I 
knew he would describe it as “growing up.” I refused to call it that.

Certainly it had changed me in some ways, I know found myself grateful for privileges I 
had taken for granted. Being handcuffed and naked in a cage takes a girl down to bedrock in 
a way I actually saw as being beneficial to myself in feeling wealthier than I had ever felt 
before. But there was a great big question in my mind about Alice Murdoc. The one night I 
had spent bound upon her bed had effected me far more potently than had seventy-three 
days in Michael Torrance’s cage. I was continually wishing she had not disappeared.

Sure, I was enjoying life. My secret longings were my own affair and I shared them with 
none. I think this added to a growing discontent, I needed a confident. Since there was none I 
favored I continued on my way alone and realized how much alone I had always been. 
Perhaps this ability to live within myself had been the secret of seventy-three days survival in 
the cage. I was annoyed with myself about that cage, it was far to frequently in my thoughts. 
But it made a marvelous medium for comparisons, of which I was making far too many for my 
peace of mind.

It was, of course, inevitable that Michael Torrance and I should meet again. He and I had 
the same friends and moved within the same social whirl, it was only a matter of time. In 
thinking of the possibility, I considered the effort of insuring it did not happen. But I was 
curious and could see no harm in the encounter which, any way you looked at it, held its own 
fascination and from which I might still learn something I did not know.

It happened at a party at the Savage’s to honor someone I’ve forgotten and doesn’t 
matter anyway. Suddenly there he was, larger than life and telling a vulgar story to a group of 
admiring males. He caught my eye and his story stopped right there while he came to meet 
me. While I deplored his actions I could not escape his masculinity. Michael Torrance 
possessed a deeply satisfying brutality a woman needs. With his approach I felt myself tingling
with expectancy. I backed against a wall until I could back no more, then tried to stare him 
down, an effort without success.

“So you didn’t get to the whore house after all?” he said in a stage whisper I feared others 
could hear. “You’ve cheated yourself, sweet, it would have done you a world of good.”

I tried to think up a crushing retort but managed only, “You needn’t sound so pleased, you
should realize how lucky you are I haven’t put you in jail. I still could, you know.”

His reply was as flippant as I expected. “I doubt it, you pretty bitch. No one would believe a
word of what you told them. What the hell sort of magic did you use on Alice Murdoc to save 
that innocent little thing you keep between your legs?”

“She thought you were treating me terribly, and felt sorry for me. I don’t suppose you’d 
understand.” I turned on all the coolness I possessed.

“Well, it’s never too late to try again,” he said easily. “Would you like her address?”

“Yes, I would!” The words were out before I realized. I started to blush which told its own 
story. Lamely, I added, “She was kind to me. I want to thank her.”

“Yeah, I bet!” His words were loaded with scorn. “Something happened between you two 
and I’ve got my own ideas. But, hell, why not!” He scribbled on a slip of paper and handed it 
across. “See what trouble you can get yourself into this time.” He suddenly grinned. “By the 
way, why don’t you tell me the effect of those seventy-three days as my guest. Damn k, they 
must have touched you someway?”

“Utter boredom, what else!”

“Okay, okay, but be honest, aren’t you getting a kick out of the two of us talking like this, 
considering what happened? And what I did with you?”

“You never did a damned thing with me except keep me chained in a cage.”

“You’d have preferred rape?”

“I’d have preferred an occasional social drink and a bit of conversation. I don’t understand 
why you didn’t beat me.”

“Not sure about that myself.” He looked me up and down, seeing me naked. “Oh, by the 
way, Kathy Trimby sends her regards. She figured we’d met sooner or later.”

I gave him my best haughty sniff. “Kathy told me you have had quite a few girls in the cage
before me. I take it that’s your profession?”

“Well, not exactly. I’ve picked up girls from time to time, the one’s who got under my skin 
the same way you did. That cage has been damned handy.”

“What have you done with the poor things, they can’t all have been as lucky as me?”

“You’re right, most of them went to a whorehouse. A few of them, liked me well enough 
not to beef when I let them loose. You don’t know how lucky you are, sweetheart.”

I wanted to say something utterly devastating but, apart from informing him I’d tell the 
police the truth, I could think of nothing. I was forced to admit to myself a considerable thrill 
in this freedom of expression in which I could stand on equal terms with this man and speak 
my mind. He had held me prison for a long time but now we were free. He had spoken as if I 
should be getting a thrill out of this meeting and he was right. It was like an escaped convict 
coming face to face with the judge who had sentenced her to prison. I was not a bit sure 
about what he said about the girls and the cage, the cage was there and had obviously not 
been built for me alone. It had an aurora of maiden tears and the clink of chain.

Grateful for freedom of speech, I told him, “You really are a bastard, Michael Torrance. I 
don’t know why I’m not more angry with you than I am.”

“You enjoyed the whole thing, that’s why, sweetheart.” He enveloped me in a friendly grin.

“No, don’t thank me, I enjoyed it, too!”

‘Then why consign me to a bordello?”

“Why not! Your hardheadedness had become a bore. I figured a few guys sticking it into 
you would teach you to be a woman. Pity it didn’t work out that way.”

“Don’t be disgusting! Really, you’re impossible.”

He absorbed my anger with the same grin, continuing as though I had said no word, 
“Look, honey, nothing’s ever too late. How would you like to go back to square one? I could 
easily arrange it?”

I stared in disbelief. Impossible was indeed the word for Michael Torrance. I contented 
myself by saying, disdainfully, “Drop dead!”

“It is surprisingly easy, you know. I mean, having you kidnapped. I could go to a phone 
and inside of two or three days you’d be delivered to me the way you were before.

Perhaps you don’t remember much of the actual kidnapping. A girl usually just wakes up 
handcuffed and naked and inside a cage. Want to try for seconds?”

“Why don’t you grow up!” I said it without conviction.

Michael Torrance made no reply, just stood there looking at me with deep, speculative 
eyes. I knew what he was seeing and had no wish to share his vision. But I shivered at the 
thought of once again being his prisoner. He read my thoughts and suggested, with calm 
effrontery, “I’d make it different this time. Keep you interested. Beat you every day. Hang you 
up by your thumbs. All that stuff. How about it? You wouldn’t be bored?”

I refused to respond. His words had tingled my spine but enough of anything is enough.

We were joined by a couple who had taken a little much of the fruit of the grape and I 
took the opportunity to drift away. When I looked for Michael Torrance again, he was no 
where to be seen. I went home in a very pensive mood.

There began for me then one of the most frightening yet strangely exciting times of my 
life.

A man alone with me in an elevator handed me a slip of paper as he left. Upon it, in simple
typescript, was written, “This could be it!” I crumpled it and threw it away in anger.

But its message remained.

The second time was in an underground parking lot. They are dungeon-like places at best 
and no girl feels really secure as she slams the door of her car. This time the man bumped into
me before handing me another slip, a duplicate of the first.

I phoned Michael Torrance and told him to stop playing silly games. He professed 
ignorance and hung up on me.

The third time was in the powder room of a department store. Two smiling women each 
grasped one of my arms and squeezed hard enough to hurt. They departed in a hurry but left 
me with the usual slip. I began to be truly scarred.

I went to see Alice Murdoc as the only person I could really talk to about my dilemma.

The address Michael had given me was one of those districts, neither good nor bad but 
quiet as if remembering better times long past. The atmosphere was one of total 
respectability. The door was opened for me by a cute and attractively attired black girl in a 
scanty simulation of a French maid’s uniform. Her eye lit up in polite recognition when I asked 
for Alice Murdoc. I was invited to come upstairs. I entered a room, the door of which the black
girl held open. Once inside the door slammed shut and when I tried to open it, I found myself 
locked in. Savagely, I could think only of Michael Torrance laughing delightedly somewhere in 
the wings.

It was a sparsely furnished little room, the window barred, the view only of a backyard.

Everything about the place defeated my attempt at reassurance, I stood fuming and 
frightened for the few minutes it took for the door to open and admit a sleekly dressed 
woman in her forties and a very large man who looked at me without much interest. He 
nodded and said, “I’ll wait outside, you can handle her.”

The woman was frankly looking me over. She motioned me to a chair and took the couch.

“Miss Denise Chartrand, isn’t it? My name is Betty Green, call me Betty. I’ll call you 
Denise-it’s not a bad name for a working girl, it’s got a touch of class. Do I have an argument 
on my hands or do you know the drill?”

My breath was coming fast and I couldn’t forget the large man outside the door.

Everything was damned good and obvious. But I had to try.

“Are you telling me I’m kidnapped?”

“It’s as good a word as any.”

“And this place is a … a … ?”

“Yes, it’s a whorehouse, Betty Green’s place. You’re good hands, Denise. How sensible do 
you want to be?”

I ignored the chair to stand and glare. She was a handsome creature, obviously 
accustomed to meeting new girl. She seemed bored and not prepared to waste too much 
time on me.

“If you’ll let me go now, there’s no harm done.” I didn’t really expect that to get me 
anywhere but I had to try. “I’m not a nobody who can simply disappear,” I threw in for good 
measure.

“Yes, of course,” she said in a preoccupied sort of way. “Look, there’s no use prolonging 
this interview, we might as well get you set up in a room of your own to get you started. I’ll 
have one of the girls set you wise after you’ve been attended to.” She started to rise as if 
terminating the interview.

“Please stop this farce. What do you mean, ‘attended to’?”

“You’ll be under restraint, dear, until you’ve proved yourself. Not much else we can do with
you. Come along.”

The large man was still there, he, too, was bored. “Bring her alone, Jules.” The Green 
woman said offhandedly. “She knows what she’s up against but she probably feels she has to 
struggle. Pick her up if you have to.”

Jules was the last thing I needed. Desperately I pleaded, “You don’t need Jules, I hate being
manhandled. Please, I’ll come without fighting.”

“Very well. Jules, I think she’ll be sensible but follow along behind anyway, no point in 
taking chances.”

My heart was heavy as lead. So were my feet as I dragged them in a direction I had no 
wish to go. There were quite a lot of passages and quite a lot of rooms. Betty and I entered a 
small, neat bedroom and closed the door.

“He’ll wait outside,” Betty Green said. “Now get your clothes off, I’ll take them with me.”

The problem with being reasonable is where to stop. I had walked into this room where I 
would be repeatedly violated for cash. If I fought now in defense of my nakedness I would 
only get battered and bruised and my clothes torn from my body anyway. I shrugged and 
began to strip. I felt like crying at the injustice of the whole damned thing.

Betty accepted my things one by one as I discarded them. When I was as naked as a girl 
can be, she placed them neatly folded on a chair. This done, she dragged from beneath the 
bed a length of solid looking chain at the end of which was a shackle, the use of which was all 
too obvious.

“Raise your left foot up on to the bed,” she directed as if what she was about to do was 
very ordinary. When I obeyed the shinning, wide band of metal was promptly snapped around
my ankle, and that was that!

“Hester won’t keep you waiting too long, dear. In the meantime don’t exhaust yourself 
trying to break the chain. You can’t! I’ll drop in on you again after I get Hester’s report.”

Betty’s departure was abrupt. There was no handle on the inside of the door.

The whole affair had been swift and efficient. I was mentally trying to catch up while I 
examined the shining metal band with its trailing links. It was a beautiful piece of work that 
would have held an elephant, let alone me. I put my foot back on the floor and stepped 
cautiously back to measure the extent of my tether. It held me short of both door and window
but otherwise allowed me freedom. Searching beneath the bed I discovered the heavy 
ringbolt which held the end. It was so massive I didn’t bother with a jerk on the chain. 
Morosely, I understood the limits of my new imprisonment and knew how little my metal 
bond would interfere with the pleasure of my guests. I didn’t want to think about those guest 
but was certain they would come.

What I did now was mentally kick myself over and over for falling into so simple a trap. I 
had lost my freedom more easily and more comfortably than on the first occasion. Sure, I had 
left messages enough to pin-point Michael Torrance if I disappeared again, but Betty Green 
was not Michael, no one would search for me here. I found myself ridiculously yearning for 
Michael’s cage and Michael’s chains.

Hester wandered in casually and did not bother to close the door. Her tone was friendly 
but vulgar. “Hi, cunt! Welcome to the staff. Call me Hester.”

I was seething with questions but deemed it wise to remain silent and let her do the 
talking. Hester settled herself comfortable in the only chair, crossed her nylons and 
demanded, “Okay, what do you want to know?”

“I’ve been kidnapped and this place is a brothel. I’ve never been in a brothel before so if 
you’d take it from here, I’d be grateful.”

“Okay, okay. Your name’s Denise, isn’t it?” She laughed easily. “I was kidnapped, too.

Then I saw the light-now I made quite a lot of money.”

“You’re telling me you have intercourse with men in return for money?”

‘That word’s a no-no, sweetheart. Use the four letter one-you know, fuck? You’ll spread 
your legs for men, too. But until you stop fighting the system you won’t get paid.

“They’ve given you freedom in return for … what you do. Why don’t you go to the police?”

“Because I want the money, you rich bitch!” She laughed at me. “You don’t need money, 
you don’t understand. You’ll probably never reach the point where I’m at now, that means the 
shackle and chain will stay on your ankle for as long as you’re here. I could give you a lot of 
good advice about avoiding punishments but you don’t need it, you’re not dumb.”

“Are the punishments for girls like me, girls who don’t want to … doit?”

“You’d be sent to another house where they would make damn good and sure it hurt 
every time you lay on your back, and the customers would do things you’d hate. I don’t 
recommend it.”

“What you’re saying is they’d whip me?”

“What else! Honey, you’re in the big time, they ain’t got no time for bitchy whores.” I 
suppose I looked as stricken as I felt. Hester’s tone softened.

“sweetheart, if I could help you, I would. But I don’t even have the key to the band around 
your ankle. Look, I’m suppose to tell you how to act, and that’s something I can easy do.

When a John walks in, you smile, you call him darling, and you get hold of his balls right 
quick ‘cause the quicker you get him up and off, the less time he takes plowing you.

Undress him if that’s what he wants. Wash him off if you think he needs it. Every bit of 
friction helps. Then be sure to ask him how he wants you. Will it be your mouth? You hole in 
front or your hole behind?. Might even be your hand. John’s come in every crazy size.

After a while you feel sorry for them. They get so damned little and pay so damned much.

“You may as well know, the house will charge extra because you’re a new girl and because 
of that shackle on your ankle. A lot of men really get turned on if a girl’s tied or shackled. 
Hardly none who don’t enjoy that bit of chain you wear.”

I could have guessed most of it. But in pure pain I knew I couldn’t bring myself to do any 
of those things. I said so and Hester simply laughed and said, “You’ll learn. Take my advise and
play it cool. Believe it or not there’s some of my customer’s I enjoy. I’m not going to get 
myself whipped to bits over a notion.” She gazed at me with feeling. “Honest, Denise, it’s all in 
the mind. You’re just the same girl after a man’s been inside you as before. If you get some 
sort of trauma, it’s your own fault. For Pete’s sake, smile and look happy.”

“Will I always be kept naked?”

“Probably, unless you get booked for a strip act. They won’t take that chance with you 
right off.”

In desperation I asked, “Am I allowed to send a message to Michael Torrance?”

“Never heard of the guy. If it means a lot to you, you’d better ask Betty. Mostly a girl with a
chained foot doesn’t get to write letters.”

In her own way, Hester was a nice girl. I found it difficult to believe she had been raped by 
hundreds men, she seemed completely normal. But I couldn’t imagine my doing what she did 
several times a day. Sure, I was not a virgin, but to be compelled to make a gift of myself-no 
way! I was going to have to have a serious talk with Betty Green.

Hester kissed me when she left but my only reaction was to hope she hadn’t planted a 
germ. Sure, sure, I was the original innocent. Alone again inside the small room, my eyes 
roved desperately to rest upon a narrow closet door within tolerance of my chain. When I 
opened it I discovered a tiny but complete bathroom. It should have reassured me but didn’t. I
lay on the bed, kicking fretfully with my shackled foot and preyed no man would come ahead 
of Betty Green. Whatever I might have to do to remove myself from whoredom I was quite 
prepared to do.

It was quite a wait. When the door opened I was trembling but it was Betty Green and not 
a customer. I sat up thankfully.

“Hester’s a good kid, she likes you. Says you got something on your mind.” Betty rose an 
inquiring eyebrow. . “Will you allow me to communicate with Michael Torrance?”

“Want to toss in your hand and grovel at his feet?”

“He told you?”

She laughed. “Sure he told me. You’re not being the least bit original. Every girl who comes
here the way you came has an urgent message for somebody and it’s always the same. She’ll 
lick boots or cocks or whatever she has to do to avoid an old and honorable profession. What 
else is new?”

I didn’t care. I was desperate. Brokenly, I said, “So, okay, I say what they all say, I’m what 
you’d call a dumb broad. But if Michael will take me out of here and put me back in his cage, 
there’s nothing I won’t do. Please tell him that, it won’t cost you anything.”

“Could cost me a damned good girl. Denise, my dear, you have all the makings. You’re one
of the most beautiful bitches I’ve ever seen. Men will pay a lot for you with that chain on your 
ankle. And some even more to take you while you’re tied up, painfully tight.”

“Please … oh, please?” .

“Look, sweetheart, I know the first time is going to be rough. How’d you like me to spread 
you out on that bed and tie you down? That keeps your conscious clear. Girl’s have the 
damnedest battle with their conscious the first time. Would you like me to do that to you?”

‘Tie me down? Stark naked!” I quested aghast. “Oh, no, no, no!”

“Figure you can make it on your own steam?”

If it had not been for that damned chain on my foot, I would have been on my knees with 
my head in Betty’s lap, sobbing out my heart. On the bed I buried my face in the covers and 
did the same thing in an outpouring of emotion. Quite soon Betty sat beside me to draw me 
up to where I could do my weeping on her shoulder and be clasp by two feminine arms from 
which I had not expected tenderness. When the storm had passed I muttered apologetically, 
“You see how it is with me. I’m terribly sorry.”

We sat like that for quite a while, two girls in perfect understanding. At the end of it Betty 
gently disengaged and said, “Denise, sweetheart, I’m going to do what I said. I’m going to tie 
you for that first time. I know you’ll be panicky but it’s better than having a battle with the guy
and having yourself punished. The house rules insist on punishment when a girl fights a client.
Can’t run a place like this without rules, you know. I can’t make exceptions without the whole 
damned crew knowing about it and that’s bad for moral. See my point, love?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” I was sniffing and drying my cheeks while I envisioned horror. I no 
longer cared about anything expect getting my message to Michael. Betty read my thoughts 
and said, “I’ll give Michael you message, I owe you that. But I warn you he’s more likely to 
come for a freebie than as a white knight. I’ll be back in a moment. You don’t want Jules in on 
this, do you?”

“No, not Jules, please! I’d much sooner you did it.”

“I’ll get the stuff.” She scrutinized me reflectively. “By the way, you’ll be thinking of Alice 
Murdoc. She and I know each other, we’re friends. But I can’t possibly hand you over to her, 
she’d let you go, just as she did the time before. Torrance won’t go for that a second time. 
You’re here on his account, you know, no one else’s. I know Torrance a favor or I’d let you go 
myself.” She laughed. “I hate cliches, but you’re far to nice a girl to be a whore.

I’m going to make you one but I won’t be happy about it.”

I sat in a devastating helplessness while she was gone. The chain held me, everything held 
me, the door was locked. I would soon become a working member of the oldest profession 
and was forced to give some thought to the manner of my introduction to a man’s phallus. 
Always in the past I had said the yes or the no, but now I would say nothing except to plead 
for mercy and I wasn’t a bit sure I could bring myself to that.

Frustration held me like a live thing. Here I was sitting inside a pleasant little bedroom, 
restrained by a chain and a locked door. Ahead was a fate females have forever taught to fear.
My captor was almost kind, our conversation totally rationale. But there was nothing I could 
do about any of it. Which was in keeping with the whole bizarre affair for me to view being 
bound spread-eagle and naked on the bed as a kindness, a release from decision and will. 
Betty Green would tie me down upon my bed and I was glad! I had to be crazy!

The were handcuffs with a length of chain. Betty and I felt no need to speak as I held out 
my right hand for the clicking. I had not noticed the snaps on the bed frame but when I lay 
down and extended my arm, the last link of the chain was ensnared by a loud snap. When the 
simply act was repeated on my left I knew myself beyond the point of no return. I closed my 
mind to visions and kept my eyes on Betty Green who gave some thought to the positioning 
of my feet before imprisoning them in the same manner as my hands. I was spread wide and 
helpless as any maiden sacrifice. Looking down, Betty nodded approval.

“The whole thing is loose, Denise. It’s not good if you’re stretched and taut. You can move 
enough to please and tuck a pillow under your hips if that’s what he wants. I’m sure you know 
it’s better that way. How do you feel?”

“Helpless. Scared. How else would I feel! Betty, please let me go. I’ll pay you a great deal of
money, whatever you want. I promise I’ll be more profitable to you free than I ever will be like 
this.”

She frowned. “Don’t ask me again. It’s something I’d gladly do but I’ve made a contract 
and I’ll stick to it.” She stood up. “You won’t have long to wait, dear.”

The warmth of human understanding vanished with the closing of the door. I was alone in 
an inviting exposure I had only read about in books. I tugged and pulled and rolled as best I 
could. Betty was right about the bit of slack, it was just enough so that I didn’t hurt but it was 
tight enough to ensure I couldn’t touch the snaps that fastened me. I wondered how many 
girls had laid upon this bed as I lay now.

Nothing happened, nothing! The only sounds were those I made myself, mostly the rattle 
of the chain on my left ankle which shared my flesh with the handcuff. I tested the four 
restraints, it was difficult and unrewarding. I fell back in disgust to become aware of a growing
head within my exposed sex. I would have supposed fear would have conquered it but girls 
are remarkable creatures or maybe I was like the customers who would pay extra to see me 
bound. I tried hard not to think of the man who would open the door and stare directly into 
my open legs. When, after what seemed hours, the door finally did open what I then beheld 
delivered one more shock.

It was Kathy Trimby.

We stared at each other, me in disbelief but she simply amused. “My, my, Denise, you 
really do get yourself into trouble!” She was obviously enjoying herself.

“What are you doing here, you don’t work for….” It was all I could think to say.

“I suppose I could ask the same thing, Denise. Goodness, Betty sure has you fixed up fancy
for your first man-you haven’t made her any money yet?”

“Kathy, for Pete’s sake, get me out of here before some men come. At least tell Michael I’ll 
do whatever he wants if he’ll take me back.”

“Careful what you say, sweetheart. I’m here to take you back but only if you’ll say yes to a 
lot of things you won’t like.”

I was flooded with a relief such as I had never known. Kathy was going to get me 
unchained and take me back to Michael! I didn’t care about terms and conditions, I’d say yes 
to anything. In this state of euphoria I tugged frantically at the metal fastening me to the bed 
and exclaimed, “Yes, yes! Oh, Kathy, do hurry!”

My vehemence shattered itself against Kathy’s casual unconcern. “Okay, okay, Denise.

But first you’d better hear the terms.”

“Never mind about that, just unfasten me. If a man comes and finds me like this, I’ll die.”

“No you won’t. Stop being silly.” She laughed to view my panic. “But I suppose I’d be a bit 
upset myself if I were in the fix you’re in. The boss says that if you’ll come back to him on your 
hands and knees, he’ll whip you like a dog and you’ll lick his hand. How’s that grab you?”

“I’ve already said yes, anything!”

“Every day he’ll tie you up in the most miserable ways he can think of, and you’ll still be 
locked in the cage.”

“Don’t quibble, I’m not quibbling. Get me out of here, I don’t give a damn what Michael 
Torrance does to me.”

“Not flattering our hospitality, is she?” Betty Green said as she came into view. “Damn it, 
the way these girls carry on. They give to the boys around town, but if one of my customers 
sticks it into them for cash, they think themselves ruined.” She turned her eyes to me. “I’d like 
to have kept you, honey. I’d like to watch you get the same way Hester is.

You would have made me a fortune. But you’re Michael Torrance’s property and if he 
wants you back….well, I hope he whips your ass. You need it.”

I hardly heard a word, I was so damned happy. I had every reason to hate Betty Green but 
all I wanted was to be unfastened from her bed and taken from her house. Betty Green and 
Kathy Trimby apparently knew each other. With easy familiarity they discussed my transport to
a new imprisonment. I didn’t even listen but became vividly alert when a handcuff fell away 
from my wrists. I was allowed to stand while they dealt with the shackle.

Freed completely I was told to stand still. Strangely I had no thought to disobey.

Kathy Trimby scorned a pair of offered handcuffs. “Got something better, something to 
hold her and stop that wiggling and twisting a girl always does against handcuffs.” She 
withdrew from her bag something that made me wince. It was a pair of pliers and some 
wickedly thin wire. “This time your thumbs, dear. Behind your back, don’t quibble.”

I shrugged and did as I was told. I stood no chance against the two of them and Jules was 
probably somewhere nearby! The wire bit into the flesh of my thumbs and the pliers twisted it 
tight before the final turns. The ends were snipped off, leaving me with a pretty little bondage 
and no hope of freeing myself. I could only barely touch the. wire with one finger, let alone 
work it off.

“Neat and simple,” Kathy said. “Tell her to struggle so you can see for yourself. She hasn’t a
hope.”

I struggled against the biting wire, as much to satisfy myself as to please the watching 
women. It was hopeless.

“It hurts too much to struggle,” I said simply. “You don’t have to worry, you’ve got me 
fixed.”

The two Madames each took me by one arm and led me to the car. “Not the trunk this 
time, sweetheart,” Kathy told me. “You can lay on the back seat in case I want to talk to you on
the way.”

Betty Green ended our short acquaintance with a short kiss and assurances that with Kathy
Trimby I was in good hands. I wasn’t sure I was. I arranged myself on the back seat and 
watched my big toes wired tight together. When this was done I didn’t even want to struggle, 
it hurt too much. Obediently I lay down to be covered by a rug before Kathy Trimby started 
the motor and drove away.

It was an infuriating way to be secured. A few inches of wire and I was helpless. Kathy was 
right, I was held far better than with handcuffs. As the wheels turned I lay in helpless 
desolation and, for the first time, examined the new life I had chosen in preference to a 
thousand penetrations by a thousand strange men. With the wire biting at me hard, it did not 
look half as good as it had before. But what could I expect? A kidnapped girl, unless held for 
ransom, has no future and can only hope her kidnapper does not hurt her too much.

Time no longer mattered. When Kathy Trimby parked the car against an empty 
playground, I managed to wiggled myself erect and listen to a proposition. She had twisted in 
her seat to be able to meet me eye to eye before coming out with the surprise of my life.

“You can’t get loose, honey, I’ve got you. Up to now everything has been according to the 
rules. But from now on you’ve got a choice.” She seemed friendly enough as she talked.

“Seems like there is no way you want to be a whore, Denise,” she said slowly. “But if I had 
been your age and in the jackpot you’re in, that’s what I would have chosen. Hell, Denise, now 
they’ve got the pill it don’t matter a damn about a man sticking it in you, you’re just as good 
after as you were before. Best part is it don’t matter none.”

I waited, tense and hurting. “Honey, you chose to come back to his Royal Highness, 
Michael Torrance, and you did this in spite of what I told you.” She sighed heavily as though 
fearfully of what she had yet to say.

“I got another guy who will pay me a lot of money to deliver you to him. Enough money 
that I don’t have to ever work again. I ain’t got the faintest idea what this guy will do to you.

He could whip you or love you to bits. But for sure he’ll keep you prisoner. Do you want to
take a chance?”

I was surprised about being given a choice. Kathy obviously stood to profit by delivering 
me to an unknown admirer. The choice was to her credit but at that moment I had no intend 
of taking it. I preferred the devil I know. Either way I had little to look forward to. I told her so 
as best I could while she listened, nodding sagely. But then she prompted, “You won’t be 
going back to the same Michael Torrance you knew, sweetheart. This one is going to whip the 
ass off you and give you a bad time. I’ll probably catch up on the screwing he missed before. 
This new guy, I won’t tell you his name, seems more interested in screwing than whipping you.
Like I said, I would have chosen Betty Green’s place for sure.” She paused. “Say the word and 
I’ll take you back to Betty and you can pick up where you left off. The boss ain’t gonna mind 
either way.”

Bitterly I reflected that no kidnapped girl could ask for more chooses. No doubt by the 
standards governing the disposal of helpless female flesh, I was a lucky girl. I did not feel 
lucky, I felt almost nothing except the numbness of despair.

“I’m sorry, Kathy, but I’ll still chose Michael Torrance. At least I know him. And maybe he 
doesn’t hate me so bad he won’t listen to reason. I’ll take that chance. I’m sorry about Betty 
but, honestly, I don’t want to be a whore.”

Kathy nodded. I had to know she was far from pleased. But without another word she put 
the car into gear and we resumed our journey. I relapsed into the back seat, wishing I knew 
some trick by which I could break the wire upon my thumbs.

A few bits of wire between me and freedom-it seemed impossible. But trying to prove it 
impossible was just too painful. I lay there as an inert package of female and wondered what I 
would say to Michael Torrance when and if I got the chance. In the semi-isolation of the back 
seat I shed tears at my own stupidity. I had been given freedom and thrown it away. This time 
around there would be no mercy. But I had only Kathy Trimby’s assurance of this, somehow I 
could not image being whipped by Michael Torrance or of being whipped at all. The idea was 
utterly bizarre. Never in my whole life had I been whipped nor had anyone I knew. I still 
remembered Michael’s casual manner as he and I had sipped cocktails at the party. He might 
be vulgar and an extrovert but would surely never mark my skin! I wished I felt more certain of
his good will. I was not sure at all.





CHAPTER FOUR - Frightened Freedom


It was familiar. I had often longed for Michael’s cage and Michael’s chains but now, when 
confronted with them, I longed only for lost freedom. Freedom lost to my lack of judgment in 
knocking on Betty Green’s door. Damn it, I should have had more sense!

The garage was familiar. My toes were snipped loose to allow me to walk to the Cage.

There it was, just as I remembered it. Its door was open. It was waiting. I had no thought 
but to step inside and, under Kathy’s direction, sit on one of the big cushions to watch her 
wire my toes again. I didn’t ask about that, what the hell did it matter? I was a prisoner again. I
was no longer Miss Denise Chartrand. I was a girl who had no will of her own. I asked Kathy 
why she didn’t use the old handcuffs and leg irons instead of leaving me painfully wired but 
the only answer I got was to be playfully patted on the cheek before she locked me in the 
cage and went away. This was more helpless than I had ever been. I sat and waited but, being 
used to this imprisonment, fell asleep. When I woke up Michael Torrance was staring at me 
through the bars.

“Welcome back, you little idiot,” he said cheerfully with real welcome in his voice. “Hop 
over here and let me see this new idea of Kathy’s, this wire effect you can’t get out of.”

“I can’t, it hurts too much.”

“Do it anyway.”

I compromised by rolling the short distance to where I could exhibit the wire around my 
thumbs and toes. Michael reached through the bars to test them with strong fingers.

“I don’t see why I have to be kept wired this way when inside this cage,” I said resentfully.

“You’ve got me again, there’s no need to rub it in.”

“Rubbing things in on you is the greatest pleasure I know, Miss Denise Chartrand,”

Michael assured me. “I’m going to rub a lot of things into that pretty skin of yours. What 
you say to a good, stiff whipping tomorrow morning? Say fifty strokes?”

“No, don’t! Talk like that demeans us both.” I was feverishly seeking the right words. “I 
know you can do it and perhaps you will, but it is far more than I can possibly deserve.

And I expect it’s a lot more than I can possibly handle without loosing consciousness.

Good gosh, Michael, why are we talking like this?”

“Or would you like to be suspended by your thumbs, sweetheart? The loops tighten on 
your thumbs and up you go. You simply hang there until I chose to let you down.”

“Don’t be a beast! I know you can do anything you want with me but what’s the point? At 
the end of it will you or I be any better off?”

“I think so. You’ll probably say yes to a good screw.”

“I know when I’m beat. I’ll say yes to it now, you don’t have to torture me.” I managed a 
bitter laugh. “A girl know when she doesn’t own herself any more. I concede I belong to you. 
You can do what you want to me. There is something basic and ordinary about what you call 
screwing. You can screw me now if you unwire my toes.”

His voice was eager and surprised. “I’ll be damned! You want it, don’t you, you haughty 
bitch!”

“I’m not haughty at all. I’m humble,” I said. “Damn it, Michael, what more do you want? I’m
broken, I’ll obey you in anything. I’m your property, your slave, I’m anything you want to 
name. I can’t possibly fight you in a game where you hold all the cards. Come on in and do 
that beastly thing to me.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you! Be a glorious martyr in the cause of womanhood, make me 
feel a prick! Denise, I know all these tricks, girls have been playing them on men for thousands
of years.” He considered my wired nakedness somberly. “Don’t you understand, what I want to
do to you is punish. I can’t punish the rest of the girls I’d like to have in that cage, but I can 
certainly punish you for being a girl and for all those slights and snubs we’ve talk about 
before. But there will be an end to it. I don’t know yet how many days you’ll have to put up 
with whatever I do to you. But you can be quite certain it will be long enough. At the end, 
when I’ve got you trained and disciplined I may consider marrying you. They used to have a 
name for it: making an honest woman of a slut.”

I surveyed my future. It was bleak. I looked through the bars at Michael Torrance and 
wished things were different. In feminine distress I told him of my wish to be a good girl, of 
repentance and how I understood his feelings. Brokenly at the end I simply asked, “Marry me 
now, Michael, I’m broken enough, there’s no need to break me more. I’ll give you obedience.”

“Well, well, how are the mighty fallen!” His exclamation was mocking caustic. “What 
happened to the icicle called Denise Chartrand? The one who slapped my face?”

“She’s dead. This cage killed her. Oh, Michael, please cut these wires and let me out. The 
only way I can show you how well I’m broken is for you to set me free. I promise I’ll come to 
heel like a well trained dog. Don’t do all these hurting things, they’ll separate us further.”

I put my heart into my words, I was desperately afraid of the whip.

“You’re kidding me,” Michael said shrewdly. “There’s nothing being done to you today to 
justify this about-face. Play tricks, sweetheart, I’ll make sure they hurt.”

“That’s not so, everything’s happened to me today,” I said defensively. “I was damned near
turned into a whore, Betty Green even had me tied down on the bed awaiting my first 
customer. Then my thumbs and toes get tied with wire damned tight. And I’m brought back 
here and put in the same old cage. But I’m still tied with the same wire and it hurts.

Michael, give me a break, I can’t face this and all that other stuff, too. It feels as if I’ve spent
a lifetime behind these bars. And now, wired up the way I am….” My voice trailed off into an 
ineffectual silence.

Michael Torrance stood and surveyed the pitiful bit of helpless female he had made of me.

I could not read his mind, I could only guess, and what I guessed scared me half to death.

From inside my prison, this clean cut male seemed, infinitely desirable. I wanted Michael to
want me, not to punish but to love. Once more I pleaded. “It was some sort of bravado that 
kept me going before when you kept me in this cage for seventy-three days. I don’t know how
I handled it. I can’t again. Michael, set me free.”

The man who owned me did not bother to reply but continued to look at me with that 
quiet, reflective gaze. Suddenly he turned and left the room and slammed the door.

Anything I tried to do hurt. My wired thumbs and toes defeated and mocked every effort I 
made in seeking to free myself or find comfort on the cushions. Reduced to wiggling and 
using my head in placed of hands, I contrived to get a couple of cushions to provide comfort. 
I lay there in the immobility of surrender while Kathy’s wire burned my thumbs and scorched 
my toes. I wondered if these vicious little bits of wire were now a permanent part of my 
imprisonment.

I was not freed nor did Michael Torrance return to gloat over his prize. Kathy Trimby fed 
and tended me but refused to take the wire from thumbs or toes. By night time I was a sad 
and sorry girl indeed.

I spent most of my waking hours thinking up potent pleas to soften Kathy’s heart or 
Michael’s mercy. I did not use them. When it came time to feed and look after me, Kathy 
simply unlocked the cage door, cut the wire from my toes, replacing it with leg irons on which 
I noticed the span of links was short.

“Seems as though this is your big day, Denise,” she said thoughtfully as she freed my 
thumbs. “Like I said, you’d best have stayed with Betty Green and spread your legs like a 
sensible girl. You ain’t gonna be a bit happy about today.”

“What’s so bad about today? What’s he going to do to me?”

“I’d have thought you would have guessed. But I won’t spoil the fun, you’ll find out soon 
enough.”

Kathy handcuffed my wrists in front and I was so damned grateful for getting rid of that 
lousy wire that I didn’t say a word as I stood and stretched my limbs as best I could.

They’d been fastened together a long time and getting rid of that beastly wire felt like a 
million dollars. I ate my slice of bread and drank my coffee like a good convict. She then 
locked me in again and I had about an hour in which to think and wonder. But even the acute 
apprehension Kathy’s words had left behind did nothing to lessen my thankfulness over being
rescued from Betty Green’s bed and Betty Green’s shackle. I didn’t want to be a whore, no 
way!

I suppose it was about ten in the morning when Kathy Trimby snapped the collar and leash
upon my neck and led me from the cage. I asked no questions, by then I didn’t even want to 
know.

It was a bare and simple room, twin to the one with the cage. Its furnishing made me 
shiver but the space was not crowded and dead center there stood alone a sturdy pedestal 
about four feet high, obviously awaiting to welcome my nakedness. On the flat surface on its 
top was shinning steel. When Kathy released my hands, I passively placed my wrists within the 
pair of open jaws which Kathy lost no time in snapping tightly shut to leave me with extended 
arms and imprisoned hands. The silvery bands upon my wrists told me clearly I need not 
bother to struggle. It was very simple and left me without defense.

“You can’t lay down and I think it’s too high for you to kneel, dear, so you’ll simply have to 
stand and see what happens,” Kathy Trimby suggested cheerfully. “I’ll leave the leg irons on, 
they’re handy to control you in between one thing and another.” She gave me a sisterly kiss 
and left me to stand there, captive to the clamps. By that time I was trembling.

I was made to wait and spent most of the time seeking some weakness in the steel bands 
by which I was clamped to the pedestal. There was no weakness but they permitted a 
surprisingly large amount of freedom. I could even touch them with my lips, but had no desire
to do such. Strange how a girl could be made helpless and locked in place by so little steel. To 
stand thus all day would be punishment by frustration.

I sighed, wishing I could sit.

Michael Torrance made me stand there an hour before he showed up with the whip. All he 
got from me for greeting was wideeyed apprehension as I focused in on that wicked looking 
weapon he held with such careless intent. It’s single leather thong was pure evil.

“You don’t like the look of it, do you, sweetheart. I’ve been promising you the whip and 
now’s the time. Brace yourself, it’s going to hurt.”

It was all so swift, so unexpected. I pleas for mercy had just started but died quickly as I 
gazed over my shoulder at a man determined to waste no time. When the pain came it was of 
an intensity so immense an overwhelming awfulness against which I had not defense and was 
stricken in shock as the fire lapped the center of my back and wrap around my ribs to bit my 
breast. After the shock came the spreading waves of screaming nerves that flung me into 
frantic twisting and jerking. Agony absorbed me almost totally.

Only a tiny portion of my mind noted Michael Torrance watching my suffering with clinical 
interest. When I found my way back into the world and stopped hurting my wrists, Michael 
had seated himself comfortably where he could get the best possible view of the damage his 
whip had imposed. The whip itself was draped across his knee, awaiting further contact with 
my flesh.

“You’re first whip mark, isn’t it, Denise?” he prompted. “That is what you told me, wasn’t it?

Tell me what you think of it.”

I was impelled by a terrible urgency to insure I should not receive a second stroke. My 
answer was mostly moans and gasps, “Of course, I’ve never been whipped! Michael, it’s too 
awful! I can’t possibly stand it. That thing can kill a girl. You don’t have to whip me any more. 
I’ll do whatever you ask.”

“There’s nothing you can offer I don’t already possess. Damn it, I own you! I own every bit 
of you.” He laughed at my bewildered distress. “This whip is punishment, and if you’re 
wondering why, it’s because you’re a girl and a damned snooty one, to boot. You’ve had this 
coming for almost five years.”

“Please don’t, it will kill me. You can’t possibly understand. You think you’re just hurting 
me, but it’s way beyond just hurting me. It’s agony. I beg you.”

“Very good. You sound beautifully sincere. And I don’t want you to stop wiggling on my 
account. Your motions since I snapped this whip across your back have been magnificent.”

T can’t bear it. Oh, Michael!”

“How would you like me to free your wrists and send you home?”

I tensed, certain I had not heard right. I spared my torturer an anguished glance. “You’re 
joking? Michael, please don’t joke about something as awful as this.”

“sweetheart, don’t act so dumb, you heard me. I asked if you would like me to free your 
hands and send you home.”

“Of course I would. But you’re not going to do it so why tease?”

Michael had me! He was enjoying every word and motion I contrived. He got up to walk 
around and survey the wound upon my back before returning to his chair.

“I’m not teasing. I’ve made you an offer, but it’s an offer subject to terms. Do you want to 
hear the terms?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, go and pick up your life where it got interrupted yesterday. I don’t suppose you’re 
even missed so there’ll be no embarrassment. In return for that freedom, I want you to come 
to me one day each week. And, on arrival, to kneel and ask me to punish you. After your 
ordeal I can take you to dinner in the evening and then return you safely home. Pretty good 
deal, eh?”

I took little time to consider before moaning, “Michael, it’s no use, I can’t possibly endure 
being whipped like this every week. Besides, I’ve only had one single stroke, and I suppose 
you’re talking in terms of ten or twenty or thirty or goodness knows what.”

“I won’t use this whip, it’s a brute. I only used it on you know to show you what a whipping
can be. What I will use on you will be something you can tolerate.”

“It’s an impossible demand. No girl could ever think of pledging herself to such awful 
punishments. Oh, Michael!”

He did not answer but simply sat there, smiling, while I stood feeling an idiot with my arms
stuck straight out and the steel bands clasping my wrists like metal hands. The pain of that 
single stroke from the leather thong had driven reason from my mind. I felt sure I looked 
ridiculous and thus the full meaning of Michael’s offer was slow to take root in my mind. By 
the time I realized what he meant, Michael’s voice had the floor once more.

“You have had one single stroke, sweetheart. Supposing I give you the other nine, I’d say a 
total of ten with this whip would be about right for a girl like you.” He let the thought sink in 
before continuing. “You’ve mentioned all the other things you see around. This room and all it
holds, together with the cage next door, will give you welcome on that one day each week. On
the other hand, I have you now and can keep you forever if I want. Your punishment for today 
has just begun. I would have thought you would have jumped at my offer. Six days of total 
freedom with one day only for punishment. Could be daily punishment I am about to start.”

There had to be some hidden kicker, some trap! But I could not see it. Without conviction I
said, ‘The way you tell it there isn’t a choice. A girl would have to be crazy not to take the six 
days of freedom. But what’s to stop me making it seven? Just never coming back at all?”

“Sharp girl! You’ve found the flaw in my offer. But how would it be I accept your word? Put
you on your honor?”

“But when I was free I would tell myself I made the promise under duress. That such 
promises need not be kept?”

Michael shook his head as if in sadness. “My dear girl, don’t you realize you’re taking my 
side of the argument? Shouldn’t you smarten up? It’s I who am taking the risk.”

He was probably right but all I could see was a frightened girl, me, ringing his doorbell 
once a week, stripping herself naked, and then being punished in ways I’d hate until we 
reached the final, illogical act of dinner.

“Very well, I accept your offer.” My words came back to me as toneless. “I don’t seem to 
have much choice. I wish I could figure why you’re doing this. Michael, don’t you understand 
I’m naked, I’m helpless, and I’ve just been hurt. I’m not sure if you’re trying to be kind or cruel.
You might hurt me far worse on that one day each week than you would in seven days if I 
stayed here. I can’t win, you’ll have to do as you wish with me.”

Michael shook his head, mocking. “You’re the damnedest female. Listening to you I would 
have to suppose you would rather stay right were you are and take the other nine. Along with 
everything else, of course. But you said you’d accept the six days of freedom plus one then 
you thought up all sorts of reasons why I shouldn’t trust you. Maybe I shouldn’t!

But I should remind you of how easily you can be picked up. If you chose to renege, I can 
always have you delivered to me here and I promise you won’t be a bit happy with what 
happens then. At the end of it I’ll put you in a brothel for sure.”

I gazed despondent at the man who held my fate in his hands. Michael Torrance could do 
whatever he wished with me. I sensed mercy and a strange affection in the way he was 
treating me now but his whip lash was still scolding my back and my reasoning was still far 
from clear. With a grand gesture, Michael tossed aside the whip, kissed me gently, patted my 
unmarked bottom.

“Stand there a while, Denise. Do some thinking. I’ll leave you alone but I’ll be doing some 
thinking, too. Maybe by the time I return I’ll change my mind.”

Alone, I stood there with my arms stuck out and with my wounded back and cursed my 
folly in failing to leap at Michael’s offer. I was certain now I should have grabbed it and shown 
gratitude. Instead I did his argument for him. My clamped wrists held me painfully. I shed a 
few tears which I wiped dry on my bare arm and considered myself lucky to do even that. 
Supposing Michael decided to change his mind? I closed my mind to the waiting nine strokes 
and everything else and stood in helplessness to await his return. I felt certain he would make 
me wait.

Michael Torrance returned to his quaking prisoner sooner than I had hoped. He entered 
briskly and demanded, “Well?”

Boy, was I humble! I heard my voice as if it were from another mouth. “Thank you, Michael,
I accept your offer. I accept the six days of freedom and the obligation to return here once a 
week.”

He did not reply and I added, “I really am grateful, honest, I am.”

Michael watched me dress with the same serious attention as when he had whipped me.

He sat and watched me fix my face and fluff my hair. My wrists bore the red circles of his 
clamps and I did nothing to hide my shame. I was sensing that everything I did gave him 
pleasure. I tossed out, “You spoke of marrying me? Where do we stand on that?”

“We’ll see about that after you’ve proved you can keep your word.” His masculinity 
reached out and put a hand upon my heart. “I’m glad you remembered, I haven’t forgotten.

Let’s say you’re on trial for the position of Mrs. Michael Torrance.”

It was his game and I couldn’t make the rules. At that moment I would have married him 
instantly, he was so damned handsome and the last twenty-four hours had made me horny as
hell. But, quite simply, I turned and said, “I’m ready.”

The dinner brought us close. It was strange to be Michael’s guest yet remain his captive. I 
now knew that in spite of the number of men I could marry I would still chose this toughened,
brutal hunk of male. Seventy-three days in the cage and the wicked wound across my back 
faded into the past as we talked and we grew closer. It was the sort of mood in which babies 
are often made, but when he took me home, he kissed my only lightly and left me at the door,
a puzzled and bewildered girl.

In only a short space of hours since knocking on Betty Green’s door, I had escaped a 
second imprisonment. Nothing had change, I picked up my daily life as if I had not been a 
captive to a brothel and a cage. It should have been easy but was not. I was at odds with 
myself and with my world. I knew how easy it would be to find myself behind bars again.

There were always those shadowy men who could pick me up again, any time, any place.

That treat remained, but, above all, I could not rid my mind of an awareness of the seventh
day. Whatever I did with myself, each minute and each hour must bring me closer to the 
incredible act of knocking at Michael Torrance’s door and requesting punishment for no other
sin than being a girl who had slapped his face. It was nonsense but also frightening.

I considered options. I could leave word that if I disappeared I would be found in the 
possession of Michael Torrance. I got no comfort from the idea. If Michael kidnapped me 
again he would keep me out of sight. I could simply refrain from going near him or his place, 
ignoring him and daring him to do his worse. But in this I ran up against a discovery, simply 
that while by no means in love with him, I had no wish to see him behind prison bars. Even 
though he had cheated me outrageously I had found comfort in his decisiveness and strength.
Yet I was bewildered by his turning down the opportunity to have sex with me before turning 
me loose. And my his mention of marriage. Frequently I bared my back to examine the wound
left by Michael’s whip. It was vivid and changing color daily. I would not dare a bathing suit in 
public for a long, long time. But instead of being angry, I found myself with a recurring erotic 
delight in backing up to the mirror or frictioning it against the bed. The whip had drawn blood
in its scorching of my skin to leave me with the deepest sensual pleasure from the wound. I 
constantly felt it as my clothes touched it. Awareness of it kept me constantly randy, but I 
refused to give myself relief. It was as though I found something precious in my pain.

For the better part of three months my movements had been restrained by handcuffs and 
leg irons. I gloried in this freedom but one day, impelled by I know not what, I purchased an 
expensive pair of handcuffs. The clerk who served me raised no eyebrow and asked no 
question but displayed the selection. From his conversation I gathered I was by no means the 
first young women to purchase such an item. When I got home I stripped myself bare and 
handcuffed my wrists behind my back to admire myself against the big mirror and then spent 
a spine-chilling thirty minutes getting the tiny key into the lock to free myself. It wasn’t easy. I 
had purchased the black steel type because of a feminine quality I found in them.

The following day I wore them along with my clothes but locked in front instead of behind
my back. I wondered at the erotic pleasure I had. I couldn’t really figure why but had to 
suppose it was part of the man/woman in which the male had locked them on me and 
retrained the key.

In an endeavor to straighten out my head I dove into a hectic social whirl, which sustained 
me until the morning of the seventh day, the day on which I was suppose to walk meekly into 
Michael Torrance’s den and, for all I knew, get nine more strokes across my back like the one I 
already had. I had made up my mind the night before that I would go and give Michael the 
chance to show compassion. I was. quite blatantly hoping to find the whole thing his idea of a 
joke and instead of being whipped I would be taken out to lunch. A girl can always hope! For 
better or for worse I carried out my vow by knocking on the front door of Mr. Michael 
Torrance’s house. I held my breath.

Kathy Trimby was pleased, she had harbored no doubts as to my return. She was obviously
bubbling over with excitement but placed a finger over her lips to urge silence.

She led me upstairs to Michael’s bedroom. He was asleep on the bed, breathing heavily 
but evenly.

“I wanted you to know he’s alright,” Kathy whispered. “Now come along, there’s someone I
want you to meet.”

Once more bewildered, I allowed myself to be led to Michael’s office to get the surprise of 
my life.

Smiling behind his desk sat Betty Green.





CHAPTER FIVE - Fifteen Times


I have been sexually perpetrated by fifteen men since being taken from the home of Michael 
Torrance. I am assured this is a very moderate demand upon my person, working out at about 
two a day during the past week of this fresh imprisonment. I have been instructed no to look 
up these violations of my sex as rape, that word is forbidden. I suppose I could not claim to be
technically raped by any of them since I lie upon my back in passive acceptance of something 
I cannot change. The metal shackle and its chain seem welded to my left ankle forever. In my 
own evaluation, I am a whore.

I have been given magazines to read between customers. It is also my duty to keep the 
room tidy and neat. But it is hard to settle to anything. My mind plays over and over a 
repetition of that shock a week ago in Michael’s office.

I sensed a trap, there was something terribly wrong. Kathy and Betty might be smiling but 
there was something in their eyes.

“What have you done to Michael?” I demanded.

“I drugged his coffee,” Kathy said simply. “When he comes around I’ll simply tell him you 
didn’t show. He doesn’t know a thing about what we’re doing. He’s okay, sweetheart, don’t 
you worry. I suppose you’ve guessed that you’re coming home with me.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

Betty Green lay back in the chair and smiled. “I lived up to my contract with Michael 
Torrance when I sent you back to him. But I now discover the idiot either wants torture you or 
let you loose.

Either way it is a waste of a truly wonderful girl.”

“Thank you.”

“You won’t thank me in a minute, dear. I decided you shouldn’t be wasted. I’m taking you 
over. Kathy agrees.”

“The way I figure it, I’m doing the boss a favor,” Kathy said. “I don’t want to be here if he 
tortures you and I don’t want to be here if he moons around in misery because he doesn’t.

He doesn’t seem to be able to get it into his thick skull he’s in love with you.”

“The guy’s unstable,” Betty said soothingly. “It’s best I get you out of this unhealthy 
atmosphere. Seems like you’re destined to always be somebody’s prisoner, you might as well 
be mine.”

But I don’t want to be a prisoner,” I told them desperately, looking from one to the other 
in search of help. “I don’t understand why it seems rational to you to think of my 
imprisonment as inevitable. Leave me alone, I want to be free and I’ll take my chances about 
having him kidnap me again. If he becomes too difficult, I’ll just go to the police and blow the 
whole story.”

“You’re forgetting something, sweetheart, you’re already kidnapped. I’m kidnapping you 
as of right this instant”

I jumped for the door but they were on me like a pair of tigers. I fought like crazy but they 
knew tricks in hurting and controlling a girl so it wasn’t long before I was flat on my face, 
panting like a race horse and scared out of my skin. Laughingly they stripped me bare.

“She won’t argue with this thin twine, I bought it especially,” said Betty as she crossed my 
wrists.

I was too pooped to do any more fighting. What was the use! These two could handle me.

The twine was cruel and I found myself sobbing into the rug. But I had to do something.

With one of them sitting on my body as my hands were wrapped, I was reduced to verbal 
arguments.

“There must be a million girls. You don’t need me. Please, please, please!”

“Every one of them would say exactly the same thing, sweetheart Don’t you fret. Unless 
you play the fool I aim to be kind to you. Damn it, you’re not going to be killed!”

They helped me stand up while I fought Betty’s twine, getting a perverse satisfaction from 
the way it hurt. A metal collar and leather leash were fitted around my throat and I was led 
downstairs to the garage. I was helped to lay inside the trunk of Betty’s car. I just lie still, what 
the hell else could I do!

Betty Green was winding her damnable twine around and around my ankles and tugging it
brutally tight while Kathy pushed the small rubber between my teeth and locked it in place 
with the wide, soft band of leather which buckled behind my neck. I couldn’t say a word.

They must have thought me resourceful as they tied my big toes together and added a 
link between my ankles and wrists that tugged my legs up in a hogtie which Betty made even 
more secure with more twine around thighs. And then, to cap the whole thing and add to my 
misery, she used the beastly thin cord to clamp my elbows tight together.

“If it was a long ride, I couldn’t do this, dear, you’d suffer an injury, but it’s not much of a 
trip, you can stand it.” I could not answer, I simply moaned. The lid slammed shut.

When it opened again, Kathy Trimby had gone and I was hurting bad. But Betty Green was 
very much in evidence with smiling features reflecting satisfaction with this addition to her 
staff. And it was an addition which would cost her not a single penny.

She whispered, “You’re a very lovely girl, Denise, you’re going to be the biggest success 
I’ve ever had.”

She freed my feet and hauled me out of the trunk to stand me erect. I longed to tell her 
how the twine hurt my elbows but I couldn’t tell her anything. She must have really placed a 
high escape ability on me for now she connected my ankles with a length of chain and two 
padlocks. It was far more crude than leg irons but effective. I followed her lead and was soon 
in the same room, sitting on the same bed as previously. Methodically, Betty unlocked my 
ankles to clasp the left one in the familiar shackle and chain. She then cut the awful twine from
me and relieved me of the gag. For a moment I was almost happy at that release, it felt so 
damned good. But I soon realized I was back at square one with a nightmare about to start all
over again. Captor and captive, we stared until I blurted out, “You think this is all right, I know 
you do. But don’t you understand you’re robbing me of life and giving me nothing in return 
except an occasional kiss? I know you don’t hate me but you don’t love me enough to set me 
free.”

“I know this is a bad moment, sweetheart,” Betty agreed. “But you’ll adjust. There’ll be men
who will use you and you’ll derive pleasure from them.”

“And you’ll derive profit!”

The woman who held me nodded tolerantly. But there was now an edge in her voice. “I 
don’t want to hear about the money I make.

That’s a no-no. I don’t want every to hear you use the word F-U-C-K, that’s a no-no, too.

And I don’t want you asking the clients for help to escape. That’s the worse no-no of all.

“In order to put honest obedience into you, I tell you with honest regret that you’ll be 
punished for infractions. When we stripped you and I saw that beautiful whip mark on your 
back, I damned near had an orgasm. Believe me, darling, you’ve got something there I can 
charge extra for. But if you chose not to behave, I can add more of them. You’ve got a lovely 
back and there’s lots of room for lots of punishments. Understand?”

My voice was dull. “Yes, I understand. You’ll whip me if I don’t do exactly as you say.

Alright, I’ll try and obey but please don’t whip me unless you think you have to.”

I was enveloped in the warmth of Betty’s arms. I was so damned lovely, scared and far 
from home, I used my own arms to hug tight a woman who had not yet been cruel, except for
the twine, and I suppose she used that in fear I might escape. Her embrace felt ever good and 
her breasts were soft but heavy against my own. She told me a few more of the house rules 
before leaving me to get, what she described as, my “head straightened out.”

She said there would be no customer for me that day.

I suppose my previous shackling to this bed robbed my predicament of some of its terror.

Goodness knows, I thought of it enough and was repeatedly thankful for not being a 
virgin.

I hoped what they said about its lack of trauma would turn out to be turn but right then I 
didn’t believe a bit of it. Right then I was going to be hurt, and soiled and spend half my time 
in tears. Tears the shackle on my ankle would deride. That tight locked steel band was both my
guide and my conscious. I hated it bitterly.

My first customer came around noon. But Betty Green used the morning to further inform 
my innocence of the facts of life. I thought of it as being the facts of whoredom with Betty 
Green but did not voice that. My neck was still collared and she snapped the leash to its ring 
with a businesslike determination. I turned, almost automatically, to offer my wrists to be 
handcuffed behind my back She then unlocked the shackle on my foot and tugged on the 
leash in the manner of guiding a horse by pressure on a rein.

“There’s a few of the girls you should have a look at, dear. They’re the stupid ones. Don’t 
every be stupid.”

Looking at punished girls was the last thing I wanted but I had long since gone beyond 
having choice. I did as I was told, following my mistress like a puppy dog on its leash.

All the girls were pretty, I supposed that went without saying. The first was as naked as I 
and crouched unhappily inside a wire cage barely large enough to accept her curves. She 
gazed up hopefully through the wire but the hope died as she Betty told me, “Her name’s 
Dolores. She slapped a client’s face. In payment she will remain as you see her now for four 
days and nights. Her skin will not be marked.”

Dolores reacted to her sentence with a wail of honest distress. Her cry was automatic, “No!
Oh, please, no! Oh, Betty, don’t keep me in this cage all that time, I’ll die.”

“Don’t be silly, dear, you know you must be punished and I could make the punishment 
much worse, be grateful for what you’ve got.” Betty’s voice hardened. “And I don’t want to 
hear any more complaints. You know I’ve got a smaller cage and that’s the way to get into it. 
Say hello to Denise and we’ll be on our way.”

“Hello, Denise.” The response was instant.

“Hello, Dolores.”

I might have said more, offering comfort, but my neck was jerked to continue on our way.

The next girl was tied tight and naked to a pole.

Under instruction we exchanged greetings. I was positive the poor thing could not move a 
muscle. The girl was tied so damned tight it had to be a punishment in itself apart from 
keeping her safely a prisoner. We exchanged glances of shared misery Betty was quick to 
observe.

“Don’t feel sorry for these girls, Denise,” she said sharply. “Each one of these girls has 
disobeyed a Rule, that’s why I’m showing them to you so you’ll know.”

The next was teetering on tiptoe in partial suspension from hands above her head. I knew 
she was hurting and had little time for us. She also, quite obviously had no expectation of 
mercy, but muttered her greeting without ever looking in my direction. I couldn’t get out of 
that room fast enough.

I was getting use to leash nigging at my collar. If I twisted against the handcuffs, it was 
from habit, not hope. I was controlled and moved on to the next punished girl without 
complaint. I would be a very good girl and avoid these punishments at all costs.

The next punishment was wicked in its simplicity. The girl was naked and stood in the 
center of a small room. A noose from above was tied to her neck. Her wrists and elbows were 
bound behind her back with Betty’s favorite thin twine. The girl looked utterly weary and a 
picture of dejection.

“Standing like that all day gets the message across,” Betty explained. “I added a sporting 
touch by offering to give her total release if she could free her hands. But no one has ever 
done that yet.”

“All day!” I was putting myself in the unhappy girl’s plight. “If she falls, she’ll break her 
neck!”

“That’s the reason she won’t do it, dear. The sweet thing will simply learn her lesson as the 
hours pass. Humane, don’t you agree?”

“It’s bloody awful!” I said without thinking. “If that was me, I’d be screaming in hysterics.”

“They usually get their screaming done in the first couple of hours, dear. After that they 
just stand it out in silence. I expect they think its better than being whipped.”

“Would you mind if we didn’t look at any more of this, Betty,” I implored. “You’ve made 
your point, I’ll be very well behaved.”

“I don’t have any more to show you, Denise, my pet. We don’t usually have even this many
but girls are unpredictable. I’ll take you back to your room.”

I sat on my bed and watched my ankle shackled once again.

He was everything a chained girl could ask for, a boyish grin but most definitely a man. He 
might have been thirty. He was delightfully without embarrassment. I supposed he had done 
this before. His frank admiration of my nakedness was without offense, centering upon my 
shackled foot resting upon the covers in full view.

“You’re name is Denise, isn’t it, and this is your first time? If you’re scared to death, don’t 
be, I’m good company. Sometimes I make a girl laugh.”

His smile was infectious and I couldn’t help sharing it. I also shared his absorption with the 
metal band around my ankle as he jokingly told me, “That’s exquisite! You may not 
understand but I could sit and enjoy that chained ankle of yours for ah hour. Men are 
ridiculous, but I expect you know that already. If not, you’ll find out. There’s something else I 
had to pay extra for, too. Betty told me you had a quite marvelous whip mark across your 
back. Would you mind?”

I did not mind. I rolled over on my tummy and let him look until his heart’s content. While 
he undressed, he talked. His name was Wally Pratt and he was some sort of engineer.

From the way he spoke, I got an impression of money somewhere, maybe the old family 
money one need not boast about. Standing before me naked he was a truly glorious chunk of 
Male. The weapon with which he would penetrate my secret place was most wonderfully erect.

“I hope you like me,” I said timidly. “I’d hate it if you didn’t.”

He laughed down at me and I thrilled to the condition of being possessed by a man. I 
rattled my chained foot provocatively and wondered why I had ever been nervous.

Somewhere in my pertain past a small voice was telling me I was utterly outrageous and 
should be ashamed of myself. I had to agree but didn’t care as I lie on my back and spread my
legs wide for Wally.

In sudden realization, I exclaimed, “I’m afraid I’m handcuffed. I’m handcuffed so often I 
forget. Do you want to get the key from Betty? I’m sure she’ll give it to you.”

“I like you as you are, sweetheart. Those handcuffs are one more bit of icing on the cake.”

Wally slowly knelt between my legs, raised up my knees and thrust them out to either side.
His eyes did not rest upon the part of me disclosed, but focused themselves upon my breasts. 
He reached for them with fingertips that tingled my skin. I gasped with the surprise of it. I had 
never felt male fingers so wickedly wise.

The forearm on which I lie and my handcuffed wrists all hurt from the position I had to 
hold them in, but I did not care. I cared for nothing except the male rod pointing rigidly at the
entry to me. My nipples beneath the scorching friction of male fingers screamed aloud in 
pleading for the thrust. Tomorrow I might be ashamed but not today!

Mr. Wally Pratt’s entry within Miss DC was a victorious army with flags flying and horns 
crying aloud in triumph. When the male thing touched my female lips, it was as if I were 
pierced by a hundred spears. It entered slowly, exciting me with each fractional inch advance. I
had never known anything like this, I was a female package of uncontrollable sensations, 
gasping and moaning and thrusting back at my conqueror with my hips. The only pain was in 
my wrists but I did not care. When the male rod was deep within my womb, I lost all 
awareness of everything except Wally’s face above my own and his lips on mine as he began 
the pumping action by which girls are conquered. He conquered me utterly. And, in the final 
climax, I heard the blare of bulges. It was a long while before either of us came back to the 
world.

After a little rest he touched my breast and I was instantly breathing harder. But he 
surprised me by going to his pants and extracting a tiny key which he used to unlock my 
hands.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He grinned down at my surprise. “I’ve always wanted to screw a girl 
with her hands locked or bound behind her back. Believe me, it adds a great deal. You can 
expect to have your hands there when we meet again.”

I didn’t say a word about how it hurt, I was not about to spoil anything with Wally Pratt.

While he dressed I sprawled shamelessly upon the bed, my pussy very much in view, and 
not caring. When Wally kissed me goodbye he thrust a crumpled bill into my hand. “I won’t 
tell Betty if you won’t,” he whispered. Then he was gone with the quiet assurance of a man 
who knows he can return. I went to sleep.

Betty Green waited an hour. I knew it was an hour because my little room sported a tiny 
clock, a thing any captive has to value. She was grinning like crazy, her question alive with 
laughter, “Well?”

The first thing I did was hand her Wally’s hundred dollar bill. “I expect this belongs to you, 
Betty.”

She took it with a lifted eyebrow. “Well, that little tour of ours to see the naughty girls did 
you a lot of good. But thanks anyway. Now I want a full report.”

I expect I went overboard in gratitude and a recounting of a client’s skill. When I stopped 
for breath she slyly suggested, “Wasn’t it you who didn’t want to be a whore?”

“I’ll probably feel that way again tomorrow but right now I’m up on a cloud. Betty, did you 
ever … I mean … well, never mind.” I knew myself blushing.

“My girls adore Wally Pratt. I don’t have enough Wally Pratt’s to go around. If you get him 
next time he’s in the mood, you’re lucky. Wally’s one end of the scale. The next guy I’m selling 
you to is at the other. Don’t be alarmed, he won’t hurt you.” She took me in her arms to sigh 
at some remembered tenderness. “The Wally Pratt’s of this world have got a lot to answer for.”

He was untidy, middle-aged, not quite tall enough, a round face betraying doubt and 
anxiety. Obediently I did all the things Betty told me to do but they didn’t help much. I’m not 
sure he even heard a word, his piggy eyes were riveted on my nakedness and mostly upon my
cunt. But his male organ was fast asleep..

I had been told of unresponsive males so opened my legs wide, it seemed the least I could
do. As my visitor climbed on the bed, he told me his name was George Fribbert and I could 
call him George. We both breathed a sigh of relief when his closeness to female heat evoked a
response, and erection at least stout enough to gain entry but no sooner was this goal 
accomplished then I beheld George’s red features contort in a spasm, probably of lust, and his
pudgy lips emit a dog-like howl which might have been either triumph or anguish. Apparently
that terminated his joy and caused a shame-faced withdrawal.

“I bin cheated,” George heavily. “Damn thing does that every time.”

Feeling on secure ground I conceded George might not be getting his money’s worth. I 
was unprepared for his next demand. “Best you give me a blow job, honey,” he said in the 
same lack-luster voice. “Best you climb off that bed and kneel on the floor. That’s the way I 
like it.”

“Sorry, I don’t do … what you said.”

George looked at me in pure surprise, his voice stern with disapproval. “What’s you saying 
is that pretty mouth of yours is too good for my cock.”

“No, really, please don’t offended. I’m simply never done it before, I’d be no good.”

George shrugged at my negatives. Then he left the room, naked as he was, only to return 
with a wicked looking whip and an equally wicked looking riding crop. His voice now held 
assurance. “Still figure you can’t do it, sweetheart?”

I slithered to the floor and on my knees. I knew when I was beat. Or about to be.

Betty and I didn’t discuss George very much. I expect we were both ashamed of him and 
what he made me do. She took the little whip and the riding crop away with her, I was 
thankful they had not become permanent parts of my room. I was scared to death of the 
beastly things. And, even though I could feel fairly sure I would meet their acquaintance in the
future, I would delay their impact upon my skin for as long as I could. I had become so 
anxious to please and so damned humble I was ashamed of myself.

At the end of the first week as a captive whore and having, to my eternal shame, opened 
my thighs to fifteen men, Betty expressed approval and said I’d earned a break. For the eighth 
day I could have the run of her House and talk to anyone I wished. She took the precaution of 
cuffing my hands behind my back before freeing my ankle of its shackle.

Cheerfully she assured me escape would be impossible but, if I insisted upon trying, I 
would be subject to the punishments out-lined in the book of Rules. I did not ask what that 
punishment would be, I did not want to know.

I allowed myself to be handcuffed without demure. I got my lips kissed and my bottom 
patted before being sent on my way in a state of pure euphoria out of getting out of my tiny 
room with my ankle freed from its shackle. Damn it, it felt so good! I wasn’t aiming to do 
much with my hands anyway, so their loss didn’t matter. The rest of me was free as air, even 
the collar around my neck felt like no bondage at all. I tripped down the corridor in much the 
manner of a schoolgirl on holiday.

The House had been built on at the back to make it far larger than a street view would 
suggest. There were a lot of little rooms like my own and quite a lot of girls hurriedly 
preparing for their day. Mostly they said a casual, “Hi!” but felt no need to talk. My hands 
behind my back raised no eyebrow. I soon realized the handcuffs elevated me to privileged 
status, a girl desirable enough to kidnap but sufficiently well behaved to be granted a small 
freedom. Most of the girls were here simply for their shift. I almost expected to see a time 
clock for them to punch in and out on. They were completely free, this was simply a job. When
I discovered here and there a girl wanting to talk, I soon learned I belonged to a rare breed. 
The supply of lovely girls was adequate to the House demands but sometimes a kidnapped 
beauty was chained in one of the rooms for any of a variety was reasons. While most of the 
staff were satisfied with their life and earnings, I soon discovered the kidnapped girls were not.
The first time I looked in an open door to behold an ironed ankle with its length of chain, I 
deliberately entered.

The first one pretty well told the story for them all. They wanted out, but had lost hope.

They were bored and resentful and extremely cautious. The first one was sitting on her bed
in total despondency, playing with her chain. She gave a greeting but with no feeling.

She told me she had been prisoner for eight months and had long since lost count of the 
clients. She had been whipped twice. She said frankly she would take no more changes of 
punishment, it hurt too much. She admitted to a determination to please.

“You must have been kidnapped, too, or you wouldn’t be handcuffed,” she said without 
interest. “What did you do to get the break of walking around? No one ever offered it to me.”

I told her what I could but she was resentful and indifferent, she had become accustomed 
to the little room, the chain, and the man.

She no longer expected more of life. I longed to comfort her but could think of nothing to 
say and could not put my arms around her. She probably viewed me with suspicion. But with 
good intent she warned me about escaping.

“Don’t every try it,” she advised earnestly. ‘There will be times when it looks as though 
you’ve got a change, but don’t be fooled, no girl ever has a chance. You’ll be dragged back, 
screaming and kicking to listen to how many strokes of the whip you’ve been sentenced to 
because you acted naturally. If you’ve never been whipped, I’ll tell you now, it hurts worse 
than anything a girl can imagine. I’m still shivering from my last time.”

I continued my tour, conscious of both well being and privilege. Betty Green liked me and I
felt almost snug. It was at about this point I walked in on the whipping.

It was a large room with several of the staff girls totally preoccupied with what I learned 
was a self-imposed task. There was no one in authority or giving orders. The center of interest 
of a framework within which a naked girl was spread wide, arms high and out to either side, 
feet far apart in the nature of an “X”. There were no shackles or chains, the maiden to be 
punished was fastened with rope, tight bands around wrists and ankles to control her in 
agonized restraint. She was fighting furiously, her bonds not too tight to prohibit tugs and 
surges by which the captive girl used every ounce of strength she had to fight the impossible. 
No one paid attention to me, I was of no account. Thus it was I was able to hear the last of an 
exchange in a diversity of viewpoints.

“You rotten bitches, let me out of this, let me loose!”

“Shove it, Dorothy, you’ve got it coming and you know damned well you’ve got it coming.

Betty Green couldn’t care less. She knows what we’re doing. How about fifty strokes?”

Dorothy greeted the question with a cry of pure anguish. “Fifty! You’re crazy! You know 
damned well no girl can stand fifty, you’ll kill me.”

“No, we won’t, darling. We’ll just teach you not to play any more of your dirty little tricks.

How about thirty?”

This time Dorothy’s cry of despair was less acute. “That’s still too many. I know how hard 
you’re going to whip me and I can’t possibly bear it. Make it fifteen???”

I gathered from this exchange that Dorothy must indeed have a guilty conscious. And that 
those who were to punish her had little sympathy. I listened to their barter, a pleasant 
diversion for the girls, a deadly serious affair for the naked and bound girl. It was still early 
morning and they were unlikely to loose income in this personal vendetta.

“If there was a John around, we’d have him pay extra to come and watch,” they jibbed.

“Maybe we should leave you awhile until one shows up.”

“No-o-o-o-o! Oh, please, No-o-o-o! I don’t want any lousy John watching what you’re 
going to give me. Look, if I say okay to twenty, will you gag me so I won’t disgrace myself?”

“Who said anything about twenty? We’ll give you as many as we feel like, you cheating 
little twerp. And we won’t gag you. We like to hear the noises you’re going to make.”

Dorothy’s wail of distress was more harrowing than before. She flung herself to and fro 
against the cords. When one of her accusers plucked a whip from a rack on the wall and 
marched determinedly to where she could use it on the outspread and cringing flesh, I took 
opportunity to sneak away. Sure, I was curious, but I wanted no foretaste or any witnessing of 
a cruelty which probably still lay in my future. The rules were many and I knew myself all too 
weak. As I sped down the passage on my bare feet, I heard Dorothy’s first scream.

I ran into Hester. Hester was pleased to see me. “I knew you’d been unchained for the day,
darling,” she said with genuine warmth. “Come to my room and I’ll make you coffee.”

“But there’s a poor naked thing back there being terribly whipped,” I told her urgently. “I 
simply couldn’t stay and watch. Couldn’t you do something, Denise. The silly girl’s getting 
whatever she’s getting. They won’t do her an injury, they wouldn’t dare. Forget it.”

She put her arms around me and I tugged hard at my handcuffs, trying to do the same.

Hester laughed and kissed my lips and I was suddenly thankful for a friend who could find 
a way to rid my mind of the image of a screaming girl, naked and spread wide for the kiss of 
the whip.

Hester’s “room” came closer to being a tiny apartment, a bedroom, an office and a kitchen.
She showed it proudly with a brief apology for the presence in her office of a naked girl who 
stood against the wall because her neck was collared and chained to it by a span three feet 
long. She smiled in awkward embarrassment but made a conventional greeting and covered 
her breasts when she saw me look at them. That gesture told a lot.

“How are you making out, Krystal,” Hester inquired.

“It’s effect is claustrophobic,” Krystal admitted shyly while transferring her hands to an 
obvious place lower down. “Her eyes gazed longingly at the pile of clothing beside her on the 
floor. “Don’t mind me, Hester, go right ahead with whatever you’re doing. I’ll give this my best
shot, I need more time.”

“I’m letting her make an experiment,” Hester told me in the kitchen. “Betty Green has got 
some sort of guy who wants to buy a girl. There’s an awful lot of money involved and Krystal 
out there wants to offer herself to be sold, figuring some of the cash is bound to come her 
way. In the meantime I’m giving her a test to see if she can take what she-‘ll have to put up 
with.”

“Is the guy an Arab? I mean, harems and stuff like that?”

“Don’t knock the Arabs, Denise, they’re often a damn sigh more civilized than the rich ones
here. If I could get a good look at this bozo, I might have Betty put me up for sale with 
Krystal.” She giggled. “The only snag is that, if he’s from somewhere over there, girls he’s 
going to be shown will have to be shaved clean, not a trace of any kind of hair below her neck.
It’s a thing with them.”

Betty Green was not small time. I had realized this from the very start. I had the feeling of 
being in the center of a great deal of motion, all of it purposeful and with profit. But I was still 
very new to the House and still concerned with liberty.

‘Tell me, Hester, what’s this placed got in store for me?”

“I suppose you do realize you’ve been treated kindly? Only fifteen men in a week. And now
you’ve got this bit of freedom to visit around.”

“Yes, but I don’t know why. Do you?”

“Betty thinks you’re something special. And you are. You’ve scored heavily in the way 
you’ve handled those fifteen cocks. You came through with flying colors.”

“I’m not the least bit proud of it.”

“I think Betty is conditioning you for something. The way you’re shaping up, you may be 
ready sooner than you think. There’s an idea in the trade that breeding sets a girl apart and 
adds to her value. Men like to think they are sticking it into a girl who normally wouldn’t even 
sniff at them. You’ve got breeding, Denise, Betty will make money off it.”

I didn’t argue, Hester was probably right. But I came back with the big question. “I’ve been 
snatched out of life, stolen and from Michael Torrance and now I’m a privileged whore while 
the life I ought to be leading out there in the world goes on without me. Instead of being 
myself, I sit every day on a nice little bed, one of my feet solidly ironed, and I’m wondering 
where it all leads. Hester, be honest with me, isn’t it true I could go on the way I am until I’m 
middle aged and no one wants me? I’m scared.”

Hester placed a steaming cup beside me on the table. I couldn’t touch it but knew she’d 
lift it to my lips. There is a touch a irony about a slavegirl, if she’s made too helpless she has to
be waited on by her master or mistress. I was learning fast but as far as I could see I was 
nothing more than a pretty, captured whore, without the faintest chance of ever going home. 
I looked at Hester.

“I’m afraid you’ve about summed it up, sweetheart,” she admitted. “But why not be like 
me, t couldn’t beat them so I joined them. I know Betty would be overjoyed if you made that 
decision. She wouldn’t turn you loose right off, you’d have to wear some sort of restraint for a 
while until Betty felt she can. trust you. After that you can come and go with the rest of the 
girls. It’s just tike a job. They’ve got! boyfriends, and families and are just as normal as you 
ever were. Have you thought about it?”

“But I’m afraid I’m wealthy,” I said. “I don’t need to work, I don’t need to come to this 
place.

If Betty every let me loose, I’d be gone so quick you’d all wonder what happen to me.”

Hester shrugged. “It’s a real bitch, isn’t it? If you can’t do it my way, I’m afraid you’re stuck 
being a prisoner all your life. When you get older you’ll be passed on to somewhere else, 
somewhere not near half as nice.”

I drank coffee and ate a couple Danish. It all tasted so good after a week of the House diet,
designed to keep a girl lean but also hungry. When it was time for me to go I did so with 
Hester’s firm insistence that something nice would happen and I’d best be a good little whore 
until it did.

We kissed and I wept on her shoulder before I went away.

I continued my wandering but now the zest was passed. I initial euphoria was wasted by 
too much of the same thing. I carefully avoided the big room with the frame and I now had to 
avoid the occasional client on his way to spending a lot of money with his chosen girl.

They looked at my handcuffed condition, nodded and passed me by. They probably knew 
a lot more about the House than I did. If a girl in any of the rooms wanted to chat, I stopped 
to talk. But most of them were working girls who thought my wish to escape was silly. Several 
pointed out the manner in which they came and went, and how they profited.

They seemed unable to understand that I would accept such freedom gladly but would 
not return. But I did have to wonder if I had grown up in the same poverty as they if I would 
have felt the same. Probably not.

With a sense of defeat I return to my own room where I sat on my bed and wondered if I 
would have enjoyed myself more if I had my hands free. But I couldn’t think of a single 
incidence in which the absence of handcuffs would have added to my enjoyment. It did not 
matter now that they were chained behind my back. Guess it didn’t matter much, really.

Nothing mattered except the return to true freedom. And that was unlikely. Bitterly I 
reflected that if freedom, by some miracle was granted me again, I would hang a set of 
handcuffs on my bedroom wall as a daily reminder of how much a miracle true freedom is.

Disgustedly I flopped over on the covers to lie on one arm, rattle my handcuffs and tried 
to go to sleep.

My drowsiness was shattered by the arrival of an excited Hester. “Oh, Denise, is this all you 
have to do with yourself when you get a free day!” Her voice held reproof. “You really aren’t a 
bit happy here, are you dear?”

“Are prisoners ever happy?”

“Darling, don’t be a bore. I’ve been hunting all over for you. I’ve got a bit of news.” She 
grinned happily. “Betty Green wants you in her office.”

“Oh, for gosh sake, what did I do wrong? I thought I behaved perfectly.”

“It’s not that kind of a summons, Denise. I think you’re going to be amused. For Pete’s 
sake, smile!”

I smiled. I stood erect, my heart beat accelerating. Hester was looking in a drawer which 
kept goodies for the customers, pretty little thingies like clothespins for our nipples, small 
whips for other portions, cords and twine and bits of rope, and an extra set of handcuffs.

There were also gags, and when Hester stood up and closed the drawer, she dangled one 
of those. “You’re going to listen to a discussion, sweetheart, but you’re not suppose to take 
part in it. Betty doesn’t want to be interrupted. Don’t be mad at me. You’re to wear this little 
item by special orders. Open your mouth.”

“Gagged! Oh, Hester, I don’t want to be gagged. I hate the beastly things.”

“Sure, sure, darling. But I wasn’t asking if you liked them. I just told you to open your 
mouth. It won’t be forever, you know.”

“But I don’t see why.” I examined the exhibit. It was a small rubber ball plus a soft leather 
band to buckle in back. The leather was soft but each of the edges was ridged to bit hard and 
compress the lips. With that pretty thing buckled on tight I wouldn’t be able to scream or to 
speak.

Hester waited patiently. I simply stood there, fuming and twisting my handcuffed wrists 
while she laughingly held up the gag. But her patience was not infinite. Disgustedly I opened 
my mouth.

“Atta girl! You’re going to be cute when I’m finished with you, this time the gag is really 
dressy. Now, just do as I say.”

Hester dipped the rubber ball in water and thrust it well in between my teeth above my 
tongue. It felt huge. Then, without being ordered, I managed to clench my teeth and 
compress my lips into a thin, straight line. The leather covered them and compressed them 
even more. Busy with the buckle, Hester ordered, “As tight together as you can, Denise, my 
pet.” And she tugged it as tight as she could.

I was quite sure that if a girl had to get gagged, there was nothing more becoming than 
what I now wore. My lips were clamped, my tongue compressed. When Hester grasped my 
arm to lead me from the room, I started to tell her that I would come willingly but not a sound
came out. It was total frustration.

I did a lot of head tossing and cuff tugging during our short journey to Betty Green’s 
office.

Betty was comfortably settled behind her desk and the big surprise Hester had not told be 
about was Alice Murdoc. The two Madames had been in earnest conversation which lapsed 
into silence at my arrival.

“Ah, there you are, Hester.” Betty’s tone was crisp. “Have Denise kneel down where me can
both see her. She can sit back on her heels for comfort. When you’ve done that you may as 
well run along.”

I was too curious to resist. Hester’s hands guided me to the floor where I sat back on my 
heels in a very submissive pose. Explanation was instant, “We’re discussing you, Denise, dear. 
And we wanted you in on the conversation as a silent witness. Don’t want you interrupting. If 
we have to refer to you, it’s easy for you to nod or shake your head.”

I felt foolish, kneeling like that, quite helpless and very, very mute. I looked from one to 
the other and met only the kindest of smiles. But I was becoming accustomed to smiles not 
meaning much here. I remained the picture of submission.

“You look very lovely like that, Denise.” It was Alice Murdoc who spoke. “We really treat 
you outrageously but you’ll simply have to forgive us. I’m visiting Betty today to lay claim to 
possession of you. I feel I’ve been robbed.”

Even if I hadn’t been gagged I’m not sure I would have said anything. It’s wonderful to be 
wanted but I could have wished the circumstances to be different. I tossed my head and 
clinked my cuffs and stared.

“Alice takes the position that she bought and paid for you, quite a lot of cash money,”

Betty said. “She let you go, she wanted you a free girl, but between Michael Torrance and I 
you got horsed around until you’re not the least bit free at all.” Betty shrugged and pursed her
lips. “Alice feels that since the spirit and intent of what she desired for you has been violated, 
she can no assert her right to repossess. She wants to take you home today.”

Whether I admitted it or not, I was thankful for the gag. Words flooded against the ball 
within my mouth, but they were probably the wrong words, and no one was asking my 
opinion anyway. Two women gazing down at me had my attention for sure. I waited.

“But didn’t you relinquish all rights to the little darling when you set her free,” Betty 
inquired reasonably.

“If she’d remained free, yes,” Alice retorted firmly. “But when Torrance and you got into the
act you took Denise to square one. If I had known she would be kidnapped again almost 
instantly, I wouldn’t have set the girl free. I’m sure you and Michael had not intention to 
swindle, but in effect that’s what you did. I paid for Denise but you and Michael possess her. 
Look at her now, I’ve never seen a girl more helpless beneath authority.”

Silently I agreed. These two women held my life in their hands and I was helpless to even 
speak. Alice Murdoc had been so kind to me and so generous in the money that she had paid 
that, if it came to a tug-of-war, I would be on her side. Betty had been kind but had sold me 
to fifteen men and kept me chained. Right now the restraints I wore were because of her. I 
thanked my lucky stars for the inability to speak.

“The way I see it, Alice, you relinquished all claim to the girl when you set her free. I mean, 
when someone throws something away, you can’t blame someone else for picking it up.

And what would you do with her now?”

“You’ve broken her in to what it’s all about. We both know there’s a fortune in the girl, 
she’s a beauty. I’ll put her on my staff, her life would be about the same as with you. You have 
to remember my reason for giving her freedom was simply affection and pity. To take a girl of 
her social status and. make a whore of her has to be traumatic. I didn’t free Denise because I 
didn’t want her. I wanted her then and I want her now.”

“You just plain want her. But so do I,” Betty added with a touch of firmness in her voice. “If 
there was any law governing such things, I expect it would be a mote point which of us had 
the best claim to her. Look, don’t let’s be bad friends over his. I have an idea. I’m holding an 
order from one of the rich types who can afford to buy and sell girls. He’s got a place to keep 
them so that’s no problem. How’d it be we sell Denise to him and split the take? She’s fetch a 
goodly sum.”

It wasn’t much fun kneeling there and realizing I’d never, never be free again. If one 
person didn’t want me, another would. I’d become a real prisoner with a life sentence. I could 
sure understand why Betty Green made me silent. If I had my lips and tongue I’d be telling 
them how unfair this whole thing was. I’d already told them I didn’t have enough money to 
either offset my earnings as a whore or to match the sale price for me. It was humbling to 
think that with all the money I did have it was still small potatoes in this game in which I had 
become a pawn.

“I’ve got a waiting list of men like that,” Alice affirmed, “I sell an occasional girl to them but
I won’t sell Denise. I’m damned sure some of these bastards give the girls a rough time.

Look, Betty, we’re both fond of the girl and we could argue here all night. How’d it be we 
toss a coin?”

I could not speak so was very much a participant in the heavy silence Alice Murdoc’s words
had imposed. They were not looking at each other but at me. I know myself being freshly 
valued. When she spoke, Betty’s voice was tinged with disbelief, “Who said possession was 
nine points of the law? I’ve got the girl and if I risk losing her I’d have to be nuts.” She mused 
thoughtfully. “Look, Alice, if I agree to flip the coin, will you pay me a bonus of that pretty little
redhead you got a month or so ago? You called her Kitten.”

“Agreed. Kitten is now you property. She’s a sweet child and will make you a fortune.

Here’s a coin, you do the toss.”

Alice Murdoc took me home.





CHAPTER SIX - Kitchen Slave


I was becoming accustomed to the trunks of cars. Betty did not want to bother to dress me so
that’s where I had to go. I was hugged and kissed and told I would be missed, but at the end 
of it I stepped into the trunk, lay down and offered my ankles to be bound. I was helpless 
enough without the binding of my feet but the act had become a part of a prisoner’s travels 
that it would have seemed funny without it. They took it for granted. The lid slammed down 
and I found myself in the dark. I lie there in the blackness, playing with my handcuffs and 
trying to get comfortable in a condition were it wasn’t possible. But above all else my mind 
was centered on a single thought: what would Alice Murdoc do with me?

The room was larger and more pleasant than the one in which I had pleased my fifteen 
men for the profit of Betty Green. Everything was a touch more feminine and the bathroom a 
perfect dream. There was not even a chain and shackle for my ankle, this was replace by a 
longer span of links, twisted to mesh with each other in an effect pleasing to the eye yet still 
escape-proof. It terminated at the iron collar which had become a part of me and was 
attached with a padlock beneath my chin.

“It gives you the run of the room, dear, but it won’t let you outside the door and you 
mustn’t try jumping out the window. There’s a lot of it, so it gets too heavy to pull around my 
your neck, you can gather it up and carry it in your hand. Sorry about that, but if you know a 
better or more comfortable way to keep a girl out of trouble, I’d like to know about it.”

I lost the handcuffs and then the gag to stand beautifully and nakedly free save for the 
collar on my neck. I stretched before wrapping my free arms around the woman who 
possessed me for the second time. Brokenly, I muttered thanks, including thanks for the nicer 
room and the light chain I could handle easily. I sat on the bed in breathless expectation.

“Hate me?” Alice’s eyes were shrewd. “I set you totally free before but now I’ve got you 
back, a prisoner, collared and chained without freedom in sight.”

“No, of course I don’t hate you.”

“It won’t be much different from Betty Green’s place. There’ll be men-“

“I can’t do anything about anything anymore,” I told her without bitterness. “I’ve learned 
how to behave like a well behaved whore should. I can’t escape, this is my life now. I’m 
working at making the best of it.”

“You’re a treasure. I almost feel guilty of bring you here, you see I’ve got myself boxed in.

There’s no way I can let you go again, Betty Green would murder me.”

“I understand.”

“How’s your feelings about Michael Torrance?”

“Sort of numb. Kathy Trimby snatched me away from under his nose. You know about the 
strange freedom he offered me and which I accepted. But I can’t judge it without giving him 
that one day a week which I owed. He might have been kind or cruel to me but I never found 
out. I thought about it a lot, but it doesn’t matter much now, does it? I’m never going to be a 
free girl again.”

“Don’t let that freedom thing prey on your mind, sweetheart. We’ll talk about it another 
time. Right now I want you to understand the Michael Torrance deal was canceled out in the 
deal Betty Green and I made. They both had you kidnapped after I set you free.

Neither paid a dime. I hold precedence over both of them.” Alice gave me another of her 
shrewd glances. “You burned up with curiosity about Michael, I can tell. It’s going to worry you
to bits wondering if he would have whipped you or taken you to bed.”

Alice laughed. “I would have felt the same way. In fact, I’m curious myself over what he 
would have done to you. Men are subject to the damnedest urges. If I could get you back 
again, I would offer to loan you to him for one day. Would you like that?”

Alice’s chain and Alice’s room had left me with a nice comfortable feeling of being at 
home. I told her so and that my curiosity would have to go on being curious. Slyly, I added, 
“Of course, if you’re so curious, you have to find out. I can’t stop you loaning me to him, can 
I!”

We left it at that arid I felt good about it. Shocking as my situation would seem to those in 
the outside world I had adjusted to it in that strange way girls seem able to adjust to anything.
If it was my fate to be pierced several times a day for the profit of Alice Murdoc, I might as 
well get such small pleasures as my chained captivity allowed. The principle of these was Alice 
Murdoc herself. I knew she was being kind to me and, after she left me alone, I found delight 
in exploring this pretty bedroom which was now my home. The chain to the collar around my 
neck slithered behind me on the rug as a constant silvery reminder of my condition. I 
examined it in pure fascination, the beauty of its links and the sturdiness of its strength. I 
could just reach the door but not go through. It permitted me the rest of the room to roam in.
I experimented with having it fall between my breasts or tossing it back over my shoulder but 
ended up by easing its weight upon my shoulder.

Alice Murdoc sent me no men and I slept in reasonable content, little guessing that in the 
day to come my world would be shattered.

It was mid-morning before I sensed the male approach and knew I was-about to yield my 
body for cash. I stood, nervously fingering my chain and trying hard to compose a suitable 
smile of welcome. The collar around my neck told me I was being a sensible girl, but when the 
footsteps stopped and The Male entered my room, I gasped in shock.

It was Michael Torrance!

“Damn it, Denise, you’ve given me a fine old runaround,” Michael grumbled good 
naturedly as if we had parted only yesterday. “I whipped the truth out of Kathy Trimby and 
Betty Green sent me here. Alice Murdoc has actually given me free time to talk to you.”

“Oh, Michael … talk? Only talk?”

Michael waved my suggestion away. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,. I’ll get around to that after 
we’ve got to the bottom of you being so kidnap prone. Damn it, I can’t turn my back without 
someone snatching you.”

I didn’t get to say a thing before my nakedness was gathered up into a pair of strong male
arms and I was almost brutally kissed, fondled and hugged. It felt very good indeed but left 
me in more of a dither than ever. Words formed as Michael tested the new chain by which I 
was held captive, but I did not utter them. From somewhere down below there came the 
unmistakable crack of a pistol shot.

Of the three men who joined us, two did not matter, they were servants. It was the third 
who radiated power and authority. And who examined me with a steely eye in complete 
command.

“She’ll do,” he said crisply. “Take her.”

It happened very suddenly. Michael and I had stepped apart at the sound of the shot. The 
two men grasped me by an arm apiece before we came alive. At the empty touch of strange 
hands I fought bravely as Michael Torrance bellowed, “Who the hell do you think you are! 
Leave that girl alone.”

Michael picked up the nearest man and tossed him across the room and was about to 
tackle the other when the man in charge drew a gun and, without preamble, calmly shot the 
only man in my life. I stared aghast at Michael’s inert and lifeless form upon the floor.

The sound of the shot filling bedroom while my arm was pulled by other man. My wrists 
were tugged to either side to leave me totally exposed, facing Michael’s murder. Once more 
my skin was scorched by his gaze. There followed a brief nod and the command, “Package 
her.”

I struggled all I could but had no chance. I was soon face down on the rug beside the 
body of the man who had come to make love to me. A hard knee was ruthless on my back as 
my hands were joined and wire bit savagely into my flesh, circled my wrists and then cinched 
agonizingly with pliers. The same was done to my elbows to make me forget all else except 
the pain. No doubt this was a tactic to keep me docile to my captor’s will.

When more wire was tightened around my knees and ankles, I was more helpless than I 
had ever been and dared not move a muscle. The whole thing may have taken too minutes. 
The tool they brought to cut my chain made no impression on the links but easily cut the link 
at my collar, leaving me free for transport. Fear and pain left me with a terrible loneliness at 
might of Michael there upon the floor. But all I might have said was cut short the insertion 
into my mouth of a rubber and leather gag which clamped my lips hard against my teeth and 
was buckled fiercely at the nape of my neck.

As I was carried downstairs to a car I was shocked a second time by seeing Alice Murdoc 
dead upon the floor of her own hallway and her girls being marshaled out in captive line.

Each girl was handcuffed behind her back and all were tethered and controlled by a single 
chain from neck to neck. The front door was opened and I watched them prodded and 
whipped down the steps into waiting vans. The boss man was no where to be seen but, 
covered by a blanket, I was stowed into the trunk of a car. If the neighbors saw anything and 
called the police, they would find only dead bodies. I lay in that awful black trunk to mourn for
those I loved and moan in desolation beneath the vicious biting of the wire. I was a sad and 
sorry little girl indeed.

As usual my kidnapping was achieved with shocking ease. My wired nakedness was 
hustled aboard a waiting plane without my catching sight of the other girls or the man who 
masterminded the kidnapping. My two guards were constant. They had the decency, once 
aboard the plane, to cut the wicked wire and peel it from my skin to be replaced by leather 
straps evidently designed for the binding of a girl. They bit at me in the same places as the 
wire and were too tight for comfort but a tremendous improvement, for which I would have 
expressed gratitude had I been able to speak. I was sat in a seat and after a while the gag was 
taken from my mouth so I could gulp some offered brandy and ask questions. I had already 
been warned, “You scream, you act silly, you get the gag again.”

I was uncertain of my guards, they were foreign, probably French with some knowledge of 
English, enough to converse. They looked at me with sly amusement but keep their hands to 
themselves. I realized I had become prized merchandise. I had best be polite.

“Please tell me who is the man who has kidnapped me?”

“His name no matter. He wants you for prisoner.”

That hadn’t gotten far so I tried again. “But why does he want me prisoner? What will he 
do with me?”

“He want jig-a-jig you, mademoiselle. Maybe he also whip you ass.” There was a Gallic 
shrug. “Who can tell? But you lucky girl, he very rich, very powerful.”

“But what’s he going to do with all those other girls he kidnapped?”

The time the Gallic shrug was accompanied by a visible smirk. “Rich man own fine house 
where girls did jig-a-jig for very high price. The girls were chain, our master get the cash.

You lucky you not go there.”

That was one thing we-could agree on. I tried again. “Please, can I be covered? A coat or a 
blanket?”

“You no cover up, we like pretty girl.” One of my nipples was gently pinched and a couple 
of my public hairs plucked. “Like these things best of all. No cover up, no way.”

“Okay, so you want me naked. I’m used to being naked, so I don’t care. But, please, take 
that strap off my elbows, it hurts.”

“You wear strap. Strap make tips stick out. No take strap off.”

So that was that! I asked more questions but got only laughter and evasion. After another 
hour my knees and ankles were freed so I could walk. With uncertain steps and a blushed that 
made my captors laugh, I managed to reach the tiny bathroom, the door of which was held 
open by one of the guards while they both watched me cope with nature’s call. I could 
cheerfully have killed them and came close to tears at having to sit under their gaze. It was 
terrible to be robbed of hands and arms.

With my ankles once more strapped tight, I sat in scarlet shame for the next hour.

It was a long flight and at its end I was once more gagged. A car was waiting on the 
tarmac, far from watching eyes, so my nakedness was planted in the back seat of the 
expensive vehicle beside one of my guards while the other sat in front with the driver.

“Is very pretty country,” I was informed. “You much enjoy. You very much enjoy your 
master’s house where he keep you prisoner. Is best you do not sulk.”

I did not sulk. I was far beyond so girlish a response. I wanted to weep or scream or use 
my bound hands as claws. I knew myself in the power of a Force, a female pawn thrust here 
and there by male fingers in a game I did not understand. I longed ardently for the gentle 
touch of Alice.Murdoc’s hands or to be picked up and carried in the strong arms of Michael 
Torrance. But they were dead! The fearful word echoed over and over in my mind, dead, dead, 
and lost to me forever. As for my former life before enslavement, it had almost vanished from 
my mind. I felt a frightening loneliness and ten times more fear.

The Villa Rose stood upon a rocky point above the Mediterranean. Its style was half local 
and half early Gothic. It had obviously been built and added to from time to time, some of it 
quite ancient. Around the massive house was a stone wall from the cliff on one hand to the 
same cliff on the other, to make the Villa Rose virtually unapproachable except by permission 
through the gate. I remembered movies I had seen of prisoners entering the first wall beyond 
which they would be captive within stone and iron bars. I shivered.

I saw little more of my two guards. They freed my feet and handed me over to the care of 
a round-faced, olive complexioned man attired in what appeared to be an untidy sheet. He 
wore a funny little cap and equally odd shoes. His English was good although stilted and filled
with idioms. With his fingers on my bare arm his greeting was friendly, “You Miss Denise 
Chartrand. I am Babu. I come from far away but is very pleasant here. You be very polite and 
call me ‘Sir’.”

My mind was in such turmoil I cared little for what I called this new man. I was still gagged 
so could call him nothing but was grateful for the gentleness of his grasp. Instead of taking 
me through the main portal into what I was certain was interior magnificence, Babu led me 
through pleasant gardens to a small but descending set of stone steps at the bottom of which
was a heavily bolted and studded door. He had the key and opened the door. Once inside, the
lovely summer sunlight vanished. The air was gloomy but still warm as we traversed stone 
passages to a destination about which I had the most horrible premonition. A premonition 
which proved all too correct when another massive door was thrown open and I was ushered 
into what was undoubtedly a dungeon.

I supposed that, as dungeons go, this was a distinctly superior dungeon. A good deal of 
light and even a beam of sun came from small, barred windows high up in the thick stone 
walls. It was large, its roof supported by no less than three stone pillars. Its floor, which should 
have been cold beneath my bare feet, was warm and I realized the Mediterranean climate was 
augmented by a heating system designed for the protection of naked girls.

Where ever I looked there were irons, chains with tiny shackles to fit a maiden wrist or 
ankles, or a maiden neck. I sighed in relief at the absence of torture instruments. This was a 
prison, but in my mind, that was enough. Babu’s hand upon my arm guided me gently to a 
door, behind which was the most deluxe bathroom I had seen. It was quite large and plush 
and illuminated by sly and indirect sources so a girl might bath in the sunken rub in a golden 
glow.

“Very nice dungeon, very nice bathroom for Miss Denise Chartrand,” Babu suggested 
hopefully. “Babu wishes you be happy.”

He had dropped my arm so I could stand back to face him and make my appraisal of him.

He was undoubtedly from India and, I recalled the word “Babu” as of a caste or a Creed or 
something like that. It did not matter, I would call him “Sir” and think of him as The Babu.

When he unstrapped the gag and took it form my mouth I could have kissed him had I not
been so impelled to impress upon this emasculated male the depth of my desolation. “But, 
Babu, I don’t want to live in a dungeon. I’ll hate being locked up here. Please, isn’t there 
somewhere else?”

His liquid eyes beamed benevolence. “You not call me ‘Sir’, for that I could punish. But not 
this time. The lovely bathroom and this lovely dungeon is approved for you, it is what you get.
You must try and like very much.” He grinned an oily grin. “You spend much time in bath, is 
very nice.”

“How can I spend time in the bath when I’m chained up out there to one of those pillars?”

“That only when you bad girl. I do not chain you to wall or pillars, I chain you only to 
yourself.”

“But why would you have to chain me at all? Once you lock me in, I can’t possibly get out.”

“Ahhhh. … There is no need to chain so pretty a girl. But you be chained by highest 
authority.” His smile was altogether charming. “You will wear fine, heavy irons so you know 
you have a master. It is his wish.”

“Please don’t chain me, sir?” I pleaded humbly, hating every servile word.

“You would prefer I leave you strapped the way you are?” Babu’s sly response had me 
foxed. I wanted that damned leather off my wrists and elbows in the worst way so, once more,
I was humble.

“No, sir, I hate being strapped like this, it’s hurting me terribly. I’d be grateful if you would 
unbuckle them. And I also want to thank you for taking the gag out of my mouth.” Then I 
added, “I’ll try not to be a nuisance to you. I’ll try and behave myself.”

Babu eyed me shrewdly. “You do not like those words you speak. You are proud young 
lady, you are not humble. Babu understand this but you will call me ‘Sir’.”

It was a communication. Babu, if not exactly my friend, was not an enemy. He would obey 
authority but with as little pain as possible.

He wanted me happy rather than sad. But how I was to be happy chained in a dungeon, 
even with an amazing expensive bathroom attached, was question I could not fathom. I 
shrugged and said, “Yes, I am what you say.” I met his eyes squarely, “Please tell me what my 
fate is to be.”

Babu took his time. “The Vicompte Chevalier Andre Duval has his own need of you, Miss 
Denise Chartrand. He will tell you in his own good time,” he said slowly. “You must remember 
that whatever happens to you here will be by his orders. You may not see him but he is a 
presence in your life, owning you completely.” He sighed heavily. “I will now put you in irons.”

“Irons! Oh, damn! Couldn’t I have a bath first? Pleeease?”

“Very well, Miss Denise Chartrand. We will return in ninety minutes. That should give you 
plenty of time.” The way Babu shut the door crinkled my spine with its snaps and thuds and 
rattles, I felt as in a tomb. Returning to the dungeon, I took a tour around the walls to view the
various ways that I might be enchained. And then the pillars. There was neither hope nor 
comfort in any of it. I felt such a strong desire to be back with Betty Green or Alice Murdoc, 
chained to receive their customers and anxious to please. I suppose I am human stuff and that
damned dungeon really got to me. Shivering, I sought the heated comfort of the bath.

There was no clock, there never is a clock for a prisoner. But I tossed time to the winds and
enjoyed the most luxurious bath I had ever had. I used half the bottles. It was almost pleasant.

When Babu returned, he did not return alone. I had expected Babu to clasp some irons 
upon my wrists and ankles and let it go at that. But it was not to be that simple. The man who 
accompanied him bore a heavy weight of iron which looked like a segment from a steel rail 
some railroad had discarded. It was, in fact, exactly that. There was also a massive bench on 
which the bit of rail was placed before standing by in acute expectation.

I had just finished with lipstick and was distinctly pleased with myself when I walked out 
into the somber atmosphere of the dungeon I was to inhabit. I tried to be cheerful, “Here I am,
sir, all ready. Do I meet with approval?”

“You are beautiful beyond compare, Miss Chartrand. It grieves me to do what now must be
done. But Amil is most expert, he will not hurt. Now, if you will step forward to the bench?”

Under the scrutiny of three pairs of male eyes, two of which were certainly carnal in the 
concern with my nakedness, I did as I was bid. The boy who had carried the bench was sent to 
a heavily constructed bench to obtain manacles to accommodate my slenderness.

I was told to kneel. I was soon confronted by the open shackles and chain. Without being 
ordered, I placed my wrist within the waiting jaws which the smith now closed upon my skin in
a tight fit, remarkable for not having been measured. He moved my hand to position it to his 
need and inserted a rivet to the perfectly aligned holes. I then watched in-fascination as his 
hammer blows splayed out the soft metal rivet until it was flat and the shackle would not leave
my wrist. My other hand was then dealt with to leave Miss Denise Chartrand with joined wrists
that she could never free herself of. The links were stout and heavy. I was ordered to stand.

It was frightening. Previously I had been bound with rope, cord or twine. Sometimes 
handcuffed. All had left their mark but this was something altogether new. Watching those 
rivets hammered on to seal the circlets on my wrists told me in a way no words could of the 
bondage I was in. Once more I shivered.

The Joeboy now brought a wooden box on which I was told to sit and to raise one ankle 
up on the anvil. There followed a repetition of what had been done to my wrists. I watched in 
total desolation as my ankles were joined with no hope of freeing them. Hope vanished with 
each hammer blow. Then the smith had done with the wrists and ankles, I was told to stand 
and walk around. I obeyed, feeling very foolish, to find my steps inhibited to a slow walk, 
scrubbing my ankles at each step, and my wrists, six inches apart, hanging listlessly above my 
pubic hair. It was a brutal demonstration of helplessness before the hungry eyes of a pair of 
males who would have ravished me right there had I been fair game for them and not 
protected by their master. Having completed my shameful walk, I stood before Babu and said,
hopefully, “Thank you for having me ironed, sir. I presumed I am suitable restrained now?”

“Alas, no.” Babu seemed genuinely to regret what he must say. “The collar upon your neck 
is inadequate by Vicompte’s standards. It will now be replaced.”

Once more I was made to kneel. Then I must place my neck upon the makeshift anvil.

There followed the hammer and chisel, and my neck was free from the collar for the first 
time in a long while. But it was not free for long! Another metal collar took its place upon my 
flesh. It too was riveted on with me flinching as each hammer blow impacted below my ear. 
When the metal had been splayed to the satisfaction of the smith, I had become the property 
of Monsieur Duval. His name was engraved upon the steel I wore around my neck.

That should have been enough.

It was not enough! A set of chains attached to a central ring were now fitted to my irons 
on wrist and ankle. When hammered and riveted beyond hope of freedom, I discovered my 
already linked hands were held at the level below my navel so that to touch my face I must 
bend over. Once more I looked Babu in the eye.

“I am not an animal, sir, to be thus used. I am neither a wild beast or criminal. Please don’t 
do this to me.”

“It is so ordered. Miss Chartrand.”

The smith and his helper picked up their goods and went away. Babu and I stared, he in 
obvious regret, and I in the throes of despair.

“Is this my life from now on?” I asked. “I’ll insane if you keep me here alone, chained like 
this. It’s senseless.”

I stood in nakedness before the Babu’s eyes. The fresh irons were heavy on wrist and 
ankle. The heavy collar on my neck could never be forgotten, its weight insistent like the hand 
of the man who owned me. Yet I was not even sure who owned me. The menacing figure of 
the Vicompte seemed a threat from another age and time.

“You are very beautiful. Miss Chartrand, as you stand like this. Irons become you,” Babu 
said in a strange mixture of awe and respect. “It would be most easy for me to say you should 
bare them always.”

“I think they’re hateful. They reduce a girl to nothing. I rattled the chain between my wrists 
hopelessly. “Don’t you understand how terrible it is for a girl to know all this metal is riveted 
on her? That no one has a key. That she could stay confined like this for life? Oh, Babu!”

“Nothing is forever. Miss Chartrand. You may spend only a very short time in this lovely 
chamber. I do assure you there are many far worse than this. Be of good heart, I will be 
watchful for your welfare.”

Once again I got the full treatment of thuds of bolts and snaps of locks as Babu left me in 
the loneliness of my dungeon. Once again I lifted my hands to examine, in the strangest of 
fascinations, the flattened out rivets which could forever deny me freedom. Knowledge of this 
manner in which I was held frightened me, but at the same time left me wondering. If I was so 
highly prized that my chains were riveted instead of locked, there must surely be something in
my future!

I stood there, barefoot, on the stone, looking at my chained hands but my thoughts were 
elsewhere. It was hard to believe Michael Torrance and Alice Murdoc were dead. I could hope 
that by some miracle they were still alive, but this was wishful thinking. From there my mind 
switched to Duval, the man in whose dungeon I was now chained. He must have had a 
purpose in stealing me from those I loved. Logic told me I was here to be used, to fulfill a 
function, but I had no belief it was a sexual function. If he had wished to ravish me, he need 
not go to all this. The respect tendered me by Babu and the others told me I was a rich man’s 
prize. I sighed and sat that one aside along with the rest. I decided on one more tour of my 
stonewalled captivity. I did so with hobbled steps, discovering I could not possibly walk 
decently but only with short steps I despised. It took me a fair amount of time to examine the 
almost unbelievable array of chains. But there was nothing else to do and, since chains were 
already riveted upon my hands and feet, the rest of the collection became exhibits in a 
museum. I managed to pass half an hour in this shackled tour before Babu came back with 
what he called my supper. It was simply fruit, and I was told apologetically the Vicompte liked 
his women lean.

. Night was falling and I was tired, but I had seen no bed.

“Alas, Miss Chartrand, prisoners must sleep upon the floor,” the Babu explained with 
heartbreak in his voice. “There is very much floor and you can chose the place where you wish 
to sleep. But there must be no comfort for a girl within this prison. It is by decree.”

“But, Babu, it’s solid stone. I can’t possibly sleep like that!”

“Others have done so, dear lady. You will sleep, never fear.”

Babu thoughtfully collected the towels from the bathroom and bid me good night. Had it 
not been for the steady flow of heat, the huge dungeon would have been deadly. As it was, I 
sat dejectedly down against the wall to lean back and try to keep my thoughts from Michael 
and Alice. Unexpectedly I fell asleep. Babu was right, a girl can sleep on stone.

It had been a hard day and I slept until the sun was up. Babu returned with my towels and 
more fruit. After I had bathed with an outrageous clatter of chain things happened swiftly.

It was the same smith with the same chunk of iron, bench and tools. Speechless in 
disbelief, I followed Babu’s order and knelt beside the bench and placed my wrists upon the 
metal rail. The smith fitted a punch upon the rivet he had pounded out only the day before 
and struck heavily to drive the same rivet back and cause the iron band to open.

When both my hands were free, he packed up his tools and left. I was left kneeling and 
rubbing my chaffed wrists.

“You see how easily it is done, Miss Chartrand. You are never far from possible freedom,”

Babu encouraged as he helped me to my feet. “I fear you must bear with the leg irons, I 
am sure you will not mind.”

I choked back the obvious replies. Before I could say anything we were interrupted by the 
entry of a woman around thirty, bare from the waist up, her breasts arrogant and quite 
magnificent. My heart did a flip-flop when I saw the whip she carried with a careless intent I 
could not mistake.

“May I introduce Mademoiselle Celie, Miss Chartrand,” Babu said with a flourish.

“Mademoiselle Celie has an appointment with you.”

“She’s going to whip me?”

“Alas, yes. May I ask your usual cooperation?”

I stood there, shocked and breathless, and had never felt more vulnerable. I kicked a 
chained foot to savor helplessness. I had my hands but without my feet was lost. The 
newcomer’s eyes assessed me in a way to make me cringe.

“Stop your babbling, Babu. Let us whip this girl and get it over with.” A sneer colored her 
words. “I’m sure she’ll be as grateful to be Whipped as you think she should be. Come, I need 
your help.”

I fought. The ugly thing Celie now tossed to the floor filled me with dread. There was no 
way I could meekly accept its marking of my skin. I suppose I was like a trapped animal 
fighting for her life. The first thing I did was trip and fall. When rough hands grasped my arms,
I kicked with the shameful impotence of chained feet. Babu and Celie proved surprisingly 
strong, and in a matter of moments only my breasts were trust hard against one of the stone 
pillars and my hands raised to waiting shackles on either side. When the locks snapped tight 
upon my wrists, I stood with breasts and belly hard against the stone and arms tautly raised. I 
heard my own voice babbling, “You mustn’t, you mustn’t! Please don’t whip me. I haven’t 
done anything!”

I should have saved my breath for screams. Celie began whipping me as though it was a 
tedious chore to be disposed of, while Babu as stood to one side, his large and liquid eyes 
filled with sympathy which helped me not at all. As the first whiplash seared my back, I 
became once more the pathetic, trapped animal, tearing at my chains, and lunging from side 
to side in a frantic and useless effort. When Celie lashed my bottom from hip to hip, I 
screamed in a tumult of emotions in which anger, fear and outrage vied for expression, along 
with pain such as I had never known.

“Mademoiselle Denise has a charming voice, nes pas?” Celie mocked as she struck her 
third cruelty across my waist. After that I remember only pain.

I was quite helpless. My nakedness was thrust and held against the stone by iron bands.

My struggles were instinctive, as were my screams which echoed horribly through the 
huge stone chamber, interspersed with my voice pleading innocence and mercy. No one 
heard. The whip strokes cut at me in a steady rhythm of flame and fire, on and on until my 
world went dark and I hung senseless from my chains.

I must have been really and truly out! I still don’t know if Celie continued whipping me 
while I was unconscious. My only memory was of Babu supporting me to place my wrists 
again upon the chunk of iron. In misery I watched the smith fit the shackle on my wrist and 
pound the rivet down. This time the chain between my hands was longer but that was the only
difference. Brandy was held to my lips to give me strength. I was raised to my feet.

“Mademoiselle is tres bon,” Celie said to Babu as she, mostly strangely, tilted my chin and 
planted a kiss firmly on my lips. “She is a strong one, have not doubt of it. Let us hope 
Vicompte Duval instructs me to whip her again. Her screams are diverting. She is very 
beautiful.”

Trembling, I stood, grateful for Babu’s support, and looking stupidly at my freshly chained 
hands. Celie took her whip and departed with what seemed to me a meaningful, ‘Till later.”

From somewhere deep within my pain, I managed to ask, “Why was I whipped, Babu?”

“It is not for me to know, Mademoiselle. It was on orders of the Vicompte who owns both 
you and the villa Rose. We on the staff do not question his decree.”

“But I hadn’t done anything to deserve it!”

“You are a beautiful young woman for whom Monsieur Duval has a purpose. It is desirable 
you should know the touch of the lash. For a little while you will be governed by the lash and 
receive many applications of it upon your skin from the so nice Mademoiselle Celie.”

Babu eyed me with his usual liquid regret. “I must now take you to where your work 
awaits.”

“Work!?”

“Alas, yes. I fear you will not like this work you must do. It is not nice work. Come, you 
cannot walk so I will carry you.”

Everything about the villa Rose was on the grand scale. The kitchen was no exception. It 
was presided over at the moment by a frightened young girl clad only in shorts and tee shirt 
and by a middle-aged woman, round-faced and buxom. When Babu placed my feet upon the 
ground and stood back to allow the mistress of the kitchen a good view of my charms, she 
said, “Another one, heh? What’s the Master want this pretty little piece for?”

“I do not know, Madam,” Babu said with a touch of firmness. “Our Master has issued 
orders that she be punished as required and given no opportunity to escape. I have had her 
ironed for your convenience.”

“More like her inconvenience.” She followed that with a hardy laugh. “Celie tells me she’s 
whipped the little trick. Turn around and let me look.” , I turned around with much clinking.

She observed my back side with a clicking of her tongue that could have been admiration 
or sympathy, I could not tell.

“Don’t worry yourself about her, Babu. I’ll look after the pretty thing and give her a taste of
the strap once in a while, as she needs it. You can stop hovering over her like a mother hen. 
Right now she’s mine.”

Babu shrugged and went his way. I stood awkwardly in my chains and returned the stare 
of the woman and the girl.

“The girl’s Francene, and I’m Madame Jolie. You will call Madame.” The buxom woman 
came to pet my bare shoulder reassuringly. “I’ll not be too hard on you, lass, but you’ll have to
work.”

“But I’m chained!”

“So what, little one? Like Babu said, it’s for my convenience, I don’t have to worry about 
you. You won’t be running away. And if you try you’ll collect a few strips. Poor, old Babu, he’s 
fallen in love with you, can’t you tell?”

“He’s been kind to me.”

“And so will I, and so will Francene. I’ll have the dear child give you a demonstration of the 
sort of obedience I expect.” She turned to the waiting girl. “Fetch the strap, ma petite. And be 
quick about it.”

The girl who was perhaps fourteen years old sped upon her errand, carrying a limber piece
of leather and wishing she was somewhere else.

“Drop your shorts, cheri, and touch your toes,” Madame. Jolie ordered cheerfully. “Show 
Mademoiselle Denise what a good girl you are. Fear not, ma petite chou, I’ll give you only five,
just for the good of your soul.”

I stood in disbelief as the girl lowered her tight shorts and this little drama unfolded. Poor 
Francene got them down to her ankles, then bent over to touch her toes, her face 
expressionless.

“Keep those knees firm and don’t you dare do any more than sway them pretty hips,” the 
mistress of the kitchen admonished with complete good will. Then she turned to me, “After 
what Celie has just given you, Denise my dear, this strap will seem a mere tickling. But it is a 
reminder. I’ve got a lot of fate in this expensive bit of leather.”

It was wonderful and it was awful. The flexible flagellum spent itself upon Francene’s taut 
curves with a truly horrible crack to leave an instant scarlet imprint. Casually, as though 
peeling potatoes, Madame Jolie changed sides and delivered another quite frightful blow 
upon the innocent flesh. I could not tell how badly it hurt, Francene accepted the punishment 
without more than the occasional bending of a knee which she instantly corrected. When the 
five strokes had welded the young bottom so obviously without guilt, the girl straightened up,
pulled up her shorts and tucked the tee shirt within. All the while she was saying, with 
simulated gratitude, “Thank you, Madame, those were five lovely strokes I am sure I deserved.”

Anxious to please, the child turned dewy eyes in my direction. “You see how kindly we are 
treated here, Mademoiselle,” she said with a straight face. “Our Mistress gave me only five 
strokes where she could have easily made it ten.” With the faintest flicker of an eyelid, 
Francene returned to the peeling of potatoes.

Responsive to Madame Jolie obvious expectation, I used my very best French to commend
the punishment of innocence, adding my assurance of anxiety to avoid such an infliction upon
myself by complete obedience to her will. She nodded, pleased.

“The Vicompte insists on quality. I see you are no exception, my dear. Let me have another
look at that back.”

I stood and winced as my weals were explored with a knowing finger. Where there was 
blood, it was wiped tenderly away and the cut skin anointed with lotion. When this was done I 
was deemed ready to begin my duties. But first Madame was concerned with Gallic propriety. 
“I would not have you with your plumb little slit sticking out. For the moment we will cover it 
with this.” She plucked a large and colorful tea towel from a rack and used a safety pin to 
secure it above my hip, providing a scanty covering for that portion of myself she considered 
the improper.

“And now you can fill that pail with water, take the big rag along with the scrubbing brush,
and get down on your knees and clean the floor. Start with the scullery and work your way 
through the kitchen.”

The floor was already spotless. I was now to be broken in to my new humility by a useless 
task, painfully performed. The floor was of stone and to kneel on it as I used the brush and rag
was going to be punishment all its own. The succession of event proved too much for my 
strained nerves and a moment later I was sobbing my heart out, caring nothing for the 
watching eyes but only of my grief. I was allowed to cry until I had no more tears, then was 
taken into the maternal arms of the woman I must obey and patted and fondled as if I were a 
child. Once more Francene caught my eye and winked. Strangely enough, when the Madame 
told me to begin my work it seemed less dauntingly that before. I filled the pail with water and
accepted the brush and rag before going into the scullery to begin a task I had only read of in
books and never really believed in. I was being deliberately humbled. The floor was hard on 
my knees. I started the mechanical motions.

I got no more punishments that day. By the standards of Madame Jolie’s kitchen I 
probably earned the strap but did not get it. Celie’s whip was, no doubt, considered an 
adequate introduction to my punishment.

I was given scraps and pieces for my. even meal before Francene escorted me on the long 
and tedious walk back to my dungeon with its bath. After my adventures with the scrubbing 
brush and other indignities, I was actually glad to see the place. It shows how a girl can get 
accustomed to anything. Francene padlocked to my collar a seemingly endless amount of 
light chain by which I was given freedom of my dungeon and bathroom.

She kissed me good night and did not linger to talk. When I had listened the locks 
snapping shut I went disgustedly to. the only comfort the villa Rose allowed. I turned on the 
hot water to lay and soak in perfumed idleness, well weighted down by the metal on my limbs.
This night I was permitted a single towel, a quite lovely towel which failed to cover me or give 
comfort on the stone. I folded it back and forth to make a damp pad to sit upon while I played
ideally and hopelessly with my chain and the metal bands by which I was safely secured. For 
me there would be no escape from the villa Rose.

The villa Rose was a Feudal institution basking in the sunlight of the rocky Mediterranean 
coast. Babu was its major domo while Celie was the housekeeper. Beneath them was a host of 
servants who never reached the kitchen where Madame Jolie repelled all intruders and kept a 
firm hand upon Francene who was not as innocent or as frightened as I had first supposed. 
The villa Rose absorbed me. The respect by which I was treated plus the fact no man touched 
me told me all I needed to know about Vicompte Duval’s authority.

But about the man himself I could learn nothing.

I peeled potatoes and prepared bushels of vegetables. I clean dozens of pots and polished
brass. I cleaned the floors and polished a number of shoes. The Denise Chartrand I once had 
been would have failed to recognize me in the kitchen of the villa Rose. The tea towel I had 
worn upon one hip the first day was soon replaced by a larger square of white cloth which 
Madame Jolie fastened over my same hip. I wore it with the same sense of “now you see it, 
now you don’t.” It often disclosed the very object it was suppose to hide. Babu was the only 
male allowed to visit the scene of our labors. When he wished to have a look at my pubic hair, 
he had only to raise the white cloth and tell me to separate my feet as far as my leg irons 
allowed. It reduced modesty to complete simplicity.

The chains upon my wrists and ankles were a constant irritant, not by the chaffing of my 
skin, which was bad enough, but by the endless clatter they made. The noise of the links as I 
drew them back and forth across the edge of the sink drew frown from Madame Jolie but 
never a punishment. I suppose she knew a chained girl had no hope of silence as she worked. 
I did what I must, I was terribly afraid of the strap I had seen used on Francene’s bottom. I just 
plain did not want it on mine and knew I would do almost anything to avoid that contact. It 
would be nice to say I became contented with my lot, but the fact was I hated every bit of it. I 
hated that dungeon and the kitchen and the man who kept me imprisoned there with a deep 
loathing. He had made of me nothing better than a chained slave, a kitchen wench in irons.

Unexpected it was Francene who eased the burden of my days.

Escorting me to the dungeon each evening, and locking my collar to the chain became 
and automatic ritual. Chained as I was, Madame Jolie had no scruples about delegating the 
task to her underling. I might just as well have made the slow journey each night as well and 
locked my chain to my collar without help. There was no way I could escape. The leg irons 
alone made flight impossible. If, my some miracle, I had managed to totter to a door and walk
out into the evening, there were dogs and prowling servants I could never evade. Paramount 
in my mind was the awful fear of the punishment which must surely follow if I were so rash as 
to try it. I never tried it. More and more I came to look forward to the quiet intimacy the girl 
and I easily found. Francene had been suspicious of me at first, but when she realized my true 
condition, her tongue and the warmth of her sympathy became something I treasured. I was 
shocked to discover she was American, her name not being Francene at all, bur Marjorie. In 
complete innocence, and with a wry self-deprecation, she told me the tale of her captivity.





CHAPTER SEVEN - Fetters for Francene


I suppose I was just a dumb kid when I let that woman lure me into the back room with a 
promise of something for nothing. I was only twelve and my folks had brought me on the 
European tour. They were looking in another shop window when I walked into that lousy back
room and out of their lives. I walked out of my life too, if you want to think that way. A big 
bag was pulled down over my head, I was tressed up like a turkey. I was blindfolded and 
gagged and when I saw daylight again I was at the villa Rose. I didn’t know what it was then 
but I soon learned. Boy, did I ever!

Twelve is dumb in lots of ways but not in anything relative to sex. At school the girls and I 
had done the usual whispering and read the usual books. There wasn’t much we didn’t know 
about the things men did to girls, we found them exciting and could hardly wait, even the 
kinky stuff had an attraction even though we supposed it was naughty and might even hurt. 
Along with everything else we learned about little girls and how some men formed a passion 
for ten and twelve years old in preference to a girl who was really grown up. We even knew 
about women who also like their sexual partners female and as young as they could get them.
That’s what I walked into when they brought me here.

I never knew if it was the Vicompte’s mistress of a relative of some sort. Anttoinette was 
certainly young enough to be his mistress but she was also old enough to be anything else. 
She was tall and what you’d call handsome, some would call her beautiful but she never 
seemed beautiful to me. Anttoinette liked little girls and being Duval’s mistress or whatever, 
she had the power to select me in the street and give the necessary signal. I’m quite sure my 
family and everyone else had not the faintest clue about my fate-.

I was not the lease bit heroic. I screamed and stamped my feet, but in the end did exactly 
as I was told. They pulled the same stunt they did on you, Denise, they had me whipped.

Celie simply hung me up by my wrists and wailed away at me. After that I was very anxious
to please.

Anttoinette taught me the ways in which I could please her. Her methods were simple and 
direct. She used on me then the same strap Madame Jolie uses on my now. Everything the 
school girls and I had giggled over now came true. And, with a smarting bottom, I was anxious
to please. When Anttoinette had me trained to her satisfaction she would invite the Vicompte 
Duval to witness my performance and shame. Anttoinette had no shame, her life was devoted 
to what she thought was fun, and that included using the strap on my bottom whenever there
was the slightest reason. My cheeks were always pink or red and painful. I got so I’could take 
five or six whacks with that strap without being tied. Whenever I was handed to Celie to be 
whipped, she simply tied me up by my hands again and got pleasure from watching me kick 
and scream and wiggle at the end of the rope.

I tried escaping but I was easily caught and they used a terrible way of punishment on me.

It’s called the bastinado. They tie you face down and beat the soles of your feet. It was 
terrible. They used a riding crop and the pain was more than I had ever imagined possible.

After that they put chains on my ankles like yours. I expect they would have left me 
chained except there were so many things they wanted me to do that it was easier to have my
feet unfettered. They relied on the threat of punishment to keep me from trying escape again. 
The promise of the whip works with me.

Because Vicompte Duval so often watched Anttoinette and I as we did her thing, I suppose
it was only to be expected he would want the same attention. After I had been strapped a 
couple of time to overcome my reluctance, I learned to service him, too. I never figured he got
much out of it but I was there and he was probably curious to see if little girls were as 
pleasurable as some say. After I had become highly skilled, he often brought friends and I was 
compelled to service them, too. I got strapped and whipped a lot then but in the end did as I 
was told.

It was then I got promoted to serving at their parties.

This is awful stuff I’m telling you. Would you like me to stop? No? You want to learn about 
this place? Very well then. I’m glad you say you’re not easily shocked about this place.

Would you like me to service you the way I’ve been telling? I’ve terribly good at it now.

No? Well, okay, I guess.

They got me a cute little maid’s uniform, it wasn’t much more than an apron and bib, but 
was more than they had been allowing me to wear. They keep me naked every since I had 
been kidnapped, saying that it was because I would be less likely to run away if I had to do it 
bare. But I think it was mostly because they liked to look at me naked. Especially my bottom, 
usually pink and red from the strap.

I was told about the party and told that all of the guests were of similar inclination to the 
woman and the man who held me captive. I was warned about asking for help and was told 
they would make me into an exhibition if I made myself a nuisance of myself. My duties were 
to walk around with a tray of canapes and be very polite to every one. It wouldn’t have been 
too bad if it were not for the special panties they made me wear. The panties were of real 
stretchy stuff and covered my loins completely. When the guests had all arrived, Celie took me
to a private and stuffed them with stinging nettles. I couldn’t believe it was really happening 
but she made me clasp my hands behind my neck while she used her hand to tug out the 
elastic of my waist to shove into my panties handful after handful of the hated leaves which 
burned like fire. I was sent back among the guests with my tray and with a modestly 
concealed agony raging in my loins.

Celie had even taken care to break a couple of the leaves right inside my slit. You can 
imagine what that did to me. Oh, Miss Chartrand, I hope they never do that to you.

I was warned to appear cheerful and happy and not to tell the guests what I was suffering.

The strap or something worse would be waiting for me if I did not comply. So there I was 
with a burning rash upon my reddened skin and trying to pretend I was happy with my work. 
It didn’t take me long to realize the guests all knew! Eyes were constantly feeding on my pain 
progress around the room. And after about half an hour Anttoinette made me lift my apron 
while she demonstrated my punishment. She even had fresh nettle leaves to trust hard down 
against my sex. She got a round of polite applause for what she did to me and I was then 
taken to the kitchen for more canapes. After that I was too ashamed to look at anyone or 
meet an eye. I went about my business until I realize Anttoinette had something else in store.

Everyone had backed away to leave a large cleared space dead center in the big room.

Anttoinette took away my tray and led me to where I was the focus of every eye in the 
place. She then told me to undress. Like I said, I had always been kept naked but never had 
been exposed before so many people. Their eyes burned my skin as I took off my bib and 
apron, kicked off my shoes and then, finally, pushed down the hated panties and their beastly 
contents. Even I was shocked at the redness caused by the stinging leaves. I was red 
everywhere below my waist with skin so mottled and inflamed I burst into tears. Even with the 
panties gone, the flaming bum continued as though the leaves were still pressing against my 
skin. It was as though someone had painted me from hips to thighs with a scarlet brush. I was 
told to stand still and erect for all to see. Alone in the center of the room I did just that but 
couldn’t stem my tears, I cried in pure misery. Those who watched drank in my tears as if they 
had never seen a kid cry heartbrokenly before.

Anttoinette was really getting her money’s worth out of me. I was left like that until my 
weeping reached the sniffling stage. Then I was taken a step further into disgrace.

Two men carried in a wooden frame with straps. When the straps were buckled to my 
wrists and ankles, I knew for sure the contraption had been used before. The leather was real 
soft and damp on my skin as it was buckled tight enough to make me wince.-The frame took 
my arms out to either side and a little to the rear. But what it did to my feet was really cruel. 
They were spread so far apart I thought I would split. They were raised enough to enable my 
bottom to carry my weight as the only point of contact. When they had finished strapping me,
I sat there with straps on my wrists and ankles and spread wide apart to give everyone a real 
good look at my pussy. This was the only time so many adults had even seen my naked, and 
the only time my private parts were so open to view.

And they had a serious interest in my maiden sex on which I had just begun to grow hair.

I’m fourteen now and have more hair then I did then, Miss Chartrand. Do you think I’ll ever
be as lovely down there as you?

Oh, good. You’re kind.

Well, once I was strapped tight so I couldn’t really move much, they all got on with their 
party but I was sort of a central exhibit which attracted them from time to time. They said the 
damnedest things as they looked at my pussy.

“Look at her blush, isn’t she charming!”

“No use asking the little thing if it’s been used, she wouldn’t tell the truth.”

“I wish my slit was as neat as that, you’d swear it had been carved.”

“Pity she hasn’t more hair, we could have her shaved.”

“I’m going to use the stinging nettle trick on that girl of mine. Do her a world of good.”

They never spoke to me, they smiled at my tears gut that was all. After a while my tears 
dried up and I sat there with my legs so wide apart they actually hurt and I didn’t dare 
struggle. They even admired and fingered my armpits where my hands were raised up to 
either side. Their fingers searched my budding breasts and even separated the lips between 
my thighs as though they expected to find something hidden inside. When one of them 
discovered a nettle leaf still hidden she held it up to the delight of all before carefully tucking 
it back inside as though I hadn’t already had enough. But nettles only sting so much and that 
one was exhausted. Anttoinette hovered close around and beamed in approval and pride in 
her possession. I thought I was in a mad house but didn’t dare say a word. I just sat there, 
partially suspended, while they all had a laugh at my expense. If I had known then what 
Anttoinette’s fate was to be, I would have got a lot more comfort.

Vicompte Duval takes one mistress after another, he can afford them. When he wearies of 
their charms, he discards them. I think they know it’s going to happen but they also know 
they’ll walk out of the villa Rose with a great deal of money. Some of them come by their own 
free will but some are prisoners like you.

No, Miss Chartrand, I don’t know if he’s going to make you his mistress. He’s never sent 
one of his mistresses down to the kitchen the way he did you. We all think he’s got something
different in mind for you. I haven’t been able to find out what it is.

Anyway, while Anttoinette was still using me full time and Vicompte Duval just once in a 
while, Anttoinette’s reign as his favorite came to a sudden end. I expect they had an argument
and she said things she shouldn’t have. Anyway the servants were all told to stand around the 
room to watch the former mistress of villa Rose get herself whipped. I guess we were all sort 
of glad she was getting what she had been handing out, especially me. But I certainly hadn’t 
any , idea she’d get it in the way she did. It took Celie and Babu to lead her out to the middle 
of the floor and make her remove her clothes. When she refused, they did it for her until she 
gave in and did what they told her. When she stood completely naked, they gathered up her 
things and took them away. She just stood there and glared around the room. I guess she 
didn’t run away because she didn’t have anywhere to go. When Celie came back, she told 
Anttoinette to lay on her back on the floor, she then looped each of the former mistress’ 
ankles with a noose of rope and suddenly Anttoinette’s feet began to spread out to either side
but also up and up, until she was completely off the carpet except for the mass of her hair 
which still brushed the rug as she swayed to and fro in a completely upside down 
helplessness. I remember wondering at the way her rib cage stuck out and the way she tried 
to find a place to use her hands, her hands seemed to bother her a lot because they were 
quite useless. Anyway, her arms wandered around as though searching for something while 
we all got a really good look at what she had between her legs.

To me it seemed huge and plump, and the slit was several folds of skin. Anttoinette’s pubic
hair was a real bush, almost a forest which drew a few snickers from those who watched. I 
looked hard at that place my lips had so often sought and wondered why it hadn’t looked like
this before. I suppose I should have gloated over the way she was fixed but all I felt was pity, a
pity which became stronger when Celie returned with her whip. Not just one whip but two. 
There was the terrible single thong Celie used on every one. In addition there was a smaller 
and prettier thing with a number of lashes like a cat-o-nine tails. But far less fearsome to see. I
soon learned what it was for.

It was about that time the Vicompte Duval made his grand entry. A couple of servants 
carried an armchair which they placed to give him the best view of all and then withdrew.

The Vicompte seated himself with studied carelessness and even draped one leg over an 
arm as he looked at the upside down nakedness of the woman he had supposedly loved.

There a tense moment when Anttoinette felt the full impact of his gaze. She asked, “Do I 
deserve this, Andre?”

“Indeed you do, madam.”

No other word was said. With her usual methodical precision, Celie took her stance and 
began the fearful punishment of a woman who, so far as any of us knew, had done no wrong. 
As the whip began to mark her skin, Anttoinette began a series of contortions and a flaying of 
her arms which continued throughout her punishment, becoming a beautiful dance without 
hope. The leather thong did not pause in its labors until the lovely torso became a lattice work
of crimson marks. Anttoinette screams had set our nerves on edge.

The ugly whip was then set aside to be replaced by the several lashes of the smaller 
instrument of pain. Anttoinette either knew or guessed its purpose and for the first time had 
use for unbound hands. She covered her breasts, her most ample breasts, in a terrible 
apprehension which Celie disregarded. Instead she turned her attention to the furry patch 
between her legs.

Once more her muscular arm flashed up and down in the same methodical rhythm she 
always used. After the slender thongs had buried themselves within her crotch, Anttoinette 
raised her hands and bent herself up in a useless effort to protect her sex. Instantly the smaller
whip changed its target to slash one breast and then the other in a manner to bring gasps 
from the onlookers, and screams from the hanging woman. Anttoinette could not control her 
instinctive shielding of her most precious possessions, her hands raising to her crotch but only
to leap back to scarlet breasts. The whip, with total unconcern, cut into the soft flesh of 
whatever was available and without the protective cover of a hand. Even the hands themselves
became the targets when they were in the wrong place.

The whipping of Anttoinette went on and on without her losing conscious under the 
flaying of the smaller whip. In its way it was perhaps more cruel than the heavier leather, 
inflicting cut after cut where it was least desired. But Anttoinette was a strong woman who 
absorbed an seemingly endless series of blows with only screams to tell of anguish and 
despair. After what seemed hours the Vicompte Duval rose as carelessly as he had come and 
sauntered from the room. The whipping stopped and Anttoinette swung slowly back and forth
from her suspended feet. Babu signaled us to resume our duties and the punishment of a 
discarded mistress was at an end.

Francene’s actual words were different from those I’ve used to relate her story. She spoke 
with many slang words and exclamations. Throughout it all she was faintly apologetic for 
telling me of such horrors and the agonies of enslavement. She continued her story.

Vicompte Duval was not yet finished with Anttoinette, the whole of the day after she was 
whipped she was forced to stand in the pillory in the big hall upstairs. He had her locked in it 
naked for all to see the crisscross weals of Celie’s work. She who had often made me weep 
now wept herself and the tears fell to the stone floor with none to dry her eyes. The day after 
that she was sent away, no doubt with a lot of money. And that was the last we had seen or 
heard of Anttoinette. Her place was taken by a younger woman who had no taste for little 
girls and who viewed me as a child to be sent to the kitchen. That’s how I got where I am 
today. My feet were chained but Babu had the chains taken from me so I might be of greater 
service to Madame Jolie. The day after the smith hammered the rivets out of my shackles, I ran
away for the second time. I had to be nuts but I wanted out so damned bad!

They had given me one of these little frocks you see me wearing now. There’s nothing 
underneath, as you well know. Those awful panties had been a one time deal. I think it was 
being at least partial covered that gave me the courage to run away. When a girl is stark 
naked the world is more frightening than when she is partly covered. They didn’t chain me at 
night and I slept anywhere I could. My only problem was getting out of the house and then, 
outside the surrounding wall. Like I said, I had to be insane!

Anyway, I actually did get outside the villa Rose and walked smack into the very last 
person I expected to meet. It was Mademoiselle Julie, Duval’s new mistress. She was 
completely naked and bore the marks of a whip. I had no time to examine them but they 
looked wicked. She instantly figured out what I was doing.

“You’re running away, aren’t you Francene?” she asked. “Well, so am I. I’m not staying with 
that whip happy bastard and if you know the way out of this damned place you’d best led the 
way, I’m lost.”

We didn’t stop to talk but ran in glorious unfettered freedom to the main driveway and 
the only gate I knew. I was hoping we could climb over it and find help on the other side. Boy, 
what a laugh that was!

The dogs caught us first. I didn’t know it then but they’ve got three bloody awful big 
hounds roaming the grounds at all times. They caught our scent and gave chase. They were 
big enough to have eaten us but they were not concerned with biting, at least not in the way 
you would expect. What they were interested in was shoving their wet snouts into our pussies.
Julie and I pushed them away, we hammered and kicked but they came right back to what 
they wanted most. After that our run to the gates slowed to little more than a crawl as we 
defended our virginity, if that’s the right word.

Celie and a couple of her female servants caught us easily. Between the three of them, we 
didn’t have a hope. It was only two or three minutes before we scrabbled to our feet with our 
hands tight tied behind our feet. I remember thrusting myself against Julie’s trembling 
nakedness to wet her breasts with tears of frustration and despair. The women sent the dogs 
about their business and made it clear the whole thing was a delightful exercise we should 
have had more sense than to enter into. They tied a rope around Julie’s neck and another 
around mine and led back the way we had come. The dogs hovered but at a distance, quite 
obviously they had found our taste much to their liking. I managed to stop crying and eyed 
my fellow captive with curiosity. She could have easily made me her slave if she had so 
desired. Now we were two damsels in distress. I wondered what she had done to earn the 
Vicompte’s displeasure and her strips.

It was useless to fight, a good hard jerk on the rope around our necks convinced us of 
that. We went along like good little girls. I felt sorry for the mistress who had lasted such a 
little time. I was pretty sure she .would regret her flight as much as I was going to. Celie spent 
much of her time in taking us back to the villa with a juicy recounting of the pains and 
penalties we could both expect. She made it very plain that no girl ever escaped the villa Rose.

It was the dark of night but still well short of midnight. One of Celie’s followers carried 
rope, a lot of rope, and half way back to the villa Rose we encountered two tree which 
evidently sparked inspiration in Celie’s mind. “We’ll tie the silly bitches here for the night,”

she ordered with a hint of laughter. “Tie them tight so it hurts and so they can’t move a 
muscle. There’s plenty of rope and I want a really good job on them.”

Julie and I were backed against the trees so we faced each other at a distance only eight 
feet or so. If we were not gagged, we could talk. We were both too dispirited to struggle 
much. Soon the cords had welded us to the trunks of the trees. After that it was arms and 
hands in back behind the slender trunk, a cord artfully threaded through the slit between our 
legs to tug our loins harshly back against the bark. There was plenty of rope for our knees and
ankles. There was even some left for our elbows, although I quickly wished there hadn’t been. 
The laughingly used the tethers from our necks to wind around and around the trees to keep 
our heads motionless there in the dark. When they backed away to survey their work, Julie 
and I were two of the most helpless females in the world. We would go no place until released
in the morning. But that was hours away. When our captors turned to leave I saw the shadowy
figures hovering in the dark and exclaimed in alarm, “The dogs! You’ve forgotten the dogs! 
They’ll eat us alive!”

Celie laughed and retorted, “That’s right, you silly bitches. Why else do you think we tied 
you here? Didn’t you notice we’ve bound your legs apart?”

They were apart indeed! Julie and I watched our captors fade into the darkness and as 
they went the other shadows came closer and closer to sniff their prey. Julie and I exchanged 
agonized glances and used all our strength against the binding ropes. It was useless. We 
hoped the creatures would not realize that we were helpless but we doubted that. Celie had 
tied us very well. Worst of all were the bands around our neck, they held our heads upright 
against the trunks so that we could not even look down to see that part of us the dogs would 
certainly be most interested in. I tried hard to believe it would not happen.

The canine shapes in the darkness moved closer to sniff our scent.

We woke up late but no one bothered with us. Celie was making sure we were taught a 
lesson. The ropes had become an agony, and Julie and I were a pair of the saddest looking 
creatures around. Towards morning we had slept a little, sagging or rather held rigid against 
our bonds. Our necks were chaffed, our hair was in our eyes and we could not even toss our 
head. For the first half of the night the dogs had had their way with us.

After a few hours they became bored with us and went away, leaving us exhausted and 
utterly drained by the endless orgasms their snouts induced. All we wanted was to lay down 
and sleep. .

I’ll bet you’ve never had a dog feed on you like that, Miss Chartrand. We knew about it in 
school and used to laugh and wonder what it would be like. I think one or two girls tired it but
wouldn’t say. It’s a terribly shaming thing to talk about. Anyway, I wouldn’t want to live that 
night again, not tied so you couldn’t move the way Celie tied us. We were so damned 
helpless! And available for anything those blasted dogs wanted to do. I don’t want to talk 
about it any more, it makes me think I’ll never enjoy an orgasm again. I didn’t even thing 
about sex for a whole week afterwards.

I got whipped, of course, so did Julie. She was whipped so bad she was simply covered 
with red streaks. We were both fastened at the same time so we could watch each other.

The Vicompte must be the damnedest man because he suddenly had a real appetite for 
Julie. It was the whip marks, of course, and the fact the she was now so damned anxious to 
please. He kept her a couple months but I got sent down here to the kitchen and I’ve been 
here ever since. It’s two years since they kidnapped me and I’ve been down here with Madame
Jolie for almost half that time. It seems half my life and I’m beginning to forget my family and 
friends. Nobody in the villa Rose seems to like little girls anymore.

And, anyway, I’m not that little. When a girl is fourteen, she’s neither one nor the other. 
But the way my body’s growing, Duval is bound to want me sometime. And after he’s used me
for a few months I hope he’ll set me free.

Let me see, what else can I tell you about villa Rose? There’s not a lot happens down her in
the kitchen. I don’t suppose you want to hear about the number of times I’ve had my bottom 
strapped by Madame Jolie. I’ve forgotten myself. When I was first sent down her she used to 
tie my hands up to a ring but after a while I got so I could handle the five or six cuts she gives 
me so she doesn’t bother tying me up anymore. It’s Celie who does that.

Now I simply bend over and take it as best I can. Maybe you’d best try for this, it’s better 
than having your hands tied up. When they tie you they always leave you standing there the 
longest time. But now I simply go back to work, and try to pretend my ass doesn’t hurt.

Gee, Miss Chartrand, I wish I knew what they are saving you up for.

Yes, I’m sure you’d like to know, too. And I understand that all you want is to escape. But 
chained the way you are, I’d say that was pretty hopeless. Hell, an unbound girl can’t make it 
out of here, forget it if you’re chained up.

There’s something that puzzled me right along. The villa Rose has got a couple of 
dungeons with the door always locked from the outside, I know because I’ve seen them.

But I was told to keep my nose out of them. One of them’s down below the level of this 
kitchen and below that big dungeon of yours. The other one’s at the top of the tower above 
the house. I think Duval has got someone in them, a prisoner of some sort. I’ve wondered if 
that’s where his mistresses go when he’s tired of them. I don’t know why he’d want to keep 
the poor things locked up that way but I’m sure he’s got someone in them. I can’t think who 
else.

Those dungeons could just be punishment places. I think. This house is absolutely filled 
with servants of all kinds. I don’t get to mix with them much and I think some of them are 
slavegirls just like me. I’m wondering if when they have to be punished they’re put in one of 
the dungeons instead of being sent to Celie. Gee whiz. Miss Chartrand, I’m just like you, all I 
think about is escape. Even though I know it isn’t going to happen. Wouldn’t it be simply 
wonderful to be free again!

Francene’s telling of her story made her more of a person to me. Despite the differences in
our ages, we were two fellow prisoners, two damsels in distress. It became our habit to get 
together each evening when she took me to the dungeon to padlock the chain to my collar. 
We both realized this a symbolic act, a bit of added venom from a man I still did not get to 
see. It did not matter. After performing my kitchen work all day, with wrists and ankles riveted 
in iron, a collar and tether on my neck was of small account. And the wonderful bath was not 
lessened by some iron attached to me. The days of my captivity dragged miserably on.

And then it happened!





CHAPTER EIGHT - Painful Pleasures


Odette Russeau, Duval’s latest mistress, and I happened upon each other by pure chance. New
to the villa Rose, and trying to pass away a boring afternoon in her master’s absence, Odette 
wandered into the kitchen. As the Caliph’s new favorite she had the freedom of the place and 
her word was law. Madame, Francene and I stopped what we were doing and regarded her in 
shock. The Vicompte’s previous mistresses had never bothered to come this far below stairs. I 
was peeling potatoes by the sink and was transfixed with surprise, feeling very naked.

Odette was quite something, no older than I but carrying with an all too obvious pride an 
air of authority. She was a beauty, accustomed to getting her own way. Goodness knows 
where the Vicompte had found her, but without doubt she had given orders all her life and 
expect obedience. But she was civil, introducing herself to Madame Jolie, giving a bare nod of 
recognition to Francene, and then directing her full attention to me. I wished I could have 
disappeared.

“You!” Her pointing finger was imperial. “Stand out where I can see you. You can stop 
doing what you’re doing.”

I clinked my chain on the steps to where she could see me. Odette was appraising me as I 
was appraising her. With my bedraggled condition as kitchen help, I could not compete with 
her beauty, but Odette was female and sensed my beauty just as I conceded hers.

Curious, we stared and stared before her curt demand, “Why do you wear those chains, 
dear girl?”

“By the Vicompte’s orders, Mademoiselle.”

“You are near enough to naked. Why?”

“That, too, is the Vicompte’s wish.”

Odette nodded in complete understanding. “You are a chained thrill as a punishment, 
perhaps?”

“I do not know, Mademoiselle, I was kidnapped a long time ago and brought here. It is a 
punishment I do not deserve.”

“Denise is a good girl,” Madame Jolie affirmed, asserting her position. “She does her work 
well and I am fond of her. She does not often need the strap.”

“You telling me nobody’s screwed you the whole time, not even Babu?” Odette demanded,
staring at me in disbelief.

“No, Mademoiselle, no one.”

“And you actually get the strap across your ass when you don’t behave?”

For answer I turned to display the faint remains of a punishment the day before. Then, in 
startled recognition, exclaimed, “You’re an American, same as me!”

Odette chuckled. “And why not! Andre has a thing about American girls, I expect that’s 
why he kidnapped you and the reason for me being where I am. Don’t knock it, sister.”

Odette was so self-assured I could not fail to make comparison between her condition and
mine. I could not help but wonder why I had been kidnapped and she was not. I was chained 
in the kitchen and she was gorgeously gowned above. Because she was American, I allowed 
my most urgent need to escape my lips.

“You could help me get free! Will you … oh, please?”

“Why should I!” Her retort seemed to me less brutal that it might have been. “I don’t have 
any illusions about the villa Rose. If I cross Andre, I could get in trouble, sans clothes and plus 
a lovely set of chains. And maybe marks on my bottom, to boot. I sort of suspect getting free 
for you is a no-no. Don’t bug me about it”

Odette’s rejection made me feel twice as pathetic, standing there naked and chained for 
her inspection. With a touch of acid I inquired, “May I go back to my potatoes?”

“You’ll go back when I say, not before. Stand up straight. Clasp your hands and that 
damned chain behind you. Separate your feet as far at that chain permits. Do it!”

I looked at Madame Jolie but got only a shrug and a nod of agreement. More ashamed 
than ever was I because the exposure was to please a woman, not a man. This time I was 
pinched and poked and pushed around like an animal in the marketplace.

“The girl’s absolutely perfect. Pity to waste her down here.” Odette was speaking to 
Madame Jolie. “May I take her back upstairs with me?”

“Not without Monsieur Duval’s consent.”

Odette laughed. “You’re all scared to death of Andre, aren’t you! Well, okay, I’ll get his 
permission.” She pouted at me in disdain. “Go back to your potatoes, kitchen slut. My, my, 
those chains become you beautifully. I’ll see if the villa Rose can’t find some a trifle heavier.”

Odette took her radiance from kitchen. We heard her chuckling as she left.

“I am not sure about that one,” Madame Jolie declared dubiously. “It would have been 
best she had not found this place.” She snorted. “I expect the beautiful bitch gets bored when 
her lord and master is away, and you’d make a marvelous plaything. She’d probably stick pins 
and needles in you to watch you wince. But don’t worry, cheri, if the Vicompte had wanted 
you upstairs, you would have been up there a long time ago.”

I went back to my potatoes with a lot to think about.

My bottom burns as do my cheeks. Odette in her amused and inept infliction of the strap 
cross my seat had achieved a pretty blend of pain and shame. Madame Jolie’s prediction had 
been wrong. Monsieur Duval had given his august permission for my promotion from kitchen 
maid to serving wench to his favorite whore.

I stood now. before Odette’s sparkling eyes in the room to which she had brought me for 
her experimental use of the strip of leather which, when she perfected the skill, impacted the 
flank of my bottom with a resounding crack in which she took delight. It had been a fumbling 
affair with perhaps one blow in three achieving her desired effect. But they all hurt. I took 
them as I am standing now, my chain augmented by a length of links padlocked to those 
joining my wrists and then down to a ring within the floor. I stood, I could not raise my hands 
or arms. I stood, shamed faced and looked back at Odette Russeau as she sat upon a stool 
and played with the limber leather strap. She had punished me for no other reason than to 
seek a fresh diversion.

“Darling, I had no idea how much fun this could be. You’re so gorgeously scared. And 
those marvelous sounds I can get out of the strap when I hit you in just the right way. I’m 
sorry darling, but this is just too much fun to miss. Your bottom is going to be all sorts of 
pretty colors.”

I stood there in my chains, not hating this gorgeous girl but wishing I could pack the 
whole thing up and go back home. But the heavy chains upon my naked body taught me to 
not be silly. I sighed and listened to the silvery laughter of this girl who punished my sore 
bottom for her amusement.

“Best you know a few things about your new mistress, Denise,” she said in a tone of 
authority. “I’m just being a bitch, having you sent up here like this. I was bored and this may 
be the only chance I’ll ever have to hurt a girl my own age. You’re the perfect subject.

I’m going to hurt you and humiliate you, and beat you and make you cry.”

She swung the leather again and again my bottom burned. There was approval in her 
eyes. “Don’t get the idea I’m a sadist or naturally mean. But when I saw you down in the 
kitchen, looking so helpless, I knew I had to have you. Don’t hate me too much for the things 
I’ll do to you. It’s simply that with Andre so much away I can’t think of anything I’d sooner do 
than to think up cute notions for your discomfort. But, between times we’ll talk.

We can trade the story of our lives and discuss men. Oh, by the way, I am not a lesbian! I 
may let you kiss it but you’ll keep your pretty little tongue behind your lips and so will I. Got 
that?”

“Yes.”

“For Pete’s sake, don’t be cautious about what you say. Say what you damned please, I 
won’t punish you for it. Unless, that is, you’re downright insulting or insubordinate. I want to 
educate you into a good companion who simply has to endure a bit of daily distress but does 
so without complaint. You’ll adjust beautifully, you’ll see.”

Odette Russeau was absolutely right, I adjusted. Sometimes I hated myself but mostly I 
was thankful to be done with the kitchen and that stone floor of the dungeon every night.

The worst I slept on now was a warm, soft rug. Francene and I had whispered our 
confidences guiltily in the big dungeon but now I was part of a girl-girl communion and 
laughter and shared ideas. I soon became accustomed to the swift changes of Odette’s 
moods, kissing me one moment and strapping my bottom the next. She kept the color of my 
skin upon those two beautifully designed curves a constant pink or red, and found endless 
enjoyment in so doing. There are worse things for a girl than a burning bottom, and I walked 
around with mine without feeling too illused. I soon Odette was savoring power for the first 
time in her life and was making the most of it. I suppose she knew her Andre would one day 
tire of her and she’d be replaced, so enjoyed herself with me even more. It was by the 
Vicompte’s orders I remained firmly chained and collared. But the man himself remained out 
of sight.

Odette allowed us a couple of days in which to get to know each other. We did this with 
the greatest of ease, I suppose because we were two girls far from home and both of us 
sharing in our separate ways the strange compulsions of the villa Rose. Odette taunted me a 
great deal with her promise of small cruelties to come. But it was not until the third day she 
gave me pain.

Odette adored my chains and never tired of playing with them, grateful for humble 
obedience they imposed on me. On the other hand, she often resented the limitations they 
imposed. She found out in the grounds an old-fashioned pillory and told my frankly of her 
desire to lock me within. But my hands could not be separated enough to fit into the hand 
holes next to the neck hole. It was a limitation she deplored but overcame by simply lifting the
heavy oak and inviting me to position my neck within. She took great care with both my head 
and the disposition of my hair before lowering the upper half of the yoke, a massive piece of 
wood. She showed me the old-fashioned padlock and its heavy key before putting it to use. 
When it was done, I stood awkwardly with my head and neck imprisoned in the oak but the 
rest of me free save for the chains.

“You look so sweet, Denise dear, with your head sticking out like that and the rest sticking 
out behind. Terribly sorry about your hands, I think it would have been kinder if I could have 
locked them along with your neck. The way it is now you don’t know what to do with them, I 
can tell.”

Odette sat on the grass and enjoyed me for the longest time before telling me it would do
me good to be alone. I watched her go unhappily at being left so helpless and alone. From 
the beginning I had been aware of insects and found a use for my chained hands in slapping 
at them in places I could reach, which wasn’t all that many. It was hateful to have my head 
thus held while all the rest of me was out back where I could not see. I was also going to get 
good and tired of standing as I was going to have to. Strangely, I could understand the thrill 
Odette was getting out of me, she would be thinking of me now and basking in her power to 
leave me thus. A remarkable empathy had sprung into being between us.

My imprisoned head and I had stood long enough to bring me close to tears when I was 
surprised by a visit from Madame Jolie who chuckled sardonically and told me the villa Rose 
was well aware of my mischievous captivity. Clasping my cheeks, she raised my head to plant a
kiss upon my lips. “It is a disgrace to make you stand like this, so naked,”

she deplored. “I have the tea towel you used to wear hidden in a secret place in case I get 
you back. Francene sends her love. I would have brought her with me but such a taste of 
freedom in the sunlight would give the child fresh ideas of freedom. I would have her ankles 
chained if there was not so much work for her to do.”

The affection I felt for this woman spilled easily for my sad lips. I was deeply touched by 
her visit and concern. Madame Jolie was a solid rock of strength in a crazy world, a touch of 
sanity in what I could easily call a nightmare. She circled me now to make disapproving 
clucking sounds over the condition of my rump, telling me it was a far deeper hue of scarlet 
than she had ever imposed. Ignoring my assurance that my bottom was the only place of 
punishment Odette had used, she made a close inspection of my nudity, it was not hard to do,
all of me was open for the scrutiny of an interested eye. Grumbling about snooty little bitches 
and what she would like to do to Odette, she returned to her kitchen and once more I was 
alone except for the flies and beetles, most of which my chained hands failed to slap.

Odette’s disposal of me at night was varied according to her mood. On those nights when 
she attended her Andre elsewhere, she placed me between the silk sheets of her own bed, 
attached thereto only by a length of chain to my collar. At such times she approved the 
shackled I must wear as a great convenience to keeping her pet girl safe for her amusement. 
But, on the few occasions her master was absent from the villa Rose, Odette used her bed 
herself and refused to let me share it. It was then tethered by my collar here and there around 
the room, quite often anchored to some heavy piece of furniture. But on those occasions 
when she considered my behavior lacking in respect, she used a big, empty clothes closet for 
my resting place, tethering me to one of the bars on which clothes could have been hung. 
Fortunately the small prison was carpeted, but when Odette closed and locked the door with 
me on the wrong side of it, I was left in total darkness, a thing I found frightening as being 
whipped. When I told Odette of my phobia, she only laughed and told me I must get used to 
the dark, that I was a big girl now and would be expected to be fresh and lively when she 
unlocked the door then next morning and the light of dawn. As a frustrating punishment she 
would bandage my eyes to place me in a total darkness no matter where I was. Locked in the 
closet these folds of soft bandage simulated a blindness less frightening to me than the real 
darkness: I could easily have removed the bandages but I never did. Imprisonment teaches a 
girl strange things about herself.

One of the things Odette and I shared was a sort of catechism. Odette would seat herself 
comfortably in a big armchair and make me kneel before her as a humble slavegirl. “Who do 
you belong to, Denise?”

“I belong to you, Mistress. All of me! My breasts, my nipples, my sex are for you alone.”

‘Tell me of your punishments, beloved girl?”

“You will punish me as you see fit, Mistress. If I have been bad your strokes with the strap 
upon my skin will be most hard. But if you strap my flesh for your own pleasure for your own 
caprice, you will be merciful and use the leather lightly on my skin.”

“How must you name me?”

“I will call you ‘Odette’ except when I earn your displeasure, then I will call you only 
‘Mistress’.” ‘Tell me of escape, Denise?”

“Escape is forbidden, Mistress, I must not think of it. If I attempt I must be wickedly 
punished.” ‘Tell me of your chains?”

“My chains are to keep my safely prisoner for your pleasure, Mistress. And for the security 
of the Vicompte’s possessions. My feet are chained so I cannot run, my hands are chained so I 
cannot fight, my neck is collared as a convenience by which I may be tethered.”

“Tell of me Me.”

“You are my Mistress and the beloved of the man who owns us both. I fear for you that 
one day the Vicompte may tire and send you to Where you cannot own me any more. I fear 
this terribly.”

Odette laughed her silvery laugh at my serious declaration. “What a sad little pussy cat you
are,” she said scornfully. “Let us not build our own bridges for our feet to cross, let us be 
happy. Who’s knows, I may charm Andre for the rest of Andre’s life. He is not young.”

She sighed. “But I should would like to know his interest in you. He has to be keeping you 
prisoner for something but I’m damned if I know what. Now you must tell me of your feelings 
while locked in the pillory in the bright sunlight.”

I could never be sure if the questions were simply an amusing way to pass the time or had 
some deeper purpose. I did my best. “I am lonely, Mistress, and wish you were there beside 
me. It is as when I sleep in your big bed alone. I think of you with your lover and I’m jealous. I, 
too, am not a lesbian but there are times when I hunger for you terribly. When between the 
sheets of your bed I long for you most of all. You chained me by my collar but there is no 
need, from you bed still perfumed by your skin I would not run away.”

Odette’s voice was pensive, “Are you truly my thrill, Denise?”

“I am your thrill, Mistress.” My voice was solemn. “These chains hold me for the villa Rose. 
If I could escape the villa Rose, I would do so. These chains are not of you. From you I would 
not flee.”

“And of my cruelties to you?”

“I accept them, Mistress, they are a part of whatever it is we cherish in this relationship. I 
do not complain.”

I cannot profess to explain the interaction between Odette and I, I expect much of it was 
born of loneliness and, for me at least, was heavily laced with sex. Odette’s sexual hungers 
were presumably appeased by the Vicompte but mine were not. With good food and rest my 
libido flourished mightily, and I found myself longing for my Mistress to make herself as 
naked as was I and join her breasts to mine in fond embrace. On those night when she 
tethered me alone in her bed I dreamed of the frictioning of our bellies and the intertwining 
of our legs. Only in my darker and more hopeless moments did I remember the inert body of 
Michael Torrance back up the floor of Alice Murdoc’s house of ill repute.

I took my punishments well, even discovering a strange fascination in being fastened or 
hurt by loving feminine hands. When Odette touched me I would shiver deliciously. And 
sometimes when she used the strap on my skin I would reach a climax beneath the leather’s 
scold. Odette was never pretended she was sorry about the things she did to me, she liked it 
and admitted it. And I never hated her for it, no matter what the pain. A strange relationship, 
erotic and pleasant in what would have been only pain to some. I’m not sure how it came 
about but I accepted it and enjoyed.

After questions and answers she took me to the appropriate place and pulled me up until I
was standing on my toes. Often I was left there for the better part of a day, visited often by 
Odette, who would sympathize and kiss me but never let my arms back down. She found a 
tremendous delight in my tearful weariness and the way in which I changed from foot to foot 
and fought my chains. She admitted my punishment lacked originality but assured me, 
earnestly and lovingly, I looked too beautiful for words. For me, it was just a case of grin and 
bear it. But when she was with me in her frequent visits it seemed not to hurt at all.

The metal rivets, meshed down by hammer blows to keep the irons secure on wrists and 
ankles, kept me compliant even in those painful moments when I might otherwise rebelled. 
Odette was fascinated by those rivets and their message that neither she nor I could remove 
them. It is easy for me now to question if I would have been as obedient had I not been 
chained. I believe I would have been but it is a question without an answer for sure. I was 
ironed and that was the end to it. Odette was obliged to adjust the punishments to fit the 
tolerances of the metal I must bear. Her next bright idea was the piece of wire and the basque.

“I read about this in a book, darling, and it sort of reached out and grabbed me,” she told 
me mischievously the following day. “I borrowed these pliers and the heavy wire from Babu, 
but the basque is all mine, you’ll love it.”

I eyed the seemingly innocent length of quite heavy wire and the pair of pliers with 
anxiety.

But the basque was pure beauty and I knew I’d adore wearing it. I expect I betrayed my 
excitement.

“I had Babu make this loop at one end of me,” Odette explained. “He’s sort of filed it down
and smoothed it off so it’s not going to hurt. But here’s the way it works.”

I put my chained hands behind my neck to get them out of the way before standing with 
excitement and anxiety for the unknown punishment. I thrilled as the wire encircled my 
middle, its free end then threaded through the loop and drawn tighter and tighter until I 
squealed in dismay. I looked down but the wire had disappeared deep within my flesh and 
was nowhere to be seen. But it was very much there and already starting to hurt.

“It’s too tight,” I said firmly. “Far too tight! Odette, what are you up to?”

Odette did not answer. She was busy with her pliers, my tummy and waist telling of her 
testing of the loop to discover exactly the stricture she desired. Achieving it, she cut away the 
surplus length and, with painful endeavor, twisted what was left enough to insure no maiden 
fingers would get it loose. Once more they came a click of blades to my mistress’

satisfaction. When Odette stood back to view her masterpiece, I was ringed in fire by a 
circlet of wire I could not even see and could scarcely discover with my fingers. I gasped 
dismay but felt no other words than, “Odette … oh, please! Mistress, please not this.”

All I got was a pat on my bottom and a kiss on my cheek before a fresh demand, “Put your
hands back up, darling. Now you get the basque.”

I could not be sure if the wicked thing now being laced below my breasts made the hidden
stricture better or worse. Laced tightly enough it could be a punishment in itself. Laughing, 
Odette took me to the now familiar room and had me reach up to clasps the end of the tether
which hung from above. I was not fastened but was told to raise myself to tip toes to make my
waist narrower. She then tugged and heaved to make me gasp. When she was satisfied with a 
girl who now possessed an hourglass figure, she tied the knots with all her strength then cut 
them short with scissors behind my back. Even without chained hands I could never have 
freed myself from the lovely thing which clasp me cruelly. At Odette’s command I now walked 
around the room to make myself blushingly conscious of swaying hips I could not control. 
And I was more fully aware of the biting bum of wire. The brief walk completed I stood before 
Odette in my pathetic pose of maiden in distress but countering the pain with the sexual thrill 
which always seemed a part of anything we did.

Risking punishment, I affirmed stoutly, “It’s too tight. I can’t possibly bear it. Please?”

“Don’t be silly, Denise, of course you can bear it. You look gorgeous in that scarlet basque 
with its black lace trim. Your breasts are sticking out a yard and it’s really cute the way your 
pubic hair peeks out below. Maybe I should keep you like this all the time.”

I wept, covering my face with chained hands, I let loose the flood of overtaxed emotion 
and a persistent pain I knew would go on and on, and get worse. The constriction of the 
basque was making it hard to breath, but when I did my breasts really stood out above the 
frilly lace. Under different conditions I would have been proud of them, but now all I knew was
despair over the pain itself and my total inability to made Odette understand how bad it was 
and my need for her to take away the wire. I stood before her like a school girl and simply 
cried. When I got down to the sniffling stage, she took me in her arms.

It was the strangest of punishments. I spent my day following Odette around but 
forbidden to complain under threat of being gagged. To be gagged along with the basque 
and wire was something I did. not want so forced myself to silence. From time to time my 
longing to do something about my condition drove me to some strange struggling. I rolled 
on a bed or the floor, I stretched, I tucked in my tummy to its very limit, but only to find the 
wire laughing at my efforts. The basque held me in a lace imprisonment all its own. Uncaring 
of the possibility of a strap across my bottom, I frankly tried to free myself of Odette’s knots 
while she stood laughing at my efforts.

“If only you could see yourself, darling, you’re absolutely glorious the way you’re wiggling 
and bending this way and that. That basque is magic. Come to the big mirror and look.”

I allowed myself to be led. I loved holding hands with Odette and at such time was grateful
to the several links of chain between my wrists which made it possible. Before the mirror I 
gasped in disbelief that the glory I beheld was truly me. Since Odette possessed me she had 
insisted on hairdos and cunning use of cosmetics she herself applied. These feminine arts and 
crafts above my breasts were now augmented by the bitter wire and gorgeous basque which 
reduced my middle to almost nothing, and certainly accentuated my nipples, my breasts and 
my hips outrageously. Grudgingly I conceded the beauty of the outfit but complained, “You’ve
almost turned me into a ant, Odette,” I accused with a trace of laughter. “I’m almost cut in 
two, a bit up above with breasts and another bit down below with my pussy. Oh, darling 
Mistress, if only you could know how much this hurt!”

This time I was well and truly kissed. And after that my mistress thoughtfully used her 
lipstick to make my nipples scarlet. She then patted my bottom like a pony and told me to go 
about my affairs. I had the freedom of the villa Rose. If I had courage I could even go an cry 
on the shoulder of Francene and Madame Jolie. My retort was simple, “I don’t want to cry on 
anyone’s shoulder but yours, Mistress. I think I’m going to cry a lot all day. Won’t you be 
merciful?”

“No.”

That was that! I shed my tears all over the place and wet my mistress with them when I 
could. Endlessly my fingers sought to free myself of the basque and wire but the search was 
fruitless. The twin cheeks of my bottom stuck out behind in much the same manner and under
the same pressures as my breasts. My mistress told me of the temptation to use the strap on 
them but did not because, no doubt, I was suffering enough.

The day wore on and my condition grew worse, as did my contortions in attempt to 
remove the torture devices. For the last hour before release I lay tearfully upon the floor 
without motion. It was a day to remember, and I would be aided in its memory by the scarlet 
brand the wire left around my waist.

That night I slept alone, chained to Odette’s bed, but my dreams told me nothing of the 
day to come.

“I do think that for a girl indoors as much as you, Denise darling, it has to be good for you 
to get out in the sunlight. You and I are going to have a nice pastoral day. I’ve had the 
arrangements made.”

I was still examining the wire burn around my middle from the day before and wondering 
if Odette’s inflictions might become progressively worse or would tend to oscillate between 
something I could laugh about and something bloody awful. That damned wire, no pun 
intended, had made a deep impression on me as a really rough punishment Odette did not 
fully understand. I tried to tell her that reading something in a book and then doing it to a real
live girl were two separate things. But all I got to that was laughter. Odette had me, but good!

Once again my mistress took my hand to dispel all doubts and take me in her arms. You 
can’t take anyone in your arms when your hands are chained as mine were. Hopefully I said, 
“Please don’t be too rough on me today. That was a bad one yesterday. I think I’ll wear the 
mark of that wire all my life.”

It must be wonderful to be a mistress, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.

Odette kept silent now, telling by the amused curve of her lip that she was looking forward
to whatever it was I would have to put up with. It turned out to be remarkably simple.

A tree had been chosen to provide Odette with shade while she watched her slavegirl 
perform her task under threat of punishment. A few yards distant a stake had been driven into
the ground and from that a chain trailed. I was not the least bit surprised when the end of it 
was padlocked to my collar. I was not tether and confined to a radius of about ten feet from 
the stake. A comfortable garden lounge was already in place with the leafy shade but I was 
not permitted to reach it, leaving me exposed in sunlight.

“Get yourself down on all fours, darling,” my mistress ordered curtly. “Then I’ll tell you 
what you have to do.”

If being tethered like an animal out on the grass was all I had to suffer, I would consider 
myself lucky. I took heart from the absence of whips and straps. But I knew they wouldn’t be 
far away. I looked expectantly to the girl who held my fate in her hands.

“You look sweet like that, darling, just like a pretty little pony or a cow, or anything that 
eats grass. I’m sure you’ve guessed what you have to do?” Odette’s eyes were shinning 
mischief while she lounged comfortably in the chair.

“I don’t know a thing,” I said determinedly. “Oh, Odette, what is it now? What are you 
going to make me do?”

“Graze, darling, simply graze. Look at that lovely grass and think how happy you’d be if 
you really were a pony or a cow or something.” Her tone hardened. “Get to work.”

“What do you want me to do, pull it up by the roots?”

“Don’t be silly, Denise, you know perfectly well what you have to do. NO, you do not pull it
up by the roots, you eat it, you graze like a pony or some cute little heifer.”

“You mean you want me to bite it off and swallow it?” I asked in disbelief.

“Of course I do. It’s full of vitamins, it won’t hurt you. Get with it, darling.”

I looked down at the green stuff, I looked at the stake to which I was tethered, guessing at 
the amount of grass I could cover. Unhappily I realized that was quite a lot of grass, far more 
than my stomach was likely to accept. “But that’s impossible, Odette. About all I can manage 
would be a few mouthfuls before it makes me sick. Oh, please, can’t you think of something 
else to do to me today? No matter how I try, I make a damned poor cow!”

Odette’s answer was simple. She had brought her leather strap, hidden away. Now, 
fondling it, she rose to say, “You’re being awkward, dear. And you know the penalty. Stay on 
hands and knees the way you are for a nice, brisk five. I’m really being kind.”

I think I groaned. Certainly I made some sound of dolor. But since I was perfectly 
positioned for the punishment I was about to receive, I made no move other than to, in 
desperation, bit down on a mouthful of grass and begin to chew.

“Too late, darling, you should have done that before. I’m sure you’ll do it a lot better after 
you’ve had these five stingers. Let’s see if I can get that lovely sort of pistol crack each time.”

Odette achieved her objective, the sound was terrible as was the pain. After the fifth blow 
had darkened the color of my seat and the tears were coming to me eyes, I savagely bit and 
bit again at the grass and began to chew with what I hoped was a bovine manner.

Odette returned to her chair and watched me avidly.

The task was impossible, there was far too grass within my reach. And I soon discovered 
that grass needs a great deal of chewing before it can be swallowed. I hoped Odette was right
about the vitamins. Under Odette’s gaze I grazed.

“You don’t have to eat it all, darling. I’m not going to be unreasonable but I do want you 
to graze it down with you teeth and, if you can’t swallow, leave it where it lies. I’ll make 
allowances. But when this afternoon is over I want that patch of grass you can reach with the 
permission of your chain to be neatly clipped. Or should I say grazed! You can do it, girl, get 
busy.”

I did it! I got busy and by the time my mistress had tired of her sport my teeth had neatly 
clipped the grass. I admit I ate but little of it, there was no time. I was still chewing on the last 
mouthful when my mistress said, ‘Time’s up! After that mouthful you’re working it on, you can 
call it quits. Just look at that grass you’ve grazed. I’m proud of you.”

That evening, when she chained me in her bed and before going to answer the summons 
of the master we both served, Odette raised her i dress to show me naked skin and a bushy 
black patch of silken fronds I had not previously beheld. Without command I knew my 
privilege and buried my face in the forest of her sex to kiss in most chaste reverence that 
portion of herself which Odette most jealously guarded.

I suppose Odette and I were drawn to each other by our isolation, boredom, and a special 
kind of loneliness. Outside the villa Rose me might never have noticed each other. But trapped
within, as we both most surely were, we found a constantly growing joy in each other. I chided
myself for compliance with her whims and fancies, but I was soon regarding the pains she 
imposed as a small price to pay for release from the kitchen and the shared luxury in which 
the Vicompte kept her. Both of us knew her principle amusement was to keep me treading 
that fine line between what was bearable and that which was not. Sometimes she took me 
over the brink. Since Odette had never even been mildly tortured or even punished, it was 
difficult for her to properly gauge the severity of the things I had to suffer at her hands. We 
both laughed over my inability to convince her of agonies beyond bearing. We both knew I 
would try to minimize pains and discomforts in anyway I could. We happily discussed the 
things she could do to me and the ways in which I could circumvent the resulting pains. 
Laughingly we made a joke of it.

It was a wooden box, pulled out of the recesses of the corner in that room with which I 
was now all too familiar. It stood alone in seeming innocence, its top open, beside it several 
boards. “It’s a sort of packing case, darling,” Odette suggested helpfully. “It’s just your size.” 
Her laughter betrayed more than her words.

“You want me to sit in that!”

“That’s not so bad, is it, darling?”

“Well … I suppose not. But it would be frightfully cramped, my keeps will come up under 
my chin.”

“We mustn’t be too picky, dear. Or would you prefer being suspended by your wrists for 
the day?”

I met Odette’s eyes and we both laughed, this was a part of our game, each of us 
recognizing the other’s favorite ploy. I had no expectation of being suspended by my wrists. 
But, on the other hand, I couldn’t be entirely certain of that. I countered with, “I can’t get in 
that box. My chained feet won’t let me.”

“Oh, darling, you know I’ll help. Come along.”

Odette was strong, and I admit I helped as much as I could. A few moments later I was 
standing in the packing case and surveying its limitations without enthusiasm. “There’s 
something about this you haven’t told me,” I ventured doubtfully. “What is it? What do I have 
to suffer today?”

“The first thing is for you to sit down, dear. You’ll pick up the idea as we go along.” , I sat 
down to discover the only part of me above the edge of the box was my head. I had been 
right about my knees, if I bent forward my chin rested on them and my chained hands draped 
over my legs. Odette was shining eyed and had evidently rehearsed the operation.

She picked up one of the loose boards and it was then I saw the grooves along the top of 
the thing in which I sat. The first board inserted therein had a half circle as a headrest behind 
my neck. But when another approached in front I knew my fate. With the fastening of number 
two my neck was firmly held in the manner of a pillory. The next two boards had appropriated
holes for my hands, which then stuck up before my face with my fingers pointed up towards 
the sky. I suddenly realized I could not move and most of my view was my two hands, slightly 
to either side of center. But neither could reach my nose. Other planks enclosed me totally 
within the box. And there I was!

“This isn’t a bit funny,” I admonished my mistress harshly for her laughter and obvious 
enjoyment of my plight. “I’ll bet you wouldn’t like to sit in her all cramped up for the day.

Oh, Odette, please don’t keep me all cramped up like this.”

It was then I saw the small round hole!

It might have been a knot hole in the end board but was not. It was a perfect circle, most 
obviously drilled. Instantly I guessed its use. “I wouldn’t have you lonely, darling,” Odette 
assured me earnestly as she produced the glass jar with which the mouse twitched his nose 
and looked out hopefully. “I’m going to give you company. Isn’t he cute?”

“If you put that thing in this box, I’ll die!”

“No you won’t, dear. It is going to be really interesting for us both to see what he does.”

Odette tweaked my nose. “The only reason girls are scared of mice is because the silly 
notion the poor thing is going to run up inside their pretty little pussies. We both know this 
isn’t even possible. Can the hysteria, darling, and make him welcome.”

In fascinated horror, I watched her upend the jar over the hole. The mouse dove in. My 
mistress then thoughtfully placed a plug into the only exit the long-tailed little beast could 
have taken, making it every bit as much a prisoner within the wooden prison as I.

Watching the simply act I was petrified with terror. Sure, I know that it’s all in the mind!

That sad little mouse could no way get inside me. But supposing it was hungry and began 
to eat!

I longed for my hands but they were protruding from the wood before my eyes. But they 
could aid me not at all. I wondered about crushing the poor little thing under my heel but I 
could not move enough. I heard myself saying over and over, ‘Take it out, take it out, take it 
out!”

Odette did not take it out. Instead she produced another jar and another lively little 
creature to add to my apprehension. By the time she was finished with mouse number two I 
could feel tiny claws scurrying back and forth across my thighs. I screamed in alarm.

“I wish you could see your face, darling, it’s really something!” Odette assured me. “You’d 
think I popped a rattle snake in there instead of a couple of mice. Tell me if they actually do try
to get inside. I’m curious.”

Looking back, I suppose the whole damned thing was trivial. Odette was simply exploring 
feminine fear. After a while when the first shock of tiny claws and sniffing snouts had passed, I 
met the laughing eyes of the girl who was tormenting me and, despite myself, joined her in a 
gale of laughter I could not control. Perhaps my laughter held a touch of hysteria.

My tribulation was not over.

This time it was a vividly colored garter snake in a glass jar. Odette earnestly assured me it 
was not poisonous and I knew that to be true. But any kind of snake next to a naked girl was 
the stuff of nightmares. I pleaded and promised and moaned and groaned in fresh terror as I 
watched the serpent twist and slither into the darkness of my wooden prison.

Odette paid no attention to my pleas, but when they turned to hysterical screams she 
slapped my face to jolt me back into the realm of reason.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Denise. The worse you’ll get out of this is goose pimples. I still have 
one more jar.”

This time it was ants! The kind you can find in any garden. My mistress had to hammer on 
the jar to dislodge the occupants into a darkness they would share with two mice and a snake.
Within a minute they were swarming all over me and I was frantically and uselessly trying to 
get free. This time it was a long while before I managed again to share Odette’s laughter.

Odette kept me in that box all day, she even took pictures while assuring me the 
expressions on my face were something to behold. For several hours my skin literally crawled 
under the explorations I could do nothing about. But after a while the mice and snake must 
have tired and curled up and gone to sleep. The ants remained active all day.

I told Odette something was opening my lower lips to crawl within. I believed it at the time
and screamed and screamed until reason told me to cease. Ashamed, I was forced to admit 
that probing snouts were defeated by my tight clenched legs.

by the time Odette released me I had come to know the box itself was my greatest 
punishment. It had kept me immobilized almost in an knot. The mice scurried away and the 
fearless fingers of my mistress plucked the snake, only to toss him into the garden. At least 
that’s what she said she did with him after leaving the room for a few minutes. Then we spent 
half an hour ridding my body of the ants. It was not until I had been to bath that we got 
around to the brandy.

For Odette it was a glorious game. I was a toy to be played with, a subject filled with vivid 
reactions to almost everything. I was not put in that horrid little box again but the next day 
she had my feet spread wide apart in heavy wooden stocks obviously designed to expose and 
shame a girl. She ordered me on to cover my sex with protective hands, it was spread wide 
and made bare for her enjoyment, and she wished to look at it. When I instinctively shielded 
myself, she brought my chained hands back over my head and tied them down with a length 
of rope to the bench on which I sat. I was once more beautifully and shamefully exposed. But 
just the same, when she made me look her in the eye, I shared the giggles she made no effort 
to control. Once more it was a demonstration of that thin line between what was bearable and
what was not. Odette frankly admitted she was learning a great deal about how to be unkind 
to girls.

It was no fun sitting on that hard bench, my arms drawn back and down. And with what 
seemed a constant draft of cold air impinging upon my sex. It was a natural thought that 
Odette should bring Babu to visit. I seemed to be staring with horror at something half the 
time. I stared thus at Babu in disbelieve my mistress would shame me thus.

“How nice to see you again, Miss Chartrand. I presume you are being punished?”

“I don’t know what else we can call it,” I admitted unhappily. “Please don’t stare at what 
you’re staring at. You make me feel so ashamed.”

“But you are always naked, Miss Chartrand, this is nothing new. You simply have your feet 
somewhat wider apart then when we were last together. Mademoiselle Odette tells me she 
enjoys you very much. Would you prefer I gaze upon your breasts?”

I dropped the question as to what part of me he looked at. I could change nothing and sat
there, in total disarray and acute discomfort. Once again Odette had employed the fine line 
between bearable and the not bearable.

“I have seen nothing of Monsieur Duval,” I said. “If he has no interest in me, why does he 
not set me free? Why did he bring me to the villa Rose?”

I got the usual silence. If Babu knew something, he was keeping it to himself. “You must 
enjoy Mademoiselle Odette while you can,” he advised soberly. “She is most charming, is she 
not? And I suspect you get some small pleasures from the things she does for you.”

He came close to pat my head, my breasts and my principle exposure down below. He 
went away oozing goodwill. I sat on and on and on that beastly hard bench and dreamed 
longingly of being free. But my ankles locked hard within the heavy oak beams mocked every 
fantasy I could contrive. My chained hands and feet were the realities with which I had to live.

To spread my feet as wide apart, Odette had employed the aid of the smith and his tools.

My ankles had been freed of fetters. She now watched with avid curiosity as the metal 
bands were once again riveted tight upon my skin. She was fascinated by the hammer blows 
that spread the rivets to lock me within steel.

Throughout all these pains and pleasures, my mistress remained. every faithful to the 
strap. She never used a riding crop or whip upon my but was endless fascinated by the soft 
length of leather and the sound it made when impacting my skin. She soon discovered the 
effect was lost by a blow squarely across both rounds, guiding my chained hands to the flank 
of my bottom, she laughingly explained the most desirable point of impact. She was right, I 
was often shocked and surprised myself about the huge volume of decibels she contrived 
between the leather and one side or the other of my bottom. If she kept hitting me again and 
again on the same spot, the pain became unbearable and I could not hold the pose. She 
would then most happily fasten me in one of many ways, all of which protruded my bottom 
for her enjoyment. When in the mood, she would insist I plead with her to strap my bottom. I 
had to make it sound as if I really wanted this infliction and to use terms of endearments to 
cajole her into giving me fresh pain. Everything Odette did to me was heavily spiced with 
humiliation. The horse and cart was a typical example.

The extensive grounds of the villa Rose were attended by one old man who maintained 
the grounds as a sort of tidy wilderness, gathering in the dead stuff and weeding most of the 
grounds. Since the area was considerable, he used a horse which looked as ancient as himself 
and a two-wheeled cart of many years use. The cart caught Odette’s fancy.

Obviously treasuring her secret and bubbling over with excitement my mistress led me out
of the villa and around to the back where the gardener was king. The cart with its ancient 
steed stood waiting, the gardener was busy in his shed. I was being led like a puppy on its 
leash by a moderately heavy length of chain padlocked to my collar. My mistress hold its 
other end, along with a padlock, the use for which I could easily guess.

“I do think reading is so good for a girl,” Odette suggested. “I got this idea from a book, 
just like some of the others. It’s what they did to naughty girls several hundred years ago.

You’re suppose to have your hands tied to the tailgate, and well apart so you can’t jiggle 
around. But since you’re already chained, that’s not possible. I’ll use this lovely heavy leash 
and you’ll have to follow where ever the cart goes. For the whole day.”

I kept silent. I had read books, too, and was well aware that the true ancient punishment 
was what they used to call “whipping a girl at the cart’s tail.” The vehicle was suppose to 
rumbling its way around the cobblestone streets of a village while the jailer lustily whipped the
back of the unfortunate female tied there. A girl would have no choice but to follow where it 
led and bear the strikes inflicted by the lash as best she could. For her there was no evasion of 
pain. Apprehensively I looked around for the whip.

There was no whip. I was led to where I would spend a weary day and watched Odette 
padlock the chain from my collar to a ring in the cart’s floor. The chain thus went up and over 
the tailgate to insure I followed no more than five feet behind. In a sudden realization, I 
blurted out, “But, Mistress, if the horse trots or gallops, I can’t possibly keep pace. I’ll get my 
neck broken.”

“Don’t be silly, darling, that old horse hasn’t trotted or galloped in years. You won’t have 
the least bit of trouble keeping up.”

“All day?” I exclaimed. “I’m going to hate this whole damned thing. Mistress, darling, do 
you have to do this to me?”

I got no answer. At that moment we were joined by a smirking housemaid, complete with 
cap and apron, and a great big grin. In her hand she held the fateful strap. “Arlene is going to 
ride along with you, dear. Not all the time, of course, because she intends to walk beside you 
some of the way to give you encouragement.” Odette’s voice was filled with affection. “I told 
her how to use the strap and I’m sure she’ll get very good with it before the day is through. 
She’s looking forward so much to her work. Oh, by the way, I’ve told her not to blister you 
bottom but to work on your back if she needs some extra space. I’m sure you won’t mind, 
darling?”

“It wouldn’t do me any good to mind,” I said sourly. “Please, Mistress, isn’t it enough to be 
fascinated behind this crazy cart and follow it around all day without having a teenager 
practice with a strap on me! Odette, please send her back to the house.”

I could have saved my breath, my plea was ignored. Standing there, feeling foolish, I was 
not formally introduced. The gardener was Pascal and the giggling nymphet was Arlene.

They both expressed pleasure at meeting me and Pascal’s eyes almost devoured by 
breasts and pubic hair. He was a sad example of the old adage that a man is never too old to 
yearn. Arlene was enchanted with the strap and fascinated with those portions of my body she
was permitted to punish. The cart started with a jerk and I took my first fearful steps, all too 
anxious to keep pace. I certainly didn’t want to fall, nor to be slow enough to give Arlene the 
excuse to use that leather. Odette hurriedly kissed me goodbye and told me to be a good girl.

Thus began my enslavement to the cart.

CHAPTER NINE - Walking Behind a Horse Can Be a Dirty Business

For the first little while I didn’t see or do anything except clutch my chained tether with my
chained hands and tried to speed up my hobbled steps to the maximum. I need not have 
worried, the horse was indeed slow and the driver was asleep more often than awake. I soon 
realized Pascal was going through motions to justify a salary, there was little actual work to 
do. Arlene had started out sitting beside him in the cart but hopped back down to walk beside
me, probably because I was a more interesting companion.

“You won’t mind, will you, Mademoiselle Chartrand, if I strap your bottom? Our mistress 
told me you liked to have you bottom strapped.”

“I don’t! I hate it! But I expect you’ll do it anyway so don’t worry.”

“You’re so beautiful. I’ve never seen a grown up naked like you. I’ve seen many girls like 
me but never anyone with such lovely large breasts. It must be wonderful to have such 
breasts, no? And that patch of hair … .”

“You needn’t worry, Arlene,” I said bitterly. “You’ll grow up and be every bit as beautiful as I
am. Let’s hope you don’t grow up to be chained behind a horse and cart, to be whipped.”

“My, my, Mademoiselle! You feel bad, don’t you? If you can’t be more cheerful than that, 
I’m going to start strapping you right now to see if you can’t be better company. Would you 
like that?”

“No, I wouldn’t. I hate that strap. And if you think I enjoy it, you’re dead wrong. I’m quite 
prepared to love you forever if you don’t use it on me.”

“But I have to use it!” The child was coming out. “Mademoiselle Odette Russeau has given 
me orders. I must have you red all up and down by the end of the day. Please don’t hate me, 
I’m only doing what I’m told.”.

“But you’re going to enjoy it, every bit of it!”

“Mais certainment! Why would I not! You have the most beautiful of bottoms, 
Mademoiselle, and I have this lovely strap. Certainly we are both the luckiest of girls.”

“You may be but I don’t see anything lucky from this end. How would you like to be naked 
and chained up?”

“I would think it ties adorable, Mademoiselle Denise. It would be of the most exciting. May 
I now please bestow upon you the first whip stroke I have ever given anyone?”

“Go ahead if it amuses you. You’ll do it anyway.”

“You feel so sad for yourself,” Arlene mourned. “It is not good to feel like that. I give you a 
cure.”

The blow was with all the strength of a young girl’s arm. It was a dismal failure. No splat, 
no crack, only a sort of a thud which hurt like hell but left no desirable imprint on my skin. I 
gasped at the pain before saying, “Thank you, Arlene. I’m sure you’ll do better next time.”

“You’re a cool one!” Arlene eyed me shrewdly. “The Vicompte’s whore must have been 
really mean to you. You take your pain so well but with such bitterness. Would you like 
another?”

“As you please.”

Arlene’s second blow was delivered with more assurance, she was quick to learn. The 
resultant crack made me yelp and winch, and Pascal to turn in his seat to see what was going 
on. Arlene’s breathing had quickened, and I knew full well the mark upon my skin was exciting
her. Quietly I said, “Thank you, Arlene. That was much better. Not for me, for you. Please don’t 
hit me anymore for a little while.”

She was a sensible girl, aware of limitations. She satisfied herself for the time being by 
tracing the marks upon my skin with a fingertip. The cart had come to a stop to enable Pascal 
to pick up rubbish, so I stood there, feeling foolish in my nakedness and chains.

And at the mercy of an excited teenage girl who held a strap that could bring me to my 
knees. I tugged at the chain of my tether to remind myself of the lack of escape.

For something to say, I asked point blank, “How’d you like to change places with me, 
Arlene?”

Even Pascal stopped in mid-motion. Arlene stopped playing with the strap, her eyes more 
brilliant than before. “Oh, Mademoiselle, I would loved that. I would be enchanted to be 
chained as you are now.”

I was thunderstruck, doubtful I had heard right. But there was no doubt of Arlene’s 
sincerity. But she was now busy examining the padlocks that forced me to follow the horse 
and cart. It was hopeless, there was no way she could free me and herself be fastened the way 
I was. She gazed at me forlornly and made sigh. “I cannot free you, Mademoiselle,” she said 
disgustedly. “I would have liked it so much. Now all I can do is strap your bottom and back all 
day long. You will not mind?”

Feeling an idiot, I said, “No, I will not mind. It is something you must do and I must bear. I 
am a prisoner and you are free. We cannot change this but must make the best of it. Go ahead
and hurt me, I’ll try not to scream.”

She hugged my neck and kissed me on the lips. My chains prevented me clasping Arlene 
but I kissed her back hard and drew her hands to rest upon my breasts. It was a reverent 
moment spoiled by Pascal clicking at his horse and the cart continuing on its rounds.

Arlene was an ardent child and I could not avoid infection. Being whipped is very much a 
matter of knowing one’s own tolerance and being aware of the limits of pain to be imposed. 
In this I was safe. I was going to suffer pain all day at the hands of this adorable child. This I 
could handle!

Suddenly, and with a strange control, I mocked this youthful mistress in her task. “You 
have only hit me across one cheek,” I said as if in complaint. “Why not try the other cheek? It’s 
lonely.”

Even Pascal stayed awake to turn upon his seat to watch a happy nymphet plant a strap 
again and again upon the tender skin of Me. I was thankful for a growing excitation within my 
sex, a fire was brewing there, fed by the delighted blows of a length of leather in the hands of 
a young girl. Absurdly, I could feel only happiness that I gave such joy to youth and age 
together. I could tell Pascal was longing to wield the strap, perhaps remembered such times 
long ago! But now he was content to watch, not drawing his cart to a halt but compelling me 
to follow my chain as Arlene’s blows beat upon my flesh. When he halted his horse, I was once
more enfolded in delighted female arms and kissed again and again.

When we had kissed enough, Arlene contented herself by a fingertip exploration of my 
burning skin. “It’s so wonderfully red, Mademoiselle. Does it hurt terribly?”

“Of course it does, it’s supposed to. Please give me a rest before you start in again.”

Thus it went throughout the day. I knew me must keep the rapport between Arlene and I 
hidden-from Odette. I was Odette’s property, a thrill not to be shared. It would go hard with 
Arlene if she guessed the pleasure we had found in each other. Or that my pain had been 
modified because of what we felt for each other.

My curves, burning beneath the leather, had the effect of both, shame and lust. In one of 
those moments when Pascal was busy at his work, I whispered, “Arlene, please take me, take 
me now. My chain is long enough to let me lay upon the grass.” I suited action to the words 
and spread myself invitingly, without shame. With an inarticulate cry, my nymphet fell upon 
her prey and fed with all the ardor of her youth. If Pascal came to watch, we did not care.

In whispers Arlene and I pledge ourselves to each other. She would not whip me less, in 
fact during the coming afternoon, she whipped my back, but for now she would contrive to 
visit me daily and make love in the manner Odette refused. A whole new world of wonder 
opened for my eyes and I followed the hateful cart and accepted the burn of Arlene’s strap in 
a daze of happiness. I don’t remember that time too well, it was all so crazy and filled with lust.
But it was a day of discovery, the day in which I made my first surrender of my loins to another
woman.

That evening, under Babu’s supervision, the smith struck the irons . from my ankles to give 
my feet a freedom they had forgotten. My hands were left chained and no one answered my 
questions as to why. Odette chained me in her bed and went to pay her tribute to her lord.

I did not instantly fall asleep, but lie there idly fingering the chain from my collar to the 
bed.

To get my feet back was a wonderful event and I longed to rise and walk, but since that 
could not be done, I contented myself in glorious flexing and stretching of my legs. But as I 
thus indulged myself, the question filled my mind: why, why, why?

The only reason I could think of was both terrifying and exciting. For a girl prisoner, 
chained as long as I, this sudden ability to stretch my legs apart could have but one meaning, I
was, at long last, going to be used by the Vicompte Andre Duval.

It was the dead of night when a hand urgently shook my shoulder, then busied itself riding
my collar from the padlock. Odette’s voice was demanding and decisive, “Come, Cheri, we go.”
She dragged me from the bed.

Odette Russeau was nude, her ivory loveliness almost glowing in the dark. I wanted to tell 
her how foolish we would be to run away and inevitably caught and punished but she gave 
me not time and I was still dazed with sleep. It was then I caught sight of the vivid scarlet 
wound across her back from which a drop of blood was trickling across her skin.

“Have a good look at it, Denise. The guy is nuts! If that’s his idea of love making, I’m 
getting out of here. And I’m taking you.”

“But why?”

“Because you’re next, you little idiot! Surely you’ve figured out the reason for getting your 
feet freed? He’s going to take you tomorrow and get rid of me. The rotten bastard, I’ll show 
him!”

Our words were whispers and we were shadows in the dark as we moved through the 
darkened passages and corridors. I wanted to protest more urgently the foolishness of what 
we did. I was scared to death! But Odette had taken a handful of my hair to make me follow 
without struggle. But the tugging and pulling at my hair was a forceful argument and perhaps 
Odette knew something I did not. Perhaps she had a key to the gate and we could get out 
onto the public road. Perhaps!

It was glorious to use my legs again after their being ironed so long. Once outside the villa
Rose and into its spacious grounds, I became possessed by an exhilaration to sweep away my 
fears. I clutched the chain between my wrists and sped silent beside the girl who had been my 
mistress but was no less an escaping prisoner than I. When she freed my hair I neither spoke 
nor slowed my pace, but felt only gratitude for her concern. She could easily have run away 
alone and left me chained in her bed. But she loved me enough to share with me hope of 
freedom.

It shames me to tell the ease by which our flight to liberty was brought to an ignominious 
end. Neither fate nor the Vicompte was kind to a couple of American girls far from home and 
seeking no more than was their natural right. But the villa Rose was merciless.

Waiting for us at the gate stood the solitary figure of Babu.

“We can jump him,” Odette muttered. “It’s two against one. He can’t beat both of us.”

She was so terribly wrong. Babu’s mild exterior hid strength. He did not wait for us to 
attack him but took the offensive with a quick noose over my head to drew me hard back 
against the iron bars of the gate. A quick knot where I could not reach it and I was captive 
again. It was done in a second. If I had been left alone long enough I might have freed myself. 
But while I was tugging at the rope, I watched him handle Odette with ease. Babu knew tricks 
against which Odette had no defense. She was soon face down on the grass with a male knee 
hard against her back and male fingers tying her crossed wrists with vicious jerks and tugs. 
She squeal in anger and pain. He than joined her neck to mine. He freed me from the bars but
not until he had roped my chain down within my crotch which he then dragged up behind 
and twisted around my middle to form a bound from which I couldn’t free myself. My hands 
were thus neatly rendered impotent. I looked at my mistress but she was weeping bitter.

“Such silly girls!” said Babu. “Babu takes no pleasure in this. I feel only sorrow.”

“What will you do with us,” I asked miserably.

Babu shrugged. “Return you to our master.” His liquid gaze turned to the sultan’s favorite, 
now roped and naked and in tears. “Monsieur Duval is most angry at you, Mademoiselle.

You have been most foolish. You had no need to run away. Our master is angered by your 
wish to free his slave. It was bad enough to run alone, but to take Mademoiselle Denise … !”

Babu shrugged and gestured hopelessly. “If I could free you both, I would. But I am bound
by honor. Come, we now return.”

Babu had come prepared. We were ordered to walk ahead while he walked behind, 
holding the tether to my neck. We were simply and efficiently controlled. To aid our lagging 
steps, he swished a riding crop upon whatever portion of ourselves needed encouragement. 
Before we reached the villa, I was weeping, too.

The villa Rose held secrets. Babu prodded us to a tiny dungeon we had never seen.

Inside the hateful stone prison, we saw what we didn’t want to see.

“I leave you as you are, you have no need of chains.” He thrust us well into the hateful 
place before closing the door upon us. We heard bolts thrust home on the other side and the 
clicking of a lock. Odette and I gazed upon each other. A moment later the light went out and 
we were in almost total darkness.

After we had said the obvious things, we sank down on the stone and huddled together to
find what warmth and small comfort we could. If we had chosen to work at it half the night we
could have freed ourselves from ropes, but we did not. Nothing cared now.

Odette Russeau and I were suspended by our wrists about ten feet apart. Odette’s 
bindings were at each end of a trapeze bar to raise her hands well apart. She is beautifully 
formed but the stress wrenched her shoulders and flattens her breasts. Her tummy is very flat, 
her whole body slender. From time to time she raised and lowered a leg. Sometimes she 
caught my eye and managed a woeful grin.

In my case, my shackled prevented using the bar. My iron wristlets had to share the space 
with the rope bindings by which I controlled, with my toes tantalizingly an inch above the 
floor. I stretched and kicked but could find no support. Both of us were naked. I saw in Odette 
a mirror of myself. Both of us were waiting to be whipped.

I thought we had been waiting a long time but perhaps it was simply that time goes so 
slowly when a girl is hanging. My wrists burned and my shoulders aches. If no one ever came 
to whip us, I would have thought we had punishment enough, but the servants found us as 
we were. They laughingly told us how our skin was to be marked sometime before the 
evening shadows filled the room. Most of the time we hung with bowed heads.

I don’t know how long it was before Celie and her whip brought us vividly alert. With her 
usual lack of ceremony, she looked at me sardonically. “You must wait for yours, little one.

It is Madame here who gets hers first.”

Without ceremony she struck the first blow and I watched agony created as Odette 
Russeau contorted in response to the wicked impact. Celie watched as the suspended 
loveliness swayed back and forth, then struck again.

There’s nothing to tell about being whipped. It’s just plain awful and quite beyond any 
girl’s capacity to bear unless fastened. It is a pain like no other, against which pride is no 
defense. After a girl has been sliced by the first few strokes, she knows only agony and her 
need to scream. I had told myself I would not watch but I did watch in a fearful fascination and
the terrible knowledge my turn would come. Sometimes I contorted in sympathy.

It went on forever. I forgot my own fears and pains as I watched the fearful punishment of 
this girl I had come to love. Celie did her usual expert job, making certain her leather found 
the most tender female places not normally punished. Quite suddenly Odette slumped into 
silence, hanging quiet against the thud of leather across her skin.

Casually, Celie let her down to make a pathetic heap of nakedness upon the floor. By the 
time she had untied Odette’s poor, chaffed wrists, her eyes had once more opened to gaze up
in disbelief that it was over.

“You see, I untie you, Mademoiselle,” Celie said grandly. “You are free to go. You may pack 
your things and leave the villa Rose as quickly as you like.” She chuckled evilly.

“You’ll remember me for at least a month, ma petite. My marks upon you will last that 
long.

But you’re likely to bear the kiss of the lash our master gave you last night for the rest of 
your life. You are the luckiest of girls.”

Mute in disbelief, fearful of saying the wrong word, I watched in silence as Odette Russeau 
came back to life. Slowly she got to her knees then her feet. Casting a despairing look in my 
direction she walked painfully to the door and out of my life.

Celie gave me a wink and a wave, and I was left to hang along with only an awful fear to 
keep me company.

The man who came next was Monsieur Duval.

The Master of the villa Rose gave me a curt nod. He then came close to turn me this way 
and that as a puppet on a string, and then to closely examine and finger every part of me.

I suffered the indignity in silence. It was useless to protest and I was sure I’d learn my fate 
soon enough. Duval nodded his satisfaction, presumedly my body met with his approval.

Then he performed the motions by which my feet were once more on the floor. My hands 
remained fastened above my head but I was so thankful to get my feet on the ground that I 
couldn’t have cared less. Duval’s question was like a pistol shot in the silent room.

“Tell me of your grandfather.”

I gathered my wits. I slowly answered the seemingly irrelevant question.

“I know little of him. He was a Frenchman, an artist, and I think there was trouble over him 
marrying my grandmother. I never knew either of them.”

Duval nodded. “You are expecting to be whipped, Mademoiselle?”

“Yes.”

“Would you care to escape your punishment?”

“Yes, oh yes!”

His voiced was a sneer. “If I free you, will you lay down for me and spread your legs?” The 
sneer grew larger. “I am sure you have noticed they are no longer ironed.”

Had I never been a captive in Betty Green’s establishment, and endured the attentions of 
fifteen men, I would have been lost. But when a girl has done that, another one matters little. I
was well broken. My voice was emotionless. “Yes, I will do that. I will not fight you.”

Duval was a bastard! He let me down and unpeeled the rope from my wrists to leave them
still chained but in no way an interference to his desire. In answer to a flicker from his eyes, I 
lay back and spread my legs. I even raised my knees and threw my shackled arms above my 
head in total surrender. But this dark-eyed man seemed not to notice. Instead, he drew up a 
chair and sat where he could gaze into my shamed exposure in a way that made me feel I 
might prefer the whip.

“You bear the name Chartrand. It is a noble name of a noble house of France. Your 
grandfather was a younger son who wasted his life with paints and brushes and a disregard 
for his family, or his name. Your own father picked up no threads and sought no contacts but 
did nothing to disgrace the Chartrand name. Where is he now?”

“My parents have both passed away.”

“Yes, I know. I was wondering if you might lie. You would do well never to lie to me, 
Mademoiselle.”

I felt a strangeness. Something was in the wind. I asked softly, “I know why you will have 
me whipped. But why did you have me kidnapped in the first place? Why have you never used
me? You do not use me now.”

“I will use you when it pleases me to do so. Did you know you are one of the richest 
women in the world?”

I longed to keep silent. He could have his lousy joke and be damned with it! But a naked 
girl would be unwise to keep silent when Vicompte Duval asked a question. “You must be 
joking, I don’t have a dime. Just a few personal possessions back in American, and I expect 
they are gone by now.”

“You are the last survivor of an unfortunate family, a family of immense wealth but dogged
by poor health and ill fortunate. A will exists which will make you one of the richest young 
women alive.”

His eyes fastened solemnly on mine. “I do not intend for you to waste that fortune. You 
and I will claim it. And, for the space of minutes or hours, you may enjoy possession before 
signing it in its entirety over to me. You may then resume your natural function as my slave.”

I listened in disbelief, allowing my knees to straighten and my legs to fall. Slowly I sat up to
listen to something I did not believe.

“You are talking to the wrong girl,” I told him slowly. “You have made a mistake.”

It was a dream, a nightmare, pure fantasy, call it what you will. The Vicompte helped me 
rise erect, took me to the smith where the irons were stricken from my wrists to be replaced 
instantly by heavy, shinning handcuffs for which there was a key. Still with Duval’s hand upon 
my arm, I was led to his office where I was given a comfortable chair and a brandy. I held it in 
my still joined hands and sipped the fiery liquid. It took my captor an hour to convince me 
what he said was true, to show me documents which seemed real. But throughout it all I kept 
looking at the fresh and shiny steel on my wrists and felt a terrible loneliness. Even if what 
Duval told me was correct, what good could it possibly do to a naked, handcuffed girl, 
enslaved in a foreign land?

Duval was sitting back in his chair, his fingertips pressed together in a lawyer’s pose. He 
continued formally. “There will be formalities, documents to be signed, and such. At the time 
of your kidnapping, I also took the precaution of stripping your apartment of all documents. 
They will help establish your claim. It remains only for you and I to bring it to a favorable 
conclusion.”

“You’ll get no help from me,” I told him solemnly, hating this fresh travail in my 
imprisonment. I had a sudden, bitter vision of one of the richest young women in the world 
sitting in the familiar dungeon and wearing my familiar chains and probably, for good 
measure, a few scarlet strips across my back!

“We are defeated by legalities and the court. Monsieur Duval, you can scarcely parade me 
before them, naked and in chains.”

Duval shrugged. His answer was simple and silent. He took me by the arm and led me to a 
bedroom where I was flung upon the bed. I automatically assumed a posture which was 
obscene to me. Slowly I watched Duval rid himself of clothes to reveal an almost satanic 
beauty of figure and a rigidity I did not wish to see. Without preamble or a word of love, he 
took me there upon the bed and had his way with me for so great a length of time that I 
became exhausted by orgasm after orgasm. When he was done with me he said abruptly, “You
have my permission to bath, Mademoiselle. You will then report to Babu and obey his orders. 
We will talk again.”

I did as I was told, not even considering thought of escape. Babu, with all his usual 
sympathy but inflexible loyalty to his master, then took me to the hateful little dungeon where
I had spent a night with Odette. There he locked upon me the heaviest chains I had ever seen.

They were without useful purpose other than to humiliate and punish. Not only was I 
ironed in every conceivable way but my collar was also chained to the wall as additional 
evidence of the Vicompte’s displeasure. When I was left alone in the semi-darkness I knew 
defeat indeed. When morning came I was ready to say yes to anything.

“You are wise to avoid the whip, Mademoiselle.” Duval surveyed me from his office chair. I 
sat as I had the day before, rid of the dungeon chains but my hands safe within the shinning 
steel of cuffs. “I understand you are now ready for instruction.”

“I fear the whip. I will do what I am told.”

His Lucifer eyes were now approving. “The whip is a crude instrument, Mademoiselle. I 
avoid it when I can. You night in the small, dark dungeon has served the same purpose but left
no mark upon your so nice skin. I trust you are grateful.”

“I am grateful,” I told him honestly. “But I have wondered through the night what you will 
do with me once you have come into this fortune of which you speak. After I have served your
purpose, what then?”

Duval nodded and shrugged with some evidence of disgust. “You touch upon a point, 
Mademoiselle. I might normally use you on my bed a month or two and then let you go.

But how can I? The moment you are free you would go straight to the police and cause 
me trouble.”

“Couldn’t I sign some sort of document or another?”

“I doubt that. Quite frankly I do not trust you. Consider well how foolish such a trust would
be.”

“Well, where does that leave me?”

“It leaves you at the villa Rose, my dear. I can keep you chained in the manner to which 
you are accustomed. Sometimes you will attend me. Sometimes, if you are alone, you may join
a few selected maidens I keep in a special place, those who have served a purpose and are in a
position similar to your own.”

I shuddered. There was the mystery of the closed dungeon explained. “It’s cruel,” I said 
without thinking. “You rob them of their lives. You have no right….”

The Vicompte pressed a button on his desk. When Babu came, he took my arm without a 
word. Everything must have been arranged and led me to a destination I knew I wouldn’t like.

“It is not as bad as you think,” he told me gently. “Remember, it is not for life.”

If a girl had to be imprisoned in a dungeon, she could expect none better. It was, in fact, 
luxurious. There was some furniture and a fancy bathroom. It was also equipped with a 
selection of hardware hanging from its walls, with so much chain and with so many sinister 
locked chests, no girl could have illusions as to what she was and what could be done to her. 
There were a couple of pillars but at our moment of entry no one appeared to be suffering.

There were seven girls, all gorgeous and all naked. All were chained but the chains were 
costly things and lighter than those the smith had riveted on me. I could see no locks.

Babu formally introduced me all around. There was pity in their eyes as they took my hand
or kissed my cheek. When Babu had gone, I stood there, handcuffed, and had a frightening of 
belonging. What else could Duval do with me but put me here!

There were huge windows, all barred and I saw evidence of the means by which a girl 
could be raised and stretched to received the whip. The seven inmates were bored enough to 
see me as a diversion, and told me eagerly of their own entrapment by the villa Rose. They 
were all pretty much as me, some even had inheritances stolen away by Monsieur Duval. They 
told me that one girl was flogged each month in a strict and impartial rotation. No guilt was 
required, it simply happened. They told me not to worry since I was now at the end of the line,
my turn eight months away. They showed me variously marked backs and bottoms. They also 
told me that if I was not lesbian, I would soon be. Duval selected one of them at rare intervals 
for the honor of his bed but it was far too seldom to keep them satisfied. All spoke of Duval’s 
sexual prowess with longing.

Obviously they hoped for a rekindling of the cooling embers of their master’s love.

They wore their chains with natural grace, ruefully admitting to no longer being aware of 
them. All had lost hope of freedom. When I spoke of escape they told me not to be silly.

They admired my handcuffs and fingered them with curiosity as if I had introduced into 
their lives some new fashion.

It was not really a dungeon, it was a huge, well-lit stone chamber. To the accompaniment 
of their laughter, I ran around it again and again to enjoy the freedom of unfettered feet. I had
little hope of enjoying such freedom long.

With eight of us captive within the walls there was the constant sound of chain upon 
stone.

Her name was Daphne, her story was typical, and she told it in a sad, reflective tone as of 
things long past unlikely to return. Like most of the girls, she played unconsciously with the 
links of her chain.

“I was kidnapped in Washington, D.C., of all places,” Daphine said ruefully. “My parents 
had died and I joined that army of girls who worked for the government. Duval caught sight 
of me at a reception and decided to add me to his collection. With me they did it with drugs. 
When I woke up I was here at the villa Rose. I’ve been here ever since.” She gestured with 
chained hands. “I no longer expect to ever be anywhere else. I’ve been chained in her for ages 
and ages. I’m lucky if he calls for me to come to his bedroom once every three months. But 
the bastard’s so good at it, he’s habit forming. He’s an absolute devil. There isn’t a girl in this 
room who doesn’t long to be in his bed. He’s done it to you, so you know what I mean.”

“When I woke up I was naked and handcuffed, just the way you are now. The nakedness 
was the worse. I had been raised with strict rules about what you could show of your body.

For the first few days I could do nothing about it because they had my hands handcuffed 
behind my back. Babu and the servants all stared at me so I didn’t have a secret left. They did 
it on purpose, of course. Sort of a softening up process before the night when I was taken to 
Duval’s bedroom and laid upon my bound hands on the bed. When they left me I got right up
and wandered around. Duval walked in. He picked me up and tossed me on the covers were I 
lie staring as he tossed away his rob to show me what I thought of as sinful and evil. I don’t 
know what there is about Duval but I could easily believe he was one of those creatures you 
read about, the ones that never die but go on from century to century, feeding on lust and 
power-and girls! Without either fuss of love he simply raped me right there. When that was 
over and I’d sort of caught up with my breath, he ordered me to do something purely 
horrible. It was a beastly act that no girl could ever do and still live with herself. At least that’s 
what I thought in my innocence. Duval listened to my protests and laughed at the horror in 
my eyes. He told me he would change my mind without a whip mark upon my skin.”

“He was right, of course,” Daphine continued somberly. “The bastard is always right. Why 
wouldn’t he be, he makes the rules. The next day, Celie took me to a bare little room. She used
a pair of pliers to wire my wrists together and then my ankles. It was just a single strand of 
wire, cinched in the middle, but wickedly tight to where it hurt even if you didn’t move. If you 
tried to struggle, it hurt so damned bad you quickly stopped. Celie told me it was my free day 
and I could do anything I liked within that little room. She then went away after locking the 
door. She had made me sit on the floor while she wired me up, I now discovered it impossible 
to stand. The tendons in my ankles swelled against the wire when I put weight on the. She had
even fixed my hands in front where I could get at them with my teeth. That was a laugh! The 
wire had been snipped off neat and clean. I shuffled my butt over to the wall to have 
something to lean against while I sat out what was up to that point the most miserable day of 
my life. I could do nothing that didn’t hurt so I spent my time trying this position and that in 
an effort to be comfortable. But that was a big laugh, too. The pain got worse and worse, even
when I wasn’t struggling. I remember I cried a lot.

“They just left me alone in there, and in the evening his majesty honored we with a visit 
and the polite suggestion that perhaps now I would be ready to ‘listen to reason.’ When I said 
no, he nodded as if he understood and informed me that we had lots of time. He went away 
without another word and left me naked on the floor with only the burn of wire to keep me 
company. I hardly slept that night.”

Daphine grinned at me ruefully as though certain I would understand. ‘The next day was 
pretty bad. The wire was actually cutting my skin and those who brought me food paid no 
attention to my complaints. The food wasn’t much, either. During this whole period they kept 
me hungry. But the worst thing about that second day was that I knew I was weakening. I 
dared not look ahead a succession of such days with me wired in that beastly little room. But 
when the Vicompte came to me again that night, I still said no.”

I got through day three in a semi-hysterical condition. My determination was slipping 
away hourly. But on day four, after feverish nightmares in the dark, I simply couldn’t wait for 
Duval’s nightly visit. When I heard his key in the lock I ignored pain and was humbly on my 
knees to greet a man I now saw as Satan himself. With shameful eagerness I said, yes, I would 
now do the thing he asked. I then performed the beastly act right there in that little room. I 
was naked and still wired painfully tight. It was a terrible ending to four days of agony. It was 
as if Duval knew this forth evening would be my breaking point, he had brought the pliers and
cut away my wire bondage with a couple of expert snaps. It hurt so damn much I could hardly 
control myself as the thin wire was peeled out of my skin and I beheld in gasping dismay the 
brands they left behind. I didn’t get to mourn over them too long. I was immediately 
handcuffed and carried to Satan’s bed to pay my dues upon my back. I would have thought 
that after the beastly act I had just performed with him he wouldn’t be in the mood. But I 
guess you’ve discovered there is no end to his virility, he can screw a girl through as many of 
her orgasms as he desires. If he decided to go on with it long enough, it becomes a 
punishment.

“The next day he sprung my family tree and my inheritance on me while I was still under 
the influence of the wire and the lurid night. I didn’t believe him at first but he provided so 
many documents and went to so much trouble to explain. When I finally told him I refused to 
sign a thing, he took me to where a naked girl was suspended by her wrists. Beside her on the 
floor was the wickedest looking whip. Then his majesty explained the whip would be used on 
that beautiful girl as long as it took me to make up my mind to say yes. The hung up girl 
gazed right into my eyes with such pathetic hope I didn’t have the heart to refuse. And, 
anyway, I was still remembering the wire. I signed everything there was to sign and was 
rewarded by being taken to his bed every night for a month. By that time I had become 
addicted and totally his slave. I would have done anything he asked just so long as he took me
to bed afterwards. All this time I was handcuffed but nothing more, except a chain which 
anchored me to the wall but was long enough so I could walk around and use that lovely 
bathroom. I guess you know how it is. I spent all of every day longing for the night.

“Satan’s taste for me lasted only a month. He didn’t tell me outright I was going to be 
dumped into this room with all the rest of his discards. He broke the news in a roundabout 
way which showed me another side of his nature. The chain from my handcuffs to the wall was
unlocked on that fatal day and my arms were raised above my head. This left me standing 
totally naked with my hands up high and uncertain of what was about to happen.

Actually, I thought I was going to be whipped! But Celie sent in some girls to do my hair 
and fix my face as though I was going to a party. She also painted my nipples an outrageous 
scarlet. I felt like a bride without a groom, and was still pretty certain I was going to be 
whipped. His Lordship often had girls fixed up before whipping them, it tickled his sense of 
humor. And probably gave him an erection. I stood there with my heart thudding like crazy for
the longest time until Celie brought in a naked girl I had never seen before, and with the same
attention to her hairdo. Without a word she was fastened the same as me and we stood there 
looking at each other in curiosity and a silly sort of hope of help or comfort. I could give her 
nothing but what I got from her was the low-down on why we were fixed that way. “We were 
going to be sold!”

The four men included Babu, who was his usual major domo, and apparently the 
auctioneer. Babu had, quaintly, brought in a podium of sorts on which to record the bids.

But he hovered as the three of them went from girl to girl, prodding and pushing us 
around and making vulgar remarks in French, which unfortunately I understood. Babu was 
anxious we be properly appraised and lost no opportunity to point out any physical portion of
us he deemed worthy of extra cash. I remember the other girl had the thickest bush of pubic 
hair I had ever seen. When that was pointed to with pride, one of the purchasers curtly told 
him that if he bought the girl, the first thing he would do is shave it off. That left us wondering
what else he would do to us.

“It was the other girl who was sold. I never knew her name and her purchaser led her from 
the dungeon with the air of a victorious general taking home spoils of war. The sum of money 
left me gasping, but none of the three were willing to meet the reserve bid Babu announced. I
wasn’t hurt about this because the sum was so immense I couldn’t imagine myself or any girl 
worth that much. I got variously petted and pinched and assured there were no hard feelings 
before they left. I stood there wondering what would happen next.

“Nothing happened. Celie lowered my hands, unlocked the handcuffs and chained me the 
way I am now. None of us know why they bother with these chains since none of us can 
escape from this dungeon. Maybe it’s in case someone forgets to lock the door. When Satan 
calls me to this room, he uses me without unlocking a single link. He’s really clever that way, 
and has told me all about the thirty-six positions of the House of the Brothers in Pompeii. I 
can’t be sure whether or not I’m still for sale. There’s men who Babu brings to this dungeon 
from time to time who looks us over. Sometimes one of them will offer enough money that he
walks away with a girl and we never hear or see her again. But we’re so damned bored we 
would welcome the change. None of the men look like monsters and we dream pretty dreams
of seducing them into setting us free.”

Daphine sighed. “I expect his majesty gave you the bit about the need to keep us 
prisoners for the rest of our lives. He doesn’t want us going to the police. Quite likely he 
doesn’t want to keep us but what else can he do with us? It’s this fact that limits the number 
of buyers he can bring in. He has to trust each one implicitly never to see us free or give us a 
chance to escape. In that sense, we’re a bunch of girls who can’t find husbands. Gosh, Denise, 
if you’re ever put up for sale, play it for all you’re worth. Else you may spend your life here.”

Daphine’s story gave me food for thought but very little hope. For sure I would end up 
with these seven girls in this prison and chained as they were chained. What I had to wonder 
now was how strongly I could refuse to sign the papers Duval wanted out of me. What if he 
showed me one of these girl suspended by her wrists and whipped her until I changed my 
mind? I knew already there could be only one answer to that. I would simply surrender and do
as he wished. That left only two questions: how long would he find pleasure with me in bed, 
and would I be sold? It was not the brightest future in the world, and the handcuffs on my 
wrists suddenly weighed a ton.

I was left all day and all night with the seven girls in the dungeon, which wasn’t a dungeon
at all. I guess prison would be a better word. They were eager to talk to me but Daphine’s 
story had told it all. In late morning I was escorted to the Vicompte’s office.

“Charming girls, are they not, Miss Chartrand?” he inquired in a friendly tone. “Do doubt 
they had much to tell.”

I was in a mood to burn bridges and get the whole thing over with. “They are charming,” I 
agreed, “and they deserve better. Please don’t bother to hung one up and whip her for my 
sake. That’s a wonderful system you’ve got. I’ll sign anything you want.”

He nodded as though taking this course for granted. “I commend your good sense. I will 
reward you when night comes. And we’ll make an exception in your case, you will not be 
chained alone during the days but may share the large prison with the other girls.”

“Thank you.”

“Since you will be receiving my favors, you will not be chained as are the others. In your 
case handcuffs will serve the purpose for the time being. You are happy?”

“No, I am not. But I suspect you’re being kind so I’ll say thank you again.”

There were a lot of impressive bits of paper. I signed them all. When this was done, Duval 
led me to a lounge in which a couple of men were awaiting our arrival. Curtly I was told to 
pour brandy and serve it on my knees. When that was done I could pour one for myself and to
kneel appropriately for male appraisal. The drink I poured for myself was huge but no one 
seemed to care. I kneel as directed for inspection.

I was frankly discussed, all three of them reviewing my charms and shortcomings in the 
most vulgar terms. If the purpose was to goad me to revolt, it failed. I clasp my brandy sniffer 
and drink avidly while doing my own assessments of the men. They were business types, 
neither young nor old, and either could not raise the cash or failed to find me of interest. 
Anyway, I was not sold and, when the brandy was finished, was escorted back to join the 
luckless seven in their huge stone cage. Seeing me still only handcuffed they laughingly 
assured me I was Duval’s choice and might remain the sultan’s number one girl for a day or a 
month, or even two! Beyond that, if not sold in the period, I would undoubtedly join their 
club.

Again and again in the days to follow I thanked Betty Green and her bordello for breaking 
me in to the ways of men. The Vicompte was not only vigorous but inventive in his 
lovemaking, bending or binding me in such a multitude of positions I have forgotten half of 
them. His unfailing rigidity never failed to amaze but, towards the end of my time as his 
personal slavegirl, he occasionally complained of his prowess and chose to give it the tonic of 
a riding crop across my bottom. He did not tie me but dared me to break the shameful pose 
of bending to touch my toes, promising a heavier whipping should I fail. I did not fail and was 
entered again and again with his usual enterprise. If his prowess actually had weakened, I saw 
no sign of it. I realize now he was simply tiring of my charm.

The day inevitably came when Babu led me to the smith and produced a set of those 
gorgeous sliver constrains worn by the other girls. At sight of them as I enter the prison, the 
girls greeted me with wry amusement. I had become one of them at last.

With eight naked girls in a single room, it could never be entirely a bore. We amused each 
other, making the imprisonment bearable, if only just. There were three events to break the 
monotony. One was the monthly flogging of a girl. Another was the rare summons to our 
master’s bed. The third was when a prospective buyer appraised our charms. But they all went 
away, muttering to themselves.

All of us become wanton in our efforts to seduce prospective purchasers into parting with 
the huge sum the Vicompte wanted for our bodies. Alone be practice seductive poses and 
gave each other frank opinions as to our smile or our ability to charm by a lifted eyebrow or 
protruded breasts. It was one of the way we kept ourselves hoping and sane. And it was 
always good for a laugh. What we did not laugh about was the flogging of a girl.

The terrible thing about this ritualistic punishment was that each of us knew our turn, and 
when our time would come. The maiden who know she was next to be wickedly whipped 
became increasingly somber and was much in need of what ever comfort we could provide 
with lips and tongues and arms. In spite of chained hands we soon learned an adequate 
embrace. But by the time her awful day arrived, the girl was trembling and distraught. To 
enable the rest of us to witness the event, the breathless girl was punished without any of us 
leaving the room. Because our chained condition prohibited the use of stocks or pillories, or 
anything by which an arm or leg was spread in a bound helplessness, the System satisfied 
itself by raising our chained hands well above our heads but never high enough to raise us on 
our toes or inhibit the wild contortions of a girl in pain. Each maiden had served her term, 
some more than once, and was able to be witness in an ever decreasing courage. I comforted 
myself with the thought of my own turn being seven months away. It seemed so distant and 
surely something was going to happen. But every girl had this reaction, it was meaningless.

I had been captive in the big room a couple of months before there came to pass the 
event which changed my life.

This time there were four of them who assessed our female charms. They were a varied lot 
who did and said the obvious things. At a request I was made to step forward for closer 
viewing. I was nervous at first but gained confidence and tried the wanton seduction we had 
practiced for so long. Then I became aware of a pair of piercing eyes within a bushy beard. 
There was something about them and the man himself I felt I ought to recognize. It was not 
until he spoke some casual remark to a friend that I knew who he was.

It was Michael Torrance!





CHAPTER TEN - Duval’s Chains


It was one of those moments to last my life. I had last seen Michael Torrance as a dead body 
upon the floor of Alice Murdoc’s bordello, and I now must consider some medical miracle by 
which he was now in this room behind some outrageously false beard and in the company of 
men intent upon the purchase of a girl. Breathless I was about to say something when I 
caught the tiny flicker of his eye and the almost non-existent shaking of his head. My heart 
thudding, I stood there breathless and naked in my chains, trying to look normal.

I was passed by, my price too high to pay. I stepped back to clink my chains with the rest 
of them while one more girl took my place. The poor girl had no more than gotten started 
when a male voice harshly intervened, ‘Tell her to can that shit, Babu. It’s a whore’s trick.

We weren’t born yesterday.”

We exchanged chagrined glances. We were to be evaluated starkly as we were. These men 
had obviously owned women before. Perhaps we would become only an addition to an 
existing harem, or a token to be bartered for advantage. Michael did not look at me again. 
They went away.

I was in agony. I dared not tell the girls and, in fact, was not sure I had anything to tell.

Michael and I had not been able to speak a word. And when I got to thinking about him, I 
realized he was at the bottom of all my troubles. His had been the first kidnap. From that 
moment on I had never been truly free. His avowed intent to humble and bring low the 
haughty Denise Chartrand now seemed an innocent play, something I should have been able 
to deal with. Goodness knows, I was humbled enough now. I thought of the papers I had 
signed and the wanton manner of delivering my loins to the Vicompte upon demand. I was 
indeed a prideful maiden who had gotten her just desserts. I wondered if he would be as 
pleased with me as he was but I might never know! For the rest of the day the girls laughed at 
me and mocked at my failure to sell myself.

The next day was different. This time there was only one man with Babu. He wasted no 
time but demanded a second look at me and Babu, oozing politeness, had me step forward in
my chains and nakedness to have a man decide if he wanted to purchase me or not. I must 
have made an impress the day before. After a brief look, he bought me on the spot, no 
quibbling over price. Babu was overjoyed.

There was a discussion as to how I should be bound for delivery. But my new owner swept 
this aside. “Leave the girl as she is,” he said. “The chains she’s wearing, add them to the bill.”

Dazed, I allowed myself to be led through the door and left behind seven awestruck 
maidens in various stages of envy. I had made the grade!

My purchaser, while anxious to buy my chains, was quickly impatient with the limitations 
they imposed. Abruptly he picked me up and carried me the considerable distance through 
the villa Rose to his awaiting car just inside the outer gate. There he dumped me in the front 
seat and made certain I stayed there by a padlocked chain around my tummy, an effective 
substitute for a seat belt. He then returned to the villa with Babu to complete his purchase of 
a frightened but excited girl.

I gazed through the car window at the villa Rose and wondered if I was seeing it for the 
last time.

I was still beautifully controlled. My purchaser had taken the precaution of threading his 
chain through the one joining my wrists, thus I could not raise them even as high as my 
breasts. I sat there in the car as helpless and as well restrained as in the dungeon. It was one 
more demonstration of the villa Rose’s precept of no escape.

Sitting there, well secured in the car, I thought of my purchaser as my benefactor, my 
rescuer and lots of other pretty names. But the fact was he was a rough, tough customer in an 
expensive business suit. When he returned he told me firmly, “Don’t play the fool, girl, I’m 
doing you a favor. I want you to do whatever I say and act as though you’re happy.

Remember, people can see you fact through the glass. I know you’re helpless and I want it 
that way. I’ll throw a rug over you if needs be. In the meantime be a sensible girl.”

Once outside the grounds of the villa Rose my companion’s manner softened, and what he
had to say gave me fresh life and hope.

“I’m acting for Michael Torrance, sweetheart, in case you’re wondering. He couldn’t buy 
you himself because he wasn’t one of the trusted few but I am. And I’m doing this for him as a
favor. I’m keeping you chained because I can’t trust you. Probably you can’t trust me, either. 
But you’ll be in Michael’s arms and maybe in his bed inside the hour. Think about it.”

I thought about it and tugged at my well-secured wrists in longing to throw my hands and
arms around the neck of my rescuer. Whoever he might be, I owed him a great deal. But all I 
could say was, “I’m grateful, I’m so terribly grateful. Don’t worry about keeping me chained, I 
don’t mind a bit.”

Michael’s greeting, was typical, “You put a dead man to a hell of a lot of trouble, Denise 
my pet. Would have server you right if I had left you at the villa Rose. Looked to me like you 
were having one hell of a good time there. God, what a bunch of beauties!”

He took me in his arms.

I was most comfortingly held for the longest time. The bullet that had struck him down 
had not been fatal, but Alice Murdoc was dead. Her business had been taken over my Betty 
Green. It had taken him this long to discover who kidnapped me and where I was held 
prisoner. The false beard and whiskers had been discarded to reveal his usual handsome self. I
was so damned happy I would have popped.

But Michael was Michael! “You needn’t think you’re getting rid of those chains, sweetheart,
they cost money and I like them. I’ll keep you in them until I tire of them.” He paused to eye 
me shrewdly. “You weren’t expecting me to spend all that money just to set you free, were 
you?”

“Of course I was! Oh, Michael, if only you knew what I’ve gone through!” I clattered my 
chains at him. “You had me kidnapped in the first place because you thought I was stuck up, a 
haughty bitch, loaded with pride. Well, okay, maybe that’s what I was but I’m not that way 
now. You’ve just purchased the most humble and best broken girl in France. Can’t we forget 
this prisoner stuff? I’ll do anything you want.”

“My, my, how are the might fallen! Damn it, this bastard who had you has robbed me of a 
lot of fun. I was looking forward to breaking you myself. Are you quite sure there isn’t a spot 
of rebellion left?”

“I can generate some, if you like.”

Michael was unpredictable. He produced a key and a few moment later the lovely chains 
were clattering to the floor and I was free. As far as I was concerned it was no time to waste 
words. I literally flung myself upon this cynical male who represented my only hope of life, in a
glorious frenzy of kisses. I snuggled my nakedness hard against his deliciously male body.

It was not long before I was picked up and taken to bed.

“Call this rape if you want to,” Michael said, “I’m so damned hungry for you, you’re going 
to get a lot of it.”

I did not call it rape.

Freedom was hard to adjust to. Unconsciously I was forever readying myself for restraint.

It did not seem possible I would be utterly free. In any case, I was uncertain of Michael. He 
had kept me prisoner once and-might again. One day at breakfast with me still naked but free
of bonds, I got a step closer to knowing my fate.

“I’m curious, Denise, my love,” Michael thoughtfully said, “tell me what you hoped for 
when you were kept prisoner and tell me what you expect now. remember I’ve always been a 
bastard and probably won’t ever change.”

“While I was held prisoner this would have been the most glorious possible dream. But 
you have to remember I was held prisoner, I didn’t have much to look forward to at all, expect 
a lifetime of imprisonment. As for what I expect now, I expect nothing, I simply hope you’ll 
take me back to American and marry me. You can hang your handcuffs on the wall as a 
memento of the girl I used to be.”

“Got it-all nicely figured, heh? I did say something about marriage, didn’t I? Okay, I’ll marry
you. You’re not that hard to take, y’know. But nix on hanging up the handcuffs. You know 
damned well I’ll have a use for them.”

“You mean you’ll still keep me prisoner? Even as your wife!”

“Of course. But we can make a game of it. I’ll list the rules and when you break them you 
go to jail or get your bottom caned. How’s that grab you?”

“You mean, every time I irritate you I get whipped?”

“You know me, sweetheart. What else do you expect?”

I swallowed hard and tried to erase disappointment from my face. But after all what 
Michael was offering was a thousand times better than the future I faced with Duval. I told 
myself not to be ungrateful and right there started to think of ways I’d be able to hide the 
whip marks a wife doesn’t usually have on her skin. Demurely I said.

“Okay, it’s a deal. But how are you taking me home? Please don’t handcuff me on the 
plane or have me naked under a raincoat. Please, Michael, give me that much liberty.”

“Okay, you ridiculous female. That’s a deal with me, too. But when I get you safely home 
the first thing I want you to do is offer me your wrists.”

“Okay, I promise.”

I was in love with the world, with Michael and myself. I wanted to talk endlessly of our new
life. With female guile I made a mental reservation to whittle down the punishments I might 
earn when I was Mrs. Michael Torrance. But even if I got a lot of them I would still be better off
than I had been. There wouldn’t be a single one of the seven chained in the big dungeon who 
would not willingly change places. I almost wept for them.

“I’ve got a lifetime with which to amuse myself with you,” said Michael heavily. “But right 
now I’m concerned about this inheritance business. It was something I didn’t know about.

Looks to me like you’ve been robbed.”

“But, Michael, what could I have done?”

“You did the only thing you could, my pet. What I’ve got to do now is reverse the whole 
thing and get your money back. Don’t you realize it could be millions?”

“I realized all right. I also realized we were still in France and well within the Vicompte’s 
reach. What Michael proposed was the very thing Duval most feared-a freed slavegirl who 
could make him trouble. In a shivery premonition I pleaded, “Let’s forget it, Michael. Duval will
be mad and this is his country.”

“No way! You know I’m not exactly a poor man, sweetheart, but this thing Duval 
discovered about you could be big-I mean really big. The first thing we need to do is get you 
someplace safe where he can’t touch you. If I can’t find an honest judge and lawyer over here, 
I’ll get the State Department in on the deal.”

“But, Michael, I’ve never had money and don’t care. Well, never that kind of money. I was 
comfortable. But never even felt a loss over it. And since I thought I was going to be a 
prisoner for life, I didn’t care. Let’s go home.”

“Okay, so we go home. And we get married and I keep you on a leash? Forget the whole 
thing. I’ve got connections and a bit of influence.”

I shook away visions of an angry Satan and we strung up for his whip or hot irons or 
whatever he would use to punish me. I was doing the very thing he was scared of and he’s 
want his own kind of retribution. But Michael was no slough, I’d simply have to place my trust 
in him and watch my step. I knew damned well the best place for me would be in Michael’s 
private prison. But that wasn’t the answer. The next day Michael bought me the loveliest 
clothes and we flew back to the good, old USA. I could have kissed the ground.

I had my own affairs to deal with and a good man raised eyebrows over my prolonged 
absence. But I wasn’t a child and I put my house in order the way I wanted it. I bought tons of 
gorgeous things to wear and reveled in the sensation being free. But every evening I took off 
the fine clothes and presented myself to Michael in the way he most desired.

Michael simply did not believe in clothes for a girl, even his wife. I have to admit I 
sometimes found them stuffy.

It was almost two weeks before I came face to face with Andre Duval at a Consular 
reception, coat tails and chatter. Duval was quite obviously consider a guest of some 
importance. He had a great deal of charm he seldom used but on this occasion was 
dispensing it lavishly. I watched him ingrate himself all around the room. He was aware I 
watched but never gave me even a glance.

I was alone. Michael had business and told me to take the affair in, I’d meet a lot of useful 
people. Because I was alone my first instinct was flight, to make excuses and flee back to the 
safety of Michael’s home. But the inevitable fascination held me rooted in that room.

Since I was being deliberately ignored, I took my courage in my hands and marched up to 
my one time captor to demand, “Hello, Andre Duval, remember me?”

He showed no flicker of emotion and gave no greeting. Instead, he sort picked up where 
we had left off.

“I had hoped to meet you here, Mademoiselle. I trust you are prepared to be my captive 
once again?” There was now a trace of humor in his eye.

“You know I’m not and never will be. You’d best leave me alone. You’re lucky I have 
hollered to the police.”

Duval nodded as though in complete accord. “You have, nonetheless, caused me a great 
deal of embarrassment. You and that shocking vulgar champion of yours. He seemed 
impervious to bullets.”

“Alice Murdoc wasn’t. That was murder. Do you think you can get away with that?”

“The matter is already settled.” He bestowed upon me a Gallic shrug. “The matter of the 
consort of yours is far more serious. It would serve the uncouth lout right if I killed him again. 
This time I would use an extra bullet.”

I was suddenly in a state of cold fear. This man was more than human, beyond our ability 
to harm. I had seen him as Satan, and Satan was what he most certainly was with all Satan’s 
powers. I would never underrate Michael Torrance but this man was the devil incarnate and 
capable of anything. The next thing he said didn’t help one bit.

“Since you will not return to the villa Rose voluntarily, Mademoiselle, I must use force.

Have no doubt of it, dear, you will wear my chains again.”

“I won’t. You’re not that powerful. You need some vulgar Yankee to bring you down a peg 
or two. There’s no way I’m going back to that big room and those chains. If I could get those 
other seven girls out of you clutches, I certainly would.”

“You will not join those delightful young ladies, except perhaps for a brief visit. This escape
of yours and the resultant trouble and expense you have cause me rates you the other 
chamber. I believe you may have heard of it.”

“I suppose it contains the headsman’s ax and block?” I made it as bitter as I could.”

“Alas, no. It contains only three girls of about your own age or a little older. Each of them 
has transgressed in the same manner as you. Each is kept naked with a collar locked upon her 
neck. From it there is a chain fastening her to the wall forever. Apart from the chain the room 
is pleasant. Sometimes one of the girls contrives to smile. But rarely, only rarely.”

“That’s horrible! I don’t how you can live with yourself.”

The smile he bestowed upon me now was so very friendly. “We have a date, you and I, 
Miss Denise Chartrand. Shall we say the day after tomorrow?”

“Drop dead!”

“You would not have spoken to me like that when you wore my chains.”

‘That’s because you kept me frightened all the time. Every girl you have anything to do 
with spends all the time fearing you.”

“I found you satisfactory in bed, perhaps we could make an appointment for this 
evening?”

“You can drop dead on that one, too.”

“If we slip away quietly we can contrive it within the hour. Denise, I have an urgent need to
enter your sex.”

“I can’t say drop dead a hundred times in a row. But please speak sensibly. I’m not going 
to bed with you now or anytime. Forget it!”

Duval nodded in that way he had. “You will have cause to regret these foolish words.

Mademoiselle,” he said, almost with regret. “Have you so soon forgotten pain?”

I had not forgotten. I was in a cold sweat of apprehension right then. Duval was a fiend.

And I would not have been the least surprised if a couple of his henchmen appeared to 
carry me downstairs with no one to say them nay. But he had tired of me and mingled back 
among the crowd without another word. His total assurance added to the fear now burning 
bright within me. There had been nothing sexual about the encounter or anything we said but
its message was starkly clear. Quite soon Monsieur Andre Duval would kidnap me again.

Michael laughed off the whole affair, believing it the last bravado in a closed affair. I did 
not believe him, but I was not going to be a sissy and weep on his shoulder over something 
that might never happen. After what Duval had already done to me it was understandable I 
might be nervous and endow the man with supernatural powers. I tried hard to thrust the 
whole thing back in my mind.

“How’d it be I cane your bottom, sweetheart? It’s a wonderful counter-irritant.”

“Oh, no, Michael, that’s what he wants to do. And, anyway, I don’t want to be all marked 
up for you on our wedding night.”

“Don’t see why not, honey. I’d love it. In fact, if you don’t have any marks at that time, I’ll 
make a point of putting some on your pretty skin. The bride of a bastard like me will never go 
short of marks.”

I treated it as a joke even thought I knew it was not. Michael had not yet punished me 
since our return and I was more and more wearing clothes and going out in a freedom so very
glorious. I had made a previous acquaintance with his barred cage and his room with all the 
stuff a girl didn’t want to see. If I worked at it hard enough, I might yet wean him away from 
his pleasure in causing me pain and his love of putting me in restraint. But this was a thing I 
determined not to push too hard. For the pleasure of being Mrs. Michael Torrance I’d hand 
him the riding crop myself. And refrain from wearing panties. Such pleasurable prospects 
aided me in driving Duval from my thoughts.

For what Michael called “a trial run” he locked me in the barred cell for one whole day 
while he was off on business. Sure, it revived memories but I can’t say I enjoyed it. There were 
no chains, only handcuffs and those in front. But if there had ever been magic there, it had 
departed. I was hot on the trail of being a respectable married woman. And had even allowed 
the unforgivable thoughts of babies to wander through my mind. I didn’t dare talk about 
babies to Michael, he would have whipped me on the spot..

I shopped endless, and Michael often tagged along, making sardonic remarks and kidding 
the salesgirl outrageously. Both he and I were terribly proud of Me. And these jaunts of 
exploration for things by which I might be made prettier and more desirable became a regular
facet of our lives. In the afternoons we indulged in ridiculous English Teas. But if the hour was 
a trifle later, it was cocktails in any handy lounge that tickled our fancy. The dying swan was 
one of these we had often patronized. We did so now.

It’s a gorgeous feeling to be with a man who desires you, a man who thinks enough of you
to make you his wife. I positively wallowed in pure euphoria, it’s a wonderful time for a girl 
and I wanted to make the most of it. Michael’s money made it easy. I had ceased to wonder 
about the mythical millions I had inherited. After our second cocktail I noticed something 
funny about Michael-he was going up and down, and I soon realized I was going up and 
down, too. It was the damnedest sensation and I wanted to reach out my hands and put him 
back in his seat and have him do the same for me. But my hands weren’t working, nor were 
my arms. In fact, nothing was working at all. I vaguely remember putting on a damned silly 
grin for Michael’s benefit as I slumped down.

That was it!

People who tell of regaining consciousness after being drugged go on at great length of 
the sensations and shock. I had that all and there’s no reason to repeat. My first conscious was
of feminine fingers and the sound of chain. Right there I knew the worst.

The seven girls were still there, some regarding me with deepest sympathy while others 
were working to bring me back to life. I didn’t have to ask where I was, I knew were I was all 
too well. And it was no surprise to the find myself naked and locked into another set of those 
lovely chains the same as the other girls. The thing I did ask was, “How long have I been out? 
How the devil did he bring me here?”

“A day and a half. And you crossed the Atlantic strapped tight inside a box. The Vicompte 
has his own plane.”

I was back to square one but the future looked blacker than before. I looked down at the 
shining circlets on my wrists and ankles and felt like crying. But I was too angry with myself to 
shed tears. I had underrated Andre Duval and would now be terribly punished for my 
stupidity.

To the seven girls sentenced to life imprisonment I now had a glamour and interest to 
liven an hour of their boredom. I had escaped and been absent a long time during which I had
reentered life and lived it to the full. They were hungry for what I had to tell. When I had told 
the story of Me several times over we lapsed into speculation of my fate. They knew the 
existence of the other room, the dread dungeon of no return. They told me also of the sad 
little bits and pieces news the servants allowed to escape their lips. They told me breathlessly 
there had been quite a ruckus with the French police and even with a member of the Chamber
of Deputies. Since they remained chained and naked where they were their excitement and 
faint hope died. Everyone in the villa Rose knew his power to remain absolute. Michael and 
the Law had demoted him but that was all.

“None of us will ever get out of here now,” they moaned. “He’ll be scared to sell us, scared 
another man will play the same trick Michael did on you.” They sighed in unison, none 
mentioned the inevitable whipping they were certain I would get. Duval allowed me to stew in
the juices of my own fear and guilt. It was not until the following day that Celie entered the 
stone prison and pointed directly at me.

“Come with me, my little bird. You have an appointment of the most urgent. Our Master 
awaits.”

Duval was alone in the room of punishments, lounging easily in the one comfortable arm 
chair from which he was accustomed to watch a captive girl suffer. He was clad in sleek silk 
pants with a sash, above that he was bare. His Satanic features benign with satisfaction. He 
was a Cobra with its prey secured and who would strike only when ready.

Celie thrust me forward for his attention to compel me to stand awkwardly as a girl does 
when chained. Celie left the room and closed the door.

“Welcome back to France, my dear.” His voice was vibrant with a passion all his own. “I 
trust you are trembling?”

“Yes.”

‘That is as it should be. You expect to be flogged?”

“Yes.”

“And you are determined not to plead?”

“What would be the use? I am already condemned.”

“May I say what a pretty picture you make? Those chains are beautiful, you endow them 
with a vibrant life.”

“Thank you.”

“In this matter of whipping you….” He allowed the words to hover in the air. “Have no 
doubt about it happening. It is of a certainty something you must endure. But I am bored with
scarlet marks and screams. There are other ways to teach a girl never to escape again.”

“But I didn’t escape, not the way you mean! I was taken out of her chained and helpless 
with nothing to say about it. It wasn’t until we were miles away that I learned the truth.”

Desperately I fell to my knees and bowed my head in total submission. “Please don’t 
punish me, I’m deathly afraid of the whip. I’ll do anything rather than have the whip.”

“It would appear so.” His voice was thoughtful. “There is some truth in what you say. But a 
good slave does not accept escape. If freedom is granted her by some misguided person of 
good intent, it is her duty to return to the villa Rose and to her chains. Can you understand 
this?”

“Not really, unless the girl was in love with you.”

“And you are not?”

“You frighten me too much to love you. I admit I’d do anything to be taken to your bed 
but that is a carnal thing, not a fair exchange for freedom.”

“You flatter my prowess. Mademoiselle. I am gratified. I will not punish you as badly as I 
might. Nor will I deny you the possibility of being sold. I know all you girls desire what you see
as the freedom of being sold.”

“Thank you, I really am grateful.” I hesitated before the next question. “Has any escaping 
girl ever stopped and turned around?”

Satan chuckled delightedly. “You believe it impossible but you are not quite sure,” he said 
mockingly. “Actually there was one. For a little while I loved her dearly. She is now a very rich 
young woman living in the south of France. I, too, can show gratitude.”

“You mean … ! If I had told Michael no thanks and come back to you of my own free will 
you would endow me with a life of luxury?”

“I would have used you first. But, yes, that would have been your reward.”

I allowed my mind to dwell on what might have been. But I could never have done it, not 
ever. I shrugged the thought away but asked, “Did you harm Michael, is he all right?”

“He is in the best of health, my dear. But being a nuisance I trust I will not be compelled to 
eliminate him. We will not speak of him again.”

That was that! Michael was alive. But how could I hope he would repeat the miracle of 
extracting me from the villa Rose! I tugged the thought away with all the rest and looked up 
from where I knelt to plead to the man who could do whatever he wanted with me.

“Please don’t whip me, please don’t whip me.”

Andre Duval appeared not to hear a word. He rose and went to the control box on the 
wall. From the ceiling two thin metal columns descended to the floor. They were exactly the 
right distance apart and I knew their use. Everything in this room was designed for the pain of 
girls. My master’s voice was almost gentle. “Your lover removed the iron collar you wore so 
long, now I intend to removed the chains I had placed upon you. For a few moments you will 
be physically free. Will you fight or obey?”

“I will obey, Master.”

Duval raised me to my feet and used his key, the lovely chains fell clattering to the stone 
and I was gloriously free.

“If it pleases you, Mademoiselle, you have my permission to walk around the room for a 
minute or two to savor the last complete freedom you may ever know. Would you like to do 
that?”

“Yes, but I’d feel foolish.” I held out my two hands. “I yield to you, Master. Please do as you
wish with me.”

I am sure the Vicompte Duval loved every moment. His power was supreme and I was 
offering total submission. He took me by one hand and positioned me between the two 
slender poles of metal, pulling out my arm to slight above the level of my shoulder and 
pressing my wrist hard against the pole. The was a click and a snap, and I gasp in shock as my 
wrist was encircled with steel. I could not move it, it was held inflexibly. He did the same with 
my other hand then backed away to admire the effect.

“As I said, Mademoiselle, your beauty makes every thing I do to you a pure joy. You have 
my permission to scream.” Duval spoke the truth, this was no ordinary whipping, no 
commonplace marking of bottom and back. My right foot was dragged out and up, and 
treated in the same manner as my hands to leave me standing on one leg with the other 
outstretched to cruelly expose every sexual thing I had. It wasn’t hard for me to guess the rest!

The whip was a slender thing of several thongs, soft, limber leather made to hurt. I hated it
on sight but had to suppose it would not injure the part of myself Duval used in the dark of 
night.

“You have deduced this punishment, my dear?”

“Yes. Oh, yes! But please be merciful, please don’t do it. I’m frightened half out of my wits, 
isn’t that enough?”

“You know it is not enough, cheri.”

The stroke was swift and accurate. I did not bother to be heroic, I screamed. I became a 
trapped wild thing, heaving and surging against the metal by which I was all too well secured.

“A diverting novelty, don’t you agree?” he asked pleasantly. Then he struck again.

I did not talk, I simply screamed. Something told me a scream would convey my feelings 
beyond words. I gave the Vicompte every scream I had. It went on and one. Every whipping a 
girl ever gets seems always to go on and on forever. When it stopped and I was bathed in 
sweat and panting as if I had run a race, the only mercy Duval offered was to change my 
shaming posture from right foot to left foot. Once again I knew what to expect.

It was such a shaming agony, leaving me no defense of pride. I was simply a package of 
breasts and pubic hair, of sweat-soaked limbs and skin. I was ashamed of the female scent 
enveloping us both. It was not of my wish but was my body’s own declaration of my agony. 
When it was over and both my feet once more were upon the ground, I stood there trembling
with spasm after spasm of uncontrollable nervous stress. Duval stood there to drink in every 
sight and sound and scent of me with what I can only describe as reverence. This strange man 
loved my reactions to his assault upon my loins. Uncaring I sensed that for him, at this 
moment, I gave him the quintessence of all the female beauty in the world.

I was left to stand, not knowing what else might yet befall. I had been whipped but how 
easy it would be to whip me once again! My loins flare fire but my back and bottom and 
breasts had not been touched. Nor had the soles of my feet been whipped to give me the 
pain I feared most of all. I panted and sweated and struggled for maybe fifteen minutes 
before ceasing all effort and bowing my head in defeat. There was no way I was going to get 
free of those two poles.

Duval did not return, instead it was Celie who freed my wrists from the metal clamps.

Carefully she crossed my wrists behind my back and tied them tight. I had no will to resist 
or complain. All she said was, “It is not wise for a girl to escape from the villa Rose, 
Mademoiselle. That is something you will much regret.”

I was so filled with guilt that as these things were done to me they seemed no more than 
right and proper. Without demure I allowed Celie to grasp my arm and lead me from the 
house. I cared not where we went and gave no thought to what would happen to me when 
we got there. My sex, my crotch, my thighs all hurt terribly. Each step I took added to the 
friction and the burn. The area of my hips, my thighs and lower belly now had a life all their 
own, a life of pain. Even out in the open air my sex continued to exude the female perfume of 
which I was bitterly ashamed. I could think of no reason for that presence from my pain other 
than a whip-created lust.

Sunshine always makes a girl feel better regardless of her grief.. It was so now and soon I 
was ignoring my pain to look around in curiosity. The ground upon which the villa Rose was 
built had about it the simply charm of wilderness, Pascal’s ancient attentions were far from 
sufficient to keep it in the nature of a park. There was high grass and rocks, and clumps of 
scrubby trees. When we had advanced far enough for the villa Rose to disappear we came to a
tree which told me of my fate. Around its base a heavy chain was padlocked, at the end of a 
ten foot span of links was an open shackle, a crude thing of heavy iron to make me think of 
the lovely irons of the big dungeon with regret. Celie never wasted words. She stood me as 
she pleased and clasped the open shackle around my right ankle to clamp it tight upon my 
skin and lock it thus with a padlock from her pocket.

Crude as the shackle might be, I noticed that both padlocks were ultra modern and far 
heavier than need be. Once more I was a prisoner but this time in a prison without bars.

I simply stood awaiting whatever else Celie had in store. But she was preoccupied with 
tugging at knots at my wrist. “There, Mademoiselle, I have loosed the most difficult, you can 
do the rest yourself.” There was a meaningful pause before she repeated what she had said 
before, “It is now wise for a girl to escape the villa Rose.” Then she went away.

I felt foolish. It was a lovely day, the world was kind, but there I was a naked girl with hands
tied behind her back and her ankle stoutly fastened to a tree. I advanced the full length of the 
chain and kicked it hard to snub my foot again and again but without making any impression 
other than the clash of links. I gave that up and turned my attention to my hands to find out if
Celie was being mean or if I truly had a chance to get them free. For the first few minutes I 
could not tell. I tugged and twisted against the familiar chaff, and mutter to myself. I was 
about to give up when the first trace of slack gave birth to hope. I persevered, and after 
maybe thirty minutes got back the use of my hands. I massaged the circles around my wrists. 
Then, most tenderly, I explored the whipped lips over my sex and my crotch. It does no good 
to thus assess one’s flesh, but is an instinctive thing which gives small comfort and does no 
harm. When that was over, I grasp my tethering chain with both hands and tugged with all my
strength. It was a waste of time, that chain would have held an elephant. I stood nakedly in 
the woodland and knew I have explored every possibility and this was the way I was going to 
be. I shivered, not from cold but from an awful premonition.

The punishment was cleverly devised. I spent my days in utter boredom and my nights in 
nightmare filled sleep. No one came near and the can of water and chunk of bread I had 
discovered after arrival had to do me for an indefinite time. Most certainly I was not going to 
put on weight. I never saw a soul. My bread and water ration was replenished every second or 
third night by a mute and shadowy figure I could never see. It came while I was asleep. I am 
ashamed now to think of how humble I become. I wore that shackle on my foot as I might 
have worn a burning brand, that shackle was my life!

My first couple of days and nights chained to the tree were devastating in boredom and a 
sense of being isolated from the world. But each day after that deepened my terrible 
realization that I could be fastened thus for life. No one would find me, no one would care.

The water and bread would keep me alive but I would spend the weeks, months and years 
in a captivity worse than anything in the villa Rose’s dungeons. Oh, but for the company of the
seven girls in the huge stone chamber. I could easily imagine myself becoming mentally 
unbalanced like a wild, trapped creature. It was frightening.

I lost count of days. Goodness knows they dragged slowly enough, but there was so many 
of them, and each of them, like a fiery brand upon my mind, told me no slavegirl should ever 
try to escape from the villa Rose. I played over and over in myjnind what was becoming a 
favorite fantasy of myself saying goodbye to Michael and returning to the Vicompte and villa 
Rose to offer my limbs to be once more chained, and parting my thighs for his approval. There
wasn’t much else to do in those sad days but dream.

I was being taught a lesson, that’s what the whole thing amounted to. As the lonely days 
slipped by I became more and more convinced of being chained like this for life. Except for 
the sunshine it was a far worse fate than the dungeons might have offered. I would gladly 
have exchanged my present lot for the collar around my neck chained to the wall with a 
dungeon where hope was dead. At least I would have the comfort of other girls. We could 
touch each other’s flesh and dream of possibilities, and talk endlessly of what was past. But 
here among the trees I was only lonely. Sometimes my visitor in the night left a slip of paper 
on which was inscribed always the same message, “No girl escapes from the villa Rose.”

I read the bitter message and sometimes wept.

At the end I was told my time chained to the tree was thirty days, I could hardly believe it 
was only that. A hundred would have seemed more the right number. When the shackle was 
unlocked Celie had to guide me to whatever punishment came next. The most terrible part of 
the whole thing was I had nothing to look forward to, nothing! Except a continuing 
punishment I had earned by acting naturally. I was taken to Duval’s office. Celie had tied my 
hands behind my back but that was all.

“You enjoyed the sylvan interlude, Mademoiselle?”

I had made up my mind what to say, delivering my message as forcefully as I could. “I 
cannot bear your punishments, Monsieur, they are killing me. I beg of you either forgive me or
end my life. Please, please, please!”

The force in my statement impressed. “I will never kill you, Mademoiselle, you are 
distraught and I make allowances. Your time chained to the tree was to tell you the 
uselessness of freedom. You were away from the villa Rose but you were not happy. I would 
venture you would like to be in the stone chambers with the other girls. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“You see, everything is relative and by degree. The three delinquent maidens I keep 
chained in dungeon number two believe they suffer the very nadir of despair yet you would 
join them willingly as opposed to having your ankle locked with a chain.”

“Does that prove anything except that you can break any girl as you have broken me.

Please take me to bed. Please rivet back on my hands and feet those chains that once I 
wore when working in your kitchen. I will gladly return to your kitchen and serve you as best I 
may. Please be a little kind.”

Duval’s gaze never wavered, eating hungrily of whatever it was he saw in me. He pressed a
button to summon Celie and I knew I had lost whatever battle it was we fought.

With my hands tied behind my back I was easy to control. When the final, most massive of 
the dungeon doors within the villa Rose opened I was breathless and shivering with fright.

It was a smaller stone prison than that which held the seven other girls, but was large 
enough for decorating its wall were three naked females, each with a collar, a massive iron 
collar locked around her throat and tethered by an equally massive chain to a ringbolt in the 
wall. Each was naked. Each surveyed us in sudden hope which died quickly when they saw my 
bound hands. Without a single word, Celie fitted and locked around my neck an iron collar 
brutal in its weight and from it hung the awful chain by which I became the fourth sad 
creature to share my life with the others in a captivity as cruel as it was useless.

Without bothering to untie my hands she left, thudding home the door.

We stared, four girls who’s life had been stolen by a man. The three spanned an age group
from twenty-seven to around thirty-five. The girl closest to me said, “Come over to me and I’ll 
untie your hands. I think our chains will let us reach.”

I backed to where willing fingers found the knots by which my hands were held. When the 
rope fell to the floor I turned to embrace my benefactor in gratitude but the collar on my neck
snubbed me short. It was a case of so near and yet so far. Smiling in sardonic understanding, 
the girl explained, “They do it to us on purpose. We can just manage to touch and that’s all. 
We are denied anything else and that’s what matters. You poor thing, I’m terribly sorry.”

They had been chained as they were from one to seven years, their bread and water diet 
had kept them lean and lovely, but their faces mirrored hopelessness. None of them expected 
freedom anymore. They wanted to know if their stories were the same as mine. I realized that 
in seven years I would like exactly as the oldest of them looked now, all youth faded from my 
face. All of us were free except for the collar on our necks. That collar was enough!

“But he can’t possible keep us prisoners like this all our lives!” I said with feeble hope.

“Why not? He’s kept Stella here for seven years. He has all the power he needs in this part 
of the world. No one will question him. Darling, make the best of it, we’re here forever.”

“But why doesn’t he sell us like the others? Like he sold me?”

“He probably doesn’t need the money that bad. And each of us has proven an enemy in 
the one escape me managed. Forget it, darling, we’re not going to get out of here. Try and 
love the collar around your neck, it’s all you’ve got.”

We spent our days talking. It was better than the tree. Our enemy was hopelessness. Had 
be been imprisoned thus for a week or a month or even a year, we might have been happy in 
each other. But it was the fact that we knew we would spent endless years here that hurt. At 
night we engaged in contortions to make possible the comfort a girl may give a girl. Whoever 
had determined the length of our chain had known exactly how far a girl could stretch. No 
doubt they were laughing, we were not!

I thought a lot about Michael as the days slowly passed. I would sit against the wall, 
fingering my chain and dreaming pretty dreams. All four of us did this. But what could Michael
do against the authority of this local prince in a distance land? Even if he broke his way into 
the villa Rose and smashed down the door of my dungeon to discover me and my three 
captive maidens, there would remain the chain and the collar. Both were far too heavy to be 
cut by ordinary tools. It would take the key and only Monsieur Duval had the key! It was at this
point my dream ended every time.

But my punishment was not yet done.





CHAPTER ELEVEN - The Final Punishment


My three fellow damsels in distress were agog with interest when my collar was unlocked and 
Celie led me from the place I might not die in after all. I was eager,, anxious for anything to 
counter the hopelessness of the collar and chain. Without preamble Celie told me frankly I was
to be punished further since his highness considered that I had not yet paid enough and 
should carry with me a few more marks and memories into my life imprisonment. I simply 
shrugged, nothing mattered any more.

The first thing I saw upon entering Duval’s office was Hester, the girl who had been kind to
me at the house of Betty Green. She was sitting across from Andre Duval in animated 
conversation, fully attired but with a quaint air of incongruity there were handcuffs on her 
wrists. Celie propelled me forward then stare in disbelief.

“I believe you two know each other?” Duval was his usual serpent self, looking from one to
the other of us like a friendly uncle. “This young lady from America has a most interesting 
suggestion, originated by the most irritating young man who thinks himself in love with you. 
Please sit down.”

I sat down. I also felt unusually naked before these eyes so wild in knowledge of 
something I did not know. It was also hard to be accustomed to an absence of restraints.

And I constantly fingered my neck where the heavy iron had circled it so recently.

Hester, almost apologetically, held up her handcuffed wrists. “I’m wearing these as a good 
will gesture, a token of sincerity.”

“She will soon loose her clothes and be properly ironed,” Duval added pleasantly as 
though speaking of lunch. “I suggest she tells her story in her own words.” He made a courtly 
gesture to his handcuffed guest. “If you please, my dear?”

Hester was remarkably self-possessed as she accepted her role as guest, unconcerned by 
chained hands. “You’ll think this nuts, darling. Betty Green says its nuts but tells me to give you
her love. I know I’m going to regret what I’m doing but it’s too late. I won’t be able to do 
anything so it doesn’t matter.”

Looking at me, Duval inquired with sly humor, “A most delightful young woman. A very 
acceptable guest. I’m debating in which of my guest rooms she should take up residence.”

“Let her go,” I said fearfully. “She hasn’t hurt you, she isn’t a menace to you. You haven’t 
any reason to keep her prisoner the way you have with me.”

“Hold on, sweetheart! No need to blow your top yet.”

Hester seemed actually to enjoy strange condition. “Let me tell you the deal before you 
judge.”

The words came from Hester lips in sweet simplicity but bizarre enough to hold me 
breathless. “Michael Torrance wants you out. He wants you in his arms, or where ever it is he 
keeps you. He hasn’t managed to get you free from the villa Rose by either force or 
diplomacy. That’s why I’ve here like this.”

I wanted to scream at Hester to run, to go while she still could. But there was something 
strange in the wind and I was nakedly helpless to do anything about it. I found it surprising I, 
too, was not handcuffed. I contented myself with simply saying, “It sounds crazy but please go
on. Am I likely to have anything to say about anything when you’re through?”

“Why else would you be here, my dear?” Duval gently reproved.

“Celie said she was bring me to you to be punished again, that you figured I deserved it”

“Indeed you do! I let you off all together too easily. But this final punishment will be 
spoken of later. Please now listen to our guest.”

“It’s really very simple,” Hester said. “Michael wants you. He’s willing to pay me a huge sum
of money to take your place as prison to Monsieur Duval but only on condition that Monsieur 
Duval places a time limit on imprisonment. The period we are discussing is five years.”

“You’re right, it’s crazy! I’d never accept such a sacrifice from anyone. Thanks, Hester, but 
pack up and go straight home. Give Michael my love.”

The tone of Hester’s voice changed. “Can you believe, Denise, I really want to do this. I 
want the money. It’s terribly much money, far more than I’ll ever see in my life. I’m not 
suppose to tell you how much, so I won’t.”

“Five years of your life for money!”

“I’ll hack it out okay, don’t you worry. Remember, my imprisonment with Betty Green was 
for life. I’d never have got away from being an unpaid whore. By the way, Betty has given me 
my freedom to come to the villa Rose. Some sort of arrangement with Michael. That guy sure 
must have a lot of money.”

“I have agreed to Mr. Torrance’s suggestion,” Duval broke in. “Hester will serve your 
sentence for five years and will then be set free to enjoy her wealth the rest of her life.

You, my dear Denise, will be set free immediately, and you will refrain from giving me 
further trouble with your complaints to the authorities. If you don’t, you will know that Hester 
is being quite shockingly punished on your behave.”

I was sitting on the edge of my chair and breathing heavily. It was such a neat package but
I was overwhelmed by the implications for both of us. What a sacrifice!

“I don’t think you understand, Hester, what you’re letting yourself in for. You’ll share a 
dungeon with three other girls and have to put up with the very heaviest iron collar on your 
neck and a heavy iron chain fastening you to the wall. It will be with you for the whole five 
years!”

“Is it that much different from Betty Green’s place? I was chained there all the time until I 
became a trustee, remember? Remember how you were chained? At least in the dungeon of 
Monsieur Duval I’m not going to be screwed by every Tom, Dick and Harry.”

“By me alone, sweet dear.” Duval’s interjection was filled with promise.

“I’m not a virgin,” Hester told him candidly. “I’m a working girl from a whore house and 
one man is far better than a hundred. If that is okay with you?”

“I will favor you with my bed from time to time, Mademoiselle. At my bidding you can be 
released from either dungeon and from the delightful girls who will keep you company there. 
I’m not yet sure in which room you will be placed but rest assured you will be in one or the 
other. I have sentenced Denise to life, but in this new arrangement I will make your 
imprisonment as tolerable as may be. The whole new plan will have the advantage of ridding 
me of the constant persecution of Mr. Torrance. I want no more of his international business 
harassment. It would appear to the best solution to several people’s problems.”

He looked directly at me. “I trust you agree. Mademoiselle Denise?”

“I won’t accept such a sacrifice, she doesn’t know what she’s getting into.”

The Vicompte pursed his lips. “If you wish to be difficult about this, I can have you tossed 
naked into the road beyond the gate while this pleasant woman takes your place. A sensible 
girl would jump at the chance.”

No doubt Duval was right. Hester’s eyes implored. I began to guess the possibility of sanity
in the choice. With Betty Green the five years would bring her neither freedom nor wealth. 
Duval’s dungeons would bring her both. The decisions of girls who had been subjected to 
what Hester and I had endured could never be conventional. Any resolve would be colored by
the whip and chain, and thin cord tight upon wrists and ankle. For the first time since the 
discussion began I had a glimpse of myself in Michael’s arms, a return to that brief, glorious 
freedom before Duval kidnapped me the second time. My pulse accelerated with the once 
familiar heat within my loins. Hester and I shared a smile which told us both what I would do.

“There remains the question of the punishment you mentioned earlier, Denise my dear.”

Duval allowed the words to hover ominously.

“I’ll take over Denise’s punishment, also,” Hester said with firm decision. “Michael figured 
on something like this and took it into account in the money I’ll get.”

“I don’t even know what the punishment is,” I said quickly.

The Vicompte smiled his serpent smile. “The letter D branded between your breasts, dear 
girl. Is it not appropriate?”

I sat stunned, feeling the world slipping away beneath my feet. I looked at the master of 
the villa Rose askance. “You mean … with a red-hot iron?”

“The branding instrument will be electric, dear child, it will provide a far more legible brand
within you skin than the crude methods of ancient days. I could have you drugged until you 
would feel nothing. But that would rob us both. A girl being thus branded screams 
distressingly. You will therefore be gagged.”

A terrible sickness was turning my stomach, shattering my nerves.

Branded with my master’s initial between my breasts! It was unthinkable. “Must you be so 
cruel?” I muttered. “That’s a terrible punishment. There’s no way I would allow Hester to 
accept that. I’m not sure I could live with myself knowing she was chained her in the villa Rose,
but to bear the hot iron instead of me … !” I looked from to the other. “No way!”

“Don’t matter,” Hester snapped. “I’ve already said yes.”

“This matter was discussed before you were brought her,” Duval told me simply. “Madame 
Hester is a courage young woman. You must not rob her of either her martyrdom or her 
money.”

“It’s outrageous. You can’t possibly do it!”

It was as though I had not spoken. Duval’s voice was almost dreamy. “I have a most 
personal interest in this, Denise. Think of it, you will go from me to the arms of another man 
and every time he beholds your nakedness he will see my name in a fine, large letter between 
your breasts. If I forgo this you should give me credit.”

Silence gripped us. No girl wants to be branded. And I’m sure Hester and I were each 
debating in our minds as to how such agony might be avoided. Neither of us had the answer 
until Duval’s voice once more took possession. “Perhaps, dear ladies, the tossing of a coin?”

Hester’s retort was instant, “I’ll call it heads.” Andre Duval tossed the coin to make it fall 
upon the carpet where all could see. It came up heads.

It did not even occur to me to ask for mercy.

Duval liked Hester, I could tell. Perhaps her soiled quality appealed to some perversity in 
his soul. I suspected there would be a good many night when she would be freed from the 
chain and collar to share his bed and endless sexual virility. His interest in me had waned with 
the sealing of my fate. I would be branded tomorrow and sent back to America as soon as my 
wound was beyond infection. I sat naked and free and trembling with dread while the master 
of the villa Rose discussed with Hester the punishment he might impose during the five years 
of her sentence. The Vicompte Andre Duval was a prime number one son of a bitch. Other 
girls might be screaming in hysterics by now but Hester and I were well conditioned. Nothing 
was too bizarre to believe in.

When Hester now came out, hesitant and embarrassment with an out of this world 
reflection, I could actually understand her point of view. “I’ve been thinking about our 
decision,” she said cautiously. “It wasn’t really Denise who lost the toss. It was me. I won’t 
qualify for as much money as I might have if I go home in five years without a brand.

Michael will pay more for my taking Denise’s punishment, he made that clear.”

“The decision as to which of you gets branded has already been made,” said the Vicompte 
briskly. “Leave it be.”

Hester actually contrived a small laugh. “Well, yes, I can understand your wanting to send 
Denise back to her lover with your initial between her breasts. But I’m thinking of an awful lot 
of money, a sum of cash that means an awful lot to a girl like me.” She paused to gaze back 
and forth from Duval and myself with anxious eyes. “Would I seem too crazy if I asked you to 
brand me, too?”

“Hester!” I would have said more had not Duval held up a warning hand.

“I find such honesty appealing.” He gave us both his most benign approval. “I will be 
interested to observe who each of you react to the burning brand.”

He was impossible, we could never get the best of him. Whether it was he or one of his 
servants who branded our flesh, I could sense his personal interest. He would probably take 
one of us to bed at the very peak of the agony from the hot iron. But I said nothing, there 
didn’t seem much to say.

Andre Duval rose to his feet. “I think it only proper and desirable for me to give you two 
girls a tour, particularly Mademoiselle Hester.” He fixed Betty Green’s former inmate with his 
eagle eye. “Among other things I will show you where and how you will spend your next five 
years. I am not famous for mercy or tolerance, but after you have seen your fate I will allow 
you to depart from the villa Rose without hindrance should you so desire.

Believe me, I am making a concession.” His eyes ignored my nakedness but dwelled upon 
Hester’s fully clothed figure. “You will now remove your clothes.”

Hester was not surprised. I expect she had been waiting for something like this and knew 
she would be reduced to nakedness sooner or naked. She stated the obvious. “I will obey your
wish but I am handcuffed. Would you please … ?”

“No, I will not. You will disrobe handcuffed as you are. You will have to tear some of the 
garment.”

Hester shrugged. She had the Vicompte figured. Betty Green’s place had robbed her of 
illusions. Looking her master squarely in the eye, she reached up to her shoulder and 
deliberately tore her covering until her shoulders were bare in a strip act far more potent than 
any other. Duval followed every move with intense concentration. And when the last garments
fell away and Hester’s shoes were kicked aside, she raised her chained hands to clasp them 
behind her neck and trust her breasts arrogantly at the men who now owned her. I gasped at 
the confrontation, it would be surprising if Monsieur Duval did not immediately take his new 
recruit to bed. But, after all, he owned more naked girls than most men ever see. Hester would
simply be one more. Reluctantly he turned to me. “Is there not something lacking in you 
costume, Mademoiselle Denise?”

I shrugged and extended my hands, wondering why he had taken this long. The familiar 
handcuffs bit my wrists and were clicked tightly to a point just short of hurting.

Mechanically I paid lip service, “Thank you, Master. I should have remained you, the fault is
mine.”

The master of the villa Rose and a pair of naked, handcuffed girls began their tour.

Hester and I had no need of words, we said it all with shrugs and anxious eyes. She could 
not help but be impressed by what she saw, although to me it was all too familiar and I 
listened to our master’s speak about his playthings and their uses with a cynical memory of 
my own pains and agonies in what he now extolled. I tried to enjoy our tour in the knowledge,
or better still, in my hope, it would only be a part of my life for one more day.

Between me and freedom was only the burning brand between my breasts. I wished only 
that it could be an “M” instead of Duval’s “D”. I think if a girl loved a man enough she would 
be happy to bear his brand forever.

Our guided tour had a grand finale. I knew what it was and Hester probably guessed.

Andre Duval flung up the dungeon door with a crashing of bolts and a flourish. Among 
other things he was a showman. Two handcuffed maidens obeyed the sweep of his lordly 
hand and walked into one of the saddest places in the world to be greeted by three pairs of 
eyes but not a single word. As though directed by unspoken words, I knelt beside my chain 
while his majesty clasp the heavy iron around my neck and clicked it shut. The sound of the 
locked was a life sentence in itself. Motivated by the same compulsion, Hester did the same, a 
new collar was fitted on her neck with the same fatal sound of doom.

“Welcome to the villa Rose, dear ladies,” the Vicompte said with a grand flourish. “Please 
feel at home. My house is your house.” He went away with a clash of bolts and click of locks.

There were two simulations of crosses in the silent room. Hester was bound naked to one 
and I to the other. It was not truly a cross but simply heavy timbers, one vertical and one 
horizontal. We stood with our backs to them, our arms spread wide and tightly tied, our 
bellies concave under stress and roped back to the timber again and again to insure we could 
make no motion between our naval and our neck. Our arms are already secured at wrists, 
elbows and near our shoulders. Breathlessly we had said what little there was to say.

“That bastard’s actually going to brand us! I didn’t think he would!” That from Hester.

“If he says something, he’ll do it for sure. We’re going to wear a big, beautiful ‘D’ for the 
rest of our lives.” That from me.

There seemed to be nothing more to say. Our knees and ankles had been bound tight 
back to the post so there was nothing we could do with them. I remembered horror films 
about a girl named Hester Prim who was branded by the Puritans with the letter “A”. It was an 
“A” for adultery. But Hester and I were not guilty of even that. We were being branded by our 
master’s whim. As usual we had to wait.

The structures to which we were bound had cunning refinements. The one I was bound to,
and Hester’s too, was bend slightly backwards, just enough to thrust out our breasts and 
spread them for the glowing iron’s hot kiss within their clef. When Andre Duval strolled in, he 
was accompanied by the smith and his helper, carrying a brazier alive with glowing coals. The 
smith appeared bored but carried the branding iron as his badge of office. He surveyed us 
tightly bound nudities with approval.

The gags came first before the agony. I recognized them as the most modem and efficient 
of the Duval collection. I did not bother to protest but opened my mouth to allow the clamp 
upon my tongue, follow by the cheek distending wad of wet cloth, and then the lovely soft 
leather capturing my lips to be strapped tight behind my neck. I would make no sound!

It is not pleasant to watch a glowing brazier filled with coals and to see the iron thrust 
deep within the heat and to know it would soon imprint itself between my breasts. Hester and
I had to witness this for a while before it was made clear we were just being deceived as a 
minor pleasantry to amuse our capricious owner. Our real enemy was an instrument the smith 
handled with great respect and from which there trailed a long electric cord to an outlet in the
wall. Here there was no crude red-hot threat but instead a product of our modem age. I 
wondered how many girls would bear the mark from that.

“Behold the fire and the iron,” Andre Duval said pleasantly. “Such crudities are not for you.

I want the imprint on your skin to last you a life but never to be less than an atheistic 
compliment to the contours of your bodies.” He raised a sardonic eyebrow. “I trust you are 
grateful.”

We said, yes, we were grateful. And I expect it was true. And that hot iron deep within the 
glowing coals was giving me the willies. The alternative might be bloody awful but I had to 
believe it wouldn’t hurt half as bad or leave such a blotch on our skins. I nodded a dutiful 
thank you, and watched the smith test his electric horror with a wet finger which did not yet 
give him the message to commence.

“This is a memorable moment for all of us,” Andre Duval stated eloquently. “You will be 
grateful you cannot scream.”

I tried hard to move but could not. I was held tight at every point or place where motion 
might destroy the Vicompte’s interest in marking us for life. The one exception was my head. 
No doubt I would toss it from side to side in anguish when the anguish came.

I was first to receive the iron. The smith stood before me, still licking his finger and testing 
the readiness of his iron. This modern method of placing a mark upon female skin lacked the 
drama of the glowing coal. The whole formation of the letter “D” was thin and narrow which, 
as Duval explain, was to insure a neat and permanent mark. I saw it approach but in total 
disbelief that this was really happening to Denise Chartrand. It had to be to some other girl-it 
had to be!

When the somewhat less than red instrument was pressed between my breasts with the 
smith thrusting hard to insure both accuracy and the penetration of my skin I screamed and 
screamed again but made no sound. Someone was counting. Through the dark silence of pain
I heard the measured tones, “One, two, three….” Beyond the count of five the iron was 
carefully withdrawn. There was the odor of burning girl. I longed to faint but could not. The 
smith’s helper sprayed something from a can upon my chest. I think it helped the charred and 
screaming flesh.

I watched the same thing done to Hester.

Throughout the whole infliction neither of us had moved.

We remained against the posts the whole afternoon but the smith and his helper were 
kind enough to free our ankles, our knees and to take the constricting ropes from our 
shoulders to leave us still bound at waist, wrists and elbows. They removed the gags. But we 
could not move our breasts.

“Is much best your brand be in open air,” the smith informed dispassionately. “Is also best 
you do not move. We leave you fixed.”

We received another spray, it really did help. It was repeated from time to time by a 
frightened female servant who refuse to speak and hurried away. When Hester had recovered 
enough to speak her first words were jubilant.

“Denise, darling, I’ve just made a quarter of a million dollars.”

“You mean that’s what Michael paid you to take my place?”

“That’s right. But I won’t get it until my time is up. Michael promised to put it out at 
interest so it will be a lot more.” There was a silence. “But, oh darling, I never thought it would 
hurt this bad!”

“The trouble is he branded me, too,” I pointed out soberly. “I’ll have to do some tall talking
to make him believe Duval branded us both with no choice. Oh, damn, this hurts like I 
wouldn’t believe!”

“Weren’t those gags terrible, Denise! I’m damned glad he had the decency to let us take 
while we’re tied here. The next thing is he has to send you home, and I’ll get put in with those 
three girls.”

Hester sighed, not unhappily. “Gosh, darling, I do envy you. Michael really loves you even 
if he is a bastard from time to time.”

We talked back and forth as defense against the pain. As the hours passed the pain 
lessened. I was tied so tight I couldn’t get a good look at myself. And the way we were tied 
gave us only a sideways glimpse at each other. I longed for a mirror at thought of which the 
embers of my fire rekindled down below. I had been branded, the worst was over!

I wondered why I was not elated. I was going to be free but the realization refused to gel. I
was bothered by Michael’s vast sacrifice of wealth on my behave, and by Hester’s blithe 
tossing away of five years of her youth. It all seemed so terribly wrong. Andre Duval still 
loomed in my mind as a force which still held Hester and I and could easily hold us forever, 
bearing his brand and wearing his chains. My tummy tied itself in knots at the thought of how
puny Hester and I were against his power. We had only a verbal contract to tell of our 
freedom. I shivered at the thought of his brand between my breasts, a cynical mark to tell 
Michael forever of Duval’s ownership.

It was Celie who came to untie my arms before snapping the handcuffs on my wrists. She 
did the same for Hester and laughingly herded us from the room as a pair of lambs to 
slaughter. We were too hurt and sore and tired to either resist or protest. The branding had 
diminished us, and the effect of handcuffs on a tired girl is such as to make her feel that 
everything is hopeless. Hester and I looked at the fiery “D” we would bear forever in our skin, 
in the flaming letter between her breasts I saw a mirror of my own.

It as the large stone chamber with its seven girls. They stood wideeyed with horror to 
watch Hester and I chained with the exquisite chains of that dungeon. Their eyes, in terrible 
fascination, focused on the brands which Celie told us should remain open to the air. Our 
chains would happily inhibit our prying fingers from doing harm. When she had shackled us 
and gone her way, we answered the questions as best we could, and were forced to admit to 
them our doubts as to our future, especially mine. Being chained with eight other girls behind 
stone and bars seemed far from promised freedom. Surrounded by all these chained nudities, 
the word freedom seemed silly.

With the coming of night the eight girls and I entered a world of disbelief.

The opening of the door was always an event. Our disbelief began when we beheld none 
other than Madame Jolie surveying us in grim disapproval. She held a bunch of keys.

While Madame Jolie unchained us her comments were bitter and sincere. “This branding 
of so beautiful a girl is not to be tolerated, I spit upon it.”

Shackles fell away from maiden limbs rapidly as the buxom housekeeper vented spleen in 
a flow of Gallic anger. “Too long I have done nothing. Too long have I delayed the thing I do 
tonight.” As the final fetter fell to the stone she announced grandly the single word, “Come!”

Madame Jolie had planned well. All of us were provided with adequate clothing and were 
marched to the gate of the villa Rose like a small feminine army intent on doing battle.

When Monsieur Duval, as might have been expected, barred our path the queen of his 
kitchen produced from her heavy skirt an old-fashioned rolling pin and struck him down.

He fell without a sound, a victim of surprise and a conviction of his own power. Our little 
army marched victorious into night. As we passed the inert figure of the man on the stone, the
man who had treated us so cruelly, I stared straight ahead. I did not want to see.

On our way to the main gate, Madame Jolie informed us further. ‘The three in the other 
dungeon I cannot help. It is regrettable but I have no key and their chains are far too massive 
to be cut. We must leave them to their fate. It is so sad.”

The keeper of the main gate met the same fate as his master, defeated by the unexpected 
he fell to Madame Jolie’s weapon. He fell like a log and we passed with flags flying and 
beating hearts.

“Behold, I have the small bus to take us to where we must go,” Madame Jolie said proudly 
and pointed to the small shadow in the gloom.

It was right there I missed Hester.

I was not truly surprised. Hester had returned to complete her bargain and collect her 
cash. The poor girl must have needed or wanted that money desperately. But I knew there was
another factor involved. She had been possessed by Satan and returned to his embrace. 
Madame Jolie’s weapon would not leave Andre Duval out for long. He was a strong and 
potent man. Suddenly I was jealous!

Madame Jolie, who had defeated the Vicompte and his gatekeeper, was a match for any 
young woman who couldn’t make up her own mind. I had not realized how far I had fallen 
behind until her grip upon my arm brought be back to reality. Madame Jolie held handcuffs 
and a moment later they were tight upon my wrists.

“You are a girl of the most silliness,” she announced in vexation. “That man is the Devil 
himself. He calls you back. Do you not believe I know his power over what you keep between 
your legs! Come, I make sure you do not run.”

Entering the bus with its excited cargo, our rescuer freed one of my wrists to attach my 
other wrist to a metal part of the seat before me. Stupidly, I looked at one hand free and one 
imprisoned in metal. I sat among the laughter of seven girls and wished I was laughing, too, 
asking myself why I wasn’t.

Amid such a Babel of girlish joy I could not think. My mind was chaotic with conflicting 
emotions. I tugged at my secured hand but couldn’t free it. I would not escape. The bus 
started its journey down the road, Madame Jolie was suddenly a presence at my side.

“It is for the best, ma petite chou. One day you will thank an old woman for her wisdom.

Leave Satan where I struck him down. You are the luckiest of girls.”

Maybe she was right.

The branded “D” between my breasts burned fiercely bright.


The End
