HIT-190 Punishment Of Pride
By F.E. Campbell


CHAPTER ONE - A Very Strange Girl

I first met Ginevera when I went to visit Clair at the house at Malorie. Someone had named
the place Tintagel, which as apt enough even without King Arthur and his round table. The 
place looked as if it had been there a long time. Tintagel and its surrounding park was mellow.

Clair was not at home. Clair forgets easily, and sometimes conveniently. It did not matter. I 
met Ginevera instead. The Stewards live in State. I didn’t just happen upon Ginevera, I was 
announced by the family butler who, having performed his function, withdrew to leave me 
staring at a picture I will always remember.

Ginevera had been reading but now stood in greeting. I could not tell you what she wore 
other than it added to her magic. There was not a great deal of it and what there was 
accentuated the slenderness of her waist and above all her firm, young breasts which sought 
to free themselves of the flimsy covering. Everything about Ginevera was right!

She fitted Tintagel as does a glove upon a hand. Or perhaps it was the other way around 
that Tintagel fitted her. Massive dark brown hair fell to caress a cheek and touch a breast.

The huge brown eyes were wide and very wise. Ginevera was ageless, she might have been
twentyfive.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Lord, but Clair isn’t home. Mostly she’s away someplace. Please do 
stay for Tea.” Her rich young voice was as of bells ringing within a forest glade. She extended 
hands in welcome.

It was then I saw the handcuffs!

They were not handcuffs at all. To call them handcuffs would upset a mood. They were 
wide silver bands encircling each wrists and closely joined by two silver links. None of the 
familiar names such as chains, fetters, or irons seemed appropriate. I though to them then as 
handcuffs and that term must suffice. But even that first swift glance told me they were of 
solid weight. With a bit of swift thinking I clasp them both.

“You must call me Ginny, Mister Lord. Everyone else does and Clair insists.”

There is nothing conventional about Clair. We who pay homage at the shrine are not 
shocked. Ginny was the most charming shock Clair has thrust upon me to date. I let her place 
me on the couch and watched in awe as she arranged her loveliness at the far end.

“Please don’t allow my joined hands to embarrass you. Mister Lord, Clair keeps me 
restricted like this all the time.”

“One of her jokes? Instant shock for visitors?”

“Not really, I’m afraid they’re terribly read. I can’t get them off and neither can you. Clair 
calls them restraints. I suppose it’s as good a word as any.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand?”

“There’s no need to understand anything, Mister Lord. Just enjoy what you see. I’ve told 
I’m attractive … And my hands fastened the way you see them are suppose to be an added 
erotic extra. I’ll ring for Tea.”

I felt myself privileged even though Clair walked through the door right now to claim 
attention, she could not rob me of what I had already seen. Ginevera was exquisite! There 
were things I had to learn.

What we chatted about I do not recall. But it was an intelligent exchange while my eyes 
were riveted upon the lovely chained hands pouring tea with ease, unconcerned by loss of 
liberty. Undoubtedly Ginevera made play with her sliver shackles to impress. I was aware of 
being tested. There was a mischief in this girl entirely out of keeping with her condition.

I was certain Clair was laughing somewhere in the wings. Like a yokel off the farm, I 
stammered, “You are very beautiful.”

“I’m so pleased you think so,” she said as the held up her hands. “And these, do they add 
or subtract?”

“They add tremendously … Or am I being silly?”

“You are not being silly, they are suppose to add. I was simply curious. Will you come and 
visit me again. It gets lonely when I wander around Tintagel in Clair’s restraints. I enjoy your 
company.”

“But you are not truly confined.” I felt as if invading privacy. “You could leave with me. Do 
you wish to?”

Again the sweet laughter. “I know, you must think me silly. I could walk out of Tintagel 
anytime and I suppose someone could get these things off my wrists. But there are reasons … 
Don’t ask me about them.”

Ginevera seemed suddenly clothed in mystery. If I was not to ask about the metal on her 
wrists, I was inhibited. There were plenty of things to talk about. At the forefront was Clair!

But I sensed a privacy I should not invade. I enjoyed Ginevera and her hands becomingly 
captive in their silver bands for as long as seemed appropriate before departure. Once more I 
clasped two hands instead of one.

I had left Tintagel but Ginevera remained a haunting presence in my mind. Ginevera was a 
mystery, a beautiful mystery, and the silver bracelets she wore so gracefully held the promise 
of a story. They were not costume jewelry and her innocent admission to not being able to get
them off whetted my curiosity. A week later and without an excuse I visited Tintagel again.

Clair was once more absent but this was good. I wished to learn all I could from Ginevera 
before confronting Clair with what I knew. Ginevera was the same but different. The difference
was a wide silver band or belt around her narrow waist, the same silver wristlets being 
attached on either side by the same two links of silver chain. Once again I was trying not to 
look embarrassed and clasp both her hands in greeting. As with the previous meeting, 
Ginevera appeared to notice nothing. It was I who pushed.

“You’re fastened differently,” I asked with a smile. “How come?”

“Oh, you mean my hands? That’s right. Clair had them fastened together last time and that
was a lot nicer. I can’t do very much at all the way she’s got me now. Would you mind very 
much pouring tea?”

I told her I would be delighted to pour tea when it came, but there I stuck like a callow 
school boy. I was load with questions but I realized they were as personal as asking about her 
under underwear. Ginevera read me like a book.

“You poor dear, I’m a problem for you, I know. You want to find out why Clair won’t give 
me my hands and I can’t tell you that. If your frustration is too great, I can understand your 
wish to leave.”

I assured her leaving was the last thing I desired. It was the simple truth. But with Ginevera 
at one end of the couch and me at the other, I felt a sufficient intimacy to ask, “I’ve know Clair 
a long time but she’s never mentioned you. I’ve never known she kept a girl in chains. I have 
to be curious?”

“But, Mister Lord, we can hardly describe these as chains.” She flipped both hands within 
the narrow limits of their freedom. Tintagel has got lots of the sort of chains you’re thinking of
but I’m not wearing them. I don’t like what I have to wear today but if you come again next 
week I’ll probably be fastened in something else.”

I wanted to ask why she would be fastened in something else and why she should be 
fastened at all. But since she did not wish to tell me this, I was stuck. I felt certain that to go to 
the police and tell of a captive maiden chained at Tintagel would be an unforgivable guffaw. 
Striving for easy humor, I inquired, “Maybe Clair has got other maidens beside yourself, but 
chained in dungeons or up in the tower or somewhere in those old ruins in the park?”

I could sense Ginevera’s excitement in withholding her secret and my determination to 
work it out of her by whatever means I could. With delightful frankness she made a strange 
admission, “Weir, actually, yes. I’m not the only one. I suspect there’s been quite a few of us 
over the years and I believe there’s another one knocking around somewhere right now. But 
Tintagel has so many delightful places for a girl in chains….”

Ginevera stopped right there in complete composure but with me embarrassed.

Desperately I ask, “But what have you done? Or this other girl? To deserve … Well, 
captivity? In the case of the other girl it sounds like imprisonment.”

Once again the tinkling of silver bells and flash of bright, brown eyes. “Well, Mister Lord, 
you’re going to have to ask Clair about that, aren’t you?”

“If you won’t tell me…?”

“I won’t. And I don’t think Clair will, either.” Ginevera produced a pixie like pose of deep 
thought. “If you want to tell me what day you’ll come next week, I’ll ask Clair to fix me anyway 
you want and in anyplace you chose.” She laughed outright at my suddenly hungry eyes. “You 
would like that, I can tell. Clair won’t mind, she’ll get a kick out of it.”

The arrival of an English Tea has saved many an embarrassing situation. It did not. The 
house maid who wheeled in the trolley did the bare essentials and paid no attention to 
Ginevera’s chained wrists. I then took over. Ginevera giggled.

“You’ll have to hold the cup to my lips, Mister Lord. Two lumps with milk, please.”

I have often cursed male virility. It often awakens male interest with some minor stimulus 
as it did now. As I lifted tea to ripe, red lips I knew damned well Ginevera was well aware of my
erection. Thinking back, I can only conclude it must have been the erotic motions of her 
chained hands which, despite her composure, tugged at her silver tethers in her instinctive 
need to do whatever she was doing. It was a wicked frustration but I was beginning to enjoy 
myself.

We talked of trivial things, what mattered was Ginevera and her way of handling a 
situation most girls would have found impossible. To sit with hands chained to either side of a 
belt around your waist while having tea with a man you scarcely knew must surely be an 
ordeal and embarrassment for any ordinary girl. But Ginevera was no ordinary girl, and in that 
lay the key. I was liking Ginevera more and more and decided to pose my questions to Clair, 
where they belong. I had known Clair a long time and quite probably she would tell me why 
she kept a beautiful girl a prisoner in Tintagel. As we talked I fed hungrily upon the lovely 
hands attached to the lovely belt around the lovely waist. I yearned for Ginevera with 
everything I had.

Ginevera knew.

On the third occasions I made a most definite date with Clair. Clair laughed at my 
eagerness and inquired if I would arrive upon a white horse clad in shining armor. I felt a bit of
a fool and was inc-lined to wonder if Clair was having a joke at my expense. But she was quick 
to assure me Ginny would be on the premises and available to view.

I’m not sure I know why I had never slept with Clair during the years I had known her. It 
could have been that aura of the immaculate she carries with her as an invisible cloak. Not 
that she is cold, far from it! It think it was her ownership of Tintagel which kept the male at a 
reverent distance. If one could sense King Arthur lurking somewhere about the place, Clair 
was unquestioned the Queen, she possessed the same heavy golden hair and tantalizing blue 
eyes along with the tall carriage of a queen. Clair is quite something!

I was absurdly excited. I have long held the opinion that a man should sleep with a woman
on their first meeting, and if there is anything left from the first encounter, take it from there. I 
was well aware that Ginevera’s chains and her manner of wearing them sparked the lust within
my loins which could easily blind me to the realities of a girl Clair called Ginny. But my urge to 
possess the chained maiden of Tintagel had gone beyond the bounds of denial. I wanted 
Ginny and an answer to the question of her captivity. My ego insisted that Ginny wanted me 
just as much. The male ego is ridiculous.

Clair is Clair. She used my obvious disappointment over Ginevera’s total absence to tease 
me since my concern with Ginny had become greater then my concern with her.

“Harry, you are quite impossible. You see my captive maiden and instantly want to get her 
into bed. I thought better of you.” Clair wrinkled her nose. “You find her body glorious!”

I was standing no nonsense. “Why do you keep her chained?” I demanded bluntly.

“Now really, Harry Lord, is that any of your business?”

“It’s probably as much my business as yours. Why do you keep her prisoner. Don’t be 
mean, Clair, let me in on what is going on.”

Clair has a delightfully feminine laugh. She used it now. “My, my, Harry, you’ve got it bad, 
haven’t you! Would you like to see the poor darling before or after tea?”

“Immediately, if you please.”

“You’d best understand, Harry, that neither Ginny nor I are going to tell you why she’s a 
prisoner. If you’re going to be difficult about it, you’d best leave now.”

“I have not intention of leaving.” I knew Clair was playing with me and laughing up her 
sleeve. But what had I to loose!

“So, okay, you’ll keep me on the hook. But if I’m to be allowed to catch a glimpse of your 
chained beauty, let’s get on with it.”

Clair bestowed a quick look to the zipper of my pants but neither she nor I mentioned the 
obvious erection I could not hide. Her next question caught me completely off guard.

“Why don’t we have tea and then I take you to bed to cleanse your mind of turgid 
fantasies about darling Ginny?”

“I wanted you for a long time, Clair, but I won’t take you as a bribe.”

“Harry, you’re becoming stuffy. I’m disappointed. Ginny won’t make you the same offer, 
not for any reason.” Clair smiled at me mockingly as the seconds passed. “You know the Tower
Room?”

“Yes.”

“The door is closed and locked. The key hangs on a nail at the right. Go to her. I wish you 
luck.”

I had seen the Tower Room before and remembered an impression of a large chamber and
entirely of stone. The wide flag stones on the floor must have concealed some from of heating
for the room was always warm. A huge barred window gave life to the mellow stone, and in 
the center was a stone pillar. The effect was pretty much that of a chapel in broad sunlight.

I suspected the white sheet Ginny wore was her only covering, but its plain color was 
relieved by a scarlet belt to accent the narrow waist beneath. Her legs were bare, her feet 
encased in tiny sandals. Her abundant swart of hair fell becomingly across one shoulder to 
caress a breast already shielded by the sheet.

The whole picture might have been posed. Ginny had been standing, gazing out beyond 
the bars, but turned to greet me with an obvious pleasure to accelerate my heart. Ginny 
extended bare arms in greeting, or perhaps more for the displaying of heavy metal bands 
upon each wrist and the silver chain which trailed from each to a massive ring at the base of 
the central pillar. And the same time she stepped towards me and accentuated the bands and 
chains attached to each ankle. Around Ginny’s throat was a silver collar, lovely in its plain 
simplicity. And from it a sliver chain of lesser weight than those borne by hands and feet. She 
could not move without metallic music from the links.

We clasp hands in greeting. I kissed the back of each and wondered at the weight of metal
I must rise. For a girl in such dire circumstances her voice was remarkably cheerful.

“It’s lovely of you to come, Mister Lord. Let’s sit on that hard old bench. It’s the only 
comfort Clair permits.” She rattled her chains mockingly. “Please don’t worry about these, 
they’re mostly for show. I tease poor, dear Clair by saying they’re all chain and no pain.

Aren’t they lovely?”

Ginevera seated herself at one end of the unkind bench while I faced her from the other.

Clair would be chuckling over this affair and I felt resentment. But I also felt that other 
worldly atmosphere of being entertained by one of King Arthur’s maidens of Camelot. I 
conceded the whole thing was being artfully contrived.

“You poor, dear man, I think you’re angry.” Ginny blew me a mischievous kiss. Tauntingly 
she teased, “Are your pockets filled with wonderful devices for freeing a captive maiden from 
her chains?”

“No, they’re not. What man in his right mind would expect to find you in this condition!

Ginny, tell me what it’s all about.”

“I can’t, I told you before I can’t. Enjoy me as I am or don’t enjoy me at all.” She was such a 
pretty sight with her slightly mocking smile and bright eyes. “I like these chains, I think they’re 
sweet.”

“You look lovely in them,” I admitted guardedly. “But I think Clair is pulling my leg. I don’t 
know about you, you’re a mystery.”

“No, that’s not it at all.” Ginny seemed anxious to set me right. “I’ve been a naughty girl 
and Clair fixed me this way yesterday. I’ve been this way ever since. I actually had to spend all 
last night chained up in this tower and sleeping on this bench. Clair even took away my 
clothes for the night,” she giggled, “so the bench would be more hard. I’m dressed again just 
for your benefit.”

“You have to be kidding.”

“No, honest I’m not! The first time Clair chained my hands was my last glimpse of freedom,
and now she can do anything she likes with me.” Ginny pouted and wrinkled her nose at me in
sorrowful regret. “Clair and I thought you would love seeing me like this.

Don’t tell me you’re not at least a little bit excited?”

I was a great deal more excited than I was willing to tell. Ginny and her chains were 
perfect. And she was wickedly erotic. Controlling the lust within was not easy. I got up and 
walked back and forth to rearrange myself with Ginny’s eyes wide and sparkling with 
knowledge of male embarrassment. I stood gazing down at her for a few seconds before 
declaring, “Look you beautiful tease, how are you and I ever to have a rational conversation or
get to know each other when you’re always chained like a slavegirl in ancient Rome. Give me a
break!”

Ginny produced a most aggravating sight. But she also stood erect and swirled her ankle 
chains by steps to bring us close. Her arms encircled me and we kissed hungrily until she 
broke away, flushed and guilty-looking. “I shouldn’t have done that Mister Lord, please don’t 
tell Clair.” She paused a moment to catch her breath. “But why don’t you go downstairs and 
ask her to let me serve tea? I think that would be nice. Clair might do it for you, she likes you.”

It was in my mind to once more gather Ginevera into my arms and forget about Clair but 
Clair held the key to Ginevera’s chains and Clair’s goodwill was vital to anything Ginny and I 
might do! I went downstairs.

“You really are pushing your luck. Mister Lord.” Clair’s eyes had become dark but 
unreadable. She placed a playful fingertip upon my nose. “I offer you my all but here you are 
with an erection over a little girl I keep prison for reasons of my own-and for Ginny’s, too! 
Now you want me to bring her down to have tea with us so you can ogle her breasts.

Harry, I’m hurt!”

“You’ve put the whole thing in an entirely false light.”

“Look, Mister Lord, you great big lunk, wouldn’t it appease your lust if I strip naked?”

I had yearned for Clair for a long time, now she was offering herself as it were upon a 
plate, and in so doing robbed herself of mystery. But I knew that if I took her now I would still 
be burdened with the image of the girl in chains after what is called the act of love.

Firmly I insisted, “Clair, you’re a witch! You’re amusing yourself. But it won’t hurt you to 
bring Ginevera down while we have a civilized cup of tea. I have no doubt you’ll have a ball 
and chain on her or some such absurdity.

It was not a ball and chain. Ginevera wore the same handcuffs as on our first meeting.

Laughingly she displayed joined hands for my attention. She now wore shoes and nylons 
as against the bare legs and naked ankles bonded by metal in the tower room.

“Clair is being so sweet to me, Mister Lord. Thanks a million for wanting me down here for 
tea.”

Clair looked at me as I watched Ginevera go about the ritual of an English Tea. I would 
have felt a fool but without being boring could find no opening for action. Ginevera had the 
advantage in her interplay of chained hands, deft with cups and saucers. Constantly she sent 
me messages with shinning eyes but the presence of the watching Clair inhibited us both. The 
three of us tossed around trivial comments until it was obviously time for me to go. Ginevera 
made the situation ever more quaint by asking, “Clair, darling, can Mister Lord come and visit 
us again? Please say yes.”

“I suppose so, if it amuses him.” Clair was less than gracious.

“It amuses me, darling, he’s such good company.”

“I’ve told him I cannot possess you. I don’t see why either of you would bother.”

“Clair’s thinks I’m taking you away from her,” Ginevera said slyly. “You will come, won’t 
you?”

“Ginevera!” Clair’s admonition cut the air like a knife.

“Ouch!” Ginny effected a wince. “Clair’s telling me I’m being naughty.” Ginny giggled. “I’m 
afraid I’m naughty about half the time. But do say you’ll visit us again?”

“Of course I’ll visit you again,” I said most firmly. I turned to Clair, “Unless I’m intruding 
upon something I don’t understand?”

“You know damned well you’re intruding, Lord.” Clair sniffed in the manner of a girl who 
knows she’s being manipulated. “But come by all means. I may not be here but that will be 
nice for both of you.”

I sensed an undercurrent between the two girls, something I still didn’t understand. “Surely
you’re not taking Ginny up to the Tower Room and chaining her again in all that hardware?”

“That’s exactly what I intend. What are you going to do about it!”

I man has to take a stand somewhere. I turned to the handcuffed Ginny, “Look, sweetheart,
just say the word and I’ll pick you up and carry you out to the car and take you to where we 
can get those things off you wrists. After that you’re free to do as you wish.”

“He’ll take you home to bed, darling.” Clair’s retort was a mixture of laughter and one big 
sneer.

I saw right away I had made a mistake. Ginevera was distressed, her eyes pleading. “I can’t!
Oh, Mister Lord, I feel terribly sorry but I simply mustn’t go away from Tintagel.

Please don’t ask why.”

“If you’re so willing to stay here, why do you have to be chained like a criminal?” I 
demanded savagely.

“I can’t tell you that either. Please don’t ask. I do so want to see you often, but I belong to 
Clair and you’ll always have to ask her permission. Please don’t be angry, it will be so nice if 
you can take me as I am.”

Clair was smiling and gave me a smug kiss as she showed me from the door.

Obviously I should drop the whole thing. I had not wish to be at odds with Clair and Ginny
was a baffling enigma, tantalizing almost beyond endurance. Sardonically I wondered if their 
roles had been reversed and Clair the handcuffed maiden in distress, would I have felt for her 
this same passion and desire as I did for sweet Ginevera? Repeatedly I told myself not to be a 
fool but, needless to say, in the following week I found myself once more on my way to meet 
the loveliest girl I had ever seen.

Clair was absent. When their butler ushered me to the lounge, I knew instantly something 
was wrong. Ginny was seated on the couch and failed to rise in greeting, giving me an anxious
stare and holding out linked hands for me to grasp. But this time I clasped beneath her arms 
and lifted her bodily from the couch to hold her close and claim her lips.

In this clinch I held her very tight indeed but, as I gradually loosened by arms, she said 
distressfully, “I’m terribly sorry, Mister Lord, and I’m so ashamed but I have to sit down.”

It was then I beheld the shoes.

Like most expensive feminine footwear there was not much of them. But what I saw of 
them was made of steel beautifully designed to hold a female foot imprisoned. Once again 
Ginny’s feet were bare, each of her toes inserted within and encircled by small rings of steel, 
the effect of which was entirely becoming and most attractive even while providing a steel 
anchorage. The rest of her foot was held in place by a broad silver band snug upon Ginny’s 
ankle from which hung an impressive padlock. My first impression was of beauty but a second
glance spoke all to clearly of constriction, the rings indenting themselves unkindly within the 
flesh of each toe, while at the rear a sturdy silver strut rose from the heel to become a part of 
the encircling band. And I was certain she did not have the key to fit that solid looking 
padlock. “Good heavens, these things are hurting you!” I remember a sort of accusation in my 
words.

Ginny’s eyes implored. “Well, not too much unless I stand up. When I stand they become 
just too much to take.”

Without ceremony I sat beside her and lifted one of her feet to my lap, and was suddenly 
aware of it as the most erotic thing I had ever seen. The combination of steel and girl flesh 
was a delight. I tested the pretty contours to ring a gasp of pain from Ginevera. “What the 
devil goes..!”

Ginevera ran true to form. She giggled. “There’s a spike or two inside the heel when I 
stand,” she explained. “And because of the high heels, the rings around my toes bite terribly 
when I try to stand. Please don’t be angry.”

“Why the hell aren’t you angry?”

“I was naughty last time, dear. Clair says I got uppity and have to be taught a lesson.

She’ll take them off when she comes back home.”

“I can carry you to the car and get those things off someway or the other. Let’s put an end 
to this whole silly business.”

“They won’t come off easily. They’re made of some sort of special steel that can’t be cut.

And so is the padlock.” Ginevera rested fingers on my arm while taking her foot from my 
knees. “Harry, I’m being a nuisance, I’m bothering you. Maybe it’s best you don’t visit any 
more.”

“Of course, I will! Sooner or later you or Clair will tell me the truth of this whole silly idea.” I
stared straight into her eyes. “Look here, Ginevera, let’s stop fooling. How’d it be I carry you 
upstairs to bed?”

My blunt, unromantic suggestion should have terminated something but Ginevera took it 
in her stride, with the trace of blush or hint of reproof she ran true to form. “Oh, Harry, that’s 
so sweet and I’d love to so much … ” She giggled archly. “My slippers wouldn’t matter a bit, 
would they? And the handcuffs wouldn’t stop me putting my arms around your neck.

But Clair says it is something I absolutely not do. She said you’d ask and I’d best say no.”

Her fingers and eyes spoke of sorrow and regret. “It’s not that I don’t want to, I want to 
terribly.”

“Why do you have to obey Clair?”

“I can’t tell you. Don’t talk about it. I’ll ring for tea.”

It was a quiet housemaid who wheeled the tea trolley just within the door before turning 
to close the door behind her with a decisive snap. Puzzled, I said the obvious, “I’ll go get it.

You sit still.”

“I’ll do it! That girl was told to leave it there on purpose.” Ginny was once more shinning 
eyes. “Sit still and watch. We can pretend it’s just a pretty game.”

For all I knew it might be exactly that. Ginny slipped to her knees and then shuffled 
towards the waiting trolley on all fours, the handcuffs compelling a strange motion to her 
crawl. Reaching her destination, Ginny stood up to propel the waiting tea things and actually 
contrived one full stride before crumpling to the rug with a little cry of distress.

Despite protests, I picked her up, placed her on the couch and wheeled the trolley beside 
her. For brief moments she held me tight while saying tearfully, “Oh, Harry, that was cheating. 
You should have let me manage it somehow. Clair will be mad at me.”

“Clair won’t know.”

“Yes she will, I have to tell Clair everything. But never mind Clair, let’s have tea.”

I watched the lovely silver bracelets on her hands as she worked her task. It was a delight 
and I thought myself the luckiest of men. But I could not leave well enough alone. “Why do 
you have to tell Clair?”

“Well, just because … Harry, stop asking those questions or you’ll make me cry. I want to 
be happy with you just this little while.”

I was defeated. I drank my tea.

When it was time to go Ginevera insisted upon walking with me to the door. “Hold me up, 
Harry dear, with you arm so I can sort of limp along by your side. Kiss me and say goodbye 
and I promise I’ll stand upright as you go. I want you to remember me that way, not as a poor 
little girl laying on the rug. Promise?”

I promised. I held Ginevera very tight indeed as me made her painful passage to the door, 
kissing hard and very roughly after the last painful step. I opened the door and turned to 
behold a shinning-eyed beauty standing in what I knew was agony, an agony she was bearing 
just for me. With a muttered curse I turned to leave but before I could do so Ginevera’s pain 
became more than she could bear and she sank, weeping, to the floor.

Once more I picked her up, cradled her in my arms and dried her cheeks with my lips. I left
her on the couch and did not look back.

My next visit to Tintagel was at Clair’s invitation. We met at a social affair, not too unlikely 
since we both frequented the same social circles. “Hear you had yourself quite a time, Harry,” 
she greeted casually. “You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you? Why not give it up and 
take me instead?” Her eyes held mockery. “I won’t be offering myself forever, first thing you 
know you will have lost me, too.”

“You’re treating Ginny like a bitch … Those bloody awful shoes!”

“They’re only awful if she stands up.”

“She’s not still wearing them!”

“Stop worrying. Your little darling is quite safe and in no pain. I hear you made her an 
improper suggestion.”

“Clair, stop being a bitch and let me in on what’s cooking.”

“That brings us back to square one, and you know what I think of that. If you want some 
more misery, come and visit us on Wednesday.” She smiled sweetly.

“I’ll be there.”

Clair was there and so was Ginevera. Right away I sensed something had happened.

Clair looked triumphant and Ginevera was pouting and close to tears. We had done no 
more than get past our usual greetings when Clair commanded, ‘Take off your frock, darling, I 
want Harry to see.”

Handcuffs impeded Ginevera not at all. A moment later the flimsy thing fell to her feet to 
reveal the loveliness it had hidden all too long. Ginny was attired in some sort of bikini, a 
halter and G-string not entirely indecent but coming close. Her nakedness was lovely beyond 
words. Her voice was tense, “Clair says I have to show you my back.”

I suppose I had known from the beginning. Ginny’s chains had given me hints of a 
possibility ancient as the hills. I saw it now, the satin skin of Ginevera’s back was streaked by a 
dozen purple marks. Ginevera had been whipped!

“The poor darling has not behaved well with you, Mister Lord, so she had to be punished,”

Clair explained pleasantly. “Ginny, you can put your frock back on.”

My vibrations clashed with Clair’s as we both watched the covering of an erotic nudity 
beyond anything I had every dreamt. Ginny’s halter had accented rather than hidden the 
lovely curves and huge breasts I yearned to see completely naked. Despite her revelation of 
the strips of punishment, I had not seen a single those breasts, nor the pubic patch between 
her legs, the bottom of the bikini thing had covered that effectively but just barely.

God, how I longed to touch that body!

With the handcuffed girl once more covered, I turned on Clair, “Why did you whip her!

Clair, have you gone off the deep end! If that’s the way you’re going to treat Ginny, I’ll take
her away with me today.”

“Ginny,” Clair said with forced casualness, “tell him again.”

Ginny came and placed a warning finger upon my lips. “Please, Harry, don’t. Don’t play the
knight in shinning armor. I can’t go with you.”

“And I can’t come here to visit you if every time I do you’re suffering some sort of torture.”

“Yes, you can. And it’s not torture at all. It hurts while it’s happening but that’s all. And if 
I’ve been naughty, I deserve it. Please, Harry dear, do understand.”

What the hell! There were two of the most beautiful girls I had ever seen staring at me in 
reproach. Ginevera rattled her handcuffs in mischievous appeal. I was defeated! My enemy 
was a shadowy something without a name. I could not heroically masculine and punch some 
villain on the jaw. All these delightful creatures asked of me was to sit down and have tea. I 
mean, what the hell does a guy do!

I sat down and had tea.

Having passed the ordeal of showing me her whipped back, Ginny perked up to become 
once more animate. Clair, I knew full well, was basking in her demonstration of the power she 
held over the handcuffed girl. In some strange fashion I had become a foil for both of them 
against something unknown and unseen.

“You’re going to be a very good girl now, aren’t you Ginevera?” Clair’s query was purred 
out.

I was, after all, a male and not without my pride. I accepted the cup and sandwich from 
Ginevera’s chained hands in thoughtful mood before saying, “I suppose the next time 
Ginevera will be stretched out on a rack, or being branded with a hot iron?” It was Clair I 
stared at.

“Such a silly man!” the Lady of Tintagel laughed. “Really, Harry Lord, I’m disappointed with 
you. Here you are with two lovely girls and all you can think of is asking why one of them is 
handcuffs and gets herself whipped because she’s naught. Damn it, man, enjoy us!”

It was good advice. I took it. But with mental reservations as to the future. I was suddenly 
happy and content. And if Ginny’s back hurt, she gave no sign.





CHAPTER TWO - Help


In spite of the happiness of the last visit, I sat aside my concern with Tintagel and it’s pair of 
diverse and perverse maidens. I had been half in love with Clair for a long time and supposed I
was in love with Ginevera, too. But love is a dangerous word and I scolded myself for being so 
attracted to the shinning hardware by which Ginny seemed forever restrained. Ginny was a 
sweetheart but what man wants his love impeded by a weight of irons! I had been granted a 
glimpse of wickedly erotic beauty which carried a price tag I was not prepared to pay. Best I 
forget the whole thing.

But I did not forget! Ginevera’s magic haunted me through ever hour of the day with 
visions of her sweetly handcuffed limbs. And that brief vision of her nearly naked body, tight 
held and accented by that bikini thing! And too there was the memory of her marked back. It 
took me almost three weeks before I could bring myself to go to Tintagel again.

This time I meet not surprise but pure shock.

His name was Angus MacNish.

I had phoned first. It was Clair who opened the door. Clair Steward is not easily upset but 
distress was clearly etched upon her lovely face. She motioned me to silence to impart in a 
hurried whisper, “We’ve got company. Pretend you’ve come to visit me. I’ll arrange for you to 
see Ginny after tea. She is in the lower dungeon below.” She gave me a glance that begged. 
‘Try and act as though everything is normal.”

MacNish was the craggy Scot. He was tweedy, ageless but probably around seventy, his 
speech was swiftly incisive, and I recall hearing the name in business circles of consequences. 
He sprouted a magnificent growth of bushy eyebrows and a thatch of iron-gray hair. He eyes 
were gimlets. His greeting told me certainly I was unwelcome. Angus softened up somewhat 
with his tea. He ate an entire plateful of Clair’s cucumber sandwiches alone with a sizeable 
sliced of cake. Between bites he asked me searching questions as to my profession, my age 
and my prospects, very much as though I was here to court Clair and seek her hand in 
marriage. I gathered he was some sort of relative.

I wasn’t much interested in Angus and perhaps this showed. Clair was obviously anxious 
and I got the impression she was glad to have me around rather than be alone with this 
massive Scot who should have been wearing kilts along with his tweeds. When Angus had 
pumped me dry it became evident I was no longer wanted. I made my goodbyes and Clair 
accompanied me to the door. Outside in the hallway she whispered, “You can go to the 
dungeon now. You don’t need a key. Hurry.”

I knew my way. There were servants but they had seen me before and Clair must have left 
instructions. Quickly I reached the lower dungeon and the massive door to that room where I 
expected to find Ginevera. The two massive bolts on the door must have been recently oiled 
for they slid back noiselessly to grant entry to a place of doom. I was disgusted with the idea 
of Ginevera being imprisoned within. But since all her previous tribulations had been by some 
sort of mutual consent, I supposed this would be one more bizarre ordeal she endured for 
reasons of her own. I was prepared for gloom and massive irons, but not for what I actually 
beheld.

Ginevera was stark naked.

Once more I was victim to the macabre. The big stone chamber below the ground was 
gloomy as I had expected, it’s far corners dark and doubtless alive with the watching eyes of 
ghosts. An artfully contrived spotlight bathed Ginevera in a pale luminance appropriate to her 
condition. A few steps took me to where I stood in pure reverence before the shrine of beauty.
Ginevera stood with her back against the wall and arms raised and stretched apart to be 
locked in shackled fixed to the wall. It was a very simple bondage but revealed her 
womanhood in all its elemental femaleness. As she stood in the hopeless resignation of long 
captivity, without straining at the iron around her wrists, she was the loveliest living thing I 
had ever seen. Her breasts were full and of wonderful shape. Her pubic triangle was lush in its 
exposure. Pathetically she exclaimed, “Oh, Harry, I’m so glad it’s you.”

I took her in my arms, tugging her away from the stone to the limit of the tethers above 
her head. We kissed and kissed until she whispered urgently in my ear, “I wanted you to see 
me naked, Harry, but not in his horrible place, not this way.”

“It doesn’t matter, you’d be beautiful anywhere.”

“But everything’s so wrong, I can’t hold you and I can’t get my arms around you. I’m only 
half a girl instead of what I’ve always wanted to be for you.”

“Forget it, you’re beautiful. Can I get you loose or is it the same old story?”

“Clair’s got the key so I’ll have to stay as I am. I’m terribly sorry.”

“It’s not you who needs to be sorry. Is this in honor of that Scot upstairs,” I asked angrily.

“Well, sort of. Even Clair has to do what he says.”

“Who the hell is he?”

Ginevera actually giggled. “He’s my uncle but I don’t think he likes me much. And he’s 
here to day to make quite certain Clair keeps me helpless and gives me a bad time. Isn’t it 
crazy!”

Crazy was the word. Here I was holding a naked girl I had come to love while she was 
chained to a stone wall in a dark dungeon under an ancient stone house that could well be a 
thousand years old. Upstairs was a mystery I would solve with time. But at that moment I was 
filled with wonder at the extraordinary courage of my lady in chains. The Ginevera of my first 
visits had possessed a childlike innocence. But naked she was wholly female but will a little girl
acceptance of an authority she obviously considered absolute. I looked up at the metal bands 
around her wrists and once more knew defeat. It seemed I was to forever play Sir Galahad 
without a sword.

“Harry, darling.” Ginevera’s whisper held a vibrant urgency. “I’m a big girl now and I’ve 
never done any of the things big girls do. But I’ve read about them a lot. I want you to do 
some of the things to me now.” Even in the pale light I saw her blush. “Don’t think I’m awful 
but would you pleases play with my breasts and nipples? The books say men love to do this to
a girl. It’s so miserable down here all alone. I would love to know what it feels like.”

Her voice trailed into hopeful silence. Ginevera was a child utterly in my power. What she 
asked would have been outrageous in any other girl but with her it was the sweet innocence 
with which, rightly or wrongly, we associate with the teenage girl. I asked the obvious.

“How old are you, Ginevera?”

“I’m nineteen, darling, I’m old enough.”

That heated me even more. To be the first man to possess this youthful loveliness was a 
privilege beyond my wildest dreams. I had never thought about Ginevera’s age. With thinking 
of it I found myself fingering her two wonderful breasts and teasing pink nipples.

“Bite them! Oh, Harry, bite them hard.” Her demand came from within the mists of ecstasy.

I bit Ginevera’s nipples, lovingly at first but hard enough to make her squeal after she 
begged me. It was then Angus MacNish stalked into the dungeon, followed by Clair who was 
obviously shaking in her shoes.

“What is the De’il’s name do you think you’re doing to the lass!” he bellowed for my 
benefit. But then to Clair he said, “Damn it, girl, hae ye no more sense but to gie this young 
buck the chance to handle this lassie you’re suppose to keep imprisoned!”

“He isn’t doing anything, uncle,” Ginevera asserted as though it were true.

“Surely Ginevera is imprisoned enough the way you see her now,” Clair added woefully.

“Both of you should be ashamed of the way you treat this girl. I’ve a damned good mind 
to go to the police.” I offered as my contribution.

Angus MacNish was outnumbered but it was evident I was his prime concern. “Laddie, it’s 
best ye go your way, I’ll no be stopping you. If that gal there against the wall needs her tits 
tickled, it’s be Clair who does it and not some horny young man from London town. Be on 
your way.”

I was measuring Angus’ jaw for a good swift upper cut when I realized I had no cards with 
which to follow through. Angus MacNish with a broken jaw would be twice as venomous as 
now. Ginevera was still firmly chained to the stone and Clair would certainly be no ally.

With a bit of bravely I didn’t know I had, I kissed Ginevera’s captive lips before striding to 
the door with one parting admonition, “Stop these silly charades. I’m going to marry Ginny 
whether you like it or not. Next time I come I expect to find her free.”

Minus glory and without any feeling of victory, I went to find my car.

Once again common sense told me to leave the whole thing alone but I could still feel 
Ginevera’s nipples in my fingertips while her voice echoed in my ear. But the first thing I did 
was begin inquires about Angus MacNish and what I heard did nothing to reassure-Angus 
MacNish was a power in the financial world. He appeared to be the owner of several large 
corporations while directing the affairs of others in what amounted to a vast empire. Why he 
should concern himself with the imprisonment of a nineteen year old girl was a mystery. The 
next day I got Clair on the phone.

It was a different Clair from the one I had always known. This one was frightened. “Harry, I 
should have phoned. I want you to give up Ginevera and this silly idea of marrying the poor 
child. Ginevera’s a pawn, a most important pawn, in a game too big for you and I to handle.” I 
heard her voice break. “Please, Harry, for me?”

“Not for you or anyone else. Clair, for Pete’s sake, grow up. If you need help, I’ll give it to 
you. It seems to me what you need most of all is the police.”

“Harry, no! Don’t do that. Don’t get me punished any more than I will be already. Please!”

“You punished! That’s a laugh!”

“It isn’t a laugh at all, Harry, it’s very real.” She sounded close to tears. “You’re messing 
around with something you don’t understand, something that is none of your business. I wish 
you had never come down to Tintagel at all the way you did without me knowing.”

“Where’s Ginevera now? What are you doing with her?”

“I’m compelled to keep her chained the way you saw her yesterday. Not at night, of 
course, but during the day. Her uncle insisted. He thinks she encourages you and I’m sure she 
does!” Her tone turned bitter.

“What does Ginevera want?”

“She wants you. Damn you, Harry Lord, you’ve got me in the most terrible mess.”

Probably I should have turned my back on Tintagel after that first fateful tea dispensed by 
a girl with handcuffed wrists. Regretfully I asked, “There has to be something I can do to help, 
what is it?”

“We don’t need help. If you hadn’t gotten that silly male erection over Ginevera in chains 
everything would be normal. It’s not us who need help, it’s you.”

I allowed the outrageous statement to sink home. Probably I was guilty of an intrusion into
privacy. No doubt lust had overridden judgment. Irritably I asked, “So what do we do now?”

“The best thing to do is get rid of that erection in your pants.” Clair sounded disgusted. “I’ll
make you an offer. Forget Ginevera and I’ll yield myself to you, totally and more than any 
other woman would dream of doing.”

“You sound like another Tintagel special. What are you talking about?” Clair’s answer was 
forthright and instant, “I’ll strip naked. I’ll let you tie me the way I tie Ginevera when she is 
whipped. Before being made helpless I’ll give you the whip itself and when you have me 
naked and at your mercy you can whip me to your heart’s content.” A sneer took possession 
of her voice. “I know about men. I know how Ginevera’s chains affect you.

Whip me for an instant cure.”

I was baffled. The offer Clair had just made would have driven me to a wild and eager 
acceptance a few weeks ago. But now it was overshadowed by visions of Ginny chained and 
with a stripped back. Cautiously I fell back on a cliche, “You have to be kidding.”

“I’m not kidding, Harry Lord, I’m making you an honest offer and I don’t care how it hurts.

Take it while it’s hot.” Her voice was breaking once again. “Somehow I’ve got to get us all 
out of this mess you’ve got us into. After you’ve whipped and slept with me I still have to face 
a punishment from Angus. If you come right away you can be here for lunch.”

I told Clair I’d be there. But after I hung up I began wondering if I’d been sensible. But 
being sensible had no part in this bizarre adventure. I walked to my car with my mind filled 
with visions of a naked girl who’s back I was marking with a whip. Crazy! Crazy!

Clair looked the way Clair always does, immaculate, desirable and remote. If Ginevera was 
still chained in the dungeon, I could not expect her to be present. Ginevera would come later. 
My present concern was with Clair Stewart. When she opened the door my question was 
sardonic, “While, when do I whip you?”

“After lunch. The cook has fixed a very nice veal dish, one of my favorites. Stop looking as 
though you’ve come to conquer a continent.”

I felt we’d gotten over the first hurdle with flying colors. Ginevera might well be still 
chained in the lower dungeon but of that I could not be sure. For the moment Clair had my 
interest, and the lunch was indeed a good dish. Here I was in an English country house, being 
entertained by a woman for whom I had always held a high regard.

“You really and truly have worked up the courage to whip me when I’m naked and 
helpless?” Clair inquired casually.

“It was your suggestion.”

“And a very practical one.” She eyed me evenly across the linen and the silver. “I’m hoping 
for a complete cure, I mean you and Ginevera. If we can achieve that it will be worth the pain.”

It was vintage Clair. Clair had always been way out and beyond, and this violation of a 
British lunch was well in keeping with what I knew of her. Tauntingly I said, “I still think you 
won’t go through with it.”

“I am betting my bare skin against you, Harry Lord.”

Desert changed nothing. After coffee, Clair took me by the hand and led me in firm 
determination towards a female sacrifice in which I still did not entirely believe.

I had expected Clair’s bedroom as appropriate to her promise. But instead I was lead to a 
bare, stark room I had not previously seen. The only items it contained were graphic in their 
forecast of things to come. Dead center was a rectangular frame embellished only by stout 
metal rings near the top corners. On the floor between the twin posts lay the whip, which I 
suspect had been thoughtfully arranged to demonstrate its venom like a coiled snake. The 
only other object in the room might have brought a smile under different circumstances. It 
was a narrow cot bearing only thin mattress. For someone with a camera this bare and potent 
display would have told a story without need of words. Quite simply it was Clair’s promised 
cure for my infatuation with Ginny, needing only Clair herself to compete. At my side, Clair’s 
voice held no dread, only laughter, “Strictly functional, don’t you think, Harry, darling? I intend
to look beautiful just for you. I’ll get the rope.”

The rope had been hidden beneath the thin mattress. She handed it to me with a taunt, 
“How’s your courage, Harry?”

“Never mind my courage, I can see yours is working overtime. Is there some special way I 
should…?”

“One of my wrists to each of those rings. Do the job properly so I can’t get loose. You’re 
tall enough to reach.”

“Yes, but….”

“Oh, of course, darling, I promised you I’d be naked. I’ll have to be naked, won’t I, if I want 
to be whipped.” I could swear Clair was enjoying herself. “You can take my clothes off for me 
after you’ve got me safely tied. I’m wearing things you won’t have to tear to remove.”

Her eyes were close and very bright, and what she said then held pathos. “I’m giving you 
all the pleasure I possibly can.”

Clair was deadly serious. I had never tied a woman in my life and stared into her mocking 
eyes, hoping she would laugh and break away. I took the cool hand in mine and, in a savage 
determination, wound the rope around the slender wrist tightly. I took my time, considering 
ways in which she might get free and making sure she would not have the chance. As each 
turn indented itself into her skin, my desire mounted. What I was doing was a powerfully 
erotic act, an experience in sensuality. Having bound one wrist, I turned to work on the other 
but asked, “Why the rope? I thought you had a chain for everything.”

“Rope’s far more personal, darling. I’m getting the most beautiful sensations from what 
you’re doing. You’re getting them, too, I can tell. Don’t be afraid of being unkind, that’s half 
the fun.”

“You’ve done this before?”

“I’ve known about it. Harry, dear, do be brutal. It’s the only way.”

I had left cords hanging from each binding. I now inserted one within the ring to draw 
Clair’s arm upward. When I had both hands fastened thus I stood back to admire my prize.

Clair was amused. In spite of helplessness her eyes laughed back at mine as she 
experimentally tugged and twisted at my work, even to the point of lifting herself off the floor.
“Don’t laugh,” she admonished. “I have to test your tie to make sure I can’t get free.

Being able to get free makes the whole thing invalid. You did a good job, Harry. Now you 
can strip me.” She laughed outright. “Go ahead, I’m quite helpless.”

“You’re also very beautiful.”

“We know that, don’t we? You can make me more beautiful still if you have the courage.”

I had the courage. At that moment Ginevera had receded into the mists of memory. This 
vibrant creature I had bound with arms outspread absorbed me utterly. I was by no means 
anxious to use the whip. I would have preferred to stare back into Clair’s mocking eyes and 
reveal in her helplessness. But Clair was a female with a mission.

“Strip me naked, Harry, and remember this is all your fault. You can ogle me all you wish 
while you’re getting the second half of your treatment.”

Clair had been right. Her clothes surrendered easily to my fumbling fingers. Having 
unzipped her down the back, I went around to bestow a kiss and enjoy her frontal nudity as it 
became exposed. First the tricky bra to reveal firm breasts and taunt nipples which pointed at 
me.

“As good as you hoped, Harry?”

“Better! I don’t know why you girls hide them the way you do.”

“We’d look damned silly with them bobbing around all over the place. I’m not quite sure if 
mine are as good as Ginny’s but we’re different types. I suppose you’re an expert on breasts?”

“I’ve never seen anything to equal these two. And those two of Ginny’s. There’s rich guys 
would pay a million….”

“And you get them for nothing, Harry. Aren’t you lucky!”

I was lucky and knew I was lucky. I found myself in no hurry to reveal the secrets of Clair’s 
sex but her quiet voice teased, ‘There’s a pussy lower down, if you like cats….”

I adored cats.

The cute feminine panties fell easily away to expose a pair of hips and pubic area as 
beautiful as the firm breasts. Clair wore no panty hose nor nylons. She was now naked except 
for shoes. Laughing at my enraptured features, she kicked off her shoes to stand bare-footed 
in her bonds. Once more I knew myself the luckiest of men.

“Well, Harry, will I do?”

“You’re too gorgeous for words.”

“Then you’ll enjoy whipping me. I don’t think it can be much fun to whip an ugly girl. But if
I’m half of what you say, you have to be a lucky guy. But if right now your mind is still on 
Ginny, you can untie me and go on home.”

“You’re a witch. You’ve erased Ginny as if she’d never entered my mind.”

“That’s good! You haven’t realized it, Harry, but I’ve been keeping you in reserve to marry 
when I got around to it. Maybe I’ve waited too long?”

“I’ve kept you in reserve the same way. We’re a pair of idiots.”

“No we’re not!” Clair twisted demurely against my cords. “If we’d indulged in this before 
reaching the point where we’re at now, it wouldn’t have worked. It’s as if fate made certain we 
would both know this ultimate ecstasy before signing on the dotted line. Are you sure you 
approve of my body?”

“You know I do.”

“If you want more of me revealed, darling, you can tie my feet out to the posts on each 
side. The effect is wicked and most would consider it obscene. But I have a very nice body and 
would look good that way. Go ahead and tie my feet out, I won’t mind. I want to please you.”

In a daze of disbelief, I followed Clair’s suggestion, catching each ankle in a loop of cord to
drag it to the waiting post. When both were tied so far apart Clair had nothing else to hide, I 
walked around the nudity and viewed with pleasure all she had to offer. It was a good view.

“Please don’t whip my breasts, darling,” she pleaded. “Otherwise, go right ahead.”

It was the moment of truth.

Awe-struck I stared for moments before picking up the whip. I had ever whipped a naked 
girl. I walked around to study the beautiful back which my cords delivered so invitingly to the 
thong trailing from my hand to the floor. It studied the curve of her bottom and the smooth 
skin covering her back. Clair was older than Ginny but Clair was at the very peak of female 
perfection while Ginevera was still improving. All of Clair was firm, all was ready, inviting pain 
and impaling by my male member with every panting breath. Without thinking of it, I swung 
upon the ball of a foot to lash the thong hard down upon the female flesh for which I had 
waited far too long.

The whip was a single thong. It cut across Clair’s shoulder’s with a sound I will always 
remember, a sound I cannot reproduce or imitate. The line of it’s impact started as a bright 
pink then turned scarlet. Instinctively I know purple was still to come. I stood there holding the
whip and thankful I could not be seen as I watched the strip form. But far more breathtaking 
was the sensuous, agonized twisting of the lovely nude as she jerked against my cords. Her 
limbs jerking wildly but inefficiently against the cords mirrored the pain I could see in her 
lovely face, a pain unlike any I had ever seen in any girl before. It was incredible.

After the first shock and gasp there came no sound of surrender. Clair was able to hold in 
the scream I’m sure other women would not be able to. I don’t know how lonnness but as the 
only way I could keep her under control. I was astonished at her quite affectionate acceptance 
of enslavement. I don’t know what else I could call her but a slave, a very beautiful slave!

Uncle Angus had arranged for most of the staff to tays been taught to respect the female 
and never harm her. I was not sure I could repeat the violation of her flesh with more pain.

I walked to where we could meet eyes and said, “I’m sorry but that’s all. I’m not going to 
whip you, Clair. Let’s call it a day.”

I watched the lovely girl struggle through pain to understand what I was saying. She stared
at me in disbelief. I realized what I saw was a girl fully capable and determined to suffer for a 
cause she valued. Clair no longer struggled but hung without hope or expectation from 
bound wrists. Her features were-lined and drawn by pain as she vehemently exclaimed, “Harry 
Lord, you bastard! Don’t leave me now. This is something I want to go through for my own 
sake as well as yours. Whip me!”

“I don’t want to.”

“Damn what you want! It’s what I want that matters to me. I’m trying to give you 
something to make you forget Ginny and look at me instead. Damn it, Harry, what more can I 
offer than my body and the whip?”

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m not a sadist.”

“No one said you were. I’m not a masochist. We’re doing this for a good reason. Whip 
me!”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you’ll blow the whole thing. If you had Ginny here the way you have me, then you 
can’t surely deny you’d whip her?”

Had I bitten off more than I could chew? Clair’s feelings were very real and beyond 
imagining. The woman I beheld stretched wide within the frame was mostly not Ginevera but 
a girl named Clair who’s flesh I did not wish to mark. Yet I had not desire to free her from the 
outrageous exposure of the cords. I saw Clair as beauty incarnate and wished she would leave 
it at that. But Clair was Clair.

“You’re cheating, Harry Lord. Don’t you understand how you’re cheating us both by being 
chicken. Damn you! I can’t get free, you’ve got me! I can’t do anything but plead with you to 
strip my skin in a way a million men would envy.” She tensed erect within the frame.

Clair thus bound was a luscious prize. Her nudity was marvelous and could absorb stroke 
after stroke. I could vent upon this gorgeous nudity every frustration I possessed, while at the 
same time reveling in sense of authority beyond imagining. Clair was mine!

A man’s emotions are endlessly surprisingly. Mine prompted me to say, “You’ve got it all 
wrong, sweetheart. When and if I whip you it will be by my choice in my own time and by the 
strength of my own hands binding you for punishment. From the start of this little sequence it
has been you who took my hand and led me as you desired. The initiative was not mine. But I 
am male to your female and that is not the way it is going to be.”

“Harry, darling, stop that twaddle Throw your nobility out of the window and whip me 
hard.”

I could swear Clair’s voice held panic. I threw the whip between Clair’s widely-fastened 
feet. I kissed her unbelieving lips before my grand farewell. “I’ll leave you the way you are, 
Clair. Think about what I’ve said. Think about the time which may never come but which will 
be better than this. I expect you’ve got Ginevera chained up somewhere around the place but 
I’ll not even bother to look for her. One of the servants is bound to find you quite soon and 
will set you free. Goodbye.”

I stalked magnificently from what seemed victory but might well be defeat. I did not look 
back.

The ride home saturated me with the bitter gall of regret. I could well believe it would have
hurt Clair less to have whipped her brutally than to have rejected her so totally as I had done. I
now had the worry of wondering if she would vent her spite on Ginevera. And my own 
realization that Clair held Ginevera prisoner to totally as to deny me access to my love. The 
word love was the right word, nothing in what Clair and I had done had in any way erased my 
longing for the girl she kept in chains. There floated before my eyes the vision of Ginny 
chained naked to the wall and forced to reveal the secrets of her sex she had hoped to keep 
for me alone whenever we went normally to bed. That pretty vision now seemed improbable 
but I comforted myself with the reflection it would have been every bit as improbable had I 
whipped Clair as she desired for I was aware that no matter how hard I had lashed that lovely 
woman it would still be Ginevera whom I loved.

Going about my own affairs I waited for a phone call but none came. Clair and I had 
maneuvered ourselves into a condition in which loss of face must accompany the first move 
either made. Clair probably believed the vision of her bound nudity would bring me back to 
finish the task of marking her skin by which I would deliver myself to her authority.

I longed only for her to tell me she understood my male insistence and to come down and
visit Ginny any time I chose. Nothing happened, absolutely nothing!

It was then I ran into Angus MacNish.

The social affair does not matter, it was just one of those silly bits of nonsense in which 
one gets a cold hand from holding a cold drink and talks in meaningless sentences with 
anyone who will listen. I did not see Angus MacNish enter the room but half way through the 
affair he grasp me by the arm in a grip of steel.

“I’ll be having a word with ye, laddie,” he said. ‘“Tis best I put ye wise, I’d no be wanting ye 
hurt.”

He led me to an alcove and replaced my cocktail with a double scotch to match his own. I 
found myself willing to accept his company so long as it enlightened me as to why I had only 
seen the girl I loved when she was in some way chained. His voice was earnest in appeal.

“I’m asking ye, laddie, to forget this lass ye did meet by accident. She’s not for ye.”

“I believe that most parents say that to anyone who desired their daughter.”

“It may well be, Mr. Harry Lord,” came the patient retort. “But yon lassie finds herself the 
center of a circumstance that no business of yours. She’s delivered herself to Clair Steward for 
perfectly good reasons, and Clair Steward has vowed to keep her safely prisoner for as long as
I dictate.”

“You mean it’s you who’s keeping Ginny prisoner in Tintagel!”

“Och, aye. I’m telling ye this honestly, laddie, because I was your age once and I’m well 
realizing the appeal young Ginny holds for a young buck with the sap still rising in his veins.” 
He stared at me earnestly from beneath bushy brows. “Chasing the lassie will only get ye 
pain.”

“Everything you’ve told me only makes me more determined. If you refuse to free Ginevera
I shall go to the police.”

“And get yourself laughed at? Laddie, you’ve got more sense.”

“If you’d tell me why Ginny is held prisoner at Tintagel, I might understand the whole silly 
business.”

“That’s somethin’ I carina do, Mr. Lord. The lass has herself to blame for what she’s having 
to put up with. But it’s not forever. Come back in a year and maybe she’ll be free.”

Angus MacNish looked at me hopefully. “There canna be anything but lust you’re feeling 
for young Ginny, and it does ye no credit.”

“You mean that Clair is only her jailer, that subjecting Ginny to these strictures and 
restraints I’ve always found her in is not Clair’s wish? She’s acting for you or other?”

“Aye, lad, that’s the way of it. I’m thinking the girl’s grateful not to be inside a real prison 
with men to lock her chains,” he grunted. “I can use a slang to say she’s got it good. Think 
about that.”

I thought about it steadily. My fellow guests found me preoccupied. I became resolved to 
go to Tintagel the following day and play the knight errant and do whatever I had to do to 
rescue my lovely captive from her chains. I would take tools, including a bolt cutter, to insure 
Ginny’s release. She and I would walk from Tintagel to leave its somber associations behind 
forever. I was prepared to use force.

When I got back to my apartment, Ginny was waiting in the hallway as I opened the door.

Ginny was dressed exactly as when I first beheld her. She was also handcuffed in the same 
way to hold out joined arms in greeting as on that first time long ago. Without words I 
gathered her into my arms, carried her into the lounge, and it was a long time before either of
us spoke a word. Then, along with delightfully erotic motions with chained hands, Ginny told 
me the following story.

“Don’t bother about these handcuffs, Harry dear, I’ve been handcuffed so long I scarcely 
notice them. They’re not half as important as what I’m going to tell you.” Ginny knelt to rest 
against my knees and trust her head within the shelter of my arm “It’s such a silly business I’m 
almost ashamed. And there’s a lot more to it than I know. Anyway, here goes.

“I used to work in one of those huge office buildings full of departments and people. One 
day I saw Uncle Angus walking way ahead of me down one of the hallways and I followed.

I’ve always liked Uncle Angus, he’s been really sweet to me. At least he always was until the
day this all happened. I should, of course, run after him and shouted his name, but for some 
reason I didn’t. I was quite certain he would go into some room and I could corner him there 
and say hello. Uncle Angus is a very important man and gets around in all sorts of places. This 
time he went into one of the Boardrooms and I followed him less than a minute later. But by 
then he was nowhere to be seen and I could guess he was using the ‘you know what’. So, by 
way of a surprise, I slipped into the big cupboard where the keep the stationary and decided 
to pop out on him as a surprise. I no sooner got the door almost closed when the other four 
men walked in and took their places at the table. Right then I knew I’d made a mistake!”

Ginny looked up at me appealing, rubbing her breasts against my knee and clinking her 
handcuffs. “I acted like a silly kid, didn’t I?” she continued. “But there I was and I could hear 
every word of what they said, and what they said was pretty awful stuff, all about liquidating 
companies and people and taking over the government. One of the men who had come in 
was a foreigner and had a lot to say. But Uncle Angus was the kingpin, they all deferred to him
and it was then I realized how rich and powerful he is. He doesn’t just control businesses but 
also some small countries! Oh, Harry, darling, it was horrible. Just like finding out your dearest 
relative has some terrible illness. The things they said were so fearful and full of menace that I 
found myself listening for all I was worth. And when they broke up the meeting and departed, 
I took a typewriter and typed down everything I had heard. It was all very fresh in my mind 
and, because of all the threats to people and things, I could remember it far better than an 
ordinary conversation. When I got down everything I could remember, I put it in an envelope 
and addressed it to a girlfriend of mine. I marked it “HOLD’. I hurried out to drop it in the mail 
slot. But then I remembered the typewriter on the boardroom table, so I went back and put it 
away. I was still there when all five of them marched back in and caught me. Wow! Was I 
scared!”

Ginny’s chained hands were clutching my knee and I played with them gently to relieve 
the tension. Ginny’s voice was even and fluent as if she had repeated the story many times. 
“There I was with the typewriter and all five of them saw it and guessed the truth. I lied like 
crazy but was so scared I was trembling and that gave me away. They knew for sure! But they 
could only guess what I had used the typewriter for. Nothing I protested would convince them
I had not typed out the minutes of their meeting. They searched but didn’t find a thing. It was 
then they all looked at me and I realized I was going to be searched, too. But it was Uncle 
Angus who broke the news, “Take off your clothes, Ginny, you’ll have to be searched.”

“Right then I could have died!” I could feel her trembling from the memory. “The way 
Uncle Angus had told me to take my clothes off told me pretty clearly it was something I 
would have to do. One man locked the door and another went to the window to make sure I 
wasn’t going to try and jump. Not that I would have, it being a great many stories to the 
pavement below. I knew it was one of those kind of scenes you read about in thrills, except 
there wasn’t going to be hero to rescue me. I had never in my whole life been naked before a 
man, but here I was being viewed by five middle aged men who intended to examine my body
and my clothes. When the foreign man told me to hurry up I slowly took off my dress and 
then, one by one, everything else, including shoes and nylons. I didn’t dare stop until I was 
completely bare for those men to stare at me hungrily while Uncle Angus searched my 
clothes. It think it was the first time I realized how much a girl’s breasts and pubic hair mean to
a man. The whole lot of them would have happily eaten my alive. After, that is, doing the 
other thing we all know about. But Uncle Angus sort of called them to order and they all 
helped him make certain I hadn’t hidden anything in what I wore. I was then allowed to dress 
again while they discussed what to do with me. One said I should be instantly killed and even 
offered to do the job and get rid of the body. A couple more suggested Uncle Angus should 
take me up to that grim old castle he owns in Scotland. It’s called Castle MacNish. They 
thought he should chain me up in the dungeon until I could no longer be a threat to the plan 
of theirs then called the Alpha Plan. I sort of gathered that would be a long time. I’d seen 
some of the dungeons in that castle and the thought of being chained and locked in any of 
them absolutely broke me down. I remember pleading. I even knelt at their feet and made all 
sorts of promises and told all sorts of lies. I had not trouble in producing a flood of tears 
which I hoped would soften someone’s heart. Uncle Angus overruled them all and decided to 
send me down to Tintagel with Clair Steward as my jailer. I remember him assuring his anxious
friends that I would be kept properly chained without hope of escape. I guess I owe Uncle 
Angus my life. I think the others would have just gotten rid of me.

“When they agreed about keeping me prisoner,” Ginny continued, “everything happened 
very swiftly. The first thing I knew there was a uniformed policewoman clipping a handcuff on 
my wrist with the other cuff on her own, and leading me out to a police car ready and waiting.
She slipped a scarf over my chained hand while we went through the building but in the car 
didn’t bother. First thing I knew I was in the nearest police station and being locked in a cell. It
was this locking me in a cell that told me just how desperate my situation was. When the 
policewoman unlocked the cuff from her wrist she put it on mine to leave me properly 
handcuffed as if I were a desperate criminal.” Ginny laughed ruefully.

“I’ve been handcuffed or something like that ever since. I spent the night handcuffed in 
that cell and the next day Uncle Angus’s limo took me to Tintagel and Clair. Clair’s my cousin 
on the other side of the family. They sure dfdn’t take any chances with me escaping because 
once they got me in the car they handcuffed my ankles together so there was no way I could 
run. During my night in the cell I figured out I was probably lucky to get what I was getting 
even though I didn’t want it. The alternative had been too awful to think about.

“Clair’s a darling but she punished me terribly for things I was not suppose to do, and she 
never allowed me to have any more freedom than on that day when you walked through the 
door. Clair wasn’t keen about the job Uncle had foisted upon her but I guess she knows 
enough of the Alpha Plan to realize I had made a real mistake and was being dealt with as 
kindly as possible. I got used to the handcuffs and the chains and after a while Clair sort of 
eased up on the whole thing and gave me an awful lot of freedom in return for a promise not 
to run away. The servants got used to me and Clair told them some cock and bull story which 
satisfied their curiosity. The first opportunity I got to phone my friend was a couple of weeks 
after I had gone to Tintagel. I told her to hold on to that letter and to deliver it to no one but 
me. That’s the way it stands right now. I also phoned the police and the Home Office but in 
both cases I was told not to talk nonsense and not to bother them again. Someone most have
squealed on me because I got punished both times.

Poor, darling Clair had to whip me so much in the first weeks. She told me the foreign man
had wanted me tortured just in case I had written some sort of letter. He wanted to come and 
make sure I got properly stretched on the rack or branded with a hot iron or something but 
Uncle Angus sat on that one, too. But even insisted on Clair tying me up and promising to 
whip me until I told them what they wanted to know. It was a bit of a bluff because she never 
went that far. The whipping I did get was pretty bad but I never did tell them anything and 
never did get tortured. Oh, Harry, I’m so terribly scared. And I’ve broken my promise and ran 
away. And taken advantage of poor Clair. It was easy to steal a car and drive here even with 
handcuffed wrists. Darling, please don’t send me back.

Would you like to marry me and we could go far away on our honeymoon?”

I told Ginny we’d get married tomorrow. In the meantime I’d best get rid of those 
handcuffs. I’d heard of a trick you can use which entailed a little sliver of metal. I put Ginny to 
work in the kitchen making coffee while I went to check my tool box. Somewhere along the 
way to my store room the whole world descended upon my head with a shocking bang and I 
fell into darkness.

Someone had sandbagged me, and it took a little while to return to conscious. When I did 
I went straight to the kitchen and searched around for Ginny. She was not anywhere to be 
found.





CHAPTER THREE - The Wicked Castle


I didn’t have to wonder what had happened, I knew! Ginny and I had underrated the power of 
Alpha, and now they had her once more in their clutch. My mind racing, I stalked back and 
forth through my apartment and on the kitchen table found the note. I had no doubt Angus 
had written it and I could almost hear his voice.

“I told you before, laddie, forget the girl. Forget Tintagel and all you saw there. Carry on 
the way you’re going and you’re in trouble.”

I threw the note across the kitchen. What I had to do was not heed warnings but free 
Ginny from the unnatural imprisonment Alpha imposed. Somewhere they would have her safe
in chains, but where? Castle MacNish seemed a bit too obvious. On the other hand it seemed 
unlikely they would trust Clair again. At that point I picked up the phone. It was as I feared, 
Tintagel was dead. I let it ring and ring but got no answer. But the very absence of life in that 
ancient place was an answer in itself. The servants had been sent away and something had 
happened to Clair. Possibly both Clair and Ginevera. Without a moment’s hesitation I ran to 
find my car.

Tintagel’s door was like its phone, there was no answer. I tried all the other doors in a 
complete encirclement of the ancient house without success. I broke a window and climbed 
inside.

Clair was naked and stretched tight within the rack. Her lovely nudity was immobilize in 
stress but she was still conscious and turned her head at my approach. She was obviously in 
agony.

“It’s no use, Harry, you can’t possibly beat them. I’m being punished for letting Ginny get 
away. Just leave me alone. I have to suffer through this myself.”

Swiftly I cut away the taut ropes to the slender ankles. Supporting the punished nakedness
with one free arm, I did the same for her hands. She was limp as I lifted her from the frame. I 
laid her down and stripped away the bindings from wrists and ankles to reveal the deep and 
bitter marks of punishment.

“They sent the servants away, Harry. I was suppose to be like that until tomorrow when 
they return. Oh, Harry, that hurt so bad!”

I found the brandy. We both needed it. Comforting Clair’s beautiful body, I thought of 
Ginny and was compelled to ask, “What have they done with Ginevera?”

“I can’t be sure.” Clair was still breathing in painful gulps. “I expect they’ve taken her to 
Castle MacNish where they know they have her safe. The poor darling will die in one of those 
dungeons.”

I was busy messaging the deep rope marks in her ankles. “Where does that leave us?” I 
demanded. “What do I have to do to get her out? I suppose you’ve been there?”

“You can’t get her out. You can’t even get yourself in. There’s a moat and a drawbridge, 
and they’ll probably throw you in the moat if you knock on the door or make complaints to 
the local police. Uncle Angus owns everything and everybody for miles around. Oh, Harry, that
beastly rack nearly pulled me apart. I’m hurting everywhere. And that was only the first of my 
punishments. They’ll send someone back inflict what comes next. They’ll figure I was stretched
on that beastly rack all night. Harry, darling, I need your help.”

She certainly did! That meant I had two females to rescue and protect against a giant far 
more powerful than I. But at least I had Clair free. Despite her pain, or perhaps because of it, 
we moved to the rug and performed the act we should have done long ago. I felt no infidelity.
I had known Clair a long time and always wondered about her nakedness. Now I knew!

The act of love completed, we bathed together in the same tub, my toes exploring up 
between her legs. Then she dressed. Within the hour we were on our way to Scotland.

“I don’t know any secret passages or tunnels for getting into the castle,” Clair warned. “I 
don’t know what you’ll do when we get there. It would take an army to break into the place, 
the walls are ten feet thick.”

“I’m driving as close as I can to their front door. If the bridge is down across the moat, I’ll 
drive right on it,” I said with a fine bravado I was later to regret.

“If they catch me I’ll be horribly whipped. Harry, don’t your realize they’ll probably kill you.

Alpha is not the least bit concerned with human life. I shudder to think what they’re doing 
with Ginny.”

I drove as fast as the car would go and collected two tickets on the way. In the early light 
of the following day, Clair and I stood upon a bleak hillside and gazed at Castle MacNish.

It was a daunting sight to match a countryside as cruel as nature could devise. But the 
drawbridge was down across the moat! I had brought a bottle of brandy and this we sipped 
for breakfast and as armor against the highland chill. Then the giant doors opened exactly at 
nine, we got back in the car and, despite Clair’s warnings of insanity, drove headlong for the 
open door which could well be a trap. But at the moment I did not care.

All I wanted was Ginevera. I was determined to be a knight in shinning armor coming to 
the damsel in distress. I would protect Clair with my life but doubted the need. She clutched 
my knee in apprehension as we crossed the moat.

Looking back at what transpired I find it easy to call myself stupid in my refusal to heed 
Clair’s warnings. Within the castle walls a farm wagon had been drawn across the path my car 
must take. From everywhere men suddenly appeared and once more a sandbag made contact
with my head. When I came back into the world I was in a dungeon.

It was all bizarre and impossible and not of this century at all. I still wore my clothes but 
bore no irons. Dizzily I came erect to behold the price Clair Steward was paying for my folly. 
She was utterly naked and chained spread-eagle against the stone wall. Seeing me return to 
conscious, she stirred within the tiny tolerance of her shackles and uttered the most used 
cliche of all, “I told you so.”

As usual I was impotent against cold, ruthless steel. I had not tools, nothing but my hands 
and these were useless against the shinning steel, links and circlets by which Clair was 
clamped tight against the stone. I knew how she must hate the exposure of her sex by the 
wide spread of her legs. Since her feet were off the floor, I knew it was a very uncomfortable 
position for the unfortunate girl. Panting, she exclaimed, “Oh, Harry, they’ve got us both. And 
what they’ll do to us I don’t want to think about. Look, darling, don’t be a hero, try reasoning 
with them. It’s the only thing we have left.”

Men are bastards! In spite of the dungeon gloom and the appealing spot we were in, I 
found myself looking at Clair’s breasts and lower down into her stretched, open crotch.

She who had always been so immaculate was now so obscenely on view to the eyes of 
men. Men must have fastened her and looked their fill. Now it was my turn and no matter 
how I tried I could not turn away from so much female loveliness so invitingly exposed. I was 
sure Clair did not notice or even care. She did not ask me to strive to break her chains, she 
knew it useless.

The door opened. It was Angus MacNish, accompanied by a pair of rough looking thugs 
who dealt with me easily to leave my hands cuffed behind my back before turning their 
attention to Clair’s outspread nakedness. Uncle Angus took the floor.

“This is your doing, Mister Harry Lord. But you’ll not be killed. You’ll just be obliged to 
observe the punishments your activities have brought about. Then we’ll kick you out with one 
more warning that could be the last. Stay away from this female. She’ll be taught a lesson. Stay
away from young Ginny, she’ll get her lesson along with Clair and they’ll know it was you who 
caused their pain. Take them along, boys.”

It was the Great Hall. Two huge fireplaces blazed logs and coal to temper the chill. Two 
oaken timbers stood upright solidly anchored within the stone of the floor. Wrists strapped 
tight to either side, Ginevera stood waiting for whatever was to come. She was naked. The 
firelight made her skin glow. Clair was marched to the second post, her wrists bound and 
raised above her head to leave her as exposed to the whip as was Ginny. I was curtly 
dismissed.

“With your hands behind your back, laddie, there is naught you can do but stand and 
watch. These girls are getting what they deserve, and I should do the same for you if I had 
more sense. Stand where ye are and don’t play the hero.”

It was a scene from the Inquisition, the vast stone room in the flickering light of fires, and 
the smell of pitch. Two innocent girls stood helpless before their torturers. Both were being 
whipped because Alpha so decreed, and Alpha had all three of us safe within its grasp.

Uncle Angus intoned, “Tis a shame you’ll not be marked, laddie. I’m giving you one more 
chance. As for these two, Ginny will get twenty strokes and Clair thirty. Somehow they have to 
be taught a lesson.”

I avoided treats, they would be useless. My mind was busy with plans that would probably 
be useless, too, but it was all I could do. But my main attention was upon the two girl. I had to 
wonder about Clair. She acted very submissive and docile in the acceptance of her fate, not at 
all the fiery and independent Clair I knew. It made me wonder what they had done to reduce 
her to submission. How could a girl meekly offer her wrists for binding knowing that the 
burning whip was to follow? But Clair acted as if she had sinned and Alpha was the authority 
to punish her.

I caught Ginevera’s eyes and smiled. What the hell was there for me to do!

Watching the whipping of a naked girl tightens a man’s reins as nothing else will do. If 
there is a reason for this, I do not know it. But most surely Great Hall the fires within my loins 
burned in fierce delight at sight of a cruelty my mind deplored.

Angus had vanished. I could well believe he had no stomach for witnessing what I was to 
see. A couple of truly stout Scottish women obeyed Alpha’s dictate and, each bearing a 
leather thonged whip, approached the trembling female flesh.

I was well aware of the paperback volumes to be found in the back rooms of Soho. I had 
explored their preoccupation with the screams of girls. Once more I can only say I do not 
understand but am myself as much a victim of this fantasy as any man. It would, therefore, 
now be easy for me to describe the anguish of these two girls I had loved. Ginevera was 
nineteen and Clair less than thirty. Their flesh was the flesh of youth and their pain was the 
agony of discovery, the discovery of male venom when money was at stake. Without preamble
the women with their whips chose their positions behind the helpless backs and swung their 
thongs in the wide arc of deadly intent. The sound was impact was accompanied by screams.

Do you want the word by word and stroke by stroke recount of maiden agony as provided
in the paperbacks of Soho…? Do you! Do you want the sorted descriptions of the struggles 
and jerkings, the fearful glances back across bare shoulders, the appearance of each mark 
after the kiss of leather, and the frantic pulling at rope bonds that would not give? And finally 
the screams as the number of strokes went beyond the bounds of feminine tolerance?

When it was done, each girl stood under the compulsion of the cords upon her wrists, her 
body shinning with the sweat of pain, and her breasts heaving in an effort to still the pumping
of her heart. Each back was a masterpiece of punished flesh.

Men had vanished from the scene. The women with their whips proved themselves women
after all, casting aside their instruments of agony, they held brandy to parched, dry lips. I 
heard their whispered condolences to the panting girls still bound. After the drinks, the girls 
were freed from their posts to be led away unresisting back towards the dungeons. Soon the 
women reappeared to beckon me.

The new dungeons contained wooden structures which held the whipped girls immobile.

Clair and Ginevera were seated upon a wooden bench, their legs wide apart and stretched 
out and fastened within the grip of oak in foot stocks securely locked. That should have been 
enough but evidently Angus MacNish thought otherwise. Before their eyes another structure 
loomed to repeat the imprisonment of ankles firmly held, this time it was wrists outspread at 
eye level and clamped tight within an oaken prison. At first sight the outstretched legs and 
arms held a beauty all their own even though hands and feet were lost within the clutch of 
wood. My next reaction was shamefully to laugh and exclaim, “For Pete’s sake, girls, what are 
you sitting like that for?” But I held my tongue in the realization that to sit as their girls were 
forced would become an agony of immobile helplessness as time passed. I had forgotten that 
those buttocks were scored with painfully fresh whip marks. Just to sit upon the hard wood 
must have been agony. And it would get worse. This was even more punishment. The girls 
looked at me and smiled a pale, sad smile.

I had never felt more useless. Even with hands I would probably have been defeated by 
the massive padlocks securing the wood upon the girl’s limbs. I had not tools, my captivity 
was painless but theirs was not. Ruefully, Clair explained, “They’ll keep us like this until we start
to scream. It will take hours before we simply cannot bear it any longer. The trouble is they 
know how many hours it will take. We will have to sit upon our whipped bottoms and hold 
this impossible posture until they chose to let us free. Don’t worry, Harry, I expect we’ll live.”

I felt a fool and know myself the dupe of a power greater than I, a power which punished 
girls for disobedience, whipped them to instill humility, then left the alone for agonizing hours
in the infernal stocks. I walked around to inspect the massive padlocks which mocked me and 
said clearly the girls would stay exactly as they were. Awkwardly I contrived to kiss each pair of
guilty lips.

I cannot tell how many hours passed before our rescue came.

Strangely it was one of the brawny women who had used the whip. The thud of bolts 
announced her entry and she strove determinedly towards me with a tiny key. A few moments
later my handcuffs were gone and I was free to watch as this angle of salvation dealt with the 
massive locks and raised the yokes to enable the two whipped darlings to stand. The 
explanation was concise. “I can’t bear what they’ll do to you.” Our rescuer looked from one to 
the other of us with sympathy. “They’ve got other punishments for tomorrow, you’re suppose 
to sit the way you were all night. But that’s not for me.” She chuckled lewdly. “I don’t mind 
whipping a girl’s arse, but that’s about as far as I go. I’m going to take you out to Mister Lord’s
car but after that you’re on your own. I’m betting no one will know who set you free. There 
won’t be much they can do about it. Don’t worry about me, I’ll make out.”

It was a moment to remember-the gloomy dungeon, the implacable stocks, and the hard 
bench which wealed female flesh had sat upon far too long. We turned our backs on the 
whole grim scene and followed our savior to the car. It was no easy route but she knew the 
way and I recognized a friend and made no demur. That both girls were naked was something
no one could help. By swift calculation I guess we could be back in my apartment by the 
following dawn. I gave out rescuer half the money in my pockets and promised her more. 
Then I got behind the wheel and drove like a demon out of hell.

All of us were in the front seat, naked girls take up little space and Ginny welded herself to 
me. After a few miles Clair said wearily, “That was just one of my punishments, I’m sure there’s 
more to come. Harry, you can’t escape, there’s just no way.”

“At least we can try.”

Ginny raised lush lips to kiss my cheek. “Stop talking like that, Clair,” she admonished her 
former mistress. “Where ever Harry takes us they won’t dare. Darling, we’re free!”

“I wish I believed that.” Clair’s voice held no joy.

“Darling, you have to believe. I’ve never seen you like this before. Was that whipping so 
terrible it broke your spirit? I don’t believe that either.”

“I simply know about Alpha. They’ll repossess us sooner or later. And now we’ve got Harry 
mixed in with our own troubles.”

“I suppose the whole damn thing’s my fault,” I affirmed stoutly. “You’ve both suffered all 
day long on my account because of my stupidity. But I’ll get you out of Alpha’s clutch one way
or another. Please trust me.”

Never had I found it so hard to keep my eyes upon the road. Four firm breasts diverted my
attention constantly until Clair acidly inquired, “I’ll hold my hands over mine if that will help?”

I told her not to bother. I could understand the poor girl’s distress and longed to relieve 
her. I realized how I had blundered into a situation which should have been allowed to run its 
course. Ginny had never shown signs of distress over either her imprisonment or her 
treatment, and probably would have been a free girl at year’s end. But now all three of us 
were in dire jeopardy. Ginny was happily snuggling herself against my shoulder but Clair’s 
voice was desperate.

“That apartment of yours is no fortress, Harry, we’d best drive on to Tintagel and take our 
chances there. At least we’ll have the servants as some protection.” She signed wearily without
hope. “The first thing I’m going to do when we get there is call Uncle Angus and offer myself 
as hostage. Ginny will do whatever they wish so long as she knows what will happen to me if 
she doesn’t. It’s worth a try.”

“No you won’t!” Ginny was up in arms. “Don’t tell me you’d be stupid enough to go back 
there and get yourself locked in those stocks again!”

“I would if it would get us out of the jam we’re in.”

“It’s me they want, not you,” Ginny said.

“I know that, darling. And I wish we could we could go back to the way we were. But they 
won’t trust me as your jailer anymore. And you did break your promise.”

“I know I did. That makes me responsible for everything,” Ginny retorted. “Anyway, I’m not 
going to let you do something so stupid. Where you go I’ll go, too.”

The snap of the handcuff was like a pistol shot in the confines of the car. I spared a 
sideways look to behold Clair gazing askance at a wrist solidly encircled in steel, it’s twin cuff 
already capturing Ginny’s hand. “I picked them up after that nice woman dropped them on 
the floor,” Ginny said modestly. “She left the key in the lock so I’ve got that, too.

Now you can’t go running back to Uncle Angus, not without taking me, too.”

“You little so and so!” Clair sounded more loving than angry as she twisted her wrists 
within the steel bond. “If you’ve got the key, use it and give me my arm back.” Clair’s tone 
became anxious. “If you really do have the key, where is it?”

Ginevera giggled. “I could have kept it in my mouth but I didn’t. So that leaves only one 
other place when a girl’s not wearing clothes … Don’t you dare try and get at it!”

I could not contain my laughter and a few moments later Clair was laughing, too, while 
Ginny glowed with pride. “I’ll get it out of you if I have to, you imp!” Clair promised in a tone 
more relaxed. “Don’t you realize, you idiot child, we’re both naked and running for our lives 
the whole length of England, and now you’ve gone and chained us together and lost the key. 
Damn it, Ginny, this is no time for fun and games.”

“But I haven’t lost the key! I told you were it is.”

“Don’t be too sure you haven’t lost it,” Clair offered. “You may never see that key again.

It’s lucky we’re going to Tintagel where I’ve got all that stuff. I’ve a good mind to lock you 
in the Tower Room and leave you there.”

“Can Harry come, too?”

“No, he can’t. And it wouldn’t do any good anyway because I’m going to have you chained
with everything I can find to lock on you. I’d have thought what Uncle Angus did to us both 
would have cured you of these pixie moods.”

They bickered happily enough to cure Clair of her somber anxieties. Once again we 
became the trio of Tintagel and I realized how perfectly each of us fitted into our role in that 
ancient place. But in my mind was a nagging knowledge that two women and one man would 
not last for long. I loved each of these naked beauties now handcuffed beside me on the seat 
in the particular fashion our personalities dictated. Clair was an iceberg who could suddenly 
flame into fire, while Ginevera was the Dryad, the woodland nymph of ancient legend. I sat 
and wondered how long the handcuffs would bind their wrists once we got home.

Infected by the brief euphoria I developed an pixie thought all my own. Ginevera would do
whatever I wanted but Clair was disturbed enough to be foolish. She might easily run back to 
Castle MacNish or eject me from Tintagel in the hope that she could recreate the relationship 
she and Ginny had. I simply was unsure of Clair so why not make both these naked beauties 
my prisoner and keep them both at Tintagel in irons! I rolled the word over and over on my 
tongue, savoring the possibilities and having visions of Clair delightfully chained in all the 
situations Tintagel provided. And Ginny would be happily wearing her handcuffs in the 
manner of bracelets which just happened to be joined by a connecting link. It was a pretty 
thought.

“Why don’t I stay at Tintagel and keep you both prisoner?” I suggested casually. “You’re 
handcuffed now and I could make sure you don’t get free. I can keep you as surely captive as 
Ginevera was before this whole ruckus got under way … It would save you making decisions.”

Ginny said an immediate, “I think that would be lovely,” a response I knew I could count 
on. But I was surprised by Clair’s thoughtful face. “I don’t think Uncle Angus would let that 
happen,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I want that. I’m not the type to be a forlorn 
maiden in chains. I think you’d best forget that one, Harry.”

I said nothing but I did not forget.

Tintagel welcome with all the warmth of homecoming and that delightful atmosphere of 
ancient days. It felt good to be back. I listened in amusement to the girls bickering about the 
handcuffs, an argument which did not prevent Clair going as quickly as possible to the phone 
to dial that somber castle in the north. Her one chained hand held out limply as the other 
dialed. Without a single blush, Ginny retrieved the key from within the warm, wet sheath 
which is the only pocket a naked girl has to offer. Twice the small metal object did it’s work 
and both handcuffs and key were laid upon the table. I debated using them to lock Clair’s 
hands which she was busy with the phone, but rejected the thought as unsporting since she 
could not defend herself. It seemed pointless to handcuff Ginevera, she enjoyed it. Instead I 
took her hand and led her to where we did not invade the privacy in which Clair was pleading 
our cause with a grim, hard man. It was only then I realized that both these lovely creatures 
were nude. They were so preoccupied with other things they had forgotten about clothes. 
Softly I whispered to the girl I held within my arms, “Ginny, shouldn’t you go and get 
dressed?”

“I shouldn’t, I like being naked. When we get married I’ll be naked for you all the time.” 
She looked at me anxiously. “You do like my body, don’t you?”

“I adore it. And I adore you, too. But what about the servants?”

Ginny giggled. “The servants will have to take their chances. I’ll get dressed when Clair gets
dressed.” She giggled again. “I think Uncle Angus cured Clair of clothes.”

It was then the naked Clair came to break the news. “He’s not angry at all,” she said in a 
bewildered voice. “She says we’ve both been taught a lesson and we can go back to things the
way they were. I keep Ginny prisoner until they tell me I can let her go. It just doesn’t seem 
possible.” She mused thoughtfully for several moments. “There has to be something wrong 
somewhere. The more I think about the way we got free of Castle MacNish the more I think it 
was contrived. Uncle wanted to get rid of us for some reason of his own. I suppose we may 
never know.”

Ginevera was radiant. “What did he say about Harry?”

“He didn’t say anything and I didn’t want to push our luck. There was something else you 
may not like, Ginny, darling. I have to keep both your hands and feet chained at all time.

And you’ll be subject to inspection, Uncle may drop in at any time.” Clair paused and 
actually blushed. “He also insists you have to be naked, he says a naked girl is less likely to 
think about escape and will know her body always convenient for punishment. I’m terribly 
sorry.”

Even for Ginny it was a bit of a shock. I could see the disappointment on her lovely face.

Handcuffs were fine but leg irons were something else again. She pouted and shrugged.

“Well, alright Clair, darling. And anyway it’s not forever. But what will the servants say 
about the no clothes bit?”

“They became accustomed to your chains so they can become accustomed to seeing you 
naked. I’m sure they won’t mind, certainly not the males!”

They looked at each other, uncertain whether to laugh or cry. I felt like the odd man, not 
part of their game. But I said forcefully, “Look, we haven’t eaten or even had a cup of coffee. 
Let’s have brunch. Surely Ginny doesn’t have to be chained for an hour or two.”

“I spoke to the kitchen, they’ll have something for us soon. In the meantime I’ll run 
upstairs and dress.” She looked at Ginevera pleadingly. “Darling, this isn’t my idea. If I thought 
it was safe, I’d tell you to dress, too. But I don’t feel anything is safe anymore.” Clair flitted 
from the room.

“Well, that looks after me, doesn’t it!” Ginny looked at me uncertainly. “We can get married
and run away. Perhaps the USA? We could leave right now?”

Ginevera placed her hands on my shoulders and we got into a tight clinch in which she 
whispered sadly, “It’s no use, Harry. If we did that they’d take Clair back to Castle MacNish and
do horrible things to her. Remember, she’s my jailer, she has to produce me on demand. 
Darling, I have to sit this out right to the end.”

Ginevera’s nakedness was delicious in my arms. I played with it thoughtfully until she 
broke away. “I can’t stand too much of that, Harry darling. I get all excited. Look, let’s give 
Clair a pleasant surprise so she’ll know she doesn’t have to worry about me.”

Ginevera reposed both handcuffs and key. She handed them to me, eyes sparkling with 
mischief. “Lock them on me, darling, and let’s get back to normal.” She held out innocent 
hands.

Aside from being briefly their prisoner, I had never handled handcuffs in my life. As I took 
them now our eyes were close, hers challenging. I placed the steel around her wrist and was 
aware of a shocking erotic tingle that shot through my body. By the time I had clasped the 
circlet closed to make it snug, I was more than ready to carry the prisoner of Tintagel to bed. 
By the time I had locked her second wrist I told her frankly, “I don’t know what there is about 
these things but making you prisoner in them has made me horny has hell.”

Ginny giggled. “How do you suppose I feel! Handcuffs always effected me like that….”

Further confidences were interrupted by the reappearance of Clair, covered by a tight satin
dress that clung and made her body look more sexy than if she had been naked. I wondered, 
with some regret, when and if I could see her nude again. The effect of her presence in this 
state of normalcy made Ginevera seem twice as naked as before.

Ginny held up her joined hands for Clair to see. Then she giggled like a school girl. But I 
noticed a touch of relief in that giggle and knew that Ginevera was glad to be back to what 
she thought of as “normal.”

“So you’ve got our little darling back to normal, Harry. Thanks a million. I’m afraid she may
not get those things off her wrists for months.”

“But, darling, you know I adore them!”

“Yes, I know. I adore them, too. They set you off to perfection. With or without clothes.

Seeing you like that makes me want Harry to carry me off to bed. That awful whipping I 
got from Uncle Angus had the same effect. I’m ashamed of myself.”

Ginevera was still aflame with mischief. “I’m so glad, Clair, darling, that makes three of us.” 
She pouted prettily. “I hate leg irons but if you want to put them on me, let’s do it and get it 
over with.”

We went to lunch.

I spend most of the mean watching the play of Ginevera’s hands. She was clever with the 
handcuffs, turning them by the magic of her movements into silver ornaments which, no 
doubt by pure chance, linked her wrists to always compel the use of two hands instead of one.
All three of us enjoyed ourselves and forgot about leg irons and Uncle Angus and Castle 
MacNish. We were on our last cup of coffee when the phone rang to summon Clair away. 
Ginevera and I were sufficient preoccupied with each other that it was half an hour before we 
sensed something being wrong. We gave her another ten minutes before beginning a search 
which became increasingly urgent as we went from room to room, enlisting the servants in 
our quest until we faced the bleakness of realization.

Clair Steward had disappeared.





CHAPTER FOUR - Clair


Ginny is the daughter of my father’s second wife. I came from the first. We are sort of sisters 
and always have acted like sisters. But our affection for each other has always had erotic 
overtones inappropriate for blood relations. I am not a lesbian but can understand their 
hunger for a girl. I felt that hunger for Ginevera but always behaved myself.

It was I who inherited Tintagel and the family fortune. But we never allowed that to bother 
us. I don’t believe Ginevera ever even thought of it.

I’d known about Alpha for a long time. Uncle Angus often had me put on a dinner party at
Tintagel for people he wanted to impress. That’s one of the reasons we have all the servants. 
The guests were mostly men who, if they had a woman, did not seem proud of them. The men
Uncle Angus made his money with were a mixed bag I never much cared for. But I was fond of
Uncle Angus and he was fond of me. He made certain neither I nor Ginny were ever bothered 
by any reptilian millionaire with hot pants. Ginny and I always giggled about them afterwards 
and wondered what it would be like if one of them had us in his power. I remember the day 
Ginevera had made that horrible mistake and hid in the closet. I had never seen Uncle Angus 
so angry. And keeping Ginevera a prisoner in chains seemed outrageous, something from the 
dark ages. But I had to take it serious but Ginevera regarded it as something of a hoot which 
would soon blow over. I allowed her to stay in this happy ignorance because it made things 
easy and because what we were the business of keeping her in restraint became a lovely game
between two girls who adored each other. Half the time Ginny just wore handcuffs around the
house while I went about my affairs. I realized after it was too late that I was a bit of a bitch in 
the way I played with men, teasing one to the point of distraction before I went on to the next.
It was a lovely life.

Harry Lord was different. I had known Harry about as long as I’d known about Alpha but I 
had sort of kept him in reserve against the day when I might decide I wanted to get married. I 
sort of figured I had him in the palm of my hand. I should not have been so damned 
conceited. And if I’d been home that day when he came to call, I could have prevented 
everything that followed. But I wasn’t there, I was chasing a notion somewhere else and thus 
left Harry Lord exposed to a pretty young woman wearing handcuffs. Ginny in handcuffs is 
deadly, no male can withstand the witchery of her gamin grin and steel clad wrists. Without 
even trying she scooped up Harry Lord. Uncle Angus was not pleased.

I may as well admit that Ginevera and I had played cops and robbers or cowboys and 
Indians since she was about ten years old. Both of us were fascinated by bits of rope and chain
and the things I could do to her with them. I remember her as a child positively panting as she
stood demurely while I bound her hands behind her back or tied her to a tree in the park. I 
couldn’t say it was an obsession but it came close. As Ginevera grew older we would go for 
several weeks before once more diving joyfully into the lovely fantasy of making her captive in
Castle Tintagel. I even had the Tower Room done over for her alone. After Uncle Angus more 
of less sentenced her to prison I had to chain her in that Tower Room a great deal because he 
was a stickler for The Rules and insisted on the poor darling constantly being punished for 
some infraction of rules I hadn’t even thought about. Several times he made me whip her in a 
ritualistic fashion in which I bound her hands outspread, stripped her to the waist and 
whipped the loveliness of her bare back in what started out as a vicious cruelty but ended as a
positive feast or erotic pleasure. After her punishment was over Ginevera shared the pleasure 
with me. I didn’t try too hard to figure it out. it was far too precious for analysis. And if there 
was a cure, I didn’t want to know. The pure beauty of the scarlet lines left from the whip 
justified everything. Neither Ginny nor I ever dreamed of whipping me.

To Ginevera and I, Uncle Angus had always seemed a rock, dead center in the swirling 
waters of money manipulation. We took him as he was because most of the time he showed 
us a real and sincere affection. And, since both Ginny and I ended up having a mutually erotic 
game with each other, we never came to resent her captivity. It was then that Harry Lord 
walked into our halcyon Eden.

I should have known it inevitable for one of my admirers to fall for Ginny. But I was jealous
as all get out when Harry made his feelings for the little darling all too clear. But I figured it an 
infatuation which would pass and was determined that when it did I would move in speedily 
for the kill. It was time I married and Tintagel needed a master. When Ginevera had served the
sentence Uncle Angus imposed, she could go back to London and find a husband for herself. 
Those were my thoughts until the day she ran away.

I often use the term ‘Little Darling’ in reference to Ginevera. It’s really a term of 
endearment because she’s almost my own height and most abundantly female. Her breasts 
probably vied with the handcuffs to capture Harry Lord. Ginevera is dynamite! I suppose it is 
because I’m ten years older than she is that makes her happy to do anything I say. She’s 
charmingly obedient in an argumentative sort of way, often quibbling until she sees 
punishment on the horizon. If I didn’t know she’d want a man, and if I didn’t want one myself, 
I would have kept her handcuffed in my possession forever.

Harry and I became tremendously close when we realized the dear child had been 
kidnapped and taken to Castle MacNish. We must have been crazy with anxiety to drive 
straight into the trap waiting for us. By the time I got to see Ginevera I was as much a prisoner
as she. There would be little use in talking of this fiasco if it were not for something I have not 
mentioned and it had a profound effect on me.

Uncle Angus sentenced me to thirty strokes with a whip.

I didn’t believe a word of it but I was seeing a new Uncle Angus for the first time. I had 
been a careless Steward and would pay the price. Poor Ginevera drew twenty strokes for 
running away from Tintagel and that was severe enough for any girl, but thirty on my bare 
skin…! It still makes me shiver every time I turn my back to the mirror to see those marks of 
punishment. It was not until I was securely tied to the whipping post and totally stripped that I
really believed it would happen. I saw darling Ginny tied the same way to another post.

Being made naked, then bound, then whipped, is something too bloody awful for any girl 
to talk about. It was probably easier for Ginevera than for me as she had been whipped 
before, though never this bad. I counted those awful strokes while I yelled and finally 
screamed. I mean my flesh simply couldn’t take that. While it was being done I knew it was the
most awful thing that ever happened. Uncle Angus had told them to leave my feet free so I 
kicked like fury and stamped and twisted without doing a bit of good. The strokes slowly cut 
my skin right on up to the total of thirty. As I counted I knew something was happening to 
Clair Steward. That endless succession of lashes across my back and bottom, exorcised my 
pride and my conviction I could do as I pleased with any man I chose it was a man who was 
having this done to me, my beloved Uncle Angus. I expect I had let him down and deserved 
this punishment.

When I had been sentenced to be whipped I had also been informed about sitting in the 
double stocks afterwards. Ginny and I were suppose to sit like that a long, long time and be a 
pair of very, very sorry girls. When we were tightly fastened, they threw Harry in with us, I 
suppose as an additional humiliation because our imprisoned feet were a mile apart and 
everything we had was open to view. I’m sure we behaved obscenely in trying to ease the 
flaming agony of a whipped bottom-I could use all sorts of other words for the place where I 
sit. Anyway, I’ll freely admit that sitting like that and not being able to move an knowing it 
would go on and on finished the job the whip had already done on Miss Clair Steward. All I 
wanted was release and I would have done anything to get it. When it came in an unexpected 
way I was never more thankful in my life. Whether he knew or not, it was an extremely humble
girl Harry Lord drove back to Tintagel.

That blasted phone! We’d just about finished lunch so I went to me study to answer its 
summons. There a voice I didn’t recognize asked me to hurry down the front steps and speak 
to the driver of the car awaiting at the bottom. Maybe I was dumb, but after all, it was on my 
own property in broad daylight. It was with a pleasurable curiosity I followed instructions and 
there, sure enough, was the car waiting. While I watched the driver wind down his window a 
wad of cloth wet with some foul smelling liquid was clamped over my face, and in about three
seconds the world went black.

I woke up in a plain, bare room. I did not know then and I don’t know now where it was, all
I knew was the barred window high on one wall and a door I was certain would be locked.

My wrists had been crossed and tied tightly behind my back with some beastly twine stuff 
that cut bad enough to make me think twice before doing any serious struggling. Groggily, I 
managed to stand and lean against the wall, then to try the door which was indeed securely 
locked. I was in a dismal imprisonment I could not comprehend.

That bare room was devastating. There was a room and a window and a door. And Clair 
with her hands tied behind her back. Nothing else. The bastards gave me plenty of time.

By the time someone opened the door I was fit to be tied if I hadn’t been already.

Incidentally, they had left me clothed which was against all I had read of such 
imprisonments and which might mean something or the other. I’m sure I looked as anxious as
I felt. It was the foreign guy Ginevera had spoken of. He was extremely polite and regretted 
the inconvenience to which Miss Clair Steward was subjected. He explained his possession of 
certain convictions which made it highly desirable to hold me hostage, then went on to 
blandly explain my boredom with imprisonment could always be alleviated by an application 
of the whip or penetration by his male organ. I gathered I would have no choice about this. 
When I asked him what on earth I was hostage to, he told me he believed Uncle Angus was all
too easy on his nieces and holding me captive would insure Ginevera’s silence. And perhaps if 
he tortured me a little and sent the darling child pictures of my agony, she might tell where 
ever it was she had hidden what she had written. I listened in utter dismay and knew I didn’t 
have much of a future.

That beastly room taught me the difference between handcuffs and cord. Handcuffs 
frustrate you to death, but cord hurts. Especially if you try to get free. And there is something 
horribly personal about being tied with rope. It’s a constant reminder that an enemy had 
encircled your wrists again and again and then knotted the ropes tight where you could not 
reach the knot. Because fiction insists you can always get free if you try hard enough, it 
becomes utterly frustrating when you discover you cannot.

A woman brought me a glass of water and a cup of coffee, along with a green apple I 
loathed. She feed me the fluid but said I would have to do the best I could with the apple, and
snickered at what was evidently a huge joke. To eat that apple I’d have to lay on my belly and 
fight like hell. Naturally I asked her to untie my hands and promised her a vast reward if she’d 
set me free. She simply laughed.

by evening it became evidently the room was a holding cell and not my permanent prison.

Despite all my protests and pleading, my elbows were tied together brutally enough to 
make me meek. It’s true they used heavy rope which did not cut my skin but it hurt bad 
enough anyway. And it made me about ten times as helpless as before. I was then blindfolded
and carried to a car to be placed in a trunk and get my ankles tied as tightly as my hands. 
Then I was pulled up in what I think is called a hogtie to make me more helpless than I had 
ever been. I remember I did a lot of pleading and made a lot of promises which were ignored 
in a frightening silence. With the lid closed down I lay in a state of pure fear above the 
spinning wheels.

It was a sad, sad journey laced constantly by pain. I was only semiconscious towards the 
end and the end was slow in coming. I had not expected Castle MacNish but when I was taken
from the trunk and the blindfold stripped away, that was were I was. The foreign gentleman 
explained my uncle was away on business and had loaned the premises for a few days to my 
captor who introduced himself as Mister Slobodian. Mister Slobodian assured me I would get 
his very best attention after I had had sleep. To insure this rest my elbows were untied and 
only one ankles chained in one of the nicer dungeons of Castle MacNish. I was so exhausted 
and felt so utterly hopeless I actually slept.

by the following day it was evident I had become a routine prisoner. I was fed and tended 
by the woman who had whipped me. Oddly, she seemed to find this whole sequence of 
events utterly normal. The food was good and I got a bath although never once were my 
hands untied. My jailer did the feeding and the bathing for me. She also soberly informed me 
I was to be tortured.

I wasn’t the least bit surprised with Uncle Angus gone and surrounded by foreigners 
loaded with suspicion. What could be more natural than for them to subject me to a trifle of 
discomfort! Bitterly I fought the cords around my wrists and thought longingly of Tintagel.

By now darling Ginevera and poor Harry would be frantic over my disappearance. I 
suddenly realized I had not been listening.

“A girl to be tortured must be naked, Miss Steward. I hope you don’t mind. By the way, 
please call me Rosilyn.”

It was quite absurd but Rosilyn’s manner of informing me left no doubt every word was 
true. Defiantly I retorted, “There’s no use you asking me to undress when you’ve got my hands
tied behind my back. I do wish everyone would be sensible and allow me to go home.”

I did not go home. Instead Mister Slobodian walked in, bid me good morning, and told 
Rosilyn to carry on as planned. I could bet the son of a bitch had been waiting at the door for 
the exact moment when I would be stripped naked. He wanted to see the stripping, which 
Rosilyn then proceeded to perform with the aid of a pair of scissors which cut my clothing 
were there were no fastenings. When I made motions of revolt, she gathered a handful of my 
hair and jerked it painfully back until I was all too willing to stand still for shame and 
degradation.

Mister Slobodian enjoyed the whole thing very much. When I was bare, he assured me I 
had a more beautiful body than any he had previously tortured. It wasn’t much comfort and I 
knew myself in the deepest trouble of my life. I longed for Uncle Angus but by the time Uncle 
Angus reentered the scene, I might be either dead or a mangled package of broken bones. 
Rosilyn grasp a handful of hair and propelled me forward.

I knew about the torture chamber, I’d laughed with Uncle Angus over it on previous visits.

It was grim and horrible and not to be taken seriously. Now I took it seriously. And every 
sinister machine took on a new and frightful appearance. I was helpless to flee, Rosilyn’s hand 
in my hair had me well controlled. And, anyway, I had not hands. Mister Slobodian either 
could not help be polite or did it on purpose with sardonic humor.

“The rack first of all. Miss Steward. I’m sure you won’t mind.”

I minded. Lucidly I gave reason after reason why I should not be stretched upon the rack 
or otherwise tortured. I explained how devoutly I was keeping Ginevera prisoner. And how 
useless it was to torture me in the hope of discovering something that did not exist.

Unhappily I remembered Ginevera’s girlfriend and the letter, and wondered in dumb 
misery if I could refrain from mentioning either. I had never been tortured in my life! Who the 
hell has!

The Rack is a well designed instrument. To begin with the victim is laid upon a plank within
the frame work. This is were I got my hands untied for only the briefest moment before they 
were secured once again above my head. Rope circled my ankles and was drawn tight. The 
wheel turned to deny my motions of evasion and protest. Within moments I was perfectly 
positioned but without pain. Mister Slobodian cupped my right breast in his hand and polite 
inquired if I had anything to tell. After that things got bad.

Rosilyn did all the work. Mister Slobodian stood beside the rack and watched my 
nakedness change shape, this was done slowly with the intent to give me every opportunity to
change my mind. I remember wondering dimly how many others had been faced with the 
same option. Stoutly I affirmed I had nothing to tell and would they please set me free to 
return to be Ginevera’s jailer. Mister Slobodian politely explained how I had not done a very 
good job and thus did not have the confidence either of he nor his associates. I sort of 
gathered Uncle Angus had yielded to majority pressure. If any girl had every been scared out 
of her skin it was me right there and then!

You’ve never been tortured on the rack so there’s no use going through motion by motion
to share with you its full horror. There is a big wheel which Rosilyn was handling, and every 
time this was turned the ropes grew tighter and tighter on wrists and ankles until that awful 
moment when they take the plank away from beneath your back and you realize you are 
suspended in taut suspension. I remember wondering what I looked like. But whatever it was, 
Mister Slobodian evidently approved as his eyes glowed and devoured my nakedness. He now
explained that each movement of the wheel would do me harm.

Whoever puts you on the rack holds all the cards, you become a vehicle of pain. You 
realize that whatever you tell them, even the truth, may not save your body from being torn 
apart. Mister Slobodian was much enjoying my pubic hair, my venus mound, and my flattened
breasts. I longed for Harry Lord to give a swift kick to Mister Slobodian’s crotch but heard 
myself exclaim, “I don’t know anything! There’s nothing to know! I tried to keep Ginevera 
prisoner for you. Please let me go. Please!”

They did not let me go. Rosilyn tightened the big wheel until I screamed and then they 
both departed to leave me with my pain. I was beyond tears.

If I had been whipped I would have nipples but now they vanished with the swell of my 
breasts. I knew my belly utterly concave and my rib cage cruelly out-lined. The rack robbed me
of female secrets. I had no decisions about struggling, it was totally impossible.

I was flat! And helpless!

Mister Slobodian had mentioned other things beside the rack but I had scarcely listened.

But now, as I lay still in suspended pain, I realized that my day had just begun. When he 
returned with Rosilyn and a camera, he took pictures of me from every angle, relishing those 
up between my spread out legs, and I faced the lens throughout because I knew Harry Lord 
would have to recognize me more by face then body. This body was too stretched out of 
shape to appear normal! Mister Slobodian patted my tight belly and told me I was a good girl.
My wrists and ankles burned like fire. When Rosilyn turned the wheel to set me free, I fainted.

Brandy is wonderful. It meets so many needs and can either get us high or bring us back 
down to earth. It did the latter now as I lay upon the replaced plank, moving my arms and legs
to reassure myself they were still intact. I had to suppose that by the normal standards 
governing a tortured girl, I had been stretched with mercy.

The rack had left me so disorganized I was without either the volution or ability to fight. I 
allowed Rosilyn to position me as a child does her toy. This time I could not name the 
instrument of agony. I can only say that I found myself sitting upon a tiny saddle with a brutal 
prong deep inside my sex, my feet spread wide and strapped while my arms were spread out 
and up to each side to the straps waiting for my wrists. I sharp edged metal belt was tight 
locked around my small waist and from the front of it two rods rose to poke the soft 
underside of my breasts with sharp ends. Each breath brought pain to my breasts.

Whatever it was they had inside my sex must also have possessed needles, it hurt like hell! 
They went away but not before explaining their belief I would be all too ready to talk upon 
their return. Hopeless I watched them go.

I am sure there are worse tortures but this one was bad enough. Rosilyn had smeared 
some horrible stuff upon the prong inserted within my sheath and that burned terribly, along 
with the tiny needles poking me. My breasts don’t sag but Rosilyn had lifted them enough to 
insure their weight rested upon the points and that my breathing moved them enough to 
cause continual pain. When Mister Slobodian returned to take his pictures, assuring me as he 
did that they would turn out much better after I’d had an hour or two of suffering, I scarcely 
paid him heed other than to make my usual pleas. By the time he thought I had had enough I 
was certain the needles were half way through my breasts and that my sex would never 
function again. How pitiful is a tortured girl!

They used me with caution, being prudent with girl flesh to be treasured for its capacity to 
feel pain over and over again. Probably I had been tortured only for the morning but that was 
enough. In the afternoon I was taken to one of Castle MacNish’s most miserable dungeons 
and chained with a weight of iron to do justice to a wild animal. If you want to try the nadir of 
despair you must get yourself locked into the same impotence I knew throughout the 
afternoon and night. By the next morning I almost knew regret that my limbs still worked, my 
sex was still intact and my breasts were ready for another day. I found small comfort in 
Rosilyn’s assurance that girls were indestructible.

Mister Slobodian assured me of his desire to keep a steady stream of pictures flowing to 
Tintagel. This represented no problem to him at all, the problem was all mine. I was led naked 
to confront a block of ice on which was placed a plank. My hands were then tied behind my 
back, I was told to stand upon the bit of board, and my arms then raised from above to 
wrench my shoulders wickedly and cause me to bend down until my hair fell in a cascade 
towards the ice. Mister Slobodian explained that I could end this disagreeable situation at any 
time by being informative. Otherwise I would stand until the ice was gone and I hung 
suspended from shoulder joins dislocated by my own weight. Mister Slobodian dwelled at 
length on the simplicity of this infliction but was most reassuring about my ability to end it 
whenever I decided to be what he called ‘sensible.’ When he went away I knew I was in for 
trouble.

It was hateful, it was beastly, it was everything that was bad! My tied wrists and stretched 
arms were bad enough as they now were, but with the melting of the ice would become 
steadily worse so that every time that some one came to check if I was willing to be ‘sensible’, 
I would be in worse and worse distress. I wondered if I could tell them some colorful lie but 
Mister Slobodian had already warned me against such a ploy. The penalty for lying would be 
quite unmentionable. I could imagine him having me drawn and quartered. Even thought that
would be the end of my suffering, I found little comfort in the prospect. I set my bare feet 
upon the tiny bit of wood and waited.

by the time the block of ice was half gone and I was clenching my teeth with every breath, 
my Uncle Angus walked through the door with a most respectful Rosilyn. He took in my 
situation at a glance and ordered my release, along with a couple of Scottish curses for Mister 
Slobodian’s stupidity.

“I nay wanted ye tortured, girl,” he assured me while messaging my wrists. “Yon 
Slobodian’s a damned fool. I don’t care whether Ginny’s written a letter or not, I don’t want ye
tortured. I’ll go along with the hostage bit but that’s my limit.”

I was kissed and patted in avuncular affection but not clothed. It appeared my new status 
as hostage rendered clothes unneeded. I was still a prisoner and must be discouraged from 
escape while at the same time all of me should be kept available for whatever punishment I 
might earn. It was damned wonderful the way Uncle Angus saved me. I was led back to 
normalcy and coffee. My hands were thoughtfully tied behind my back.

Uncle Angus was wonderful. I did not hate him, I was filled with gratitude for being 
rescued from that damned awful block of ice and hanging in suspension. In spite of having to 
kneel before him naked on the rug and sip his coffee from a cup he held for me, he remained 
for me the uncle I had always know, a tower of strength in times of stress. If he was 
responsible for my being where I was and how I was, I found fact of small concern. I listened 
respectfully.

“I did not want ye tortured, lass, and you’ll no be tortured again if I have word on it. But 
you’d best be kept a prisoner as hostage for whatever is going on at Tintagel.” He stared at 
me earnestly. “Ye understand, ye’ll no be holdin’ it agin me?”

“I understand, uncle. I’m sorry I’ve made such a mess of things but please go easy on me, 
I’m not used to such things.”

For a prisoner so precious as I a dungeon would have been appropriate but Castle 
MacNish provided a large room with a window giving a view over the moat and a freedom I 
wondered if I would ever know again. Uncle Angus saw me safely within and then withdrew, 
no doubt because he found the sight of his naked niece being chained embarrassing. But 
Rosilyn was not the least embarrassed as she had me sit on a wooden bench to watch the 
chaining of my feet. Another chain extended from ankles to wrists, short enough so that I 
would have not been able to raise my hands above my waist were I standing. I was fixed for 
sure!

“If you want to scratch you nose or eat, you have to squat, dear,” Rosilyn explained as 
though girls were confined like this everyday. “You’ll get used to it, it’s not all that bad.”

“But why chain me at all? I can’t get out of this room. I’m going to hate these chains 
you’ve put on me.”

“It’s orders, love. Seems like you’ve annoyed someone, love, so they want you keep 
chained like this.”

“But it’s medieval! No one’s treated like this today.”

“You are. If you’re not satisfied with this nice little set you’re wearing, I can always chain 
you to the wall.”

“Oh, all right, this lot will do nicely, thank you.” I loaded my voice with sarcasm. “What am I
suppose to do, locked up like this all day? Will you give me something to read?”

“Nothing to read, love. You’ve got a nice view out the window, be satisfied with that.”

I stared at the cheerful keeper of the keys. The whole thing seemed like a silly play in which
I was acting a part, nothing was quite real. I was in a castle owned by an uncle who was quite 
fond of me. Yet I was naked and chained inside a stone prison with a barred window. I rattled 
my chains and found them real enough, then viewed with disfavor the only furniture visible, 
the wooden bench. “This is cruelty,” I offered. I think my appeal was earnest. “Surely you don’t 
have to keep me fastened up this way! Whenever Mister Slobodian or my uncle is away surely 
you can give me a break. At least get rid of this iron for a while.”

Rosilyn smiled. I wondered how many other girls she had fastened this way before. “I 
thought you’d find those chains comfortable, Miss Steward,” she said. “But if you think you’re 
being poorly treated, I can use rope instead….”

“I wish you would. Anything’s better than this hardware.” I should have known better, I 
hadn’t even stopped to think. The shame I felt at being chained the way I was had overridden 
judgment In spite of all the trouble I was giving her, I knew Rosilyn was amused as she used 
her key to free me in a readiness for her bit of rope. During the brief moments I was free she 
turned me around, placed my hands palm to palm and tied my wrists that way with thin, cruel 
cord that was not rope at all. But I had asked for it and held my protest. The rope came on the
scene when she moved up to my elbows and drew them tight together with the first loop.

“Ouch! That hurts! Why do you have to tie my elbows when I can’t possibly get my hands 
free from that beastly thin stuff you’ve tied them with?”

“Routine, dearie, just routine. Can’t have you too comfortable.”

I snorted. “When will this end? When will I be comfortable again?”

“You’ll be here a while, dearie, and you’d best make the best of it.” Rosilyn wrapped my 
elbows with more of that damned rope and tugged it tight. I could feel the knots tugged 
down tightly. “If you get tired of being tied this way, Miss Steward, I may give you your chains 
back tomorrow. If you ask me nicely.”

“Tomorrow!” I was aghast. “You’re not telling me you’ll leave my elbows like this until 
tomorrow!”

“Well I can’t be tying and untying and changing your bondage all the time, now can I?”

She patted her work approvingly. “You’ll get a real interesting day out of being tied like 
this, Miss Steward. And if you manage to get loose, you’ll have an extra apple for your 
supper.”

“I don’t want an extra apple, I want my elbows freed.”

“If you don’t show a bit more gratitude, you won’t get any supper at all. And if you don’t 
stop complaining about those elbows, you could just wind up being tied this way all day 
tomorrow, too. Besides, I’m not finished with the ropes.”

“What! Don’t tell me this isn’t enough. Please don’t tie my feet.”

Rosilyn did not tie my feet. She looped my waist, drew the noose bitterly tight, and then 
tugged the rope down in front and between my legs. I squealed in pain and indignation when 
she planted a knee in my back and tugged for all she was worth to bring the beastly stricture 
up within my sex and deep within by bottom. She tied it that way with no end of tugging to 
make quite sure it was tight and was hurting.

“But it doesn’t do any good!” I exclaimed in outrage. “I suppose you know what you’ve got
it into and how it hurts?”

“It’s called a cropper tie, Miss Steward. It’s used only on high-spirited mares.”

“But I’m not a damned horse!”

“But it looks very sweet on you, love.”

“I had no idea you were going to treat me like this! Look, Rosilyn, I’m sorry to be a 
nuisance but will you untie me and put me back in those chains.” I didn’t know when I was 
well off.

“Maybe tomorrow, dear.” Rosilyn kissed my flushed cheek, patted my bottom, and then 
departed. Standing and staring at the closed door, I heard the thud of bolts and knew one 
more impossible form of bondage holding me prisoner. I stamped a bare foot and turned my 
attention to the matter of my bindings. It only took a couple of minutes to convince me I was 
tied to stay. A girl with her elbows roped tight together doesn’t stand a chance. I couldn’t 
even do anything about that lousy cropper. Experimentally I walked cautiously around my 
stone prison just to see how much it hurt. It hurt too much so I ended by the window to gaze 
longing through the bars at the outside world. Freedom was out there beyond the moat but I 
was not!

I stood there looking and yearning, and from time to time raising one foot or the other in 
an effort to ease the rope pressed hard into my sex. Nothing helped, I hurt constantly and 
bitterly longed to be locked once more in the chains I had despised and rejected. After an 
hour of so of being tied I would gladly have begged for the collar and chain on my neck, 
along with any other chains Rosilyn wished to put on me. I was a very sorry girl.

I thought longingly of Tintagel and Ginevera and, of course, of Harry Lord. The pain of my 
bondage made it hard to concentrate but I could be pretty sure Harry and Ginny would easily 
figure out where I was and what had happened, probably before the first of the pictures ever 
reached them. I could only pray they wouldn’t come storming up to Castle MacNish to effect a
rescue. The way I was fixed in the chamber made me the girl least likely to be rescued in the 
whole world. I couldn’t help them at all. But I couldn’t help dwelling upon a lovely vision of 
Harry with a sharp knife cutting away the ropes and cords causing such pain.

It was about that time when I felt the full impact of imprisonment. I was locked in, I was 
painfully tied, and had nothing whatever to do. Ahead of me stretched limitless boredom with
fear as my only companion. I tried sitting down but that made the rope through my crotch bit 
deeper in. I then experimented with laying out flat on my tummy but the bench was unkind to
my breasts and it just was not practical to lay upon bound arms. I had to wonder if Rosilyn 
knew what she was doing. Being tied this way might not be torture but came damned close. In
utter frustration I screamed at the top of my voice.

Rosilyn had not forgotten. After a passage of hours in which I became increasingly frantic 
and alarmed by strictures from which there was no escape, the friendly keeper of the keys 
shot the bolts and opened the door into my camber of pain. She was accompanied by the 
woman who had whipped Ginevera that awful day we had both been punished, Jeanine.

Both surveyed me with approval, noting the lines of suffering upon my face, and turning 
me back and forth between them to discuss the bondage and how badly it was probably 
hurting. I was no longer the haughty Miss Clair Steward. I was now a naked girl who would do 
anything she had to in order to get rid of those cords. To show you how far gone I was I even 
debated silently whether I should kneel and abase myself with pleas and promises of good 
behavior until they felt pity. But, from this I was saved.

“It’s not safe to leave her tied this tight any longer,” Rosilyn said. “Let’s untie her and they 
you have a go.”

In spite of this hint of other things to come I could have kissed them both. I could then 
have kicked Jeanine for her constant exclamations of delight as loop after loop of rope was 
peeled from my skin. There was a fresh agony in that unwrapping, especially when that hated 
rope between my legs was pulled roughly away, but I held my voice, giving way to the pain 
with tears only. When I was down to simply bound wrists they paused to debate.

“Do you want her hands untied, Jeanine?”

“Yes. I’ll tie them another way. Got to give the lassie a change.”

There was enough kindness in them to allow me to stand in brief euphoria and rub my 
wounds. They watched with interest. The approval was from Jeanine, “Marks beautifully, 
doesn’t she? I’ll bet those rope marks around her elbows will last a long, long time. It’s a pity 
Mister Slobodian stopped her torture, I would have enjoyed that.”

“You’re a sadist, Jeanine,” Rosilyn scoffed. “Be thankful you’ve got Miss Steward’s gorgeous
body to practice knots on.”

“Look, Rosilyn, if we’ve do things to her that won’t leave marks, I don’t see why we can’t 
take her downstairs right now and make her hurt.”

“I suppose a couple of hours wouldn’t do her that much harm,” Rosilyn agreed 
thoughtfully. “She’s a nice girl, I like her. She’ll get tortured plenty before her sentence is 
finished and I’m sure you’ll get in on it.”

“I’ll pay you both whatever you want to set me free,” I interjected forcefully. I was 
beginning to curl up inside.

“She wants to bribe us, Rosilyn. Jeepers, how innocent can a girl get! Are we suppose to 
punish her for that…? Twenty strokes, or something?”

“Please … I don’t want to be whipped or anything else,” I wailed in protest. “Be reasonable, 
I’ll make you both rich.”

“We’re rich now. Miss Steward.”

It was no use. Probably by way of attracting my attention, Jeanine clasp one of my nipples 
between thumb and finger and pinched hard to make me squeal. With my hands still tied 
behind my back, Jeanine proceeded to show me “what a girl’s tits are for,” as she put it.

The pain was horrible as she pinched and dug her long fingernails deep into my breasts.

When at last she was finished my breasts were red and marked with deeper red where the 
nails had dug in. And I was crying.

Then they untied my hands so that Jeanine might retie them in the way she preferred, 
never giving me a chance to even touch my throbbing breasts. I hated Jeanine and promised 
to tell Uncle Angus of her cruelty upon his return.

Jeanine had come equipped to rebind me but not in the way one might suppose. Instead 
of cords she produced thin wire and a pair of pliers which I eyed with fear. “Look here, no 
blood, no permanent marks!” Rosilyn cautioned. But Jeanine was too set upon her task to 
answer. She turned me around and slipped a single loop of wire around my already sore 
elbows. “Just to keep her quite while I do what I’ve got in mind,” she assured cheerfully. “I 
suspect this one is a rebellious bitch if she had the chance.”

I had no chance, the wire around my elbows was wicked. Wire circled my thumbs, was 
cinched and tightened by the pliers and snipped off short. There would be no way I would be 
able to untwist that wire. Jeanine’s next selection was a surprise. She wrapped wire around my 
legs above my knee caps, twisted the ends down and snipped the loose ends down.

“Go ahead and take a walk, dearie,” she offered.

“I can’t. It will cut the skin.”

“So what! Try it.”

I tried it. My skin was not cut but I almost wished it was because Jeanine’s next selections 
was the same damned thing Rosilyn had called the cropper tie. I remembered whimpering at 
the penetration of my sex. The wicked wire was so deep in my belly every time I drew breath. 
Jeanine was delighted. “I’d do her tits and breasts if you weren’t so damned protective, 
Rosilyn,” Jeanine said with cheerful earnestness. “I expect you’re a wiz-bang with a bit of rope 
or turning the key in a lock. But you don’t know how to get the best out of these girls. But I’ve 
still got her little fingers and ankles. You watch and learn.”

The wire around my little fingers robbed me of hands. I was then made to sit and endure 
the pain of a wired pussy and loins while the busy pliers tightened another single strand of the
thin horror around each of my ankles. That didn’t hurt too bad until I tried to stand, I then 
discovered standing was not for me. The wire dug into my tendons to make me emit a squeal 
of pain and sit down hard. This, apparently, was Jeanine’s contribution to my day’s 
entertainment. They went away laughing. I listened to the locks and bolts and longed to cry.

When Rosilyn had bound me I had been able to walk but was not confronted with a 
choice, I could hurt sitting down or I could hurt standing up. I was already sitting down and 
suffering the wire cutting into my private places. It was quite easy for me to stand and maybe I
should try again. I did so but almost immediately sank back upon the bench in alarm. I looked 
down at my ankles expecting blood but there was none. Maybe Jeanine knew what she was 
doing. Once more the day stretched endlessly ahead. For a while I gritted my teeth with tiny 
steps and hobbled over to the window just to have one more look at freedom. But it wasn’t 
long before I was back on the bench and face down on my tummy with my breasts damn well 
having to put up with the discomfort of the hard wood. It was a poor choice but the best I 
had.

Late that evening I was unwired with the additional mercy of wrists handcuffed behind my 
back so I could sleep. But sleep did not come easily. I shifted this way and that on that blasted 
hard bench and had just about reached sleep with the door opened and a man walked in to 
have a look at Castle MacNish’s naked prisoner.

It was Mister Slobodian.

CHAPTER FIVE - A Diversity of Prisons

I sat erect as if motivated by a spring, my hands busy behind my back working against 
steel. Slobodian and I stared at each other, he in complacent amusement and I in horror.

“Good evening. Miss Steward. I am sure you would like to leave this dismal place?” The 
question was almost kind.

“Of course I would but not with you.”

“That is understood. You expect me to torture you and, indeed, why not. But is it not better
to accept the torture you already know rather than that you do not. I assure you the woman 
Jeanine is infinitely inventive and well acquainted with the ways by which a girl may suffer 
pain. Oh, and by the way, you’re Uncle Angus will be absent for several days.”

I looked at him without hope. “You want something, what is it?”

“You!”

He just stood there and stared at my breasts. I felt forced to ask, “You want me to torture?”

“That’s secondary. Primarily I want you as my mistress. We can forget Uncle Angus and 
Alpha for the moment. I can see you’re wasted in this prison. You just as well may be 
somewhere with a man who can enjoy you.” He gave a bitter little laugh. “I know damned well 
that you wouldn’t look at me twice if you were safe at Tintagel. But you’re not at Tintagel. And
wouldn’t it be better to make your body available to me than to be left here to the tender 
mercies of Jeanine and Rosilyn? Jeanine can be real rough on a girl.”

“I know, she’s been rough on me already.” My mind was racing frantically. “But aren’t you 
in need of sex? I’m sure there’s others available. I doubt I’m that good in bed with someone I 
don’t love.”

“I’ll give you time to learn.”

I longed to tell Mister Slobodian where to go but the thought of getting out of prison plus
the insistent reminder of handcuffed wrists made me feel that surely he offered something 
better than the bondage of Castle MacNish. I could probably endure getting into bed with 
him, he was not exactly repulsive. But I couldn’t see where that would lead. I mean, it would 
do Ginevera or me the least bit of good for me to be his prisoner. Stalling for time, I asked, “I 
suppose I would have to be chained up all the time?”

“Only if you tried to escape.”

“You mean you’d let we walk around and do whatever I wanted to without being 
restrained?” I asked in disbelief. “Why not?”

Why not indeed? “But, Mister Slobodian, don’t you understand that to give me any 
amount of freedom is to tempt me to make a run for it? I’m only human and there is no 
earthly reason why I should be a prisoner. I belong at Tintagel.” I surveyed him soberly. “If I 
tried to escape and you catch me … What happens then?”

“I’d have you whipped and then you’d spent a day and a night sitting in the double stocks.

You’ve had a taste of them before. I’m sure you’ll think twice before risking that 
punishment.”

“It seems to me like getting out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

My visitor smirked and said, “You’ve not yet learned your lesson, Miss Steward. I’m giving 
you a choice even though you actually have no choice. I’m sure I can persuade your two jailers
to increase your discomforts … And I’ve already arranged to take you away with me now. You 
may be surprised but I prefer the willing maiden as against the screams and struggles. A 
maiden willing in captive is far preferable to feminine hostility and outrage.

Think you can handle it?”

“If I say yes, will you unlock my hands now?”

“No.”

“If you don’t trust me now, you never will.”

“Sweetheart, it’s me who’s calling the shots, don’t you try. That part of your life is over.”

Being naked with Mister Slobodian staring at my breasts and with handcuffs tight on my 
wrists behind my back, I had to believe what he said was true. Miss Clair Steward, one time 
resident of Tintagel, seemed a thing of the past. I had become a slavegirl who did what she 
was told. I made a quick and unfortunate choice.

“In that case, Mister Slobodian, I will stay where I am. I bid you good night.”

I didn’t have a chance. Decision was a dream. Mister Slobodian grasped a handful of my 
hair and jerked my head painfully to indicate his mastery. There wasn’t a damned thing I could
do so I allowed myself to be propelled from a prison I hadn’t much enjoyed anyway.

If I had any sense I would have gone willing and done things his way. Now I would be 
continually suspect and he would take what he wanted from me by force. Shit!

In the unlit gloom of Castle MacNish’s great hall we were joined by a dark and shadowy 
figure who took my arm. The newcomer bandaged my eyes and inserted a gag inside my 
mouth, strapping it tight to depress my tongue and pull back upon my mouth as its band of 
soft leather imprisoned my lips. When I wiggled in revolt, one of my nipples was pinched and I
was told to behave myself. I was then rushed to a waiting car, placed in the center of the back 
seat. Each man grabbed an ankle from the opposite doors and pulled my legs as wide apart as
possible. They were then strapped tight to something I could not see. I could just imagine 
what I looked like. Obscene!

My captors spoke little and in a foreign tongue. At the start there was laughter and 
chuckles and I blushed in a silent knowledge of what they were talking about. My feet were 
stretched so far apart I could not move. My hands could not cover my features. I had no 
doubt they were enjoying my wide open sex. After a while there was only silence.

The mind of a girl strictured as I was strictured seethes with wild surmise and a hundred 
fears. My most immediate reaction was irritation with myself for having chosen my present 
plight. If I had used common sense I might well be in the front seat in relative freedom and 
chatting with my captor. I don’t want to paint too bad a picture of Slobodian. He was a virile 
man who could be charming when he chose. But he was also utterly ruthless so it was unlikely 
I could expect mercy at his hands. I found myself longing for Slobodian’s bed instead of what I
was now likely to get. It was only being honest with myself.

Robbed of half my senses, it was difficult to gauge time. When the journey ended it was a 
relief to be freed of the straps and to be able to close my legs. I was forced to walk some 
distance until someone again grasped a handful of my hair. I sensed our entry into a dwelling. 
We traversed passages and stairs until coming to a halt where the blindfold was stripped 
away. Mister Slobodian was on one side and his helper on the other. Before me were the 
panels of a door. Without preamble, Mister Slobodian pushed it open and pushed me in. It 
was not another prison cell-I wished it was!

It was a plush lounge. Within a dozen men were holding drinks and talking about 
whatever it is men talk about on such occasions. With the closing of the door behind me, all 
talk stopped and every eye turned upon me. I longed to die. But the closed panel would not 
move as I pressed against it. I remembered the stories of small rodents tossed into cages with 
snakes, that was how I felt as twentyfour pairs of eyes riveted upon my nakedness. I thought 
of turning around and pressing my face to the door but that was absurd and would provoke 
laughter. With my hands twisting against the metal bands around my wrists, I pressed my 
bottom to the wood and glared back at my admirers in pretty much the same way Daniel had 
glared at the lions.

“Damn it, the girl’s a beauty! Karl is doing us proud.”

“You can rely on Karl for a pretty girl. He screws them first before passing them on. His 
guests get the best.”

Slobodian’s name was evidently Karl and these men held him in high esteem. I would have
been pretty dumb if I hadn’t realized Karl was making a gift of me to a group of male guests 
who, no doubt, had ways of their own for returning favors. They were a diverse group 
including an oriental and a couple of blacks. I had little doubt of one thing they had in 
common … An erection!

I stood listening to myself being freely discussed. There was a good deal of speculation as 
to whether or not I had enough “spring in my ass” to make a good lay, but since they had 
every opportunity to discover for themselves, they saw this as no problem. There then 
developed a split between those in favor of removing my gag and those opposed. The 
observation was made that the way I was (with gag) made a perfect example of the way every 
woman ought to be. I got the impression some were unhappily married. But the first group 
won the day by pointing out that sooner or later in the evening I would have need of my 
mouth in order to give blow jobs-which they all seemed to expect as a matter of course. I 
curled up inside at the mere thought of such a sexual degradation. I frantically searched for 
ways to save myself from such disgust. There was none. I was doomed.

With these twelve men I would become a whore who would get no pay.

It was so damned good to get rid of the gag I said, “Thank you,” regardless. Male hands 
on my arms led me away from the door to become the center of interest. I was made to 
spread my legs and say a humble “Yes, sir,” when asked if I wanted to give pleasure. I saw 
myself savoring the very nadir of feminine submission. Devoutly I wished I could share some 
of the obvious happiness of these men for whom I had become a gift. They all expressed 
approval of my handcuffs and some suggested that every girl should be thus restrained. They 
drew straws and then male hands positioned me as desired and spread my legs. I tried to 
close my eyes but was told to keep them open while number one, minus pants and shorts, 
approached what seems for every man his heart’s desire.

I hated it. I hate it still! Here and there my flesh found pleasure while my spirit shriveled up
in shame. I had become a female Thing, and the responses I could not control were hailed as 
victory for The Male. While one man lost himself within my hot, moist sex, eleven others 
watched in critical acclaim both his assault and my surrender. The male won every round while
I won nothing. And I thought longingly of Karl Slobodian’s bed with just the two of us. No 
doubt Karl was laughing.

I knew about fellatio, I had always dismissed it as something of no importance and 
certainly something that would never happen to me. It happened now! By the time the last 
man had finished using my pussy for his pleasure, the first penis was again taking interest in 
the activities. But this time the men seemed to think it was far better to use a different but still 
moist opening to my body. The general technique was to straddle my body and shove the 
cock into my mouth while holding on to my ears to control my head and prevent me from 
jerking back. The gentlemen in the group merely put a hand behind my head, those less 
kindly tugged quite hard at my ears. I lost count of the number of cocks I sucked on, perhaps 
some men took more than one turn.

Early on in the second round of sexual games, I protested, between cocks, that this was 
shameful and horrible. I was shown a wicked looking little riding crop. I shut up.

Surely there could be no lower depth to which a girl could sink!

The party started late but lasted long. With my hands still handcuffed behind my back I 
was passed around from group to group and man to man to be played with in whatever 
fashion that man desired. Drink was held to my lips but little other care was paid to my 
comfort. The riding crop was visible upon a coffee table at all times. I even then I was by no 
means home free. From time to time one of the more virile of the guests laid me down upon 
the rug for another round of pleasure. His, not mine! They all admired my nakedness and 
lovingly handled their favorite parts.

I got an impression that one of my mine attractions was the fact that I came absolutely 
free. Each time I was violated I seemed to hear in invisible cash register ring up, “No Sale.”

In the course of being passed around this happy group, I was forced to consume a fair 
amount of drink. The guests themselves were not shy about consuming much greater 
quantities of Slobodian’s booze. Inhibitions slipped away and it was not long before some 
bright spark suggested they should take turns using the riding crop upon my bare bottom.

That idea seemed to excite a number of them. It didn’t excite me much. I wondered if I 
might talk my way out of it. Or weep real tears. Some men are suckers for a girl’s tears.

But the drink had made me reckless and quite tipsy to the point where twelve strokes 
across my bottom with a riding crop no longer seemed so terrible. I tried to divert them by 
introducing a discussion as to why men like to whip girl’s bottoms. But that discussion scarcely
got off to a start when it was replaced by a debate as to whether I should be bound for my 
ordeal or simply laid across the back of an armchair and held by willing male hands. I heard 
myself declaring that I would much rather be held than tied. The result was a unanimous vote 
to tie me tight to insure a perfect and motionless target.

A large ottoman was pulled out and I was bent over it. Each knee was bound to one leg 
while my waist was bound with longer rope around the middle of my waist and the ottoman. 
My handcuffs were grabbed and pulled up and forward which drove my head down. I could 
see little as my long hair fell around my face and down to the floor. But I must have been a 
sight.

by this time I realized that it was really going to happen and had no trouble producing a 
fine shower of tears which had the benefit of diverting those members of the company who 
had started a new debate on obscene things to be done to my body in this new and revealing 
posture. Without any contribution from me it was decided the twelve strokes would do nicely 
and I was a very lucky girl.

Without warning the crop impacted upon my flesh in the first of twelve strokes. I jerked 
but could not get away from the burning pain. I sarcastically hoped those idiots were having 
fun. I wasn’t.

My tears flowed and were approved by all.

It was then Karl Slobodian.

My tears were dried while various members of the rape gang expressed thanks and 
gratitude for such a lovely gift. “You’ve got a damned good girl there, Karl. I’ll buy her if you 
get bored.”

“She took twelve of the best across her ass like a Trojan. You may have got yourself a girl 
who likes it.”

“Damned fine piece of ass by any standards.”

Slobodian took my credits as graciously as his due. He had given his guests the best and 
was pleased. We were joined by a muscular woman of little more than my own age into who’s 
care Slobodian dumped me with a terse, “You know what to do with her, Elma.”

Elma grasped my bare arm and led me from the room. I left with no regret.

I have never been more thoroughly bathed in my life than the job Elma did on me then.

And I never felt more like needing it. My hands remained behind my back and were still 
tight chained when I was pushed down upon Karl Slobodian’s own bed. Sitting awkwardly I 
watched Elma drag each of my feet towards a corner of the bed and bind them fast to leave 
me disgustingly spread wide open. Talk about an invitation! No doubt my cleansing had made
me acceptable to the master, the man who owned me now. Strangely, the word “owned” 
came readily to mind, it seemed the only sensible word to use for a man who could do as he 
pleased with my body. I was having less and less faith in Uncle Angus rescuing me from 
Slobodian’s outrageous enslavement. That’s what I had become, a slave. I suppose the proper 
term would be “sex slave.” And being what I was, I had but a single function in the eyes of 
men.

Without a word Elma left me exactly as I’ve described. There was no sense trying to free 
myself, it was impossible. So I sat awkwardly surveying my spread legs and bound ankles 
before I sank back to arrange myself as a handcuff girl must do. There aren’t that many 
options. You simply put your hands to one side and lay on your arm. I was tired and longed 
for sleep.

It was maybe ten minutes before my master made his appearance, wearing his dressing 
gown and surveying my body with approval. Without preamble he demanded, “I suppose you 
know what comes next?”

“Yes, I know.”

“Elma has you nicely positioned.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

Karl laughed at my meek acceptance of the inevitable. The words he spoke to me now 
were flung with scorn. “I don’t take the leavings of a dozen others. I’ll bid you good night.”

He disappeared as he had come to leave me the most startled and chagrined woman.

Shame mantled me at the curt rejection and contemptuous dismissal. But I could do 
nothing about anything. I was as helpless as a girl can be.

It was Elma tugging to free my ankles who woke me in the morning with the sun cheerfully
high and every bone in my body aching. Along with that my bottom was sore and still felt hot 
as I painfully moved against the covers. Under Elma’s amused stare I slithered my feet to the 
rug and cautiously stood erect. The fateful handcuffs held my wrists with their usual loving 
care.

“Your master is waiting breakfast for you. Come, I’ll show you the way.”

“Breakfast! Like this!” Quite absurdly I was shy.

“Of course like that. You don’t rate clothes here, young lady, any more than you rate free 
hands. Don’t worry, I’ll feed you.”

The thought of remaining captive at the breakfast table to be fed by a servant sickened 
me. Like the little girl I had become I wailed, “Please take the handcuffs off so I can feed 
myself. I promise I’ll behave.”

The only answer I got was authoritative fingers clutching my arm to lead me from the 
room. I didn’t struggled but wondered if a real honest-to-goodness prison was anything like 
this.

Karl was already seated at the table but actually rose at my entry. He had a chair for me 
and appeared not to hear my request to remove the handcuffs from my wrist. I found myself 
blushing as Elma held coffee to my lips. Observing the clumsiness of this operation, Slobodian
told her to free my hands and leave us alone.

Karl watched with an amused smile my obvious joy at freedom. They had been behind my 
back so long it was like being born again. I even forgot I was naked before a man. I ate 
greedily and made great play with free hands in the fear I might not have them long.

Karl wasted no time in bring up the item most on his mind. “Did you prefer the dozen men
and the dozen cuts across your ass to sleeping alone with me?”

“You know I didn’t, I hated it. Look, Mister Slobodian, I’m sorry I made the wrong decision.

I really am sorry. I think you were trying to be kind to me.”

He shrugged. Once more I felt myself dismissed. “The choice is made,” he said evenly.

“Perhaps it’s just as well for I’ve discovered another use for you. Do you know how well 
you adept to humiliation and nakedness?”

“Have I! I suppose a whip and riding crop can make a girl adept to anything.”

“You’re like the little girl who falls in a mud puddle then decides to sit down and wallow in 
it because she can’t make things much worse. You have a wonderful gift for submission.”

“I expect that’s a compliment. What I want most is for you to send me back to Tintagel. I 
can promise you Ginevera’s silence. None of you have a thing to worry about. There’s no need
to keep me a prisoner. If she thinks I’m being tortured, she may spill the beans and go to the 
police. Please, Mister Slobodian, let me go home and carry on the way we were.”

“Call me Karl. The way you say my last name makes it sound unpleasant.”

“Very well, Karl. After this nice breakfast with you may I go home?”

“No, you can’t go home.” He chuckled. “I backed out of Alpha. Those boys are playing with
fire. But that leaves me free. Your Uncle Angus no longer can put a finger on me. I may give 
you back to him eventually. But for the time being you’re an asset.”

He studied me as though reading my mind. “I intend to send you to various people, one at
a time, to have you deliver yourself as their slave for whatever period I designate. Maybe a few
hours or a few days. That’s none of your business. You’ll be naked for them. You will kneel and 
submit. You will ask to be chained. You will be their slave in every way.

Among them there may be an occasional female I want something from. You’ II do this of 
your own volition.”

“You mean I’ll be clothed? No rope? No handcuffs?”

“That’s right. Think you can handle it?”

“I don’t understand. If I’m that free, I’ll simply go back to Tintagel.”

“If you do, I’ll put out a contract on Harry Lord.”

Ice touched my spine. Karl had found my weakest point. Harry Lord might love Ginevera 
but I loved him. I would get him yet but not if he was dead. I looked at the smiling face across 
the table and knew defeat. Karl Slobodian had me in his clutches.

“Very well then, you’ve got me. You know you’ve got me. I’ll obey.”

My captor nodded. I longed to slap his smug face but was far too afraid to try such action.

“If you go back upstairs to the room next to that bedroom in which you spent the night, 
you’ll find a room with everything a girl desires. Dress and make yourself beautiful. Do your 
hair. Elma will help you. Don’t take too damned long about it, I intend to spend the day in 
London with you.”

“Me go to London? Naked!”

“You’ll find plenty of clothes. I want to be proud of you. You certainly can’t walk the 
London streets totally bare.” He eyed me critically. “You’ve come to enjoy it, haven’t you?”

I blushed admission. “You’ll let me wear a cloak or something so people wouldn’t see that 
I’m handcuffed?”

“You won’t be handcuffed. I hold you far more securely than any chain.”

Karl Slobodian had me completely off balance in a daze of emotion just short of 
happiness. I bathed and dressed and Elma did my hair. I was proud of myself and London 
would be, too. It was while we lunched at Trilby’s I caught my first glimpse of things to come.

She was svelte, she was lovely, she was forty plus. She was regal and imperious yet utterly 
charming. She was introduced as Lady Madge Bretley of Bretley Hall. While her escort went on
ahead her lovely eyes flitted back and forth from Karl to me in amused surmise.

“Karl, she’s gorgeous!” There was a meaningful pause. “Is she the one?”

“Delivery date tomorrow. Think you can handle her?”

Lady Madge did not bother to answer. Instead she addressed me, “Darling, you won’t 
mind if I whip you?”

I was conscious of Karl’s eyes. My response was instant. “Of course, if it gives you 
pleasure.”

“How the devil do you pick them, Karl! This one’s so deliciously submission my thingee is 
already wet. Don’t you dare let her escape.”

I watched Lady Madge Bretley flit away. I looked at Karl and innocently inquired, “Will she 
really whip me?”

“Of course.” Karl was amused. “You’ll enjoy Madge, she’s inventive and utterly merciless.

But don’t worry, she won’t kill you. She may even take you to bed and love you to pieces.”

Karl smiled. ‘The last girl I sent over got stripped and bound spread-eagle on the bed and 
told she could expect the attentions of at least twenty men. But there weren’t any men.

When my girl was reduced to quivering expectation she got only a single visitor and that 
was Lady Madge. Goodness knows what she’ll do with you.”

In a place like Trilby’s it was inevitable there were those I knew. I tried my best to be the 
Clair Steward they knew but with my mind filled with images of what they would think if they 
beheld me naked and chained and whipped I was not sure they were convinced I was normal. 
Karl enjoyed my embarrassment.

“You’ve changed,” he assured me earnestly. “No girl who has been whipped the way you 
have remains the same. In my book your much better than the haughty bitch I first met, an 
improvement. You’ve become heart-breakingly beautiful to any man who knows what to look 
for. I’m half inc-lined to marry you myself.” I let that pass.

It was wonderful to be able to get up and walk around and to be able to do things with 
my hands. Yet Slobodian was right, I loved being naked and fully realized it only when dressed
in public like this. And perhaps he was right about my being submissive, too.

Perhaps I really was a slave. I was sure Karl had been joking when he spoke of marriage.

He had no need to marry me, he owned me now. Strangely I was unconcerned.

Karl proved too exciting a host to give me time to think. It was not until the night when I 
was once more stripped, my hands cuffed behind my back, and I was locked in a beastly little 
cell that my thoughts turned inevitably to escape and regrets over lost chances of the day. I 
saw myself as a silly child who had behaved ridiculously under the influences of a man I once 
hated. I slept in declining hope and without comfort. But the new day was a repetition. I was 
once more free, and once more I found myself accepting the strange compulsions Karl 
Slobodian imposed. I could have run away but, with a sort of inevitably found myself knocking
at the magnificent front door of Bretley Hall. I should have been scared to death but was 
shivering in anticipation.

I was met by a butler who led me to where my fate lay waiting.

I’ll swear the act was involuntary. I had not been instructed, I had planned nothing, but 
immediately the door closed and I was alone with Lady Madge I dropped to my knees and 
bowed my head in utter submission. I remember crossing my wrists behind my back. I dared 
not move. My pose was perfect. Fearfully I heard the thudding of my heart. When I was told to
stand it was only to received a pair of handcuffs firmly locked on my wrists. I never thought to 
protest. I knew everything was as it should be-the strangest of feelings.

We used no words. I was encircled in a warm female embrace I could not return. I was 
kissed and the hands of Lady Madge thrust behind my head to cement our lips savagely 
together, a clasp which lasted a long, long time until she suddenly broke away to stand and 
survey what she now owned. I felt her strength and beheld her loveliness. Her voice was 
suddenly a whiplash, “Strip!”

Bewildered I raised locked hands and lifted an eyebrow in question. But she did not heed.

“You can strip, those handcuffs won’t stop you. Do it now and do it quickly. If you have to 
tear something, do it. I want you nude.”

She was both fire and quicksilver, one moment scorching you with the heat of love, the 
next slipping evasively between your fingers. I felt her aura and knew myself the weaker of the
two, both spiritually and mentally. With a surprising ease I rid myself of clothes and kicked my 
shoes aside while Lady Madge watched with the small half smile always present on her lips. 
She wasted no time.

“I’ve decided to whip you first thing, darling. It’s a lovely introduction and will get us nicely
intimate. I do hope you agree.”

Whatever my mental condition might have been, it was not normal. I was under a spell.

This woman possessed a power I could not resist. I said, of course I agreed and allowed 
myself to be led to the place of execution. The room had a box against the wall and high up a 
metal hook. I was invited to stand on the box and placed my handcuffed wrists within the 
curve of metal. When I do so, Lady Madge took away the box.

“This leaves you deliciously stretched, darling. But you can stand on your toes so your 
wrists won’t hurt too much. It’s a lovely way to expose a girl so she’s ready to be whipped.

I’ve used it often. Do you feel all quivery and tense? Here, let me feel.”

There wasn’t much need for me to speak. Lady Madge did all the talking. Her hand was 
soft and very wise as it palmed my puss then showed me the result, a wetness. I was told to 
lick her palm dry. A month ago I would have rather died than obey. But now it seemed the 
most natural thing to do. Our eyes were level as I busily used my tongue. When Madge 
stepped away she made a sudden exclamation, “Oh, darling, your poor bottom! It’s been 
terribly punished, and by men, wasn’t it? I can tell. Oh, Clair, you poor thing. Those terrible, 
terrible bastards … I suppose this is all Karl’s fault.”

“He gave me to twelve of his friends. They took a riding crop to my bottom.”

“And they used it hard, didn’t they?” Her anger was purely female, a female robbed of 
treasure. ‘The rotten bastards, to use a crop on you. I never use a crop, it’s all together severe. 
I’m going to have to whip your back-or maybe your thighs. I’ve got the nicest whip.”

Even though my naked breasts were thrust against the wall and my hands held high, it was
still possible for Madge to dangle her lovely whip where I could see it and be told to kiss it 
lovingly before it cut my skin. Madge was an expert in female submission.

I was on my toes and my wrists were hurting. I was naked and soon to be whipped by a 
woman I suspected I would soon adore. Lady Madge was about five hundred percent female 
and I was panting in some sort of unnamed lust. One part of me was wickedly ashamed, the 
other part was avid. The sweetly feminine voice intoned, “I’m going to whip you now, darling. 
If you wish to scream, please do. I won’t mind. But, to be perfectly honest, I’d just as soon you 
didn’t.”

I supposed the first branding of my skin would bring me back to being a hurt girl in agony
but this was not the way it was for her magic was still potent. And, even though I moaned at 
the impact, my sex glowed fire. As long as a girl’s sex is hot there is room for hope.

Madge’s lovely whip bit my shoulders and then my waist before it descended to my thighs.

My thighs had never been whipped before and the cuts were painful enough to make me 
kick and squirm in a manner to hurt my handcuffed wrists. They hurt!

Believe it or not I was so still under her spell and under no condition to judge the true 
damage to my skin. I knew it was bad, I could hear the sad feminine protests, the yelps and 
exclamations and my voice pleading, “Not so hard, oh please, not so hard!”

Madge paid no heed. Why should she? I was beautifully secured and totally available to 
the leather. But Lady Madge knew more than one way to hurt a girl and it was not too long 
before she stooped to pick up one ankle and lift it high. Her other hand brought the whip up 
between my legs to explode with my sex with vicious strokes. With my foot lifted high, my 
poor pussy was completely revealed and Madge’s leather thong bit hard and viciously.

I yelped and moaned as each stroke bit hard. I suppose it was my imagination but each 
impact sounded wet and my whimper complaints found no ear.

Everything ends. When the box was thrust between my feet I stepped up eagerly to lift my 
hands from the hook. I had been well whipped but by the standard governing such things, I 
knew Madge could claim she whipped me with mercy. It was indeed an introduction to a 
fleshly union of girls in which I felt sure I had graduated with honors.

“You’re so terribly beautiful, darling,” Madge purred. “I could whip you forever but there 
are so many other things. Come, I’ll show you.”

I was not immediately led away. My handcuffs were switched from front to back. The 
hands of Lady Madge explored my fresh and burning marks and the flesh so recently abused 
by her thong.

“Fresh whip marks are gorgeous, darling. Maybe you won’t know but they are yummy, 
yummy. Right now my hands feel the heat of your skin and there’s a sort of dew where ever 
the whip kissed your tenderness. We’re so lucky, both of us are so terribly lucky.”

Lady Madge produced a sigh and continued her digital exploration of scorched skin. I 
stood in total submission, even widening the spread of my legs that she might examine the 
soreness there. I shared her joy. The magic of Madge did not die. I was made to a delightful 
balcony overlooking the park and told to kneel within her reach. I had no thought of 
disobedience and knelt in full frontal exposure for her pleasure. I was glad my hands were 
locked behind my back, it saved me wondering what to do with them. Madge would do 
something to me but I had no idea what. Silently she drank in ever curve of my nakedness and
was obviously pleased by what she saw.

“It’s funny, darling, but if you were a homely girl I wouldn’t be the least bit interested. As it 
is, if you as beautiful as you are, I’m in a dither or lust. I want to whip you again, I want to whip
you forever but won’t. Enough is enough. And there is all sorts of things to do to girls.

Got any ideas?”

“You mean, for torture?”

“Don’t call it that!” Madge was obviously hurt by my tactless reference to the 
unmentionable. “What I do to you is not torture, it’s stimulation. When I do things to you, 
you’ll never be more vividly alive. Have your nipples been clipped, darling?”

“No. I’m not sure what you mean, darling.”

“There are delightful little spring clips, darling, that I can used to clip your nips so that they
bob around delightfully every time you move. They also hurt like hell. Want to try?”

“Am I permitted to say no?”

“Of course not, dear girl. There’s another positively darling notion I’ve just thought of. In 
the event I do send you back to Karl Slobodian, and I’m not a bit sure I will, wouldn’t it be 
amusing to return you with a ring in your nose?” She laughed delightedly. “I have a friend who
makes the loveliest job of ringing a girl. It’s not just the nose, of course, there’s also your 
nipples and your puss. I once owned a girl with no less than seventeen rings solidly planted in 
her flesh. It wasn’t all that good looking so I got rid of her. I don’t intend to get rid of you.”

I knelt naked on the rug and listened to the impossible. I could believe none of it yet felt 
certain it would happen. I was learning that whatever Lady Madge spoke of usually happened.
If she spoke of a ring in my nose, it would probably happen. It seemed impossible but her 
magic still held me in its grip.

But first things first. I was naked and kneeling within reach of my female captor and 
suddenly I beheld, in her hands, small objects to send my blood to racing and my heart to 
pounding. They were painted red and, as her fingers played, their jaws opened and closed in 
unmistakable hunger for my flesh. I glanced at my nipples and found them twice their normal 
size. Take it or leave it but that’s the way it was. I couldn’t truly believe it myself until Madge 
fitted open jaws over one of my hard nipples and allowed it to slowly close.

Sure, I could have run or fought or twisted but to what end? I accepted the inevitable and 
even thrust my breasts forward to receive the pain. When the tiny jaws closed, I squealed in 
agony and my wrists had to endure the suddenly jerking of my arms against the hard steel.

“And now the other, darling?”

I did not want the other anymore than I wanted the vicious little demon already bobbing 
on the point of my punished breast. But I found myself turning to present a ready nipple to 
the jaws. When they closed upon my tender bud, I squealed again and found both breasts on 
fire. But it was a fire not entirely agony. My career as a slavegirl may well have been brief, but 
in all the inflictions upon my flesh I knew nothing so intense or sexual as the little clips 
tormenting me now. I longed for them to be taken from my flesh but knew instinctively I 
would be disappointed if Lady Madge robbed my nipples of this strange joy. Instead I knelt 
before her, whimpering in pain, but without will to ask for mercy.

“Delicious, isn’t it darling?” The voice of Lady Madge was as deadly as the clips. “You want 
them off but you would be devastated to loose them. Don’t worry, darling, I know exactly how
you feel. I could watch those delightful things trembling on your tits forever.”

I could have gotten to my feet, I could have run, I could have kicked and screamed. But I 
did none of those. Lady Madge had elected to punish me and I gloried in the pain. If this was 
crazy, when then it was crazy but that’s the way it was. I moved my shoulders restlessly and 
watched the movement of the clips upon my breasts, seeing them as tiny cannon pointing at 
the world. I know it was crazy but I heard my own voice pleading, “Don’t take them from me, 
Madge, let me suffer, it’s the most gorgeous suffering I’ve ever known.

Lady Madge took them from me instantly to make me squeal fresh in a new and different 
agony and a bitter sense of loss. Somewhere I had said the wrong thing.

“You never tell me what to do, sweetheart.” The voice of my mistress was warm and filled 
with pity. “You bear what you must and limit your utterances to a simple ‘thank you’. I’m sure 
you will learn.”

“Thank you.”

“It takes intelligence to learn. If you desire your nipple clips back on in spite of your 
mistake-you may ask me nicely and I may consider.”

“Please, Mistress, I want you to clip my nipples. I’ll keep quite still.” The voice was mine but
I was not making any decisions, the words came without thinking. To ask for a repeat of such 
awful agony had to be insane but perhaps that’s what I was! Most certainly I was becoming 
very docile to accept and even beg for such punishment. Lovingly the wicked little clips were 
replaced upon my punished buds for me to wear again in the purest agony of all, the love for 
the woman who put them to bob brightly upon my flesh. After a while the hand of Lady 
Madge inserted itself between my thighs to palm my raging puss and to announce it’s victory 
in a wet sex. Once I had been Clair Steward but was now nothing more than a naked, 
punished girl.

CHAPTER SIX - Rape in the Park

Summer embraced the Great Park of Bretley Hall with benevolent arms, the air redolent 
with the scents of June and the lush green grass bathing my bare feet with dew.

“It’s times like this I feel tremendous gratitude for owning this place,” Madge confided as 
she led me beyond the formal gardens into the park itself. “We’re going to enjoy ourselves 
and I really hope you win. Keep in mind that you get twenty strokes if you loose.” She 
chuckled wickedly. “I won’t tell you exactly where.”

“I feel the same way about Tintagel,” I said acidly. I had spent the night chained at the foot
of her ladyship’s bed and was not in the best of moods, coming close to being Clair Steward 
once again. “As to this game you force me to play, I almost have to loose because all the 
underbrush has been trimmed from this part of the park. And, anyway, you’ve got my hands 
cuffed behind my back so I can’t run properly. You might as well whip me now and get it over 
with.”

“Don’t be sulky, dear. And you don’t have to run, you have to hide, that’s by far your best 
bet. If you hide cleverly enough, I may never find you. And the deadline is only three hours. 
Which will bring us home just in time for lunch. You’ll absolutely love it.”

“Suppose I refuse to play?”

“Then you get the twenty plus hanging by your thumbs. You won’t like that a bit.”

I sighed and surveyed the loveliness of a freedom that was not for me. Lady Madge’s next 
remark pinpointed my hopelessness. “There’s a beautiful high wall around the park, darling. 
Even if you had your hands you couldn’t get over it. So have fun, darling, and give your 
attention to the game. It’s a beautiful game and your skin has a stake in it. Please don’t be 
sulky, I hate sulky girls.”

I looked at the lovely vista and the woman I must obey. I cocked a questioning eye. “Do I 
have to? It seems a silly game for a pair of adults.”

“When you belong to the privileged classes, like you and I do, nothing is silly. We can 
afford to pay for it. Think of how the lower classes despise fox hunting. But this game you and 
I are going to play is much nicer than fox hunting.”

“If you enjoy hunting a girl. Then whipping her if she doesn’t run fast enough.” I really was 
in a bad mood and added, “Please, Madge, give me my hands.”

“You don’t need your hands. And, anyway, I like them the way they are. I think you’d better
start your run before I get angry. Go on, run, walk or whatever. In any direction you fancy.

I’ll give you a good, long start. Good luck.”

I couldn’t say mad at Lady Madge and the morning was too gorgeous to be spoiled by 
sulks. The grass was a green carpet beneath my feet as I stepped out towards the unknown. I 
had no hope of winning the game, the park had been too neatly trimmed to offer effective 
cover. Within that field of green my nakedness would show up like a white flag. I was positive 
that with my hands fastened behind my back Lady Madge could outrun me easily. But I put 
negative thoughts behind me as I walked out under the warm morning sun. Then I trotted 
gently towards the distant trees, my breasts bobbing in the sunlight.

I had no plan, I had no hope. Resigned to eventual punishment, I decided to penetrate as 
deeply as I could into the trees. If I hit the wall, I could follow it. At any rate, I found this 
temporary freedom exhilarating even to the point of forgetting I had no arms.

The trees were old and stately, creating a cathedral like atmosphere as I filtered among the
ancient oaks. I found the wall, it robed me of what little hope I possessed but I doggedly set 
out to follow it. Striding beneath the silent trees, I felt as though I were naked in a church.

The odor of wood smoke was inconsistent with the time and place. Coming from nowhere,
it’s source was a mystery soon solved as I rounded a thicket of blackberry bushes to discover a
tiny wood fire attended by a disreputable males engaged in breakfast. A tea kettle was boiling
merrily and bacon frying in a pan.

It was mutual shock with them beholding a naked girl and I gazing at two men who, 
despite their appearance, might deliver me from bondage.

“Cor lummy. Bill, look what we got!”

Bill assessed me at a glance. “One of that Bretley woman’s playthings,” he offered. “If you 
ask me, Colin, she’ll make us a damned good lay.”

It was not a good start but I had little hope of outrunning them so I used my only weapon.

“If you’ll help me get back to where I live, I’ll give each of you a thousand pounds.”

“Must keep it up her cunt,” Colin scoffed. “Look at her arms, I’ll bet that Bretley bitch has 
got her hands tied.”

“I’m afraid it’s worse than that.” My voice was trembling and uncertain as I turned to let 
them see my handcuffed wrists. “But I expect you men have something that will get them off. 
Please, will you take me home?”

“She thinks we’ve lost our marbles,” Colin said. “Lady, we don’t want no cash, we want you.
What’s a bit of money as against what I’m looking at.”

There was no question what he was looking at. His stare was hot enough to burn my pubic
hair. I gave in. “Very well, how about two thousand?”

“Your cunt’s worth more than that to us, lady. It ain’t every day we gets a cunt like you all 
neatly packaged for delivery.”

“Well, quote me whatever figure you want. I absolutely must get over that wall and away.”

“Lady, you’re absolutely bare. You don’t have a penny piece on you. You can talk all you 
want about money but I don’t see none. But I do see a damned nice piece of ass worth a lot 
more than cash.”

“But what about my hands, surely you can get them loose.” My plea brought only ribald 
laughter.

“Them hands of your stay just the way they is. Them darbies is good, wouldn’t take them 
off even if we could. Would we, Colin?”

“Hell, no! How about a nice cup of tea, love?”

If you can’t beat them, join them! My mind was racing and I realized my best bet was 
delay. Lady Madge might show up at any moment. If I could drink enough tea and engage 
these louts in conversation, I’d be saved from rape and goodness knows what else. Willing 
hands panted me beside the fire. Feeling everything I had before tendering a filthy cup to my 
lips. I drank it gratefully. Tea is wonderful.

My mind now held but one conjecture, how long before I was raped?

Bill thoughtfully noosed a loop of rope to encircle my neck and leaving the rest of it to trail
down my back as a tether. These men meant business and there wasn’t a damn thing I could 
do about it. If I kicked or ran or screamed it would be only to appease my conscious.

“Had your ass whipped, luv, haven’t you? That there Bretley woman treats her girls real 
rough. Good thing you found us, at least you’ll get a good screw.”

Striving for delay, I keep the talk alive. I had been placed with my knees well apart to give a
good view of my sex to my new companions. Whenever I tried to close my legs, they roughly 
parted them once again with a slap inside my thigh. I decided to cooperate for their visual 
delight. Most passionately I longed for them to prolong their ardent looking, their pats and 
pinching, rather than to use the facility they appeared to value above all else. I have never 
believed rape was the end for any girl but this was a most unattractive pair, I wanted neither 
of them within my sheath. I smiled brightly and spread my knees another inch apart.

Lady Madge was right on time. Rounding the blackberries, she stood rooted in amazement
much as I had done, and was greeted in much the same way. “Well, I’ll be damned if we ain’t 
got her noble ladyship,” Colin exclaimed approvingly.

“We’ll fuck the two of them!” Bill announced as though accepting an welcome task. He 
continued, “Get them clothes off, lady.”

Madge did not run. I don’t suppose the thought even entered her head. Without thought 
of rebuff she relied wholly upon title and nobility. “What are you doing on my property, get 
up and go. If you’ve hurt this girl, I’ll make you sorry.”

“She’s going to make us sorry, Bill,” said Colin.

“Trembling, that’s what I am, trembling,” Bill said without alarm.

Madge picked up the menace heavy in the air. “Stop that disgraceful exhibition, Clair. Get 
up and come with me. Let the police deal with this disgusting persons.”

They pounced upon their prey like wild beasts. Madge had no chance but kicked and 
fought lustily as her clothes were torn away to reveal the strong, firm loveliness I had known 
was there. I cannot tell how longingly I yearned for my hands, without them I could do 
nothing effective. While Colin knelt cruelly upon the now naked back, Bill thoughtfully secured
the tether from my neck to an adjacent tree to keep me as helpless as a puppy while I 
watched the rape of beauty. They forced Lady Madge back upon her bound arms and had 
their way with her at great length. To insure cooperation, her hair was held in a rough hand 
and twisted to rob the nude woman of any wish she might have had to fight.

Lady Madge was ravished with an unusual skill and expertise. Her ravishers seemed 
unconcerned with time. When they had spent themselves within her more than once, they tied
her to a tree.

It was no ordinary binding. They want to the wall were they had left more rope and, 
backing their victim against a slender trunk, encircled her waist again and again, each man 
taking one end of rope, tugging and heaving until the mature loveliness was almost cut in 
two. The knot was tightened to complete the cinch. Her hands were then untied to be tied 
once more behind the tree with a savagery that cared little for comfort. Another strand was 
looped above her breasts and once more both men tightened the ropes impossibly around 
her body. Madge squealed. Horribly I watched the loops sink deep within her flesh in a way I 
knew was torture. They did the same with her knees and ankles, then backed away pridefully 
to view the bound beauty. Lady Madge was gasping in distress, and as she watched them 
gather up their gear kick out the fire, she pleaded, “Don’t leave me here like this. Please don’t 
leave. It may be a long time before I’m found. I could spend days here! These ropes are 
impossible, they’ll do me harm.”

“Ungrateful bit, ain’t she, Bill,” said Colin.

“And us making her a gift of this lovely rope and all,” reproved Bill.

They untied my tether and led me to the wall.

There was no goodbye, no chance for a word to pass between Lady Madge and myself.

And certainly no opportunity to kiss. The last I saw of Lady Madge was of purple skin 
budging above and below each stricture. She could move only her head, her breasts 
protruded grossly between the ropes. I soon had troubles of my own. Without hands I could 
not climb the wall, even with the aid of ropes as Colin and Bill had done. But they were equal 
to the occasion and another loop was placed beneath my arms and around above my breasts, 
then down between my legs and up again to provide a cradle which enabled them to lift my 
from the ground and over the wall. I was dumped on the ground until they followed over the 
wall. Then I was placed in the center seat of a rather run-down car, between the two of them.

We left Lady Madge’s lovely gardens speedily. Colin drove with one hand while using the 
other to cup one breasts. Bill fondled used both hands to explore and excite my body. The 
harsh rope around my neck told me I was in deep, deep trouble.

It was a shameful ride which I endured in a welter of sexual arousal I did not desire. With 
my hands safe fastened behind my back and a noose around my neck, there was nothing I 
could do to counter the three male hands pawing over my body. The energy my two captors 
had expended upon Lady Madge had in no way diluted their interest in Me. In spite of fear 
and outrage and a terrible disappointment, I found myself gasping and responding to the 
wise and wicked hands, one of which was now wetting itself beneath my pubic hair. I thought 
of Lady Madge and longed to cry.

Bill and Colin drove me to a small village of little note and down a Victorian street with all 
the houses joined in a long row, designed for the working classes of the day but now owned 
by all. They look exactly the same from one end of the street to the other, and you could 
swear it was the same hollyhocks growing against the same bay windows all the way down. 
Bill and Colin had converted the back garden to a parking place for their sad vehicle. There 
was no garage. In the time it took me to realize this was the time to scream, they whisked me 
inside the kitchen. They knotted the rope to my neck somewhere out of sight and reach while 
they unloaded and stowed away their gear somewhere down a flight of steps to a basement. I 
wandered the length of my rope but their kitchen was as mean as the men themselves. And 
what I saw of the room beyond left me with no wish to stay.

It was hateful being fastened by my neck, I kept snubbing the rope, jerking my head in my 
anxiety to see all there was to see. But I could not go beyond the doors and was still standing 
there unhappily when Bill and Colin returned. They put the kettle on for more tea and then sat
and surveyed my waiting nakedness with complete approval.

“Do we screw her and then let her go?” asked Bill.

“No. Let’s screw her and then keep her. We can screw her again! We can fix one of the 
rooms above or maybe down in the basement,” said Colin.

“There’s what she says about money … Could be she’s really got some. A few thousand 
quid wouldn’t do us no harm,” Bill suggested reflectively.

“If you’ll leave me alone, none of your screwing business, and take me back to Tintagel, I’ll 
go as high as five thousands pounds,” I told them determinedly. “Damn it, men, where on 
earth are you going to get money like that again!”

“How do we know you got any money? And where is this Tintagel place anyhow?”

Desperately I told them all I could. They heard me out and at the end Colin suggested, 
“Look, Bill, the silly bitch sounds like she’s telling the truth. What say we drive to this Tintagel 
place tomorrow and look it over. Make some inquires. We done a fair bit of screwing today 
already, so it won’t hurt us to wait over until tomorrow.”

“I suppose not. But ain’t there something fishy about her running around naked in Bretley 
Park and wearing them handcuffs? Handcuffs mean coppers. Maybe she’s on the wanted list.”

I could understand their caution. They had me a very pretty girl securely fastened for their 
pleasure so why take risks? But I argued and rationalize for all I was worth until it was decided 
we would go to Tintagel the following day. I would go with them to show the road and help 
verify my story. They had suddenly become avid about my five thousand pounds.

They saw me as collateral, not to be screwed unless my story proved false. I breathed the 
biggest sigh of relief of my life.

Colin unexpectedly dashed off on an errand. When he returned he held up a tiny scrap of 
metal. It was a handcuff key he had obtained from heaven knows where. My hands were 
immediately freed but the steel cuffs were then locked tight around my ankles.

“Can’t have you running around, sweetheart,” Colin said cheerfully. “I picked up another 
pair of handcuffs while I was at it … He’s a friend of mine who deals in stuff like this. But first 
we’ll have tea and after that you get them pretty little hands connected again. How’s that grab
you?”

I said thank you, because I was genuinely happy to have my hands back. It felt so damned 
good I could have wept with joy had it not been for the prospect of loosing them again soon. 
And my feet were so closely hobbled I could scarcely walk, managing only tiny steps. But I 
tried to think positively and once more the tea was very, very good and very, very hot. I also 
ate a scone.

My euphoria lasted until Colin produced his new toy. These handcuffs were not shinning 
chrome but cruelly black. There was a neatness and a quality about them which made them 
probably more valuable than shinning steel. I got ready to put my hands behind my back but 
was met with the command, “In front, sweetheart.”

I had watched so many times this locking together of my wrists. It never ceased to crinkle 
my spine. But I had one final cup of tea and handled it with my own hands to my own lips, 
praying devoutly these men would leave me handcuffed exactly that way. So far as running 
away went, my feet were so closely joined there was no danger of flight.

I was picked up bodily and carried upstairs to an empty room where Bill drilled a hole in 
the ceiling and screwed into it a large metal hook. I didn’t have to be told what it was for.

It was the worst yet! I stood totally naked with my arms raised above my head with a rope 
pulling them to the hook. There I was, totally available. The two boys brought in a couple of 
chairs upon which they seated themselves in a reverse position and frankly ogle my 
nakedness, a scrutiny aided by demands to spread my legs or turn around, or maybe even to 
take a deep breath and stick out my tits. I obeyed, thinking of tomorrow.

The three of us discussed my life and I was happy to note their increasing respect for what 
I had to say. These men recognized the real thing and I’m sure the five thousand pounds was 
becoming more and more real in their minds. I a meal ticket for them but still capable of 
providing much pleasure for the male. Our conversation suddenly halted when Bill frankly 
declared, “Enough talk, I want to squeeze that sex! Damn it, Colin, don’t you recognize that 
we’ve got quality here? We’ll never again have flesh this prime again.”

Colin agreed. By rights they should have cut me in two and have half each. But they were 
equal to the task of sharing my slit, unfortunately, while at the same time taking one of my 
nipples within their mouth and doing with them all the things a man does with the nipple of a 
girl. I orgasmed in a minute to get myself acclaimed, “Hot Stuff!”

I weakly asked for a rest between times but was totally ignored. Another hand cupped and
kneaded what they chose to call my “cunt” while two pairs of lips went back to work on my 
breasts. They soon had me moaning again in a female abandonment to sensation in a manner
they most obviously approved.

There is probably nowhere a female body can be made more available to the male then 
the manner in which I found myself fastened. My hands were far enough above my head to be
useless. I could twist and turn but to what purpose? In any case, the constant attendance of 
my two captors made quite sure I moved only under their direction. Bill summed the whole 
thing up. “You would have been better off to be screwed, sweetheart.

We can carry on with this little fun and games all night. But if you hadn’t made that 
demand not to be screwed, we would probably have gotten tired and gone to sleep. Just goes
to show you, don’t it?”

It showed me nothing except that I was in the hands of two men who were probably not 
cruel but were certainly carnal. The steel upon wrists and ankles told me clearly I could forget 
escape. I had to suppose it was a trend of modern times that kidnapped girls were no longer 
bound with cords but conveniently restrained with bonds previously employed by police only. 
Bitterly I reflected how easily a girl could be made captive and helpless by a pair of metal 
bands which didn’t cost much. I stayed with my hands above my head all afternoon. My 
captors nipped occasionally at a bottle of whiskey while doing the same for my nipples. I 
couldn’t say they really hurt but I got terribly tired of orgasms. I’m sure they were right about 
orgasms but holding out for a principle, I didn’t want to go back to Tintagel spoiled, 
deflowered and shamed. I was thinking, of course, of Harry Lord.

Colin made another foray at dinner time and returned with fish and chips which I would 
normally have turned my nose up over but now, having been carried back to the supper table 
and possessing the use of hands, I ate with. I no longer felt a slave like I had at Bretley Hall. I 
was not the kidnapped damsel adroitly avoiding the rape usual in such cases. After suffer my 
hands were changed from front to back and the three of us watched the telly until bedtime. It 
was then explained that a “blow job” was by no means technically a rape but could be 
indulged in with honor by any captive girl with an ounce of common sense. I was too tired to 
argue, I did what I was told. But I refrained from telling them it was not my first such 
experience in this disgusting male delight.

On completion of this, woman’s most ancient serve to the male, my neck rope was tied 
high on the wall where I could not reach and I was left to lay upon the carpet in discomfort.

It had been an emotion-packed day. I slept. It is hard to find words to describe how my 
heart burgeoned at sight of my beloved Tintagel. I sat helplessly between my captors as I told 
them which road to take to lead me home. I also told them names and places in the little town
of Mallory where they might inquire as to my financial status. It was all extremely businesslike 
except for me being helplessly chained and threatened with a gag if I spoke too loud. I looked
and yearned as we drove by my ancient home but I could see my companions were 
impressed. They had a problem.

When we got back to there house we discussed the ways and means by which I could be 
passed over on one hand and they receive five thousand pounds on the other. I told them 
about Harry Lord and Ginevera and implored a phone call by which I could make this 
arrangement. They were suspicious and I spent another uncomfortable night because of it. I 
could see no hope of settlement unless we used the telephone but they saw it only as a 
loophole for my escape, believing I would pass some code word they did not understand and 
thus bring the police clamoring around their heads. But this problem was unexpectedly 
solved. We were awaken early in the morning by a crash announcing the destruction of the 
back door and the entry of several stalwart men. Striving awkwardly to

; raise my head against my captive condition, I beheld the grim and determined visage of 
Karl Slobodian.

I may not dwell upon the manner of my rescue. It was also the separation of myself from 
Tintagel and the destruction of a hope Bill and Colin had engendered by their greed. For sure 
Karl Slobodian would not return me to my home. So I stared in dismay my bemused captors 
were told in no uncertain way to mind their own business and stay clear of the concerns and 
interests of their betters. I was then picked up, carried downstairs and placed in the boot of a 
waiting car. The lid slammed shut upon a girl with no hands or feet.

The rope tether was still around her neck and she was faced with a future unlikely to be 
good.

It’s beastly riding in the dark above the drone of wheels. The rope noose I could not get 
rid of served no useful purpose save to chaff my neck. The ride was long and with the lifting of
the lid it was Karl Slobodian who reached in to help me out and stand me erect in the gray 
light of dawn. His helpers remained in the car, we were alone. Karl’s explanation was terse, 
“Your Uncle Angus is a cute old fox, he’s got the best of me this round but I’ll win the next. I 
want you.”

I was stricken and bemused and terribly helpless. “But how did you know where to find 
me?” I asked without gratitude.

He chuckled briefly. “I first found Lady Madge. The poor girl was in bad shape and she’ll 
have rope bums for a long time. But what she could tell of those two assholes identified them 
in my memory, they’d done an occasional job for me in the past and they may do others. Did 
they hurt you?”

I only barely heard his words. I was looking in astonishment over his shoulder to behold 
the gray and forbidding bulk of Castle MacNish. Once more Karl picked me up and carried me
towards the huge pile of stones which was the home of Uncle Angus. Miserably I supposed I 
would soon occupy one of its dungeons and I could well guess that Rosilyn and Jeanine would
be rubbing and smacking their lips at having me in their power again.

“Karl, please take me back to Tintagel. Please, please?”

“Sorry, sweetheart, your Uncle Angus wants you and he’s going to get you.” He laughed in 
real amusement. “I’ll make a delivery on his doorstep, a man can’t do more than that.” His 
arms tightened protectively. “But I’ll get you again, I promise I’ll get you again. After this Alpha
affair has run its course.”

We were crossing the drawbridge over the moat when Karl raised my head to kiss me with 
an unexpected tenderness before setting my punished bottom on cold stone and my bare 
back against the vast oak door which hopefully would open to admit me out of the cold.

Karl walked briskly back to the car and I listened the familiar sounds of a car disappearing 
into the gray dawn mists. He left me cold and helpless and wondering if my fortunes had 
improved or gone down hill.

I began to wonder what streak of sardonic amusement had cause Karl to leave me like this.
If my ankles had not been handcuffed together, I would have run to the village down the road
and the police therein. He might have phoned Tintagel for me. I could perhaps have made up 
a story to satisfy his curiosity over my condition. He would also have a key to the handcuffs. 
And quite possibly a cup of hot tea. But that was dreaming so I instead wiggled myself back 
and forth to contrive to stand uneasily while I fingered one of the cuffs around one of my 
wrists so I could knock it against the door. It made a small tapping sound in the cold morning 
air. After what seemed hours the taping brought no less a person than Uncle Angus himself 
who took me in his arms and carried me within. The air inside was gorgeously warm. I could 
have cried in joy. My uncle carried me to the breakfast room and pressed buzzers to get the 
castle awake on my behave, then used the tiny, magic key on my cuffs.

My first act upon gaining the miracle of freedom was to throw my arms around his tweedy
bulk and kiss his grizzly features in a way I had never done before. He then held me at arm’s 
length, his eyes focusing no lower than my neck, to declaim, “Yon Slobodian’s an idiot. I’ve 
had to bring him to heel. He’ll no be bothering you again.”

“But uncle, he says he’ll get me again after Alpha is over and done with.”

“Oh, aye, the sassanach would like to keep ye in a cage, I no doubt. But by the time I’m 
through with him, he’ll no be stealing girls. Don’t you worry, lass, I’ll keep ye safe.”

“Please not in a dungeon?” I suggested. “I wish you’d let me go home to Tintagel.”

Uncle Angus didn’t bother to answer so outrageous a plea. Breakfast was arriving with tray
after tray loaded with good food. I was transported into pure joy as I sat, naked but 
unrestrained, to gulp hot coffee and eat everything in sight. I was also wondering what Uncle 
Angus was going to do with me. I soon found out.

My Uncle Angus is in some ways a relic of medieval times. He also has a one-track mind.

He convinced himself he should keep me prisoner to insure Ginevera’s good behavior, and
for him it was imperative a prisoner be properly chained and locked behind stone walls. He 
didn’t wish to perform this task himself, that’s what Rosilyn and Jeanine were for, but he saw 
no reason to listen to my arguments, my offer of a promise to behave, or any protest that 
might escape my lips. He calmly explained his conviction I should not complain of being 
incarcerated until the Alpha hazard was over. He didn’t actually say it but I could almost hear 
him thinking, “What’s a few locks and chains between relatives?”

“But Uncle, Rosilyn and Jeanine are so mean to me. They seem to think I’m here for their 
pleasure. They’re a couple of sadists.”

“You’re exaggerating, they’ll do ye no harm. I’ll have a word with them before I leave.

You’ll be properly cared for.”

“In a dungeon?”

“Nay, lass, there’ll be no dungeon unless ye ask for it. But understand, they’ll stand no 
nonsense. They both told me they like you and I’ll hear nothing bad of them. You just be a 
good girl.”

After breakfast I was given an hour of wonderful freedom in which to make myself pretty 
and say goodbye to Uncle Angus who was off on another of his business trips. It must be 
wonderful to be so rich, it gives him unbelievable power. For instance, what he was doing to 
me. I was willing to believe no niece of any rich man anywhere in the world was bearing 
anything like the inflictions of Castle MacNish. I ceased my arguments and accepted that I was
a prisoner. But after Karl Slobodian, Lady Madge, and Bill and Colin, I sure could have used a 
holiday.

I was arrested almost immediately after uncle’s departure. The arresting officers were 
Jeanine and Rosilyn, who said in unison, “We’re so pleased to see you back. Miss Steward.” 
Then they clipped handcuffs upon my wrists. I don’t think those two females would have 
recognized me without metal restrains upon me.

I was not the least bit pleased to see Jeanine and Rosilyn but dared not say so. Carefully I 
said how pleased I was to see them and be in their care. And how nice it was for Uncle Angus 
to tell them to be nice to me.

“That’s the first we’ve heard of any such thing,” Jeanine offered sweetly. Rosilyn added, 
“We’ll do as we please with you, Miss. And we don’t want to hear any more about your Uncle 
Angus.”

The old so and so! If I could believe my jailers, Uncle Angus had simply been buttering me 
up until he could get safely away to where my screams could not disturb his peace. But I 
couldn’t be sure who was telling the truth and the only thing I could be certain of was the 
tight bite of handcuffs upon my wrists. Jeanine and Rosilyn were expert with handcuffs, always
insuring they were one notch tighter then they should have been.

“You’re suppose only to keep me prisoner,” I ventured timidly. “Please leave it at that. I 
haven’t done anything to deserve harsh treatment.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” said Jeanine. “Damn it. Miss Steward, we’ve got to have ourselves a 
little bit of fun.”

I raised my hands to gaze upon new and shinning bracelets. “These look really lovely on 
my wrists,” I admitted cautiously. “Couldn’t you just leave it at that? I mean, keep me 
handcuffed and naked so I won’t run away. But please don’t lock me up.”

“Hark to the lass! Now she’s giving us orders!” said Rosilyn.

“Aye, she’s a haughty one for sure. But we can easy bring her down a peg or two. What say
we give her something to think about?” With my hands locked in front I could have made a 
fuss but what was the use? Meekly I allowed myself to be led to where the one-time Clair 
Steward would be “brought down a peg or two.” I had ho doubt this would be anything but 
painful. Once more I was to provide these two girls with their “bit of fun.”

“What do I have to put up with this time?” I asked sadly.

“We were thinking of caning you arse, luv. You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”

“No, I wouldn’t. It’s been caned and whipped a lot already.”

“My, my, she is the grand lady, isn’t she! Doesn’t want her bottom caned, well, well!”

“Look here, you two, Uncle Angus said….”

That was as far as I got. My two jailers didn’t want to hear a word of anything my Uncle 
Angus said. They had a good thing going and didn’t want to spoil it. “If she doesn’t want her 
pretty little arse caned, we can always whip her back. What you think Jeanine?”

“That’s been whipped too, you know. She’ll complain about that.”

I knew they were playing with me but the play would end with some painful infliction I 
wouldn’t like. I pleaded, “Please go easy on me. I had a real bad time while I was away.”

“Well, that will teach you a lesson, luv. Now you know there are others a lot more cruel 
than us. We’d like you to tell us again how pleased you are to be back under our care.”

“Well, I am glad to be back with you,” I lied. “But you frighten me with all this talk of 
punishments I haven’t earned. Couldn’t you just chain me up somewhere for the day?”

They appeared not to hear. No doubt my suggestion was ridiculous. Thoughtfully, Jeanine 
came up with, “If we can’t whip her arse or her back, why don’t we cane the soles of her feet? 
That would be a real good way to get acquainted again.”

“Nobody every whips the soles of a girl’s feet,” I said firmly, speaking from total ignorance.

“Whipping the soles of my feet sounds silly. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

I had made a terrible choice but did not know it then. I have since become acquainted 
with the Bastinado. But right then the idea of whipping my feet seemed silly. I should have 
taken a warning from the smug expressions on on jailer’s faces. By that time we reached the 
room where they planed to do this thing. They wasted no time in getting me ready. My hands 
were changed from front to back. I was laid face down upon a rug, my knees lifted and bent 
back to raise my feet and legs to where a heavy bench could be thrust against my shins, and 
my ankles strapped tight against the hard wood. The bench thing had straps at the knees and 
ankles to hold my legs very firmly. I discovered I could not move and the soles of my feet were
pointing innocently at the ceiling. Each Scottish lassie selected one of the cane as I watched in 
fear over my shoulder. It was about that time I realized I was in for something bad, bad, bad!

I have learned since that the true Bastinado used to have a couple of children, each with a 
small, limber rod, beat the defenseless feet of their victims until the rapid and endless tattoo 
drove the helpless girl into hysteria or insanity. I did not know this at the time, but as it was 
the sight of the yellow canes being flexed for my view was frightening enough. With the first 
blow across the length of my left sole told me all I needed to know. I screamed!

When my right sole was slashed I screamed again.

“I don’t think she likes it,” said Jeanine.

“Be a wonderful education for the dear girl,” said Rosilyn.

“Please stop, it’s far too awful!” said I.

My captors then got going in earnest, first one and then the other slicing my upturned 
feet.

It is not impossible they failed to comprehend the degree of agony I suffered as they cut 
happily away at my defenseless skin. With my hands secured behind my back I could do little 
but heave and twist like a gaffed fish. My punishment was made all the more terrible by a 
growing conviction my executioners might not know when to stop. I envisioned myself with 
feet damaged such that they would never be used again.

There is nothing sensual about the Bastinado. It is far from sex. I can’t explain this but 
that’s the way it is. Not even the constant frictioning of my nipples against the rug could 
arouse the faintest spark of interest in my loins. When my tormentors stopped their caning for
a brief minute, one of them kneaded my pussy but found it dry as a bone.

“She’s not wet the least bit,” Jeanine observed as if faced with a mystery. “Think we should 
be hitting harder?”

I denied that loudly. I rolled, I twisted, I pointed out my conviction they were punishing me
in a more severe way than any girl could endure. The tenor of all I said was quite simply, 
“Stop! Please stop! Please!”

When Jeanine and Rosilyn finally did cease I was pretty far gone. I was not unconscious 
but damned near. I heard myself moaning and moaning again, and repeating to myself, “It 
hurts! It hurts!”

I lay flat out upon the rug, my only thought being that the blow might not resume. Had 
this awfulness been inspired by a desire to yank secrets from my lips, I would have given them
and gladly. Clair Steward had had the course.

They unstrapped my feet from the bench but left my hands cuffed behind my back. I think 
they were curious to see what I would do or say or behave. I was pretty sure they were scared 
of having gone too far, that the Bastinado was not a punishment they were not used to 
employing. For myself, I just wanted to lay still and never move again. The thought of standing
up seemed ridiculous.

They sat and watched as if expecting me to produce a miracle. I’m quite sure my 
sweat-drenched nudity had a vast appeal. From time to time they bent my leg back to 
examine their handiwork, their failure to comment was more meaningful than words. After 
quite a while they suggested gently I might wish to arise and be escorted to what still lay in 
store.

Their suggestion seemed so absurd I could only repeat over and over, “I can’t, I can’t.

Please let me lay.”

Tiring of my supine inaction, each of them finally grasped one of my arms and lifted me to 
plumb me aggressively upon the soles they had enjoyed so much whipping. I yelped loudly in 
agony and lifted my feet from the floor forced them to carry me.

“I think she’s putting it on,” said Jeanine.

“I’m not too sure about that,” Rosilyn said doubtfully. “I think we may have overdone it a 
bit. Good thing his Nibs won’t be back for a while. Let’s give her the afternoon off.”

I really don’t believe Jeanine and Rosilyn had a thing against me. For them I was just a 
female package who was a bit unreasonable in her complaints over what they saw only as 
amusement. I could well imagine Castle MacNish and the adjacent village being a bore for 
such a virile pair. Uncle Angus obviously admired them but I wished he could see my feet as I 
lay there with my hands behind my back. My feet screamed silently as I was half led, half 
carried to the stone chamber with its big windows, its iron bars and relentless stone. I was 
actually thankful to see it again because, as dungeons go, it wasn’t all that bad. They lay me 
down beside the central pillar and debated as to the manner of my fastenings. I suspected 
they did it with tongue in cheek but could not be sure.

“What we ought to do is back her against the column and chain her hands over her head 
so she had to stand on sore feet whether she likes it or not,” Jeanine suggested helpfully.

“She’ll probably allow herself to hang from her hands,” Rosilyn complained.

“Please don’t make me stand.” I felt I had to say something. “I don’t think either of you 
understand how badly you’ve hurt me. I don’t have to be chained, I can’t run.”

“Just hark at the lass! All this bother over a bit of a whipping. She can walk all right, if she 
wants to try.”

“Let’s make her walk. We can’t be carrying her around all the time or leave her laying here 
on the floor.” Jeanine paused for thought. “Let’s give her the option, twenty with the riding 
crop or she can get up and walk across from walk to walk. ‘Tis a great idea.”

They unlocked my hands. At some other time I might have felt good about that but not 
then. Next they dragged my over against the wall and then sliced the air in front of my eyes 
with the beastly riding crop.

“What will it be, luv? Don’t take too long to think about it.”

What a choice! If they promised me five or ten with that crop, I think I would have turned 
over to offer my bottom and told them to go ahead. But twenty was something else!

Twenty meant the rest of me hurting as bad as my feet hurt now. Striving to keep down 
the sounds of agony, I got up to my knees and then, with swift determination, to my feet. I 
tried to dash to the opposite wall but made only two paces before falling flat. It was then I 
understood why they let me have my hands. Without them that fall would have done damage.

The riding crop sliced my bottom with fire. The command followed, “We’ll give you 
another chance, luv, get back to the starting point and start again.”

The single stroke had been enough. My skin burned and scorched as I fingered it tenderly.

I crawled back and did the whole horrible thing over again, this time managing the whole 
course. I fell at the far wall to lay panting with pain on the cold floor.

“Bravo! A good run, lass. Rest yourself a minute then get up and walk back.”

“But I’ve done what you wanted,” I wailed. “I can’t possibly walk back, please don’t make 
me.”

“We haven’t forgotten the twenty, luv, you can still get them.”

I started all over again and I’ll admit to pride as I knelt against the stone wall to gaze at 
Jeanine and Rosilyn and the riding crop they still held. This time they decided I’d had enough 
for the time being so they dragged me back to the pillar. There they did what they described 
as “making me comfy.” If there was one thing Castle MacNish had plenty of it was chain. I 
didn’t bother to trace the trailing links to where ever they came from but watched as each of 
my ankles was locked tight within a black iron band. I was made to knee while a black iron belt
was clasped around the narrowest part of my waist and locked tight enough to squeeze in my 
middle. My neck was the next to receive iron, a collar that locked with a wicked snap. Its 
weight of chain was a burden upon my throat. Without hope, I offered my hands.

“What you say we let her have her hands?” Jeanine suggested mischievously. “She’ll 
frustrate herself to death trying to do something with them. Make a nice change.”

I was actually grateful. I suppose everything is relative but after loosing the use of my 
hands so long, it seemed a tremendous gift to have them back now. I said a ridiculous, “Thank
you,” before they went away and locked me in with the usual thud of bolts and snap of locks 
on the dungeon door. The riding crop was tossed suggestively upon the stone, within view 
and reach. I kept telling myself Clair Steward was a woman of long ago and the girl replacing 
her need feel no shame in shedding tears. Possessing hands, I easily pushed myself up to a 
sitting position against the pillar. At another time I would have explored the tolerance of the 
chains on me but I had become an experienced prisoner who knew that such limited freedom 
was an illusion.

One good thing about being the victim of whipped feet was the willingness they imposed 
to sit still and not pace back and forth. I had been a prisoner in this room before and knew it 
all by heart, so I sat listlessly and played with the heavy metal links. It must have been at least 
an hour before I crawled to the waiting riding crop and picked it up. Fingering it and knowing 
I bore its wound across my skin was one of the most erotic sensations I had ever known, 
hitting me with a devastating thrill I could not deny. I flexed its limber length in the same way 
as the girls had done and thought longingly of using it on them. Kneeling, I timidly lay its tip 
across one breast and shivered at the thought.

When my pain-induced weariness was fading, I began to resent the chains I could not 
escape and the stone walls which mocked me. It was wonderful to have my hands so I used 
them to get up to my knees. Then, for something to do, I crawled towards the window and 
was pleased to discover my chains allowed me to get that far. But to look through its bars, I 
would have to stand. I reached up and grasped a bar with each hand and heaved. After a lot 
of gasping and grunting I got high enough up to obtain a view. I discovered that by pulling 
my weight up with my hands, my feet did not complain too bitterly. They hurt but not more 
than I could bear. It is worth a lot to a prisoner to be able to see freedom.

But even the window finally palled. I wanted life and love but all I saw was the moat and a 
stretch of moor with a twisting road. Eventually I decided I’d had enough and lowered myself 
down to crawl on all fours to the pillar. Leaning back against it’s cold comfort and with my 
shackled feet stuck out, I felt back on a prisoner’s last resource and thought of those I loved.

by now Ginevera and Harry must have reconciled themselves to my absence. Or perhaps 
they were hunting for me. I should have asked Uncle Angus if he had phoned them about me, 
but I forgot. I was sure they would know enough not to come near Castle MacNish or 
Ginevera would be running the risk of ending up with me, chained to the wall and subject to 
Jeanine and Rosilyn’s attentions. I could guess how Harry Lord was probably fuming and 
snorting in frustration. The fact was the whole thing was too silly and impossible for words 
and our dear Uncle Angus should have known better. I don’t suppose anyone would have 
believed that in the twentieth century I could have been chained with whipped feet in Uncle 
Angus’s guest dungeon. The hell of it was that it could go on forever. How long would that 
damned Alpha plot go on? Most of the time I did not believe I could possibly ever be free 
again.

I wondered if Harry and Ginevera would get married, or would they wait for my return. If 
they waited, it could be a long, long time. Ginny was a highly sexual nymphet and I couldn’t 
see either of them denying the other what used to be called “forbidden fruit.” It’s funny how 
the Victorians had a name for everything even though they didn’t do it. But I’m inc-lined to 
believe the “fate worse that death” predated Queen Victoria. I longed for Tintagel with a deep 
need.

After what could have been two or three hours my jailers returned, as usual they were in 
good spirits. “We thought of the loveliest game for you to play,” Jeanine informed me.

“I’m so glad to see you’ve been playing with the riding crop, darling.

I’ll bet you adore it,” Rosilyn added. ‘This lovely game you’re going to play includes the 
hazard of getting yourself a cropped seat. It’s the icing on the cake.”

I didn’t say much when they crossed my wrists behind my back and tied them there tightly
and brutally with thin cord. I hated that thin cord because it hurt even if you didn’t struggle.

They then unlocked the heavy belt around my waist and the heavy collar from my neck.

Getting rid of them almost raised my spirits. They next put a rope around my neck and up 
to a ring in the ceiling so I would have to stand on one place if I didn’t want to hang myself.

I feared they would leave me like that all afternoon. I would then have had the chose of 
standing upon whipped feet or hanging myself and getting the whole thing over. Hands I had 
so happily possessed for so little time were now lost to me. I stood there solidly upon 
whipped soles, my ankles shackles still trailing to the stone pillar, and was so involved with the
pain of punished feet that I did not observe the little yellow clips until they were held open a 
few inches from my breasts. Clips on my nipples were the last things I wanted and I told them 
this with very ounce of courage I could muster. It did not good. One of them held me while 
the other slowly and delightedly clipped my nipples in the bit of the hateful little jaws. I 
gasped twice in agony before relapsing into moans and wide-eyed appeals for a mercy I was 
not to find.

There I stood with hurting feet and hurting breasts and the rough chaff of rope around my
throat. I simply stood and suffered. But there was more to come!

“Take them off, luv,” said Jeanine.

“No need to suffer, sweetheart,” said Rosilyn.

“I can’t. My hands are tied behind my back. You know I can’t.”

They did not know or were unwilling to admit it. “You can get them off, luv. if you try hard 
enough. If we handcuffed you, it would be real easy. Having your wrists tied turns it into a bit 
of sport for all of us. Go ahead, Miss Steward, unclip yourself.”

To demonstrate how impossible it was I actually tried and surprised myself by getting 
closer to the objective than I had dreamed possible. I struggled for a minute before allowing 
my bound hands to drop back in defeat. The little clips burned steadily.

“You weren’t really trying, luv,” said Jeanine sweetly. You were trying to show us it couldn’t 
be done, but if you twist around enough you’ll be surprised.”

“We want to make this interesting for you, Miss Steward,” added Rosilyn. “So we want you 
to understand that if you fail to remove those clips yourself, you’ll receive ten with the cane 
for each breast. Please try, we love to watch.”

The rotten bitches, I could have killed them both. I knew they liked to watch and the 
harder I tried the more they would enjoy my distressed nakedness. Pathetically I went at it 
once again in the realization that if I could slip the binding cords a bit I would have a longer 
reach. Or perhaps my shoulders would limber up with repeated attempts. I thought of all sorts
of silly improbabilities while providing Jeanine and Rosilyn with a magnificent display of naked
female parts. From time to time I snubbed my neck which was getting chaffed pretty good 
with my struggles. The hell of it was I could actually believe I was getting close to my goal. If I 
could just strain a fraction of an inch more perhaps my fingertips would reach….

“Perhaps you’d prefer the whip on your back, dear?”

“I don’t want to be whipped or caned at all,” I said savagely. “You’re being mean, there’s 
no need to treat me like this.”

“You can always report us to Uncle.”

I ignored their taunt but made one last effort at the impossible. Panting, I let my bound 
hands fall behind my back to exclaim, “I can’t do it. We all know I can’t. I’m asking you not to 
punish me because of this failure. Please don’t whip me.”

“She doesn’t want to be whipped!”

“Real kind of her to let us know. Twenty strokes, isn’t it?”

The little yellow clips were cheerfully bobbing on my breasts the whole time. I could well 
see them becoming a permanent a fixture. “I know you’re having fun with me but if you keep 
on like this you’re going to do me an injure or affect my health. Uncle Angus won’t want that, I
know he won’t.”

“The poor dear is afraid she’ll catch cold.”

“Probably because she goes around naked all the time.”

“Stop it!” I barely stopped short of stamping my foot. “Your sarcasms don’t matter but 
surely you know I’m in agony.”

They were unpredictable. In the space of moments the clips were gone and the rope 
around my neck cast aside. This left me in comparative freedom for what do bound hands 
matter to a girl in Castle MacNish! As though by prior arrangement my arms were grasped 
and I was half walked and half carried from the room. Evidently my twenty lashes were to be 
delivered in grand style.

I gazed at the open lid to the car’s boot in disgust. Surely I did not have to be driven to 
some distant place to be punished, and why should I leave Castle MacNish at all? But I was 
lifted without explanation and deposited among the jack and spare tire, and then my ankles 
tied together. I was angry but also curious. Protesting constantly I raised myself again and 
again until there came into view something very unexpected. Well aware I had observed the 
coming of the other car, my jailers supported my back to let me have a good look at 
something quite beyond belief. Another boot was opened and another naked girl extracted 
from it. She was bound as I was bound and was gazing around her until our eyes met in 
instant recognition. It was Ginevera!

But before either of us could utter greeting, my body was released to fall back down and 
the lid slammed down to leave me in a darkness. I remember saying over and over again, “The
bastards, the rotten bastards!”

The wheel began to turn.

I didn’t bother to struggle, I was simply grateful not to be fastened in a hogtie. I was able 
to stretch out and search for whatever comfort there may be when tied up and naked in the 
boot of a car. It had been a bad, bad day and I was exhausted. I don’t remember falling asleep.
I don’t know how far I was driven but the stopping of the wheels awoke me. The lid was soon 
raised to reveal the darkness of night. When I was lifted from the boot by strong male hands I 
recognized the place, it was Tintagel! I had been brought back home.

I was carried up the steps to my own front door. It was not as impressive as Castle 
MacNish but every bit as ancient and mellowed with the dignity of years. The man who carried
refused to speak but dumped me on the top step just as I had been deposited against the 
stone steps of Castle MacNish. He then departed and drove the car away.

Castle MacNish was one thing but my beloved Tintagel was something else again. The 
driver had not bothered to either knock or ring to announce the arrival of the lady of the 
house. But feeling more and more like my old self, I endured whatever pain I must in order to 
stand up and grasp the bell rope in my teeth. There was a distance, faint clamor within that 
sent a thrill down my spine.

The footsteps were instant, someone was expecting me. The door opened and there was 
Harry Lord who looked better to me then any man I’d ever seen. Pathetically, all I could think 
to say was, “I’m afraid I’m all tied up.”

Harry picked me up and gathered me into his arms. Being picked up by the man you love 
is one of the nicer things that happens to lucky girls. We had no need of words but I sighed in 
ecstasy at sight of every familiar object inside my home. Then came the lounge and brandy. 
Harry placed me upon the comfort of the big sofa before hurrying to the bar.

He had forgotten to untie me but I did not mind. To a girl such as Clair Steward, a mere 
binding of her wrists and ankles was a trifle.

When he returned with a couple of large drinks, I gulped greedily. He took a couple of sips
himself before kissing me in a nice, brotherly way. Then he said something I should have 
guessed.

“I haven’t untied you, Clair.”

“So I noticed.” He could make the explanation himself, I wasn’t going to help.

“Clair, my sweet, there’s been some strange things going on.” He made a wry grimace.

“That uncle of yours is a damned remarkable old boy.”

“Yes, isn’t he.” I was being as uncooperative as possible. “May I have more brandy?” I got 
the brandy but remained bound.

“The fact is, there’s been a change,” he ventured. “I could make a long story of it but the 
simple fact is your Uncle Angus and Ginevera, between themselves, decided to swap Ginevera 
in return for you. I’m suppose to keep you safe and prevent you from doing anything foolish.”

“You mean you’re suppose to keep me tied up!”

“Well, only in a general sort of way.” Harry’s tone was half apologetic. “You Uncle Angus 
has a bee in his bonnet about keeping one of you prisoner on account of what Ginny 
overheard. I think the whole affair, especially that ridiculous Alpha plan, is a piece of nonsense.
But I appear to be simply an observer.”

He looked at me with Spaniel eyes. “From the day you disappeared, Ginevera was mad.

She couldn’t get hold of your Uncle Angus most of the time but when she did, she let him 
have it with both barrels. The result is she’s been taken to Castle MacNish to be chained in a 
dungeon in exchange for you.” Harry’s laugh was bitter. “I gather the Alpha boys have lost 
interest in you, probably due to your uncle’s doing, and have insisted you be … ” He had the 
grace to blush. “I suppose the kindest word for it would be ‘restrained’.”

I fought to keep my cool. The way he told it the return of Clair Steward was still indefinitely
delayed. The rope on my wrists and ankles said the same thing. But I remembered in time that
many a jailer had been seduced by some maiden in chains or behind iron bars. With Ginevera 
gone, I’d be seeing a lot of Harry. And in her absence he’d be lonely. It wasn’t the way I would 
have chosen things but there was no sense making a fuss.

“So you’re going to keep me tied up like this to make sure your darling Ginevera is well 
treated at Castle MacNish.” My laugh was bitter. ‘The poor child is in the power of a couple of 
absolute sadists up there. Take a look at the soles of my feet.”

Poor Harry! He just wasn’t used to coping with girl’s displaying whipmarked skin. I knew he
longed to march to Castle MacNish and demand action but was held back by his love for 
Ginevera and threat to her pretty skin. Right now he had lost his love and got me instead. 
Once he might have been pleased but now he preferred Ginny. Something I could not help 
noticing was his familiarity with the various ways in which girls can be made helpless. The 
ropes on my wrists and ankles did not shock him at all. But my wounded, swollen feet were a 
real jolt. And I got the impression that it was not so much because they were my feet but 
because it showed what his darling Ginevera was going into.

Perhaps she would get hers whipped, too! Poor Harry!

I felt sorry for him.

“They must hurt!” he said as though treading unfamiliar ground. “Is there anything I can 
do?”

“You can carry me.” I deliberately sneered. “You can also act a bit more concerned. Just 
because you have to keep me tied up, you don’t have to be mean to me.”

“I’m terribly sorry, Clair. You’re right, I’m all in a dither about Ginny.” He gazed at me 
earnestly. “Are they really capable of doing something like that to her? I mean, your feet…?”

“They will unless Uncle Angus is given solid instructions. Believe me, it will have to be 
damned good and solid.”

Harry’s state of mind was not too hard to figure. It was half concern for his beloved Ginny 
while another part of his mind was fascinated by what he had to do with me. In times past his 
eyes had told me of desire but I had played hard to get a few times too many and missed the 
boat. A year of so ago I could have had him, and easily, too. But a year of so ago I would 
never have dreamed of being tied hand and foot and kneeling on my own rug as a submissive
little slavegirl. And with Harry Lord as my new master. Seeing the way I keep Ginevera 
prisoner, Harry must have become addicted to the concept of the bound girl. My position was
weak.

“If you’ll untie my hands, I’ll be able to do some things for myself.”

“I expect you could. Nice try!”

“Well, all right then, if you won’t untie my hands, how about my feet?”

“I like you exactly as you are. Your Uncle Angus has the right idea about females. Stop 
complaining, you’re home, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes I am. But I’d a lot sooner be home with come clothes one and the use of my 
hands and feet. Harry, stop teasing and untie me.”

“No.”

“If you don’t untie me this instant, I’ll stop talking to you. I’ll play sulky.”

“In that case, I may as well gag you, sweetheart.”

“You’re being a right royal bastard, Harry. I used to think I wanted to marry you but forget 
that. I’ll scream my head off rather than be gagged.”

“If I asked you to marry me right now, you would, wouldn’t you?” Harry looked at my 
naked body. “Come on, be honest?”

“If that’s a proposal, I’ll say yes. Harry, don’t be mean.”

“You girls really have it good,” said Harry with a trace of disgust. “I’ll bet you’re only saying 
yes because you want to get untied and get some clothes on. Once you were again mistress of
Tintagel you’d think up all sorts of excuses not to marry me.”

“I would not!” I affirmed. “Look, you idiot, if having me tied up means that much to you, 
then keep me tied up. If you’ll arrange the ceremony right here in Tintagel, I can be bound 
while we say our vows in front of the minister. If that’s what you want, might I suggest 
handcuffs?”

I knew there would be no release from these ropes. We were at an impasse. It was a real 
bummer of a situation with me not even able to scratch my nose. Pushing my luck, I inquired, 
“How about getting married tomorrow? It’s as good a day as any.”

“You’d be crazy to marry me, Clair, I’d keep you chained.”

“If that’s what you want, I won’t complain. At least no too loudly.”

“That’s what I want. Sorry, sweetheart, but you’ll have to blame your Uncle Angus, or 
Ginevera, or maybe even Tintagel. When I think of a girl these days I see her chained or maybe
strictly bound. It wouldn’t be much of a life for you.”

“I’ll risk it. You’ll get tired of tying me up. And then we can get back to normal. Please, 
Harry, please?”

“I expect those cords you’re tied with are uncomfortable.” Harry was ignoring my plea. “I’ll 
put you in chains which don’t hurt a bit and we can go on talking.”

“Thank you. I’ll also need a bath. Will my chains permit?”

“I’ll give you a bath. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”

He untied my feet but left my wrists still bound. “Come along, you wanted a bath, you’ll 
get one.”

Walking beside the man I wished to marry I felt my first twinge of victory, my feet were 
free! It appeared that freed feet was about as far as Harry was prepared to go right now.

With my hands tightly tied I stepped into the warm water and obediently disposed myself 
for his convenience. We both knew he was sudsing my sex far harder and longer than need 
be, until quite truthfully I was able to suggest, “You’ve got me excited, Harry darling, take me 
to bed … Please?”

“That’s for Ginevera,” he said flatly. “Do you want me to give you an orgasm with my 
hand? I’ve been taking lessons.”

I was angry. It was a case of being so near and yet so far. My frustration was intense.

“Keep you lousy hand and stop bring up that name. I know you’ve got hot pants for her, 
but I don’t want to hear.”

The rest of the bath was rough and without conversation. I guess he was mad, too. Maybe 
he was getting back for all that time Miss Clair Steward had been a cold and frost female.

Or maybe he was just mad at loosing darling Ginevera. Either way I lost.

I did not get rid of tied hands the way I had hoped but tied feet were replaced with leg 
irons, which required a slow walk and made a constant clatter. I spent the night alone in the 
tower room. Left alone I worried about loosing my looks or shape or whatever it was that 
could make Harry look with lust upon my again. Ginevera was winning all the rounds in my 
war with her for Harry’s affections. I would gladly have caned her bottom right then and there.

Tintagel has a lovely park but I’m afraid I’d allowed it to become a wilderness. My interests
had been mostly social and I wasn’t familiar with the stretch of grass and woodlands 
surrounding my home. When, after breakfast, Harry unlocked my feet to say we were going 
for a walk I got all ready to say I didn’t want to go for a walk until I remembered I had nothing
to say any more.

“Ginevera and I have explored that park of yours,” Harry said pleasantly. “Ginny tells me 
you never bothered but she and I discovered several things I’m going to show you. It’s time 
you discovered what a lucky girl you are.”

Uncle Angus’s command that I be kept a prisoner in my own house left me facing the 
infinite boredom of constraints and iron bars. I consoled myself with the assurance that some 
sunshine and fresh air would be nice. And Harry was always amusing company. But it was the 
weirdest of situations as we walked together and I found myself blushing over being naked 
and having my hands tied behind my back. A girl cannot possibly look or feel her best with 
her hand fixed that way even though I was well aware Harry enjoyed this total exposure of my 
charms. His frank glances running all the way from head to toe partially restored my 
confidence in dragging him to the altar. I was ashamed of the visions that flittered through my
mind of the caning of Ginevera’s bare bottom that would happen upon our return form the 
honeymoon.

It as a nice day for a walk. I figured it best to let Harry do the talking, he would be 
suspicious of anything I said anyway.

“Found an old manuscript in your library, Clair. It was written by some old boy long ago 
who might have been responsible for your family trait of wanting to be tied up.”

“I don’t want to be tied up, I never did. Go and tie up Ginevera, she likes it.”

“Seems like the old boy preferred to keep his maidens helpless beneath the trees rather 
than inside in a dungeon, although he makes frequent reference to your tower room. You 
needn’t think you and Ginny are the only girls who spent time there. It was this old coot who 
had these bits of ruins erected in the trees and actually had constructed some huts or 
chambers of stone. There were really nothing more than a dungeon cell transported outdoors.
Seems like girls were easy to come by in those days.”

“Could we talk about something else,” I inquired.

“No, we can’t. You’ll have to become accustomed to being a nothing, a pretty girl who 
does what she’s told or gets her bottom caned.”

“Caning my bottom has become an obsession with you, hasn’t it, Harry? I don’t want to 
talk about that either so let’s go back to the old chap who spent a lifetime being unkind to 
pretty girls.”

“You’re a pretty girl, Clair.” There was a dreamy quality in his voice I didn’t like.”

“Forget it. You’ve got me prisoner enough the way I am.”

“From his descriptions I was able to track down some of the work he had done. That’s 
were we’re going this morning. I want you to see.”

“Thanks but I’d rather not.”

“Will you rephrase that?”

“I’ll look at your damned relics or you’ll cane my bottom, is that it?”

“Exactly, darling. You’re learning fast.”

The “darling” did a lot for me but the rest did not. In really shocking humility I said, “Can’t 
we just look without you having to try them out on me?”

“Look on it as archeology, sweetheart. We could write a paper for the historical society.”

“That’s a cop-out for what you intend to do to me.”

“Don’t be sulky, Clair. I’m not going to speak of the cane again but you can rest assured 
it’s waiting back at the house. Please try to be cheerful.”

I tired to be cheerful but it wasn’t easy. Harry was carrying a paper bag undoubtedly filled 
with rope and cord and handcuffs and chain and all the tools of what appeared to be his 
hobby. But if his hobby turned out to be ME, I would not complain. Every time he put me in 
what he called “restraint” we were very, very close. I know it excited me to have his hands on 
my body and I was sure it was exciting to him, too.

There was a stone arch about ten feet high and over grown with ivy but still clearly visible 
were two rings on either side at just about the right height for the binding of a girl’s wrists. I 
had become knowledgeable and was looking out for these things. “How interesting,” I offered,
“he must have been an absolute old bastard! May we go on to the next.”

Harry, quite surprisingly, refrained from binding me within his Arcadian Arch. I heaved a 
sigh of relief. I know I would have looked pretty with my hands bound to those rings, but 
Harry hadn’t bothered.

The next exhibit looked like a six foot long segment of a stone wall. Crumbling at each 
end, but the center portion was as solid as a stone wall can be. There was nothing dramatic 
about it but Harry explained. “The blocks at the top have been worked on to accommodate a 
girl’s wrists and forearms. I lift one side of the block, you put your hand inside and when I 
lower the stone you simply have to stand very much like a pillory, except this thing has no 
locks. The weight does it.”

“I’m sure his girls were grateful,” I said bitterly.

“I’d like to try this one, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind!”

“Stop quibbling.” Harry heaved at the block and placed a bit of wood under the end he 
had raised. He looked at me expectantly.

“I’m not putting my hand through there,” I told him with all the courage I could muster.

“And, in any case, I can’t. My hands are behind my back.”

“We can soon can change that, sweetheart. Turn around.”

“No. I prefer to stay as I am. Harry, you’re mean.”

“Don’t you want your hands untied? I thought you wanted that more than anything in the 
world?”

“Well, yes I do but I don’t want a ton of stone on top of them. Harry, darling, can’t we pass 
on this?”

“Only if you prefer half a dozen strokes, you know were.”

I turned around and wiggled my tied hands. “Oh, alright. But you’re a bastard and I want 
you to know you’re a bastard. It would serve you right if I started to cry.”

I did not cry. Instead I got my hands untied and enjoyed a few brief moments of 
possessing arms before I thrust my hand and forearm beneath the uplifted stone block.

Before I had time to assess the result, Harry had the other block raised and the first thing I 
knew I was standing there in my customary nakedness with my arms stuck out in front and my
wrists and forearms solidly locked in stone. I pushed and tugged but nothing happened. 
Maybe all girl’s measurements are the same but I could swear that this horrible infliction had 
been fashioned for me alone.

“Fits you nicely, doesn’t it?” Harry was actually going back and forth to assess his work 
while I stood there feeling an utter fool. After several minutes I inquired, “We’ve exhausted 
this, Harry dear. I can’t possibly get free of this and you know it. Can we possibly go on to 
exhibit number three?”

Harry Lord kept me prisoner by those two blocks of stone for maybe half an hour. He was 
intrigued by the effect. And I had to admit that if a girl wanted to stand still all day those 
blocks would do the trick. They held me tightly and securely and defeated any attempt to 
escape. The phrase “lock in stone” flittered through my mind and I shivered at the thought of 
being left alone for the day. And a night in this would be terrible!

It was wonderful when he set me free and told my I had the use of my hands until he 
wished it different. “Thank you for my hands, Harry.” I looked at them as if doubting they were
really mine. Prompted by instinct, I turned and ran.

I had nowhere to run but I did it anyway. My flashing legs and the emotions of leaping 
into freedom was justification enough. I suppose I had visions of getting outside the gates 
and finding someone to give me aid. Flight was absurd-Harry caught me easily, grasping a 
handful of hair.

“Where you going somewhere, sweetheart?”

I cried. The tears were of pure frustration and Harry dried them with his handkerchief. I 
expected to be knocked around a bit but his kindness was more unexpected than blows. I 
heard myself saying, “Don’t bother to tie me again, I won’t run away. I promise.”

Very much aware of each other, we walked on to one more archaic relic. This time his hand
was upon my arm but not with love.

Silently I conceded arousal, this was something new. It was very simple but absolutely 
deadly. A solid block of masonry to the height of my waist. From it a protruding arm of iron, 
rusty but beyond my strength to move. At it’s end were the two welcoming arms to clasp my 
waist. The padlock was new, no doubt Harry had added it before this little exploration. I 
decided not to run but kept my eyes steadily upon his. I allowed him to position me within the
iron. I noticed it’s rust had been scrapped away and the half circle of metal into which I had 
been trust was a perfect fit. When the other half was swung upon its hinge to close about my 
waist, it was a snug fit but not painfully tight. The padlock clicked shut and I found myself 
encircled by a snug belt of metal at the end of an iron bar I could not even cause to shiver. I 
looked at Harry expectantly.

“The idea was to leave a girl standing the way you’re standing now,” he explained 
thoughtfully. “I guess if she stood long enough she’d say yes to anything. Seems like it was 
also an method of immobilizing her to be whipped. There’s not much you can do about 
anything, is there sweetheart?”

“No. It’s so simple it’s frightening. I’ve got my hands and feet but there’s not a thing I can 
do. Oh, Harry!”

Harry Lord kissed me tenderly and walked away, leaving me speechless in anger and 
dismay. I watched him go until he was beyond the recall of my voice. When he was out of 
sight I heaved a tremendous sigh which I immediately stopped because it swelled my belly 
against the iron band. Then I frantically used my free fingers to explore.

But it didn’t take long to discover that I was firmly fixed in ancient iron with a modem 
padlock to make quite sure I did not get free.

It was a punishment by frustration. I simply stood! The band around my middle held me in 
a metal clasp more securely than if I had been bound in more than a hundred feet of rope to 
the nearest tree. I had my hands, I had my legs but they were helpless against the belt around 
my waist. I couldn’t do a damned thing but simply stand.

Harry would be having a quiet chuckle at my expense, I was sure of it! Moreover, the day 
was still young and he could leave me here for hours before dinner, or even for the night to 
come. If you think about it, you’ll realize the dither I was in. I heaved and strained and twisted 
with all my strength but the iron band laughed at my efforts. Finally I had to comfort myself 
with the thought that I was at least not being held thus for the purpose of being whipped. 
That was indeed something I did not want. I buried my face in my hands and wept silently 
with emotions beyond what any girl should have to bear.

I stood throughout the day, becoming increasingly tired and with a terrible build up of 
anger and frustration. But there was a strange mixture of love behind the hate. And I realized 
there were far worse things Harry could have done to me. When I thought about it, I realized 
the iron belt around my middle would meet with the complete approval of Uncle Angus.

by the time I had resigned myself to standing there all day and perhaps all night, Harry 
Lord came to set me free. He was good at that sort of thing, keeping me always off balance 
and wondering what came next. The first thing I did was throw my arms around this neck to 
shower him with thank you’s and kisses. I then lay flat upon the ground to rest.

“It gets to you, eh?” Harry suggested. “When you think of it, it’s mostly in the mind. Come 
and have a look at what else your ancestor had in mind. Pity he’s not alive today, I would like 
to meet him.”

There were things I could have said but wisely remained silent. Perhaps the day in the iron 
belt had done something for me inside but at that moment I would have done anything Harry
said. Or demanded. Anything rather than to stand another day in that metal belt.

I knew Harry Lord well enough to realize he had something else up his sleeve. But as long 
as he would allow me to lay as I was upon the grass, I simply did not care. I was weary.

He must have allowed me to rest all of ten minutes before he produced the handcuffs and 
dangled them invitingly. I got to my feet, the perfect submissive, but managed to sniff in his 
face as I turned my back and put my wrists together. I was beautifully trained.

“You’re quite a girl, Clair,” Harry said admiringly. “You’ve yielded your liberty charmingly in 
a way I would have never imagined possible. Is it real or an act?”

“It’s terribly real right now. Harry, please don’t punish me any more. I’m tired and I’ve had 
enough.”

His smile told me nothing. His tone was noncommittal. “I didn’t have in mind a 
punishment. Comes under that classification of ‘cute notion.’ There’s nothing to stop you from
walking so come along. Those handcuffs aren’t hurting.”

“What have you got in that bag?”

“You’ll soon find out.”

“I’ll bet! That’s your way of saying I’ll be happier if I don’t know. Am I in for a long walk?”

“Just to the ruins of the old wall. We’re nearly there.”

“What did that old twerp do with his lousy wall to make me uncomfortable. I’m sure that’s 
what you have in mind.”

Unexpectedly Harry stopped. I stopped, too. He folded me gently in his arms and kissed 
me long and tenderly. But it was still more of a brotherly kiss than I wanted. Damn it, I wasn’t 
sure if I wanted to return that kiss with the vigor I felt inside or simply match his mood. He 
appeared to find my response agreeable but patted my bottom as a signal to move on. The 
afternoon was done and I would have been far happier back in Tintagel. I am absolutely not 
an outdoors girl. When the old ruin of the wall came into view, I was more than a trifle scared. 
When I finally got Harry married to me I’d have to change his mind about these damsel in 
distress activities. It might be no easy task. Or perhaps not even possible. What he had done 
with me today illustrated the depth of his involvement. I would never have believed Ginevera 
would have that potent an affect, or that Uncle Angus would have found an ally in Harry Lord.

When we reached the ruins of the wall, Harry tapped one of the stone blocks suggestively.

“This is the starting point, my beauty. Face the wall and stand quite still.”

I shrugged and did as I was told, not knowing what to expect but fearful it would hurt.

There was a certain degree of anticlimax about the whole thing. There was leg irons to be 
locked on my ankles, two heavy iron bands with heavy links. But those links were few and 
when I obeyed Harry’s curt order to take a walk, I discovered they were distinctively punitive. 
There was no way I could run and even the shortest steps were sharply snubbed.

When I turned around for further instructions, I was kissed and patted and told to walk 
back to the house.

I watched Harry Lord walk away, leaving me flat. This time outrage overcame prudence. I 
shouted, “You’re not going to leave me here like this!” Harry turned to wave. He was stridingly 
rapidly and would soon be out of reach. “You can’t leave me here like this. Harry, be sensible, I
can’t walk the way you’ve fixed my feet!” I watched him disappear.

Sure he might have been joking, getting me alarmed all for nothing. But that I did not 
believe. I looked around in the fading light and shivered. I was a naked girl utterly alone, with 
chained wrists and ankles joined by very short links. I felt the little girl feeling of fear about the
darkness. I looked at the old wall and realized I could find a place where I could get across and
out of the property. But that was an endless succession of pasture lands, so I turned my back 
on it and took my first sad little steps towards my home.

The clink of links was a constant mockery as was the impotence of cuffed wrists. Perhaps 
the first few steps of any journey are the hardest but all the steps of this journey hurt. I took 
perhaps twenty of the short steps before I stopped and screamed. I wasn’t screaming at 
anyone but at the world at large, a world cruel to put me in this horrible situation. At that 
moment I could not believe I could walk in chains. My screams echoed back in a sound to 
make me shiver anew. I sighed and started out again. By this time I was fully determined to 
give Harry a piece of my mind in no uncertain terms when I saw him again. He could whip me 
all he wanted but I would speak my piece. It was one foot before the other endlessly.

Twilight in the woods in an eerie time of day. I kicked hard at the irons with everything I 
had in me in an illogical need to be home before dark. I knew the grounds of Tintagel were 
safe but the little girl in me was becoming scared of the shadows and strange sounds.

Harry could not have thought of anything more frustrating to do to a girl who had neither 
clothes nor hands. I stubbornly refused to look back over my shoulder. Stubbornly I drove my 
tethered feet to their task. Ruefully I realized hands would have helped me not at all. I was 
soon sweating and my ankles were getting chaffed endless rubbing of metal.

I was so preoccupied that I was unaware of things around me until a mocking feminine 
voice inquired, “I guessed it was you, Clair. Mind if I walk along?” It was Lady Madge.





CHAPTER SEVEN - Harry Lord


I suppose I should have disassociated myself at the very start and allowed the Stewards and 
the MacNish to play their silly games alone. But I had always had something of a Thing about 
Clair and then fell in love with Ginevera. Alpha was in there, too, with it’s hint of being over its 
critical stage so as I release Ginevera back to a normal life. Looking back, I can almost see the 
whole affair as a trap into which I walked.

The human subconscious is a storehouse of things unsuspected which may never surface 
at all or perhaps pop up unexpectedly to hit you with a reaction you did not know was there. 
On the day I went to visit Clair and found instead a beautiful young creature in handcuffs, my 
subconscious came up trumps with an emotional jolt to change my life. I cannot tell you why a
handcuffed Ginevera should be ten times as beautiful as Ginevera sans restraints but it is 
indeed so. I did not question it then, I do not question it now.

Like a sleep-walker, I blundered by way through happiness and horror to the day of Clair’s 
disappearance which might have been devastating had we not been pretty sure where she 
was now kept prisoner. Phone calls to Castle MacNish brought no results. But finally Uncle 
Angus called us to say Clair was safe and well but a captive in his castle until the Alpha idiots 
decided to send her home. As though this were not outrage enough, he proceeded to tell me 
I must keep Ginevera captive at Tintagel in the same manner as Clair had previously done. I 
was suddenly head jailer and held responsible should she escape. He hung up before we 
could ask a question.

When I replaced the receiver, Ginevera and I stared at each other. In the time since Clair’s 
disappearance neither of us had had a thought about her ridiculous imprisonment but right 
then and there she went to a draw and returned with handcuffs which she tossed for me to 
catch. She then extended her hands.

“Lock them on me, Harry. And don’t look so doubtful! It’s something you absolutely have 
to do.” She wrinkled her nose. “And make absolutely sure I never find the key.”

That was where I got the jolt! Hardly fun, I did as she asked but as I closed each steel jaw 
around her slender wrists a wave of erotic feeling flowed over me. As I clicked each circle snug
I knew this to be the most glorious moment of my life. I had seen the bondage in which 
Ginevera had been kept, but this was the first time I had consciously clasp her into captivity. I 
knew the handcuffs were little more than pretty bracelets unless locked behind her back. In 
front she wore them with an unconscious grace I had long admired.

Our eyes met in sudden discovery. “Grabs you, doesn’t it?” she said breathlessly. “I’m so 
glad you feel it too, it makes things so much easier. Clair would never admit she adored 
chaining me but she did. I know she did.” She made a play with joined hands for me to see as 
she sighed, “I’m such a lucky girl.”

It was a beginning. Inhibitions cast aside, Ginevera and I indulged ourselves in a positive 
orgy in which my sweetheart was chained or bound or strapped by me alone. I found joy in 
making her completely helpless and, since we slept together each night, it was natural to keep
her naked then through each day. It was a gloriously carnal romp.

It was during this time I became aware of a thread of emotion which colored everything 
we did. I found myself binding Ginevera to conform with conventional visions of damsels in 
distress, lovely tableaus which came and went as a result of my increasing skill with rope and 
links of iron. With increasing sincerity, Ginevera demanded that even though I knew my 
strictures hurt her, I must never for a moment pause or feel pity and thus weaken my resolve. 
Ginevera wanted to be bound and bound tight enough to hurt.

“It must always be tight enough to hurt a little,” she assured me with childlike innocence, 
“or it isn’t valid bondage. And don’t worry about chains being too heavy, I’ll put up with them 
and not complain.”

It was during this time I discovered the old manuscript in Clair’s library. With it we made 
discoveries in which Ginevera played the captive maiden as must have those maidens of long 
ago. She was held and punished as would have been a youthful offender of that day and age, 
and she seemed to take to it. Often I was obliged to polish away much of the rust and dust 
from those iron links and punishment devices which would hold her lovely limbs immobile for 
hours on end. In all of this we both had the eerie sensation of an ancient ghost watching from 
the trees and ground.

Everything was of stone or oak, how else could it have survived the centuries? We 
discovered our favorite in one of the ruins. There was not much of the building left but as a 
showpiece in the center we found a sinister extension of what they used to call “The Horse.” 
The name doesn’t matter but I think that is what it is also called today.

In taking Ginevera to that punishment device, she was simply handcuffed and put her 
hand upon my arm as we strolled down the lovely paths of Tintagel. She spoke casually but I 
could feel a shiver of excitement in her touch.

“Oh, Harry, he built this just for me, I know he did! Isn’t it scary? Let’s see if it fits.”

The seat was of stone, solid and immobile. On each side was a stone column the top of 
which held a short chain and iron cuff just big enough for a female wrist. I had oiled and 
cleaned the cuffs so they worked smoothly. Oddly, I had found the exact key laying in a 
drawer by the rear door to the garden. For a girl locked in them there would be no possibility 
of escape. The stone seat was a wedge coming to a point on which the girl must sit, her full 
weight directly upon her sex. At the base of each column was another short chain and cuff 
that would hold the maiden’s ankles firmly and spread wide from the stone seat. There would 
be no way she might take any of her weight off her sex, she would endure until released.

“Oh, Harry, darling, it’s beautiful … And horrible.” She actually giggled at the last comment.

She was breathless with delight or fear. Or perhaps both. “I bet I’ll be the best behaved girl
in the world after you’ve had me in this for a while.”

I took the handcuffs from her and helped Ginevera up to straddle the cold stone seat. She 
squealed as she sex came down upon the edge, a strange mixture of fear and excitement 
upon her face. She was like a little child with a new toy. I quickly clasped her wrists in the iron 
cuffs before she could change her mind and object. I had nothing to be worried about.

“Oh, Harry, it’s just too much! What a way to punish a girl!” I spread her right leg and 
locked the cuff upon it. “The girls must have gone crazy on this! It’s terrible!” I locked her 
other legs spread away from the stone, leaving her entire weight upon the hard edge. “Oh, 
Harry, I’m going to suffer so!”

She meant it but she also said it with a smile. I could have burst with pride and excitement.
What a girl!

I stood back to admire a beautiful picture. There was tension in every muscle of her body 
and it was incredibly beautiful. And the glow in her eyes was something unbelievable.

“Oh, Harry,” she whispered, “how … How long … How long will you leave me?”

I debated with myself. But I knew it would be a long time to her, long enough so that she 
would be suffering and begging for release. I also knew that she would want it to be at least 
that long, too. She would feel cheated if I returned too soon. A smile was all she got as a reply.

“Oh, I’ve heard about this. But the sharp edge of a plank was the usual way. This stone is 
harder. Or, at least it seems harder. It hurts my pussy something terrible.”

“You’re pretty well stretched,” I said. “A few hours will be punishment enough for any girl. I
wouldn’t want to leave you for an entire day.”

“But, Harry, that’s what they used to do! Girls had to sit like this from morning until night.”

She giggled. “How about fixing me here all day? By the time you let me loose in the 
evening, you’ll have the most obedient girl with the most obedient little pussy in the world.

Oh, Harry, isn’t this beautiful frightful!”

I was becoming increasingly a real bastard in a manner I could not ignore. Ginevera looked
so lovely sitting there with shinning eyes and breasts rising and falling. There was no way I 
could bring myself to free her instantly. And it was early in the morning, just the time of day 
the girls in olden times here placed upon the Horse for their day’s ride. Or so Ginevera assured
me. I do seem to recall something in the manuscript about the usually punishment being a 
day upon the Horse. And even one mention of a continuous ride of two full days for one girl 
who had refused to perform in bed properly. It said she was a very good performing after 
that.

I kneaded her breasts because they were so lovely and sticking out so erotically. And I 
loved the moaning sounds that Ginevera made as I squeezed them and pinched the taunt 
nipples. I had one hell of an erection by that time but there was little I could do about it, the 
stone wedge was blocking the entrance to paradise. But, being more than a little bit of a 
bastard, I got Ginevera good and horny before suddenly leaving her with a quick goodbye 
and a vague comment about returning in the evening. I heard her gasp loudly but was leaving
the ruins before she could begin to plead. I sneaked a peek back towards the Horse when a 
turn in the path allowed to see Ginevera bouncing as wildly as her chains would allow upon 
the stone wedge and moaning loudly. I was pretty far away when she let out with a loud, 
prolonged scream of pleasure. I was sure it marked the first of her orgasms for the day.

I knew she would be weary and sore that night but that we would make love when I again 
got her upon the silk sheets of the master bed. It would be worth waiting for.

It was.

Three days later there came an early morning call from Uncle Angus announcing a car 
would come to pick Ginevera up and take her to his castle. Uncle Angus wanted no arguments
but told me flatly I would receive Clair in return and must hold her every bit as much a captive 
as I had held Ginevera. While he was talking I caustically wondered if he had the faintest idea 
of the many ways in which Ginevera had been secured. Once more he hung up before I had a 
chance to speak.

Ginevera and I discussed the ways and means of escape but came to the conclusion we 
were powerless against Uncle Angus. If I refused to deliver her or if she ran away, Clair would 
suffer. Reasonably she pointed out the logic of her being at Castle MacNish instead of Clair. 
She was, after all, the main concern of Alpha. She assured me it would be only a little while 
before she would be returned and we could get married. Clair could be the Maid of Honor. To 
listen to Ginevera you would think everything was wonderful and without care. Silently I 
cursed Uncle Angus.

The pick up man was pleasant and polite but obviously regarded Ginevera as a wild thing 
to be helplessly secured for her long ride to Castle MacNish. She and I had previously 
discussed this matter and, for the sake of appearance, I made the delivery with her wrists 
handcuffed behind her back and her feet in leg irons. Those restraints were immediately 
rejected on the grounds of too much freedom. The man produced his own rope and cord and 
used them to Ginevera’s disadvantage. Her wrists were tied behind her back and ankles firmly 
roped together. I protested the hogtie he placed her in but was ignored. I managed to get in a
kiss before the poor girl was lowered into the boot of the big car and her wrists connected to 
her ankles very tightly. The lid was slammed shut. The polite man thanked me for my help and
drove away in a rush.

The next day Uncle Angus’s door to door service delivered Clair in the same condition.

Ginevera and I had not thought much about Clair, being content to enjoy our own 
discoveries. But the fact that I was now expected to keep Clair a captive in her own home was 
an embarrassment I could have done without. The two girls were not the least bit alike and my
memories of Clair were of a woman cold and totally indifferent to the regards of a man. To 
carry her naked and bound into her own lounge left me once more feeling a bit of a fool over 
my role in the whole affair. When she blissfully suggested we get married and would I please 
untie her hands and feet, the only way I could think to treat the poor girl was to play the 
dominant male, a role I had come to fill with ease with Ginevera. I resolved to treat her as 
unkindly as I could, not out of meanness but as the only way I could keep her under control. I 
was astonished at her quite affectionate acceptance of enslavement. I don’t know what else I 
could call her but a slave, a very beautiful slave!

Uncle Angus had arranged for most of the staff to take an extended leave with pay, those 
who remained were prepared to ignore and accept the unusual circumstances surrounding 
their mistress. They treated me with great respect and raised no eyebrows over the woman I 
kept naked and chained. If their mistress was chained each night in the tower room, it was 
none of their business.

I had no illusions about Clair. Her sweet submission had to be an act, cleverly preformed 
but nonetheless an act. If I gave her the faintest opportunity to escape she would grab it and 
run. What she might do then I could only guess at but had no wish to discover. There was no 
minute of the day or night I did not keep her securely bound or ironed, the irons might be no 
more than handcuffed hands behind her back but she would always be helpless. I often 
caught her looking at me with amused eyes.

Through all this Clair and I were well aware of the woman she had once been, an 
imperious and capricious female who played her game of hard to get without seeming to play
at all. She had kept me on the string for a couple of years, probably other men as well. I had 
never slept with Clair and refused to do so now. I knew she was hurt and resentful over my 
refusal to politely rape a bound woman in her own home. I saw the act as being technically 
rape even though she might welcome it as a lever to use in search of freedom. I realized later I
had misjudged her mood. She was no longer the Clair of long ago, the things done to her at 
Castle MacNish and being kept constantly naked had subdued her in a way I did not 
understand. Her confessions about self examination while chained alone or beneath the whip I
put down to one more feminine ruse to cause the lowering of my guard. Actually, Clair was 
satisfied to be my prisoner, and what she told me about changes in her were no more or less 
than the truth. I held in chains a lovely woman who was prepared to give me everything a man
could ask for. But my thoughts were of Ginevera and thus Clair slept each night in the Tower 
room in chains. Alone.

Being Clair’s jailer, and Ginevera’s before that, was the start but I found myself becoming 
more and more addicted and loving “the lady in chains.” The quotation came from another 
treasure I discovered in Clair’s library. William Seabrooks’ autobiography entitled “No Hiding 
Place,” in which the author confessed the emotions which possessed me now. I imagined the 
book had been considered daring in its day but I gained from it the comforting sensation of 
others treading the same path as I.

It was natural I could continue with Clair the same inflictions I had practiced on Ginevera.

But I could not kid myself that Clair found in them the same joys and excitements with 
which Ginevera had invited her little punishments. Sometimes Clair complained but I soon 
learned she was frightened of the riding crop so I kept it handy. Mostly she suffered in silence 
or a sort of amused impatience. It was in that spirit I took Clair walking in the park to test her 
patience with the various punishment devices scattering the landscape. Clair made no bones 
about disliking some of them intensely. However, it was a punishment of my own design 
which brought about a change in Clair’s captivity.

I had given the poor girl a bad day within the clutches of iron and stone designed by an 
ancient she referred to as “that old twerp.” She had probably had enough of the old boy’s 
inventions but some contrary streak in me made me give her one more grand treatment. I 
walked with her to the limits of the park and its ruined wall, and there added to her handcuffs 
a set of leg irons for her feet. I will never forget her dismay when she tried to wall. I patted her 
fondly and they went away, leaving her to her own devices. But I knew that, even with the 
shortness of the chains between her legs, she would be back at Tintagel long before midnight.
It was an unkind thing to do but the worst pain she could suffer would be chaffed ankles and I
had little doubt that she would seek out the comfort of the house rather than stay in the 
garden all night. She would merely have to travel home at a third the speed she could have 
made had her legs been free of restraint.

When I got back to Tintagel I was still chuckling. But it could not have been all that long 
before my conscious begin to worry me. Night would soon be falling on the chained and 
probably frightened girl. Having been out in that garden, I knew that ghosts lurked behind 
every bit of ruins and shrub. I hurried out to retrace my steps.

I was long past the half way mark and was becoming concerned when I saw movement up 
ahead. But was I seeing ghosts? There seemed to be two figures moving in the twilight, one 
naked and one clothed, walking side by side. Closer I could hear the tinkle of the leg irons 
upon Clair’s ankles. When I got closer yet I was intrigued to discover Clair being led back to 
the wall by a collar and leash upon her neck, the end of the leash being held by a female I did 
not know. Since Clair could hardly walk, there stopped and turned at the sound of my 
approach. There was no mistaking Clair’s happiness at the sight of me. The other woman 
frowned.

“I should introduce you both,” Clair said innocently. “Harry, this is Lady Madge Bretley.

She wants to kidnap me.”

“Go away,” said Lady Madge with decision. “This girl belongs to me.”

“No, I don’t!” Clair’s denial was avid. “Don’t listen to her and get this leash before she 
starts yanking at my neck again.” Her voice became pathetic. “Please take me home.”

“It’s me who’s taking her home,” said Lady Madge, glaring. “No men are required. Please 
go away.”

The two of them stared, each knowing I held the deciding vote. Clair had told me about 
Lady Madge and, remembering the story about her treatment of naked girls, I already 
expected what came next. “She’s the one who hunted me like a fox. Harry, why don’t you grab
her and do some of the things you’ve been doing to me? Lady Madge deserved a lesson.”

It was very easy. Her ladyship held a coil of thin twine with which she had not doubt 
intended to bind Clair. I tossed her to the ground easily and was soon tying her hands neatly 
behind her back. I then took the collar from Clair’s neck and buckled it snug around her 
ladyship’s throat. When I got up and off her ladyship’s back, I had Clair’s complete approval.

“I was afraid you’d let her go,” she gasped. “Oh, Harry, please do be mean to her. And I do 
mean Mean!”

“I suppose you both realize I shall have you in prison for this! You can’t do this to me.”

Clair and I simply laughed. Lady Madge would be signing no complaint. I made a mental 
note of the curve of her bottom for future reference. I then unlocked the leg irons from Clair’s 
feet and put them on her would-be kidnapper’s ankles. Tugging at the leash, I started on our 
way back to the house. But after a few steps I stopped and turned around. I changed Clair’s 
hands from back to front and handed her the leash. She smiled happily and gave it a vicious 
tug. We resumed out walk, ignoring the protests and complaints from the newly bound lady.

Lady Madge was not a happy prisoner. She painted for us in all it’s graphic detail her 
sufferings at the hands Colin and Bill, having been almost cut in two by their brutal ropes 
before someone rescued her hours later. She affirmed that she suffered thus purely on Clair’s 
account. But that failed to win her freedom. She went on to say that, if we were wise enough 
to free her now, she would not press charges. We laughed. But I could well understand her 
dismay because I was an unknown factor. But she could be pretty sure of Clair’s venom. As if 
to prove that fact, Clair jerked constantly at the leash.

Lady Madge’s next complaint was that I had tied her hands far too tight and, if I were a 
gentleman, I would free them instantly. This one joined all the rest in the discard so she now 
branched out into an unflattering speculation as to my common place origins and the 
supposition I could not possibly merit an old school tie. It was at this point Clair interjected, 
“Why don’t you strip the bitch naked, Harry? I don’t see why I have to be naked while she 
wears clothes.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” said Lady Madge in a tone implying she clearly knew I would. “Don’t 
you dare touch me!”

Without a trace of guilt I striped away her clothes to bare her aristocratic skin, her noble 
breasts, and fine growth of tided curls above her puss. No doubt she rode constantly to 
hounds and thus her figure was remarkably well preserved. “I want you to cane her bottom, 
Harry,” said Clair with an authority I would deal with later. “She needs bringing down a peg or 
two.” Then once more again, pathetically, “Pretty much the way I was, I suppose.”

I made a nice, neat bundle of Lady Madge’s clothes and shoes and tucked it beneath one 
of Madge’s bound arms with instructions to hold it there. She was having a lot of trouble with 
her unfamiliar chains. I don’t suppose she had ever been leg-ironed in her life. She was having
trouble with walking and, when she fell, which she did often, I picked her up without 
admonition to set her again upon the path she had no wish to take. It was in this manner we 
reached Tintagel.

Both girls needed a bath and since Clair’s hands were in front, I allowed her to do the 
honors. We left the irons on Lady Madge’s feet as a precaution and reminder of her new 
status. We all ate heartily, ignoring cocktails, but had brandy in the lounge with our reluctant 
guest who refused to be reconciled into her fate. But she did take to asking how long we 
intended to hold her prisoner against her will. It was a question we did not answer. But, no 
doubt inspired by the after dinner brandy, I found myself speculating which of these beautiful 
creatures I should honor with my bed. To perform The Act with her ladyship must obviously be
a punishment she would endure in noble outrage while bound down to the bed. But with Clair
it would truly be a thing of passion and of love.

Either way I felt myself threatened, and fell back upon the Tower room and wondered how 
it would be to imprison both of them in there for the night. Properly chained, of course, to 
opposite walls. I realized her ladyship’s outrage could be made delightfully complete by a gag 
installed before I departed for the night. Without being able to communicate her indignation 
and anger, it would have to be bottled up within her.

I decided on the Tower room. Throughout the business of installing them therein I was 
constantly aware of Clair’s glare. She knew my thoughts. In polite consideration she refrained 
from comment. But when I produced the gag for Lady Madge’s discomfort, she clapped her 
hands as best she could. For out titled guest, the gag was a shock. She gazed at it as she 
might a rattlesnake. She was already too securely chained for resistance but looked up at me 
appealing to plead, “Please, not that. I promise I won’t scream, you don’t have to gag me.”

“If you’re not gagged, you’ll spend the whole night complaining to me about what’s 
happened,” Clair quickly stated.

“Well, why wouldn’t I? This whole thing is an impossible outrage!” It was as far as I let her 
go. A moment later I had the gag firmly in her mouth and was busy strapping it behind her 
neck. She was not happy.

I kissed Clair and bid them both good night.

It is one thing to have a nude female prisoner but something else to have two. My pulse 
raced at the prospect of taking Lady Madge “down a peg or two,” and to that end I freed Clair
first the next morning and took her down to confer. “She hunted me down like some wild 
thing,” Clair affirmed with resolution. “Why don’t we do the same to her? Send her out into 
the park with her legs ironed as they are now? If we catch her she gets a damned good 
whipping. After that you can let her go. We can’t keep her forever.”

It seemed a good idea. I went back upstairs for Lady Madge and confined her to the 
attentions of a girl to whom she had been fair from kind. After breakfast, which was 
surprisingly friendly, considering, we broke the news.

“You mean you’re going to make me play fox to your hounds while I’m leg-ironed like this 
and my hands are cuffed behind me!” Madge’s point was no doubt well taken and she played 
it for all she was worth but Clair was adamant.

“Of course, darling,” she cooed. “That’s what you did to me, you know. And I seem to 
remember something about twenty strokes if I didn’t get away. Let’s make it the same here, 
shall we?”

Lady Madge sniffed disdainfully. “You may as well whip me now. With my feet ironed like 
this, the results can be nothing else.”

“Maybe not. The park here has a thousand places to hide,” Clair offered sweetly, “you just 
might find a place we can’t find. Go on, be a sport. Show us what you’re made of.”

Lady Madge shrugged acknowledgment of a loosing cause and began a difficult trek into 
the park.

Clair and I waited the agreed upon thirty minutes. During this time we were conscious of 
each other in a manner to cause us uncertainty. We saw Lady Madge only as an interruption 
into Tintagel. With her out of the way, we would be alone again. I thought distressingly of 
Ginevera and I knew damned well Clair was thinking of me. Clair wanted me and knew she 
could once have had me for the taking. But now she wore handcuffs and did my biding.

“Do you think it is fair to have her feet chained like that?” I asked. “I want to whip her 
bottom, too, but would like to do it fairly. I mean, it will be hard for her to hide or travel very 
far like that. We wouldn’t want her weeping and saying she got a rotten deal.”

“Of course it’s fair, darling. There was almost no cover in that park of hers. But Tintagel has
got more cover and places to hide. And, has it occurred to you that if she walked fast enough 
she can get out over the wall and end up goodness knows where? This thirty minutes we’re 
giving her is more than enough.” At the end of thirty minutes I I would have loved to 
accompany her but my presence would have affected the game. This was something very 
much between two women, both determined. I watched Clair Steward stride purposely 
towards the trees we had explored with quite different intend. It was fully an hour later when 
she returned with Lady Madge upon a leash.

There were no complaints, whatever else she may have been, Lady Madge Bretley was a 
good sport. She might not have chosen this contest but she lost and was prepared to pay the 
price. We explained out feelings to the extend of whipping her as punishment both for loosing
the game and for trying to steal Clair in the first place. She shrugged and told us bitterly she 
was too helpless to argue and why don’t we get on with it. We escorted her to the place of 
whipping.

There is something lovely about a naked girl with arms and legs outstretched. The limbs of
Lady Madge were by no means the quality of Clair’s, or Ginevera. But her nakedness had a 
beauty of its own and she had no reason to be ashamed of her figure. And that bottom was 
beautifully contoured for the cane.

There she was, all the noble flesh exposed and helpless for the sentence Clair imposed.

My more permanent prisoner explained, “I’d like to give you forty strokes, Madge, you 
deserve them. Do you really think twenty is enough?”

“Give me forty if you wish.” Lady Madge’s reply held all the bitterness of offended nobility.

“For goodness sake, don’t play with me. Do what you must and let me go.”

“But we may not let you go!”

“Do as you wish, I’m to helpless to do anything about them. And, anyway, you make the 
rules as you go along. Get it over with.”

I freed Clair’s hands. Taking the handcuff from her wrists and giving her complete freedom 
seemed unusual, I had become so accustomed to seeing her restrained. Then I handed her the
cane and stood back.

Very simply she said, “I love you, Harry. Thank you.”

I have to admit I watched the caning of Lady Madge’s bottom with erotic joy. Clair laid on 
each stroke with all her strength and the resultant scarlet lines springing up upon the lovely 
skin held me with an entrancing beauty. I would have liked to use the cane myself but saw it 
as only proper for Clair to give out the punishment. I wondered if it would do Lady Madge any
permanent good or would she return to make other girls captive to her will and whip them 
until they screamed.

With the caned bottom glowing in all the rainbow hues, I handed Clair the whip. Once 
more our eyes met and she said thank you. But there was much more meaning behind the 
two simple words. At the forth stroke Lady Madge screamed. She had been able to confine 
her sounds to moans and groans and yelps. But now she gave full throat to her agony. 
Breathless I watched Clair cut the whip again and again into those crevasses and hollows that 
only another girl knows best.

When it was done, Clair cast aside the whip, found the handcuffs, then turned her back 
and crossed her wrists. In a daze of delight I made her prisoner once more. After an hour to 
keep her wondering, we freed the sweating girl and watched as she donned the clothes I had 
stripped from her body the day before. When we told her to go she was obviously relieved. 
Her return in the direction of the wall was many times speedier than when her feet were 
chained. When she disappeared into the trees, Clair said demurely, “You’re holding the leg 
irons, Harry, why don’t you lock them on my feet?”

I locked them on the unresisting ankles. It was in this manner we said goodbye to Lady 
Madge and I became once more a master with his slave.

It was not until the following day I remembered Clair’s unwarranted assumption of 
authority back there in the trees. When mentioned to her, she shrugged. “Go ahead and 
punish me, I don’t care.”

I would have preferred an argument. This sweet acceptance of what she had become was 
disconcerting. But I was the Master and an ill-mannered slavegirl must pay the price. I was 
about to ask what infliction she considered proper when I realized I was altogether too 
inc-lined to let her call the shots, I was remembering the Clair of long past. The Clair in my 
possession now was a very different girl.

“We gave Lady Madge ten and ten, and fastened her for them with hands and feet spread 
wide,” I said reflectively with all the authority I could muster. “Why don’t I fasten you the same 
way but make it five and five?”

“As you wish.”

Damn it, I knew I was falling in love with Clair all over again. Damn the ease by which a 
man switches his lust from girl to girl. Relentlessly I freed the lovely limbs and bound each 
afresh with bitter cord to bruise the skin. Soon she was stretched between the four corners of 
the frame so well designed for the whipping of a girl. Whenever our eyes met she smiled.

It was a new beginning. Clair saw her whipping as no more than stepping stone in her 
imprisonment. She did not scream as I cut viciously at her skin but I knew it took ever ounce 
of courage she possessed to limit herself to gasps and small moans. I admired her as I marked
her skin. When it was done I said no word but silently departed to leave her stretched and 
spread wide to think whatever thoughts she chose as her skin continued to burn.

It took a lot of determination on my part to leave Clair fastened for a full hour. My mind 
was constantly filled with the vision of the scene in all its detail of corded wrists and ankles, 
and vivid marks crisscrossing her bottom. I felt a bastard.

When I sat Clair free I was subjected to one more temptation. My prisoner said no word 
but put her arms around my neck to cling in unusual freedom while she whispered, “Harry, 
must I be a prisoner again?”

I ignored the question. It was one I had no wish to answer. But I held her close and found 
myself wishing everything was other than it was.

Clair was completely free, no bond on wrist or ankle. She was a strong and vigorous girl 
who could have fought but did not. She allowed herself to be once more chained without 
struggle or complaint. I felt many times a bastard as I snapped the locks but then carried her 
to the lounge and set her upon the rug where she must kneel before me. “Does it hurt?” I 
asked casually.

Clair twisted as if testing the pain. “Of course it hurts, Harry. But if you think it’s what I 
deserve, I don’t mind.” She sniffed and a faint smile tugged at her lips. “I don’t know what’s 
happening to me or why I have this crazy wish to marry you. Don’t you understand, Harry, my 
sweet, how impossible it is for a girl like me to wish to marry you but not to care either way 
whether you whip me again or not. Harry, I belong to you. I am yours!”

“You want to be untied.”

“Of course I do. Remember, I’m not Ginevera. But if you are going to be suspicious and 
think every nice thing I tell you is just to get my hands free, I’d best keep quiet. Tie me tight 
and we won’t mention the subject again.” There was quiver in her voice as she added, “I don’t 
see why you won’t marry me, Harry. We’ve got everything going for us-or do I get whipped 
for asking?”

“No, you don’t. But if you keep on bothering me about it….”

“Have it your way but I’ll probably be covered with whip marks because it’s not in me to 
keep quiet. Harry, you wanted to marry me once…?”

“That was before I met Ginevera. But back then you were playing hard to get and you 
wouldn’t have married me if I asked.”

“Sure, I was a bitch. But that streak has been whipped out of me. And I’m the most 
surprised little girl that it happened that way. I’d be a lot nicer companion for you if I wasn’t 
tressed up all the time…?”

“You really do try.” I laughed at her earnest look. “What do you want to bet that if you 
hands and feet were free you wouldn’t revert to normal?”

“Try me.”

“Look, sweetheart, I promised you Uncle Angus.”

“Oh, piss on Uncle Angus! He’ll never know whether I’m tied or not. Give me a break.”

“If I give you a break, what will you do with it?”

“I’m damned if I know, Harry.” Her eyes were once more hard to read. Perhaps a trace of 
mockery? “Why don’t we both find out. Tell you what, give me ten minutes. I’ll watch the clock
and hand you the handcuffs when the time is up.”

I reached in my pocket for the keys.

We had never had a more potent moment than when her cuffs and leg irons lay limp upon
the rug. I felt certain she had something up a nonexistent sleeve. But in the first moments of 
freedom she massaged happily those portions of her person that had been deeply indented 
by the cords or marked by the cane and whip. Clair’s eyes were shining. Her first remark as a 
free woman was consistent with her previous ones. “Harry, why don’t you take me to bed 
while I’m free? It will be so wonderful.”

“You’re forgetting Ginevera.”

“No, I’m not. When I lay my hands on the smug little nymphet again, I’ll make sure she 
doesn’t sit down for a week.” Clair’s eyes were glowing. “Harry, don’t you want me?”

“That suggestion gets you six with the cane, Clair.”

Clair was thinking hard while she rubbed away the chaff of cord. “Well, okay, so you love 
Ginevera,” she said sadly. “I’ll cure you of it, Harry. I’ll get Ginevera out of your system even if I 
die trying. I think my best bet is to irk you into punishing me so terribly you’ll end up feeling 
sorry and drag me to the altar. How’s that for a plan?”

“Forget it.”

“I will for now. Gosh, fancy having fifteen minutes in which to make or break your life.

What would you do if I jumped for the door?”

“Leap after you, of course. And when I caught you, you’d be a sorry girl.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I would. But suppose you didn’t catch me?”

“You know I’d catch you. Don’t fantasize.”

Clair stood up, tossing aside all the humilities of captivity. Deliberately she stretched and 
held a pose with her hands clasped behind her neck and her breasts pointing straight at me. I 
looked at her pussy and sighed heavily in wonder as to how I got myself into this jackpot 
between two adorable females I could so easily possess. As usual I felt back upon the macho 
male. “You may be free, Clair. But don’t forget the things you say or do can earn marks on 
your skin. I’ll be a real bastard during your fifteen minutes. I have to be in self-defense.”

Clair sighed. “Really, I don’t know why I bother with you, Harry. A hundred men would 
grab the chances I’ve offered but you reject me in favor of that cute little trick. Believe me, I 
really will mark up her little hide whenever I get my hands on her again. That is, if I have 
hands.” She gazed at me dolorously. “I’ll bet after this fifteen minutes is over you’ll never allow
me hands or feet again. Oh, shit! I wish that damned alpha corporation would go to hell!”

“Alpha is a fact of life.”

Clair ignored my observation. Blatantly she stretched her feet wide apart and caressed her 
pubic area in a way to leave me panting and consumed with lust. “Isn’t that lovely, Harry.

Haven’t I got the nicest little snatch?” She laughed at my obvious discomfort. “You see, 
Harry, I’m capable of teasing a man. Wouldn’t you like to touch my body?”

“You’ve got six coming, are you trying for twelve?”

“You’re a bastard, Harry, darling. You love whipping me. You adore the sounds of a girl in 
pain. Sure I’m trying for twelve. I’ll try for twentyfour if it will make you happy or get the two 
of us into bed.”

I knew she was laughing at me. “I’m told a well whipped girl,” she continued, “gives a man 
far greater happiness in bed than one without a mark on her. Want to try?”

The minutes were ticking away and I suspected Clair did not value the freedom of hands 
and feet as much as she professed. Clair wanted me but I kept telling myself I wanted only 
Ginevera. But the indecencies Clair was thrusting at me at a distance of about three feet were 
beginning to take affect. Defensively I said, “Okay, you’ve got your twelve. And, believe me, 
you’ll be sorry. If I did marry you I’d have to give you about that many every morning just to 
keep you in line. Damn it, Clair, what happened to the Clair Steward I used to know?”

“I’m a lot more fun than she ever was.”

I picked up Clair and carried her to bed.

The fifteen minutes became an hour and then two. Whatever a woman could do for a man,
Clair did for me. I had never known such intense pleasure from a woman before.

And it was mutual, I gave as much as I got. We sat on the bed, collecting our thoughts, 
until my captive said, “See, Harry, it’s just the way I said, we’re made for each other. I’ll bet you
never had such a time in your life.”

I stopped short of mentioning Ginevera, I was not that crass. I had been tempted as Adam 
had been tempted by Eve, and I found myself weak in the face of a beautiful and very sexy 
woman. What was I to say? I was a very happy man but at the same time much puzzled as to 
what I should now do. There was Ginevera. And there was Uncle Angus.

And, anyway I looked at it, I was suppose to keep this glorious creature beside me on the 
bed in close captivity. It seemed I was to be forever fighting a rear-guard action. I said, 
without the least bit of pleasure, “That fifteen minutes was up a long time ago.”

Clair shrugged. “I forgot. You’d better jack stroke count up to eighteen instead of twelve.”

I accepted the handcuffs casually. She turned around and offered her hands. In the space 
of seconds her hands were once again locked tight in steel behind her back. Everything that 
had happened since I had freed her seemed a dream. “You should have rejection slips printed, 
Harry, and give me one every time I say I love you.” Clair’s voice was bitter.

“So, okay, I’m a bastard.”

“Do you wish to cane my bottom now?”

“Maybe some other time.”

“Tell you what then, Harry, let’s go for a walk. And when we reach the far wall, you can lock
them on my feet and make me walk home the way you started the other day.”

“You don’t deserve to be punished. Why would I punish you?”

“As a precaution? If you do as I ask, I’ll be so busy shuffling my chain I’ll forget about a 
man who doesn’t want to marry me. And since that walk is going to take me quite a time, I 
can give a lot of thought about weaning you from Ginevera into my arms and my bed. If you 
say yes, I’ll go and fetch the leg irons.”

“Go get them.”

She flittered away, seemingly pleased. What she was gone I realized how sane this request 
for punishment truly was. It gave us both something to do and got us over an awkward hump.
The last thing I wanted to do right then was to cane her bottom or tie her to a tree or 
something equally mean. What I wanted most was to go back to bed. But that would be total 
surrender. Clair’s request for her chained walk was exactly tailored to the moment. When she 
returned with the shackles, I turned her around and freed her hands, putting the handcuffs in 
my pocket for future use. I handed her the leg irons with a gruff, “Here, you carry them. It was 
your idea.”

The amused smile was once more on Clair’s face as she accepted the weight of links 
without complaint. With my prisoner completely free of bonds we set out on what was really 
quite a sizeable walk.

The park and woods were lovely. Clair was constantly touching my arm in an affectionate 
manner and talking gaily of times past. Neither of us mentioned Uncle Angus. When we 
reached the far corner of the park, Clair handed me the leg irons.

“No sad farewells, Harry, just chain me and walk away.” Her tone was actually lighthearted. 
“I know this is ridiculous but it’s something I want to do. Handcuff me as well and make a job 
of it.”

The sex urge was strong within me as I knelt and locked the lovely ankles snugly. But I 
made sure they weren’t too tight. Walking would be possible and her ankles would not hurt 
from too tight cuffs. But her steps would be short indeed as only about twelve inches 
separated her ankles now. With a sigh of content, I stood up, turned Clair around and snared 
her wrists in shinning chrome. It was another of those moments when a man realizes how 
slender female wrists could be. I could have picked up Clair and easily carried her, and that 
made it seem cruel to set her feet upon a painful journey. I turned her once again and kissed 
her tenderly, hugging her breasts against my chest.

Breathlessly she said, “Harry Lord, you’re a bastard. Now run along and leave me. I love 
you.”

I ran along. I did not look back. My mind was filled with the vision of a lovely nude girl 
who’s hands and feet were chained. Finally, within sight of Tintagel, I debated going back to 
rescue my maiden in distress. It would have been better if I had.





CHAPTER EIGHT - Clair


I got the craziest thrill watching Harry disappear down the path towards Tintagel while I stood,
chained and naked and alone, far from the house. It would be a long hobbled walk back. And 
the thrill was highly sexual, a pleasant erotic feeling in which I knew I had created a situation I 
could not escape. The mood was so strong I was loathe to relinquish it to begin the painful 
path back. There was a fallen log close by so I hobbled to it and sat upon its moss to allow my
heated cat to inflame my thoughts in a manner more befitting an adolescent than a woman. I 
knew myself in the grip of a degree of helplessness in which I was not truly helpless at all. 
There was all sorts of things I could do with my hands.

And I could certainly walk, slowly and painfully, but I could make progress. I refused to 
think what lay in store but reveled in the images of myself as a damsel in distress. And there 
was still some cuts with the cane that Harry owed me.

“You’re just a bitch in heat,” I told myself. “And what’s more, you deserve everything you’re
going to get. I hope the cane hurts and I hope you shed a few tears back on your way back to 
Tintagel. It’s serves you damned well right.”

I sighed happily and reveled in my dream.

I sat there quite a while in pure bliss before sighing again and rising reluctantly to my feet.

I looked down at the beautiful leg irons and dared them to do their worst. At the same 
time I tugged at my imprisoned wrists. Resolutely I took my first step.

My progress was wickedly slow and I began to wish I had not indulged in erotic dreams.

All they had achieved was to make me long for Harry Lord and the things he could do to 
me when I finally got home. I would get the cane for sure but consoled myself in the 
knowledge of a quite different infliction I was determined to contrive. Being in bed with Harry 
had been wonderful and I would do whatever I had to do to make it happen again. I knew 
myself shameless and was glad.

It was different from last time. My fettered feet induced neither tears or panic, the roseate 
glow of my dream upon the log was still very much alive and I could have sworn my pussy 
gained stimulation with every snug of shackled ankles. Girls in love have to be out of their 
minds!

It was then I heard the sound.

Instinct warned me instantly what was to come but I hoped instinct was wrong. So steadily
I maintained my pace, refusing to look back. The sounds became louder and were 
interspersed with laughter, a laughter I recognized but could scarce believe my ears.

Stupidly I started to run only to fall flat upon my face and hurt my breasts. Striving to rise I 
discovered Jeanine on one side and Rosilyn on the other, both regarding my condition with 
interest and intense satisfaction.

“We got you good and proper this time, luv,” said Jeanine.

“You’re a silly bitch trying to run in them there irons, girl,” Rosilyn added helpfully. She 
giggled, “Which way you running, to or from?”

“Go away, mind your own business.”

“You are our business, luv.”

“Look, I don’t want to be tortured again-and what’s more you’re trespassing.”

“Are we now! Don’t you worry, girlie, we’ll soon be gone. And we’ll be taking you with us.

Aren’t you the luckiest little sweetheart in the world?”

“Don’t you dare kidnap me. If you steal me away from here, I’ll get you into all the trouble 
I can think of.”

“I don’t think she likes us,” said Jeanine.

“I’ll bet she wants to run back to dear Harry-except she can’t run!” said Rosilyn.

I could have screamed in frustration. Even if I had not been ironed they could have 
overpowered me but to be delivered into their hands, naked and helplessly chained, was a 
humiliation to flush my cheeks. The lovely metal bands Harry had placed upon me now spelt 
my doom.

“What are you going to do with me?” I asked miserably.

“Have a bit of fun, dearie, what else?”

“You’re not here just to hurt me, there has to be something else. It can’t possibly be my 
uncle.”

“His name’s Karl Slobodian, sweetheart, you’ve met him before. We’re working for him 
now. He pays a lot more than your Uncle Angus.”

I moaned inwardly as they dragged me to my feet. I longed to scratch their eyes out but 
could do nothing. They tweaked my nipples and told me to be a good little girl if I didn’t want
to wear clips on my tits all the way home. They were in rare form.

“She’s fixed really good for traveling, can’t do nothing,” said Jeanine.

“It’s gonna be a damned slow walk back to the car if we don’t take them irons off her feet.”

“Why don’t we carry her back the way they do with the things they capture in the jungle?”

Rosilyn laughed pleasurably at the idea. “I can see a broken bough that will do just fine.”

They laid me on my face to insert the length of tree limb between my arms and legs so 
that when they lifted each end of the pole I hung in bowed suspension with steel cutting 
deeply into wrists and ankles. I was arched down in an acute curve, my breasts stretched but 
pointing at the ground as did my hair and head. I was a trophy indeed, and the girl’s carried 
me in triumph back to the wall. By the time we reached the car the steel bands were hurting 
bad enough to make me cry. It was a great relief when the pole was tossed aside and I was 
lifted into the trunk of the car. I didn’t even mind much when they bent my feet back and tied 
the ankle chain to my handcuffs in a sort of hogtie. At least my full weight was not cutting the 
steel into my flesh. I did not try to fight, I knew defeat.

The lid slammed down to leave me in a familiar darkness. I could hear echoes of laughter 
from the car but could not make out words. We began to move while I wondered what on 
earth I had gotten myself into now. I wasn’t even sure where we were going. But a captive 
naked girl has to count her few blessings as best she can. At least they had not gagged me 
nor bound my elbows as had been done on previous trips like this. I was thankful.

I spent my hours in the trunk in dumb misery, thinking about Harry on one hand and the 
coming torture on the other. I had no hope that Jeanine and Rosilyn would do anything else 
but torture me, they loved it far too much. And I was damned helpless in the handcuffs and 
leg irons, simply a package for their pleasure. When the trip was over and the lid opened, my 
joy in daylight was short-lived. I was immediately blindfolded, picked up and carried in 
continuing darkness by the brawny arms of those two highland lasses. It was quite a walk but 
when it was done I was stood upon my feet. I was told to stand still and keep quiet. Footsteps 
retreated and the door closed.

Instantly I sensed the eyes. I was not alone! I told myself not to be silly, that I was bound to
feel like that, but the silence was pregnant with the feeling that I was being watched by male 
eyes. The voice, when it came, was that of Karl Slobodian.

“What do you say, Jason? Isn’t she beautiful!”

“She’s more than that. Do you have to keep her chained?”

The voice rang a tiny bell somewhere in my mind but I was unable to place it. I wished I 
could have used my hands to hide myself from the violation of male eyes.

“Alpha wanted her kept safe.” Slobodian’s chuckle was sardonic. “The joke is everyone 
who’s been given the job enjoyed doing it. Miss Clair Steward has become the most tied up 
and chained female in all history. You want to use her, Jason? She’s all yours.”

“Thanks, I’d be a fool to refuse. By this time she must have gotten around to enjoying 
rape. But doesn’t she deserve a cup of coffee?”

It was an easy, pleasant male voice that left me blushing over the rape but grateful for the 
coffee. Male fingers were at work on my handcuffed wrists and I said an involuntary thank you
over their sudden release. I dared do no more than massage chaffed skin until Slobodian 
suggested, “You may removed the blindfold, Miss Steward. I’ve rung for coffee.”

I am female so it is natural for me to try and tidy my hair before removing the blindfold. I 
was in an office with Karl Slobodian sitting behind a desk and facing him the man called Jason.
Jason was a pleasant surprise and something of a heart throb for any girl, I remembered him 
as one of those who had raped me previously after Karl Slobodian first got his hands on me. 
In disgust I said, “Why do you have to keep doing this to me. I don’t deserve being bound and
chained and raped for your amusement. You could both end up in prison, you know. I’m not a
street girl who can disappear without a question being asked.” I glared at them.

“If she makes a fuss about entertaining you, Jason, we can have her whipped. But I don’t 
expect her to fight uselessly, she’s a sensible girl.” He raised a sardonic eye in my direction. 
“You are a sensible girl, aren’t you, Clair?”

No one asked me to sit, I expect they took pleasure at the sight of me standing there 
naked with my feet chained and my freed hands striving to tidy myself. I drank the coffee 
gratefully and for a few moments ceased to care about men staring at my breasts and pussy. 
The strong, hot brew prompted my demand, “So you’ve kidnapped me again. What happens 
now?”

“Jason will fuck you.”

“Gee, thanks! What about tomorrow and the day afterward?”

“You forget your status, Clair. Slavegirls don’t make demands like that upon their masters.

Tomorrow will come. And also the day after. Leave it at that.”

His name was Jason Phillips and he was enough of a gentleman to invite me to sit down.

Nothing about him suggested his intent to rape, he was pleasant and courteous. “I’m 
thinking of purchasing you, Clair. I hope the idea isn’t too unpleasant?”

I wasn’t caring much about anything right then except to go home. I told him so and he 
listened with courtesy which left me wondering if I really wanted to go home that much.

Jason Phillips was by far the most attractive male I had ever been kidnapped by. Not much
caring what I said, I inquired, “I’ve been in the trunk of a car for hours and hours. So do you 
want me all sweating and smelly, or do I get to bath?”

“I told you, Jason, the girl’s a treasure,” Slobodian said admiringly.

They fed me coffee. It was very good coffee, or maybe I needed it! Between these two men
I sensed the utter impossibility of escape and I was certain both would be impervious to 
pleading. Whatever was about to happen to me would certainly take place!

“I don’t imagine you wish to be whipped, Clair?” Jason raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“Of course, I don’t. Are you one of those bastards who enjoys doing it whether I do or not?

I’ve had some of them.”

“I’ll make no promises,” said my prospective purchaser. “Meanwhile, about this bath?”

I hate being put in a tub with my feet chained, the iron makes such a shocking rattle and 
clank. But Rosilyn and Jeanine could have cared less about the noise. I got scrubbed and 
rubbed and soaked with vigor and a few observations, “He’s got the loveliest dork, Miss 
Steward, you’re such a lucky girl.”

“He won’t whip you more than once a week unless you’re naughty.”

“He doesn’t like being played for a fool, girl. Watch it.”

“By the way, we’re working for Mr. Slobodian now, he pays much better than you uncle.”

“Why doesn’t Karl Slobodian keep me for himself?” I asked doubtfully.

“Don’t you worry, luv, you won’t be seeing the last of him. Make the most of that there 
Jason Phillips while you can.”

“You realize you’ll all go to prison for this.”

They simply laughed and soaped my breasts and pussy harder still.

When the girls finished the bath, they used other skills upon my body and hair to make me
better looking than I had been for a while. They actually unlocked my ironed feet and led me 
to a bedroom where one of my ankles was once more shackled in a band of iron with a long 
chain trailing under the bed. The girls departed laughingly with the comment that I should be 
happy to be getting the attentions of what they described as “the cleverest cock in the 
kingdom.” I watched them leave in a measure of relief.

I could actually walk a few steps until the chain snubbed my foot. I did this in both 
directions without profit. Rather then laying in wait up the bed, which I was sure I would get to
soon enough, I sat upon a small chair within my reach. I was half inc-lined to laugh, which 
goes to show how far down the road of fantasy I must have traveled.

I thought of him as Jason, not as Mr. Phillips. I wanted Harry in the worst way but Harry 
might never discover me in whatever corner I might now be chained. I had a terrible feeling 
that Alpha might no longer be concerned with me and that I was well and truly kidnapped for 
reasons purely carnal, and quite probably my bottom would be consistently caned for 
someone else’s pleasure. I wallowed in self-pity until Jason Phillips arrived and dragged up a 
chair to sit and face the girl who’s sex he was about to ravish.

I could not be sure if Jason was being polite or simply a man well content by having 
matters properly in hand. The wealthy are always more self-assured and at ease than the 
working class. I was neither miffed or relieved by his pleasantly social manner, I was sure he 
would use me when he got around to it. His opening gambit seemed sincere, “You’ve been 
having a bad time, Clair?”

“Yes.”

Jason Phillips nodded. “A girl has to feel injustice when she’s kidnapped and bought and 
sold the way you have been. Unfortunately I can’t offer you anything different other than 
myself. If you refrain from sulks and pouting, I can be a good master. But I will be your master 
always. What do you say?”

“There’s nothing to say, you’ve got me. I’m ashamed of admitting this but I’ll do whatever I
must to avoid being caned or whipped.”

“I’ve got a nice arrangement with Karl. If you become a bore, I can send you back. Please 
don’t become a bore, I like you.”

“A girl can’t be entertaining when she tressed up like a turkey or chained like a criminal.”

“Those comparisons scarcely fit your present condition.”

“I’m supposing my present condition is temporary so I can entertain you on the bed, don’t
tell me a single shackled is all I’ve ever going to get?”

Jason laughed easily and plucked me from my chair in the manner of strong men used to 
handling women as if they were dolls. I hit the bed with a force to make me bounce while my 
would be owner chuckled. “We’re starting to play with words and that’s something I won’t 
stand for. We’ll be talking a great deal but you always show respect and argue only with 
permission.” He smiled down, still feasting upon my nakedness. “Spread those legs, girl!”

I arranged myself as a slavegirl must.

Jason Phillips was good! From the very first thrust I knew him indeed a master, not only of 
me but of this most ancient art of all. Everything he did was deliberately slow but he soon had 
me in a condition in which I forgot everything save the moment of now. I suppose that’s the 
highest tribute any man who has sex with her.

A great deal of time passed before we lay side by side in sweaty exhaustion and with me 
dangling my chained foot over the side. At such a time there is little need be said. The touch 
of a limb or the contact of two hips is eloquence enough! I mean, what else could a man or 
woman do!

I was making discoveries about submission. Submission is a woman’s natural role, but 
woman’s lib has come close to reversing the sexes to a make the female dominant in a world 
gauged to her desires. I hated to admit it but I had discovered something precious in the 
mastery of Harry Lord, Karl Slobodian, and Jason Phillips. In my newly discovered slavegirl 
state, it was a relief not to have to rude to men, play hard to get, or toy with lesbian notions. I 
had been reborn! But his rebirth did not absolve me of the rope, the chain, or the whip. It had 
been puzzling at first but was now falling in place so I could easily lay naked beside this man 
to whom I had been sold that very day. I wondered how Clair Steward had ever been that girl I
remembered long ago.

“I have been saving a surprise for you downstairs,” the male voice beside me said. “I’m 
going to tie your hands now and then you can go and have a look.”

Obediently I stood and crossed my wrists behind my back for male cords to bind them. As 
the twine bit my skin I reflected upon the prudence of a master who bound my hands before 
unlocking the shackled holding my ankle prisoner. Evidently I was not yet to be trusted!

It was a good job as was to be expected from he who strictured my wrists with thin cord in
devious twists and knots to defeat any slavegirl’s notions of escape. When a pat on my bare 
bottom announced the finish of his task, I quite ridiculously said, “Thank you, Mr.

Phillips, I can’t possibly get loose from that.”

“Call me Jason. Use the term ‘Master’ whenever you misbehave or await punishment.

Understood?”

“Thanks, Jason. What about my feet.”

“You can have them for the time being. Oh, and by the way, you’re a damned good girl in 
bed, in case you didn’t know.”

It was a gorgeous feeling to walk naturally with unfettered feet and just my hands tied 
neatly behind me. I followed directions with a fast beating heart as I descended steps of stone 
to reach a basement level beneath the house. I didn’t bother to think about escape, I was 
quite sure it would be impossible and would earn marks upon my skin. Jason Phillips was a 
charmer but I had no illusions about what would happen if I failed in being a “good girl”. In a 
mounting apprehension I found myself in a passage with a stone wall on one side and iron 
bars on the other. The iron bars were cells and in the last of them I came upon a frightened 
girl as naked as I and with hands bound as were my own. She was pressing her youthful 
loveliness against the bars in anxiety for human contact. I had never seen her naked, 
nakedness is a beautiful disguise for a girl. My second shocked glance told me her name-she 
was Ginevera’s girlfriend Nancy.

We stood and stared, both helpless, both naked and I watched the blush from on maiden 
cheeks as Ginevera’s girlfriend beheld Miss Clair Steward naked for the first time. “Oh, Clair, 
am I glad to see you!” There was a breathless pause then, “But you’re naked and tied the same
as me! Clair, I’m scared to death.”

Nancy’s young breasts were protruding between the bars as was her face, so I contrived to
greet her by rubbing my own nipples against hers and frictioning her nose before possessing 
her lips with mine. I knew damned well why she was there.

“But I never read that letter!” she protested. “It’s in my safety deposit box and I’ve been 
wondering why Ginevera didn’t contact me. Two days ago there was a knock at the door and 
when I opened it there was a man who shoved something against my face. When I woke up I 
was right here in this awful cell and a prisoner every seen. Oh, Clair, what’s it all about?”

I told her all she had to know and ended with, “Alpha has all three of us now so they don’t 
have to worry. But don’t worry, Nancy dear, they’ll turn us loose after a while and we’ll go back
to normal, this hold thing is temporary.”

“But, Clair darling, they’re going to torture me. They’ve figured out I’ve got the letter and 
have probably read it. So I have to tell them where it is and what I know. But I haven’t told 
them anything and I won’t.” She looked through the bars appealingly. “I don’t intend to let 
Ginevera down but if they hurt me too much or keep me in this cell too long I don’t know 
what I’m liable to tell them. Oh, Clair, I’m so terribly sorry! Is there any way we can get out of 
here?”

“No. We can forget escape, we’re prisoners for sure.” My heart bled for the poor child.

“And I have to warn you, you may be raped. They call it, ‘using us’. Using us is the right of 
the male captor and us girl damned well have to put up with it. Don’t be broken-hearted, you 
won’t die.”

Nancy stared aghast. “They can’t do that!”

“Oh, no?”

She looked like she was about to cry. “But why do they tie our hands?”

“They do it to keep us in the proper frame of mind. Don’t worry, it could be worse.”

Once more we stared until Nancy exclaimed, “Oh, Clair, get me out of here. Get my hands 
untied. Please…!”

I turned and marched upstairs. I found Jason in his office. Multimillionaires always seem 
busy, trying to make just one more million before dinner. It must be wonderful to be like that 
with all that power.

“Jason, please, get that poor girl out of that cell.”

“She’s safe in there and that’s the way I want her.” Jason shook a warning finger. “Don’t 
push, sweetheart, I have the loveliest cane.”

“But don’t you understand, she’s young, she’s frightened, none of this makes sense.”

Getting no reaction, I tried a different tack, “Chain the two of us together so we can 
neither get away. Please…?”

“Sorry, sweetheart, we have to find out what she knows.”

“She doesn’t know anything. And you’re just being cruel to an innocent girl. There isn’t any
of the three of us who know anything to hurt Alpha. Please, Master, let that girl out of the 
cell.”

“How’d it be I put you in with her?”

“Do that.”

“Now, I suspect you’ll want your hands untied?”

“It wouldn’t hurt you. Keeping a couple of girls bound behind bars has to be a sort of 
punishment. We can’t possibly unlock the door.”

“But leaving you tied will provide a pleasant occupation. Back to back, you might even get 
a few knots undone.” Jason was laughing.

“Well, okay, lock us both together. But what I’m worried about is Jeanine and Rosilyn.

They’re still here and I’m scared you’ll tell them to torture Nancy to extract a secret she 
doesn’t have.”

I gazed at him with all my appeal, “Let them torture me, not Nancy. That poor can’t tell 
them a thing.”

“Neither can you.”

“I know. But those two simply adore torturing naked girls. Whether I have a secret or not 
they’ll enjoy just the same. Please don’t let them harm Nancy.”

Jason Phillips surprised me. Without warning he gathered me into his arms and held me 
very close, my breasts against his shirt, my lips instinctively seeking his. I was soundly kissed, 
my pussy was kneaded in an absent-minded sort of way before Jason pressed the button on 
his desk. When Jeanine appeared she was simply told, “Put Miss Steward in the cage with the 
girl downstairs. Lock the two of them together in anyway you wish. Make sure you lock the 
door.” Jason looked at me with sympathy. “Sorry, sweetheart, but it’s what you asked for.”

The locking up bit was swiftly done. Locking us together gave Jeanine more pause for 
thought. But was not long before our necks were encircled by iron collars with a three foot 
length of chain between.

“Makes it hard for you to nibble each other.” Our jailer laughed at us before going away 
and locking us in with far more noise than she need have made. A moment later Nancy’s 
tear-stained cheeks were hard against my breasts as she sobbed in desolation, “They’re going 
to torture me, aren’t they? I just know they are.”

“It’s not really torture,” I said unhappily. “The things they do are horribly uncomfortable 
and we hate the whole thing while it’s happening but we can’t really call it torture. They try 
and break us down by doing … Things.”

“Like what?” Nancy snuggled closer.

“They might make you stand all day with your arms above your head. It doesn’t hurt but 
it’s terribly tiring.”

“Is there more?”

“Well, there’s a pillory and stocks and things like that. The principle is the same: to wear us 
down, to get us to promise or say anything just to be freed. But even then they’ll still keep us 
prisoner.”

I suppose my presence in the cell with her was better than loneliness but I had to wonder 
because there was no good news I could offer. Jeanine and Rosilyn hovering in the 
background was not good news for either of us. I knew I had to assert all my effort upon The 
Master, if by so doing I could escape torture at their hands. I was just plain scared about 
Nancy.

We did exactly as predicted. Back to back, we worked away at each other’s bound wrists 
but, as Jason had predicted, the result was negative. The cords were cruel and the knots 
cunning. After a while we got tired of it and sat upon the hard wood bench upon which we 
would spend the night. We were a pair of sad little girls.

I tried to hate Jason Phillips but failed. I knew myself a conquered maiden, conquered by 
his prowess in bed and his charm. And a slave in his chains. As if to emphasis this condition, 
the man who was my master insisted on us joining him at breakfast. Our chairs moved close 
to impose no stress on the metal tether by which our necks were joined.

Because our hands remained firmly tied behind our backs, we were fed by the two jailers.

Nancy by Jeanine and I by Rosilyn. Both were intensely respectful and held the coffee to 
our lips very well. But I knew they were laughing. Over the final cup of coffee Jason 
announced, “You will spend the day with me, Clair. Nancy has some business with the girls.”

I risked everything by staring directly at him and saying, “I suppose you know they’ll 
torture her?”

“So what!” Jason’s tone hardened. “Perhaps it would do you good to watch.”

Somehow I’d muffed it. But for the life of me I do not know what else I could have said or 
done. Then Nancy was taken to where it was going to happen and I went along. Neither of us 
had our hands.

First off we got a lecture with both girls, Jeanine and Rosilyn, assuring us how wrong it was
to withhold information from our kindly master, who loved us dearly and handed us over to 
torture only with deep regret. I longed to wipe the smirks from their features but, as usual, I 
was helpless and dared say no word.

It was devastatingly simple. They simply sat the poor child upon the bench, spread her legs
far apart, and locked them in wooden stocks to compel her to sit exposed, unable to close her
legs or shift position. If the word “Torture” could be applied at all, it was in the sense of 
immobility. Since we were linked at the necks, I had to stand behind Nancy and listen to what 
they thought was humor.

“It’s what they call togetherness, luv. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

Laughing, they went away to leave Nancy and I bound in a manner I knew would become 
increasingly hard to bear. I walked around and stepped between the poor girl’s outspread legs
to sink down on one knee and kiss her. We could not touch or get close enough to rub 
breasts, the chain from our necks prevented that.

“But, Clair darling, you can’t go away. I mean, this beastly chain….”

I had to smile at her, it was as though she had noticed something for the first time.

Kneeling there with our chain dangling between our breasts, I was well aware what I was in
for. Except for being able to move around a bit more, I was in no better plight than Nancy. I 
tried to reassure, “They could have done much worse, I think they’ve been told not to be too 
rough.”

“But won’t they torture me about that letter and the key to the deposit boxr

“They can’t even be sure there is a letter, not unless Ginevera’s let something slip.”

“Then why did they kidnap me? Why am I fixed in this awful way with my pussy wide 
open?”

I longed to comfort but Nancy’s questions were my own. Lamely I suggested, “Alpha is 
closing all the doors. They’ve kidnapped you for the same reason they’ve made Ginevera and I
prisoners. I expect the only reason we haven’t been truly tortured is because my Uncle is one 
of the most powerful leaders.

“You mean you’ve got an uncle who let’s you get tortured?!”

“I don’t think he knows everything they do to us. He thinks we’re just safely locked up or 
maybe we’re wearing a bit of chain.”

Staring face to face, we contrived sad little smiles. Then we exchanged sad little kisses.

“But, Clair, why do they keep us naked?”

“Nancy, my sweet, I’m not sure anyone can answer that. It’s a mixture of many things. To 
break our spirit. It makes us easier to tie up and a lot easier to punish….”

“And a lot easier for a man to do you-know-what!”

I wanted to tell the poor kid that wouldn’t happen but I knew it probably would. Jason 
would have to be crazy to pass up a delicious dish like Nancy. Lamely, I replied, “It doesn’t 
have to happen, sweetheart, quite probably it never will.”

“I think you’re lying. I think it’s already happened to you.”

I shrugged and gave her a rueful grin. We left it at that. But from then on I often caught 
her covertly glancing up between my legs and knew what she was thinking. I wondered how 
long it would take this sweet little innocence to become as hardened as me. Uncle Angus was 
going to hear a few home truths if I ever got him where I wasn’t scared to talk.

I couldn’t kneel between Nancy’s legs all day, so stood up to examine possibilities of 
coping with boredom and tiredness. The chain on my neck was too short to allow me to lay 
on the rug but would permit my sitting to rest my head against her naked back. A more 
obvious thought was to join her on the bench but although there was some space on either 
side of her bottom, the poor darling couldn’t shift either way to make room for me. I tried it 
out but only managed to connect with one half of my bottom. If I pushed her over I would 
hurt her ankle. I tried both sides and we wiggled like crazy before deciding it just wasn’t there.
I was left with kneeling between her legs or sitting down with my head against her back. I 
could always stand but what girl wants to stand all day?

I felt sure those damned Scottish girls were laughing their heads off, knowing Nancy and I 
could not play with each other or ourselves, or free our hands. As tortures went, it was a 
modest one but was going to frustrate both of us to death.

by afternoon we were a pair of sad and disgruntled young women who hardly cared how 
we stood or sat, nothing was comfortable. It was then Jason Phillips choose to call.

Jason approached us with the grace that goes with power, his eyes appreciative of our 
plight. “You make a pretty pair. Those two girls have a genius for arranging the feminine form. 
I don’t suppose you’re too uncomfortable?”

“Yes, we are!” I said firmly. “We’d both be grateful if you’d set us free.”

“How grateful would that be?”

“We haven’t a thing to offer that isn’t yours already. For Pete’s sake, don’t tease.”

Jason nodded, his eyes roving along our bodies, especially my standing nakedness. He 
seemed interested in Nancy’s wide spread legs. “Nancy, my pet,” he said smoothly, “have the 
soles of your feet every been whipped?”

I could imagine how Nancy felt with her soles as immobile and available as they were.

Jason was being a bastard so I practiced humility to divert his attention. “Master, you’re 
frightening her and she doesn’t deserve it.” I took a deep breath then challenged, “If you have 
to whip as girl’s feet, take mine.”

“Indeed, and for what reason?”

“Because I’ve been a prisoner a lot longer than Nancy. The pain would be the same for 
either of us but I’ve become more used to the pain. If you whip Nancy’s feet, you’ll drive her 
up the wall.”

“I suppose that’s not a bad rationale.” Jason’s grin told me he’d been fooling all the time.

“You can rest easy. The worst I’ll probably do to you is cane your bottoms later on. Surely 
your pretty bottom has been caned from time to time, Nancy?”

I started to protest on Nancy’s behalf but was curtly told to shut up. I faded into sulky 
silence while Nancy did her best. “Of course, I’ve never been caned! People don’t do horrible 
things like that to girls anymore.”

“I do.”

“I don’t see why. You don’t look like a man who would do a thing like that. Mr. Phillips, 
please don’t whip me. I know I’d hate it and I’d probably scream.” Nancy was close to tears.

Men can be real bastards. They seem to think girls are playthings, especially designed for 
male pleasure. Throughout my various imprisonments I constantly felt like a doll who was 
arranged this way and that, bound and chained, and punished in a repetitious game of 
master/slave. My resentment burst its bounds. “Look, Jason, you and Uncle Angus have got all
three of the girls who might possibly cause you trouble. You don’t even know for sure if we 
could or would say a word to bother you. But why on earth can’t you put the three of us in a 
cage and keep us under half civilized conditions until Alpha gives the signal to let us go. Why 
on earth do you have to hand us to those Scotch bitches who will torture us? Jason … Please!”

Our master cocked an amused eye. “I suppose you know you’ve earned a punishment for 
that little outburst?”

I sniffed disgustedly. “In this beastly place a girl couldn’t ask the time of day without 
earning a punishment. Go ahead, I expect I’ll live.”

His smile disarmed. “Actually I can to ask if you’d spend tomorrow with me in town. I have 
to go to London on business and it would please me to take you along. I think you need a 
holiday-there’ll be dinner and a theater.”

“You’re being terribly unkind.”

“No, really, I mean it.”

I realized I scarcely knew Jason Phillips and was unfamiliar with his moods. My heart leapt 
joyously at the prospect but I could see no possibility of making it happen. “You can’t possibly
take me to London, I’d run away. Or call the police. You’re teasing.”

“Ever hear of a parole?”

I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “You think I wouldn’t break a promise to behave?”

“That’s right. We’d make a verbal contract. You’d do as I tell you through the day and 
when we return here at night you’d offer your wrists to be handcuffed. If you made a contract,
I think you’d honor it. Please say yes.”

My mind was racing. It would be wonderful to be clothed and totally free for a day in this 
man’s company. We would make what is commonly called “a handsome pair.” Sure it would 
be a bitter pill to yield myself to handcuffs at day’s end but I will have had a glorious time in 
the city I love and who can know what possibilities might come my way. Jason was right, if I 
gave my word I’d keep it. But just the same…!

I found myself twisting against corded wrists so asked, without concern, couldn’t we talk 
about this somewhere else, somewhere I don’t feel so silly and shamed as I do like this?

Without a word Jason took the collar from my neck to throw its chain over Nancy’s bare 
shoulder to dangle between her breasts with the open collar down around her pubic hair.

He took me by the arm and led me to his office where I sat across the desk from him. To 
still my beating heart, I asked, “This contract … I don’t see how you can be so sure of me.”

“I am sure of you, Clair. You’re a woman of quality. But if you insist on questioning the 
value of your word, I should point out the pains and penalties descending upon young 
Nancy’s head if you renege.” Once more I got the full measure of his massive amusement.

“And, anyway, I’d have no trouble kidnapping your again at Tintagel or where ever you ran
to. And then I would make very sure of drastic punishments.” A trace of irritation crept into his
voice. “Damn it, Clair, stop quibbling.”

I stopped quibbling.

My crossed wrists had remained bound all the time. They stayed that way through the 
night as my captor exacted from me what was his right as my owner. I’m ashamed to say I 
made no demure or protest. I simply let my body react and enjoyed. He was wonderful as 
before and hardly even noticed that I was laying upon bound wrists. My ankles were left free 
afterwards but my neck wore a collar and a chain to keep me obedient through the night. I 
slept like a log save for the two times when he awoke me in the middle of the night for 
another round of sex.

I had to hand it to Jeanine and Rosilyn, they were versatile. Instead of demon torturers I 
was attended by a pair of young women who’s only concern was to please. I was bathed, 
make up,-and had a complete hair do. I was then dressed in very little which was cunningly 
designed to seem like quite a lot. Having been naked so long, I gloried in the cleavage shown 
and the slit skirt. The shoes must have cost a fortune and fitted perfectly.

Their only defect as far as I was concerned was an ominous snap when the strap crossed 
my instep but I shrugged that off. If Jason wanted my feet in shoes I could not remove, I 
deemed it a small thing compared to ropes and chains and iron bars. It was not until the very 
last moment they untied my wrists. Jason looked me over critically with a sardonic, “You’ll do, 
Clair. I may even be proud of you.”

We set out on the strangest twelve hours of my life.

As we sped down the road I remembered unfinished business. “Haven’t you forgotten 
something, Jason?” I inquired demurely.

“For instance?”

“I haven’t made you a promise or said any vows.”

“Isn’t that implicit in what we’re doing?” He turned to grin and I caught a whiff of after 
shave. “But if it pleases you, sweetheart, I’d enjoy hearing you make your vow-damned nice 
idea!”

I was reveling in freedom. After being bound or chained for so long, it was like walking on 
air. I expect I was a little euphoric in what I now mischievously declaimed, “I promise I’ll be a 
good little slavegirl. Master, all through today. I’ll say ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’, and do what I’m 
told. I promise I won’t disgrace you or run away. I will flirt with you outrageously and expect 
you to do the same. When we return to my prison, I will strip naked and turn my back to you 
with my wrists crossed to be tied or handcuffed as you desire.” I lifted an eyebrow as sardonic 
as his own. “How was that!”

“Wonderful! Your bottom is safe. For the time.” His voice became pleasantly sober.

“Believe it or not, I want to make you happy.”

I followed Jason everywhere, and when he was involved in business deals, I sat in the 
offices and stayed quiet like a good little slavegirl. My feelings were not the least bit hurt by 
him refusing to introduce me to his business associates, why the hell should he?

I could tell Jason wanted to buy me clothes but slavegirls don’t need clothes so he settled 
on a beautiful necklace. It would certainly be a pleasant change to the iron collar and chain. It 
was a lovely necklace. He bought it in a special little shop off the beaten path. I was a very 
happy girl and found myself clinging to Jason’s arm. Harry and Uncle Angus and Lady Madge 
and Ginevera faded into the mists. The idea of escape also faded. Yet old habits are hard to 
change and there came that one moment when I forgot my vow while crossing Hyde Park. I 
happened to see an old female acquaintance. I loosed Jason’s arm and stepped out with a cry 
upon my lips. That’s when it happened, the most appalling pain I had ever felt enveloped my 
right foot. It was such agony I stumbled to my knees and had to be lifted gently erect by the 
man I must now call Master. I forgot about my acquaintance and concerned myself only with 
the terrible pain which sent me back into Jason’s arms.

“It hurts! Oh, Jason, it hurts terribly. There’s a pain in my foot I simply can’t bear! Oh, 
Jason!”

The pain stopped instantly. It was then I knew! Still panting I looked up accusingly. “That 
was you, wasn’t it? Jason, how on earth…?”

“Just a useful remainder, sweetheart. I press a button and you come to heel. Saves a lot of 
embarrassment.”

“You bastard!” I stamped angrily. “You had me under control all the time!”

“Just a precaution, Clair.”

I wanted to be angry and hurt and say bitter things about lack of trust. But I did none of 
them. Instead, once more, I linked my arm in his to resume our interrupted walk in a fresh 
knowledge of being totally controlled. I don’t know why, but I simply did not care.

CHAPTER NINE - Escape!

Even the drive back to where I would again be a prisoner failed to dampen my spirits.

Jason and I were discovering our ability to talk and share laughter, even though I 
sometimes earned a warning for being too brash. All the way I was tingling in suspense at the 
though of the final submission I must perform to end our day. But euphoria had me safely in 
its grip all the way to the bedroom and made it easy for me to toss aside my clothes. I 
hesitated when all the clothes were gone save the shoes, they would not come off and I dared
not try to force them too much for fear of the pain they could inflict. I finally had to ask, 
“Should I sleep in them, Master?”

“Do you want to?”

“Not really.”

Jason unlocked his slavegirl’s shoes and tossed them on the discarded clothes. Without 
quibbling, I turned my back and crossed my wrists.

It is always a breathless moment when a girl yields her freedom to a man. The thin cord 
bound my wrists, I could feel each strand cutting in with expert precision. My breasts were 
heaving with feelings I could hardly put to words. There were many knots added as the cord 
went on and, when the final one was tied where I could never possibly reach, my nude 
helplessness was turned around and I was kissed with a passion to arouse my own and make 
me long for the hands just lost. Our lovemaking that night broke all the records.

I never missed my hands.

In the morning I released my ankles and neck had been free all night and wondered why. I 
refused to push luck by asking. Over breakfast while being fed and coffee by Jeanine, I 
innocently inquired, “What are you going to do to me today, Jason?”

“Pick your own restraint, Clair, my sweet. Anything you want, just ask.”

“Well, for sure I don’t want anything those two female jailers will think up. You mean I can 
actually name my own punishment?”

“You had the right word the first time, call it a restraint. I can’t expect you to be on parole 
every day of your life.”

“What are you doing with dear little Nancy?”

“None of your business.”

“Well, anyway, how about chaining me someplace where I can talk to her. It’s not good for 
that girl to be left alone, especially if she’s being made to suffer.”

“Okay, you’ve got it.”

I was beginning to wonder about Jason and I. I’m only a girl and Jason is about nine 
hundred percent male. And even when he wasn’t around I could feel his vibes. I knew I ought 
to be ashamed of myself and make apologies to the Clair Steward I once had been but I was 
in no mood for apologies and felt only lust for my master’s rod. I was not a nice girl at all, but 
what the hell!

At the end of breakfast my head was patted and my forehead kissed as Jason made his 
departure on whatever business it was that absorbed his day. Beside me I heard Jeanine’s 
voice whisper, “And now you belong to me, Miss Steward.” She grasped my bare arm, “Come 
this way.”

I had to obey, my hands were still tied behind my back. And, anyway, if Jason wanted me 
to be Jeanine’s captive, I was not to argue. We discovered poor, dear Nancy sitting on The 
Horse. I suppose I should emphasis that there are horses and there are horses, they come in 
all sizes, each bestowing their own venom upon the poor girl straddling them. My first glance 
told me this one was not all that bad, but I was glad I wasn’t sitting on it myself even though 
its pole was nicely rounded and smooth. Poor Nancy’s feet were stretched wide in the 
conventional binding and her bound hands were raised behind her back to compel her weight
upon that portion of herself she least desired. However, she was still sufficiently alert to greet 
me with, “Oh, Clair darling, I’m so glad you’ve come. Tell them to get me off this thing, I can’t 
possibly stand it any longer.” She moaned to demonstrate deep distress. “The beastly thing is 
cutting me in two, and I just know my sex will never be any good to a man again. I’ll never be 
able to get married!” she wailed. “Oh. Clair!”

Having a previous acquaintance with the horse. I could see that Nancy was in no 
immediate danger of loosing her sex as a functional organ but I also knew the uselessness of 
trying to convince her of that fact. Unemotionally I asked Jeanine, “How long are you going to
keep her on that thing?”

“All day, luv. You can watch.”

It was just that simple and I realize how Jason had inadvertently sentenced both Nancy 
and I to an additional agony. I would be present but could do nothing to help. And what do 
kind words matter when compared to a pole burrowing itself deep within a female’s sex? I let 
Jeanine depart without a word, I knew the measure of our sentence.

“Clair, can’t you do something?” Nancy’s faith in me was touching.

The only thing I could think to do was to straddle the pole myself and sit close to the 
punished girl while we kissed and rubbed breasts. I told her wanly, “My hands are tied, darling.
I can’t do anything. I’m so terribly sorry.”

“Go and tell them I’m dying!”

I wondered if I was being punished after all. To stand and watch Nancy suffering, even 
though her suffering might not be as bad as she thought, was not my idea of a pleasant day. I 
tore savagely at the cord around my wrists but that was hopeless, as always. I could just as 
well forget my hands.

“Have they demanded anything? Do they still think you’ve got some sort of secret you can
tell?”

“Of course they do, isn’t that the reason they’ve put me on this thing like this?” Nancy 
moaned. “Clair, darling, would it matter much if I tell them where to find the key to the 
deposit box and let them have that lousy letter? Are they torturing Ginevera the same way as 
us?”

I was about to tell Nancy to reveal her secret and put an end to her suffering but I wasn’t a
bit sure the information would get her off that horse or any other of their torture devices.

On the fact of it, I could see no reason to hold on to that letter but I wasn’t a bit certain of 
Jason Phillips’s role in this whole affair. I wasn’t sure if he was for or against Uncle Angus, or 
where he was at with the Alpha group. In any case, none of them could be certain Nancy knew
anything or possessed anything of value.

“You’d best just play dumb, Nancy dear. I’m sure you can convince them that you’re 
innocent. Hang on if you can, but no one’s going to blame you if you spill the beans. It’s unfair
your being punished like this.”

Nancy sniffed. “Of course it’s unfair! Darling, I’ll try and hold on today but if they come up 
with more torture tomorrow, I’ll tell them where the key is and let them do their worst.

Jeepers, I wish I could move!”

I gazed at the young girl, half wishing I’d told her to reveal the letter and be done with it.

Getting that letter might relieve Alpha’s worries. Might even get us all released. But I 
wasn’t sure we were any longer prisoners of Alpha. At least not Nancy and me. I had a mental 
vision of Ginevera sitting on a pole like this up in Castle MacNish. but with Jeanine and Rosilyn
down here that was unlikely.

I looked at Nancy again and realized how much her poor little pussy was squashed flat by 
her weight against the pole. There were marks upon her cheeks from tears. The picture of her 
sitting there on that pole, complete with her little gasps and moans, was just too much, I knelt 
where her roped foot was tethered and reached back my bound hands. I might achieve 
nothing but it was at least something to do, something to show Nancy I cared.

Urgently I worked at knots I could not see. it was unexpectedly easy, our jailers had 
overlooked this possibility. I worked feverishly in sudden elation but paused when I realized 
that with the freeing of one leg Nancy might slither off the pole and dislocate her arms at the 
shoulder because of her hands being bound and pulled up high behind her back. Her hands 
were actually above her head level. The rope was run up through a ring and down to a pulley 
on the wall. I quickly switched my attentions to the pulley and soon had it freed to encourage 
my punished maiden to cry out in gratitude and relief as her still-tied hands fell back into 
place.

“Oh, Clair darling, you shouldn’t!” Nancy cried. “They’ll punish you severely. Can you really 
get me free!”

I went back to the rope about her ankle. When it fell away, Nancy slid from the pole with 
rope trailing from each ankle to stand shakily to lean against the pole itself. Carefully she 
moved her legs and thighs in experimental motions to assess whatever damage she might 
have suffered. Knowing there was none, I diverted my energies to freeing her other ankle of 
rope which left us pretty much at square one with our hands tied tight behind our back.

Having completely Nancy’s rescue I now felt fear creeping through my bones as I 
wondered what penalty I would have to pay. Escape was still impossible, we had already failed 
to free each other’s hands. The closed door was probably locked so we were still prisoners. 
The thought dashed through my mind that those two jailers had laid a trap and I had fallen 
for it.

Our two nudities must have made an amusing picture as we backed against each other to 
work on bound wrists. That we had failed once did not mean that we would fail again but all 
out tugging and twisting was without profit. Disgustedly, Nancy backed against the door and 
tried the handle. The door opened easily and we stood staring at each other in surprise until I 
blurted, “How’s the pain? Can you run?”

Nancy blushed. “Sure I can run but do we dare? I mean, naked and with our hands tied?”

“If we can get out of this house we may stand a chance. I don’t care about people seeing 
me naked, I’ve lost all my shame over that. What I want is freedom.” I looked at her 
uncertainly. “Nancy, dear, you must make your own choice because, if we’re caught, we’ll 
probably be horribly whipped.”

“There isn’t any choice, darling, I’m coming.”

Neither of us knew the layout of the house or how many servants there might be. But by 
ascending whatever stairs we found and moving down each passage we discovered a small 
door which, when opened, revealed a wasteland of scrub and brush and trees. It was not a 
park, just an unproductive acreage no one bothered with. But there was a path and I chose 
that path in preference to the open field on the other side where we would be clearly visible. 
We ran in the increasing joy of liberty.

Jeanine and Rosilyn were waiting for us before we’d run a mile. Breathless and panting we 
skidded to a halt, staring in dismay until we broke apart, Nancy leaping in one direction while I
did my best in another. They caught us easily for bare feet are no match for stout leather 
shoes when running on rough ground. Jeanine caught me by the hair, shook my head in 
vigorous admonition and led me back in triumph to join Rosilyn who held Nancy in similar 
restraint. Nancy was crying and I didn’t blame her.

“Nice try,” said Jeanine.

“Wasn’t hard to figure which way you’d run,” offered Rosilyn.

“You laid a trap, it was a trap, wasn’t it?” I protested.

“Of course we did, luv! Got to have ourselves a little fun. Besides, you need the exercise.”

I could have cheerfully murdered them both. I could have kicked myself for being such a 
fool but it was almost worth whatever might now occur to have that glorious run. Even with 
our hands tied it was still exciting to run in the open with a sense of freedom.

“What shall we do with them, Rosilyn?”

“That’s for the Master to decide. The penalty for trying to escape is to be flogged. That’s 
probably what they’ll get. We’d best keep them safe until he gets back this evening.”

It was hateful and demeaning to be so helpless but when the girls laughed over our bound
hands and boasted of their prowess with cord, I found myself affirming with ridiculous pride, 
“It wasn’t you who tied my hands, it was my Master!” Blushing furiously, I wish I’d kept silent.

“My, my, she’s got a Master!”

“And she prefers him to tie her hands, not the likes of us.”

It seemed natural they should have rope. They tied a loop around my neck and tethered 
me to a tree, making the tether short enough so I could not sit down. Then they played their 
usual trick of tweaking my nipples before leading poor Nancy back towards the house. I stood
and watched them go, wondering what they had in store for me. Our future looked grim. We 
had done our best to escape and no owner of slavegirls approves their running away. Most 
certainly we would be whipped and more severely than I care to think about. I envied Nancy 
her tears.

I did the usual things but my hands were fixed for sure as was the rope around my neck.

The knot was thoughtfully tied high enough on the trunk of the tree to be quite beyond 
the reach of my teeth. I wished I was handcuffed instead of tied. A girl may fight her handcuffs
but it is a effort of resentment, not a serious effort at escape, she knows she can’t escape 
tightly snapped handcuffs. Rope makes one feel differently, you always have a nagging feeling
that you can free yourself if you can only work hard enough. Aren’t girls in books and movies 
always working their way out of ropes? Well, it don’t work that way in real life.

I only chaffed my wrists.

Leaning back against my tree, I wondered why I was tied like this so far from the house, 
and when I would be collected and taken back.

The passing hours provided a jumble of emotions. It somehow didn’t seem possible that 
only two short lengths of cord could hold me completely prisoner but there it was. And there 
was my guilt about escape. I should have known better. Yet, I had no regrets over leaving that 
awful room and freeing Nancy from torture. No doubt regrets would come but not yet. Next I 
wondered what punishment Jason would sentence us to. My day in London with Jason had 
given me a fresh view of my imprisonment. I had to do some serious talking with Jason if I 
ever got the chance.

My thoughts drifted on to Harry but he seemed so remote and I could see no hope of him
discovering my whereabouts, it was pretty much the same with Ginevera. In this new captivity I
was isolated from everything I had previously known. I stepped the pace this way and one 
back and deliberately snubbed my neck as though to jerk myself out of depressing thinking. I 
even tried to sit down and jerked my neck again.

It was not the demon girls who released me, it was Jason who wandered by as if out taking
a casual stroll. He knew I was there, alright, because his first remark was, “I hear the girls have 
been giving you a bad time, or is it the other way around?” He patted my head and kissed me.

“Oh, Jason, I’m so terribly sorry, I’ve been such a fool.”

“You have a sort of inked your blotter,” he agreed pleasantly. “The girls have got things in 
store for you.”

“Don’t let them flog me! Don’t let them flog Nancy. That’s what they said we’d get.”

“Don’t you want me to untie you from that tree?”

“Of course I do. I’m sick of standing here like this.”

“Well, you didn’t ask and I didn’t want to spoil things if you were enjoying yourself.”

“Jason, you’re teasing me. You’ve got me naked and helpless and in suspense. Please, 
Jason, put an end to it, tell me my punishment.”

“I would have thought you would be happier not knowing.”

I hurt my foot by stamping indignantly on the ground. Once more I was feeling his 
masculine charm and wondering if there was a chance he’d take me to bed before consigning 
me to those two horrors with whips. Pertly, I accused, “You’re being unkind, Jason. You don’t 
have to treat me like a little girl who’s earned the cane and has to be properly frightened 
before she gets it.” Stuck by a sudden thought, I added, “Why are you back so early?”

“Laid a trap for those two friends of yours,” Jason told me calmly. “Figured they’d get up to
something and it might be just as well if I showed during the day. From what I hear it’s just as 
well I did come back early. Or would you prefer to stand as you are until evening?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Look, Jason, I refuse to be hobbled. I know I’m going to get horribly 
punished so I might as well go for broke. Please stop teasing me and get me someplace where
I can sit down. I don’t suppose it’s a bit of use asking you to untie my hands?”

“You’re right about that, it would be a waste of time. But I may as well use the tether effect.
I don’t suppose you’ll mind being led back to the house in disgrace?”

“Of course I’ll mind. But if that’s the worse you’ll do to me, I’m laughing.”

He reached so easily to the knot I never could have touched. Once more I sensed his 
strength. A moment later I was taken from my tree and led back towards the house at a 
leisurely pace. If it pleased Jason to leave my neck tethered, I could have cared less.

What mattered was his holding the rope as though I was a real treasure who might make a
dash for freedom at any moment. Jason was suddenly serious. “Does that kid Nancy know 
anything I ought to hear about? I’m talking about real information.”

I was instinctually alert but also knew I must loose any game of deception I chose to play.

Jason was no fool. Without much hope I asked, “Supposing she did have some 
information, who would it benefit?”

“Me.”

“I thought Alpha wanted it?”

“Alpha does, but so do I.”

“Are you with or against my Uncle Angus?”

“Your Uncle Angus is by far the biggest half of Alpha. I pretty much run my own show. I 
picked up a hint of the action more or less by accident. But if this information exists, it might 
make me tidy millions which might come in handy.” Jason turned and looked at me severely. 
“Come on, girl, stop playing games. Tell me what you know.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Damn it, Clair, can’t you forget this punishment you keep harping on?” Jason barked 
testily. “Surely you and I don’t have to talk about marking you up with a whip, do we? I 
though you would have more sense.”

“If this dark, deep secret gets revealed to you, Jason, will it hurt Uncle Angus?”

“Nothing hurts your Uncle Angus! Uncle Angus is above being hurt by anything less than 
an atomic bomb. He must be one of the richest men in the world.”

“And you’re terribly poor?”

“No, I’m not. But a few extra millions is always welcome. You notice I speak in millions.

Alpha doesn’t play for peanuts.”

“Jason, do you like me?” The question popped out like a child’s need of reassurance.

“I could easily fall in love with you, Clair. I admire the way you’ve handled all this bunk.”

“Then perhaps you’d like to untie my hands.”

“We’ve already dealt with that. Your hands stay tied. I’m not a bit sure how far I can trust 
you.”

I was picking up good vibes and beginning to enjoy the feel of my corded wrists for no 
other reason than Jason had corded them. I had never previously thought of bound hands as 
a bond of affection, but who could tell! At any rate, Jason and this casual walk back towards 
his house had brought me back to normal and rekindled the fire behind my sex. I was in a 
mood to throw caution to the winds.

“If you want, I’ll tell Nancy to go and get this lousy envelope, this thing that’s causing all 
our misery. If you get this information, can the three of us be set free?”

“I’ll set you and Nancy free immediately. Ginevera’s at Castle MacNish so I can’t answer for
her. In fact, I refuse to bargain at all because I don’t know what that envelope contains at all. 
Perhaps it’s worth nothing.”

“You mean I can be really and truly free and can go back to Tintagel?”

“If you wished. I’d be an idiot to let you go. I’d much prefer to keep a chain or two on you, 
and have you around whenever I was in the mood. How about that!”

“I wouldn’t want those two bitches looking after me.”

It was not until the words were out of my mouth that I realized the implication. If I was free
at Tintagel, I could have cared less whether the girls were here or anywhere else … On the 
other hand, if I remained for Jason’s pleasure…!

Shyly, and with a fast beating heart, I asked, “Would you really keep me prisoner here if I 
wanted to stay. You wouldn’t have to keep me chained, you know, not if I was told I was 
wanted.”

“Sly little fox, aren’t you!” Jason turned me around and kissed me properly. The kiss lasted 
long and I wished I had my hands.

I was positively tingling with hope for quite a few paces before Jason said, “I won’t let you 
make terms, sweetheart. If I want to bind you or chain you, I will. If I feel like punishing you for
pouting, or being a smart-ass, I’ll do that too. You’d probably be a lot better off at Tintagel.”

I let it drop there was still the matter of Nancy. “So you will let Nancy go and get this thing
you’re so concerned about? Jason, please say you will.”

“You’re asking me to trust the kid. If I let her go, she’ll never come back.”

“Yes, she will. You’re forgetting you can hold me. Tell her you’ll have me terribly flogged if 
she doesn’t show up at an appointed time. Believe me, she’ll be here.”

I got patted on the bottom and kissed. There’s not much a girl can do about these male 
attentions when her hands are tied behind her back. “You’re a pretty piece to hold as hostage, 
Clair,” Jason conceded. “But I wished you’d stop talking about being flogged.

Surely you know I’d never have that done.”

“Well, all right, let’s call it a mild whipping or a caned bottom. A girl has to have something
to complain about.”

We shared a chuckled. “If young Nancy gets out into the wild blue yonder, there’s no 
telling what she’ll do.”

“But, Jason, it’s a wonderful idea. And I know you can trust her.”

“I’m not going to trust Nancy, I’m going to trust you. If she hasn’t told you where the 
damned thing is already, she will. And I’m willing to bet you’ll get back here in good time.”

His eyes twinkled. “Nancy will be the hostage, and it’s her who will be flogged if you don’t 
show. How’s that?”

I was intrigued and did not argue. Nancy and I would be free girls in a couple of days 
anyway, so why quibble? I looked Jason in the eye and said a demure, “Thank you, Master. I 
won’t let you down.” My heart was thudding over things unsaid. Nancy was glad to see us and
I don’t wonder why. The girls had her firmly strapped to the whipping post, her wrists well 
above her head and a leather band in the small of the back thrusting her belly and loins 
against the wood. Neither Nancy nor I believed Jeanine and Rosilyn’s outrageous explanation 
of “Putting a wee breeze up the bairn.” I could well believe that if Jason hadn’t shown up, 
Nancy and I would have had a lot of well-marked flesh. Jason unstrapped her from the post 
but then found a bit of cord to bind her hands behind her back the same as me. I was 
beginning to realize that doing this gave him pleasure, just as I found pleasure in the tightness
of his cords. Things were most definitely looking better.

“You mean I don’t get flogged after all?” Nancy was still a bit dazed.

“That’s right, sweetheart, those girls were just being unkind.”

“But we did try to run away, you know. Don’t we get punished for that?” The poor darling 
was still trying to sort things out. Jason told her of our pact while Nancy listened in obvious 
disbelief. He ended his explanation with a touch of his own, dry humor, “Since you seem to 
want to be punished so badly, dear girl, you may get your wish tomorrow evening if Clair fails 
to come back with that letter. You’re the security she leaves behind and that’s the penalty for a
no-show.”

I expect having our hands bound the way they were prevented Nancy from being too 
happy. “I don’t see why I can’t go and get the letter?” she said doubtfully. “And I don’t 
understand why you’ve got that rope around Clair’s neck, and why you hold the other end as 
if she’s a puppy dog.”

She looked at me directly. “Is everything alright, Clair?”

“Everything is wonderful, couldn’t be better.” The poor kid had to leave it at that, what else
could she do!

I suppose we all know how life takes you up to some sort of peak and then pulls the rug 
out from under your feet. I went up to London in the most euphoric state of mind.

Everything was wonderful and tomorrow Nancy and I would be free! Nancy would 
probably run back home but I wasn’t sure what I would do. I wasn’t sure about Jason Phillips, 
or about my feelings about him. Or his feelings about me. But that was something we could 
comfortably work out after he got the letter. I suppose it was a measure of my feelings for him
that in the ride to town I never once thought of Harry Lord or poor, darling Ginevera. I was a 
very selfish and very happy.

I had the credentials signed by Nancy so I had no problem getting the letter out of the 
safety deposit box. But I’ll never know why a sort of premonition struck at that moment to 
compel me to write Jason’s name and address on a brand new envelope and slip the old one 
inside and seal it up. A bank clerk sold me a stamp. When I got back into the street I lost no 
time in finding a postal box and dropping it inside. I only know that I wished to get rid of the 
thing as fast as I could. It was an emotional act and left me feeling as though a ton of weight 
had lifted from my shoulders.

I was happily heading for my favorite restaurant for a bit of lunch when a finger tapped my
shoulder and Uncle Angus’s voice inquired, “And where would you be off to?”

I’ll admit it was a shock and flooded me with all kinds of guilt which Uncle Angus lost no 
time in putting into words. “Ye not suppose to be running around free, lassie. I’ve just come 
from Tintagel looking for you but that Harry Lord I left you with isn’t even there. And no one 
knew where you were. Clair, my girl, you’re letting your Uncle Angus down.”

I’m sure someone else could think of all sorts of things I could have done or said, but I’m 
ashamed to admit that my affection for Uncle Angus had always been tempered by the 
question in my mind of who would get all his money when he went to whatever heaven 
Scotsmen go to. I’m only human and the idea of being one of the richest women in the world 
did have its appeal. In any case, he was a darling old bear of a man, and except for this 
imprisonment nonsense, had always been kind and generous to Ginevera and myself.

At that moment was how much or how little to tell him about Jason Phillips and Karl 
Slobodian and, of course.

Nancy. I did not dare mention the letter.

It was inevitable I be asked to lunch, and indeed why not! I accompanied Uncle Angus to a
funny little place in a side street which he has long favored. I had been invited there on 
previous occasions. The food was marvelous and since everyone knew my uncle, it made a 
nice, homey atmosphere. I suppose I show up as an innocent idiot in this but that’s the way I 
felt.

Uncle Angus chose the jugged hare for both of us, he never bothers with menus or asking 
his guest what the guest might prefer. I got the jugged hare whether I wanted it or not. And I 
got coffee instead of tea. Uncle Angus ordered his special brew.

It was a really delightful lunch and Uncle Angus was in rare form with stories and sly hints 
about my impending freedom while at the same time prodding constantly at me to discover 
how and why I was where I was instead of being somewhere safe and secured at the end of a 
bit of chain. He assured me Ginevera was safe and well at Castle MacNish.

“How safe is she? You’re not keeping her in a dungeon, are you?” I demanded boldly.

“She’s safe enough, lassie, the same as you ought to be,” said Uncle Angus without 
answering my question. He eyed me keenly. “If I’d be asking you back to the castle with me, 
would you come?”

“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”

“And supposing I do mind…?”

“Uncle, I’m committed. I know you’re annoyed seeing me running around loose. But I can’t
do you a particle of harm or your Alpha group. I’m a big girl now, you know. And you really 
should allow me to lead my own life.”

Uncle Angus demolished a sizeable portion of his jugged hare before coming out with, 
“Aye, that’s the way with you young women these days-pleasure and spending money.”

He chuckled and his eye twinkled. “I’m sure ye know that if I had my way you’d all be kept 
under lock and key and wearing a good, strong chastity belt.” He pressed my arm 
affectionately. “But I’m an old man, a dinosaur from another age. Don’t worry about me, Clair. 
And don’t give Alpha another thought. The whole affair will be finished and done with inside a
week. Here, have another cup of coffee.”

I’ll bet you can guess! I had another cup of coffee and it was not long before Uncle Angus 
began to take on a blurry quality. It wasn’t too long before I realized it was not him who was 
going out of focus but my eyes. A second later I faded into blackness.

It was not Uncle Angus’s face that peered down at me but the interested features of the 
last person I wanted to see. Jeanine called out instantly, “She’s come around, Rosilyn, come 
and have a look.”

After you’ve been drugged, you don’t come around too rapidly. I toyed with the notion of 
having died and gone to the wrong place. I felt certain that if this were heaven, Jeanine and 
Rosilyn would not be there. I then advanced to the realization of being stretched out upon a 
bed, once more totally naked, and my wrists bound to the bed frame to either side above my 
head. It was the most dismal moment of my life.

Jeanine and Rosilyn were a pair of bitches. But, on the other hand, I must not paint them 
as demon tortures. They simply exhibited uninhibited delight in possessing a naked girl and 
causing her pain to a pain just short of actual torture. When Rosilyn’s face joined Jeanine’s in 
an inspection of my condition, their conversation brought me up to date.

“We’ve retired from domestic service, luv. You’re Uncle Angus handed you over to us after 
you’d been drugged in that little restaurant. We were suppose to take you to Castle MacNish 
but we’ve saved a little money and got ourselves this little place in the country which we know
you’ll enjoy. We’re going to keep you here for maybe a week or so before we ransom you 
back to your uncle or that nice Mister Jason Phillips.” They giggled delightedly. “He’s real 
sweet on you, that Mister Phillips is, and we’re going to make you a real profitable young 
women. You won’t mind us having a bit of fun with you in the meantime, will you lass?”

I didn’t struggle to get loose, I knew it was useless. Whatever I was tied with was hurting 
my wrists and telling me there would be no escape for me. I would be laying there like that, 
stark naked for their pleasure, until someone else untied me. Both of them had an almost 
masculine interest in my breasts and pussy.

“What are you going to do with me?” I asked the age-old question without hope.

“Let’s say we’re holding you to ransom, luv.”

“You’ll just keep me prisoner?”

“The poor, sweet thing just wants to be kept on a chain while we collect the cash.” The 
tone was honey. “She doesn’t want her pretty seat swished. Or a nice Scottish tawse across her
back.” My two tormentors looked at each other meaningfully. “Why shouldn’t we give the 
poor dear a nice welcome so she knows she’s loved?”

There happened then something almost too beastly to describe. Jeanine sat upon my face 
with her bare sex thrusting against my mouth while Rosilyn occupied her energies with what I 
had always though of my as pussy. I struggled frantically, I tried to scream but my mouth was 
sealed with warm, juicy pussy. Ropes around my ankles held me tightly with legs spread wide 
while the other girl fed hungrily upon my sex. I don’t know how long it lasted but when it was 
finished I felt myself totally shamed by their conquest of my flesh. I could not really control my
responses when so overwhelmed by sensations and stimulus. I emerged gasping, feeling 
soiled. I simply lay there, my eyes closed, feeling disgust at the act I had been forced to 
perform. Surprisingly, one of them had the kindness to wipe my mouth.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she!” said Jeanine admiringly.

“Absolutely super! We’ve got ourselves a treasure,” said Rosilyn.

Thus was I introduced to a new captivity.





CHAPTER TEN - Love in Links


When I was untied the girls flipped me on to my face and tied my hands anew behind my 
back using their favorite thin cord to insure both my pain and their security. They then had the
decency to give me a bath and to fix me and my hair with their usual skill to make me look 
what they described as “real sweet.” They then took me to their kitchen for coffee. It was all 
very social and suddenly very lovey-dovey.

It was a pleasant little cottage, isolated as was to be expected. When the delighted girls 
gave me the grand tour they were thrilled to point out the many ways it provided for my 
embarrassment and/or pain. There was a sizeable cage for me to occupy at some later date. 
Quite a lot of suitable trees to which I could be bound, an ancient wooden fence of weathered
rails to offer future prospects of strictured discomfort. There was also a wooden shed with a 
pole from floor to roof, it’s use painfully obvious to a seasoned captive like myself. And a small
barn, offering many possibilities. The girls were joyous about the whole thing but I was not. It 
was evident my role would be to endure their inflictions until they chose to ransom whatever 
was left of me.

I tried the obvious. “Look, you two, I could make you rich. You don’t have to hold me for 
ransom, I can ransom myself. Just give me clothes and untie my hands and take me to the 
railway station, and you’ll get more money than you’ve ever had in your lives.”

“Can’t trust you, sweetheart.”

“We want you for our pleasure, dearie.” Jeanine explained with unusual gentleness. “We 
haven’t had much of a life but when your uncle turned you over to us, we realized what we’d 
been missing. We don’t want men, they’re filthy creatures. What we want is a girl and the girl 
we want is you.”

I twisted unhappily against their twine but felt myself helplessly lost. “You mean that sex 
thing, is that what you want me for?”

“That’s only part of it, luv, you know that.”

“You mean you’ll whip me and tie me so I hurt?”

“That’s right, luv. We get to do the loveliest things to you. But we will tell you right up 
front that it’s only for a week or so. We expect to get our money and turn you loose.” The tone
become almost pleading. “Is it all that bad?”

I suppose it wasn’t all that bad. I remembered the things they had done to me before and I
had survived. I would probably survive again. But at the thought of seven days in their hands, I
cringed.

Not giving me time to think, I was propelled outdoors to the ancient fence, against which I
was thrust with my breasts just below the top rail and my arms spread out to either side. It 
turned out this was to be no ordinary tying of a girl’s arms but a work of art in which Jeanine 
worked on one bare arm and Rosilyn secured the other. It was the same fearful thin stuff that 
bit into my flesh, around and around and then over and under in the final cinch. I could not 
possibly have freed myself but that was only the beginning. They also wrapped my elbows to 
the fence railing, and then again at my upper arm just near my shoulder. When they were 
finished I didn’t even want to move, it hurt too much. I stood against that damned fence with 
my arms wide stretched in what the girls gigglingly described as “angel’s wings.” My bare back
and bottom were cruelly available.

“Ever had a good Scottish tawse across your rump, Miss Steward?”

I did not reply. I was panting hard, horribly afraid. When I was told to speak up or get my 
tits tweaked, I accepted one more humility. “No, I’ve never had the tawse used on me.

Please don’t use it now. Please!”

They used the tawse with zest to make me cry out as much in frustration as in pain. I thrust
myself hard against the fence in a useless attempt to get away from the pain. The tongs of the
tawse were cruel, biting at my flesh with a venom different from any other whip I had ever felt.
I had no defense. I found myself making pathetic motions with my untied feet until, as I 
kicked, the tawse cut an upturned sole to drive it back to earth.

It did not matter whether I stood still or not, I could not move enough to influence 
anything.

But as the Scottish leather cut my flesh I screamed in uninhibited pain and anger, until 
Jeanine removed her panties and stuffed them in my mouth. About the time I was sure I was 
about to die, the punishment ceased.

“She marks gorgeously!” said Jeanine.

“Who ever we sell her to is going to be right proud of her strips,” added Rosilyn with relish.

“How you feel, luv?”

In broken, pitiful tones I told them how I felt, knowing my words wasted but fearful not to 
utter them. They were obviously pleased with whatever I said so Jeanine put her panties back 
on and they announced their intention of leaving me alone for a while, “Just to get bucked up 
for your next go, dear.”

Anyone can guess how I felt, I was hurting and robbed of liberty. But in the silence and 
pain I was now having a fearful vision of what Jason might do to Nancy. The letter would not 
reach him in time to appease his wrath at my non-appearance. But surely he would not flog 
the poor kid, surely he would make allowances for something happening! But miserably I 
wondered how he could ever know what had happened. He would think I had run away or 
fled back to my Uncle Angus. And then too there was Uncle Angus. Uncle Angus might guess 
who had done it. But he wouldn’t know where to look for Jeanine and Rosilyn. He would lose 
his favorite niece until he coughed up a good deal of money. I wondered if it would be Uncle 
who purchased or if Jason would be the lucky man. Either way I feared I would face only anger
and distrust. It would be chains and slavery for Miss Clair Steward for ever more.

When the girls reappeared they were armed not with whips as I expected but with peeled 
wands of green willow, which left me uncertain whether they were being kind or cruel. I took a
swift glance up and down my bound arms and was horrified by the dark color exhibited there. 
Boy, they had tied me tight! I could not move them the least bit.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, luv, but we’ve been thinking of you all the time,” Jeanine 
assured me.

“We’ve been getting these ready. Aren’t they lovely?”

“We’ll just tickle up your back a bit, sweetheart, don’t take it seriously.”

I took it seriously. I remember muttering, “Please don’t whip me any more … Please!”

“Wouldn’t be fair to cheat you. Miss Steward,” Jeanine pointed out with sweet reason.

“Every girl except us needs to be whipped from time to time. It helps your circulation and 
makes you mind your Ps and Qs. You are going to be very polite to us, aren’t you, 
hmmmmm?”

“Yes, I’ll be polite….” That was as far as I got.

The willow wands burned like red hot wires drawn across my skin. And my feet got 
punished again because I couldn’t keep them still. Both girls chatted with me pleasantly as 
they slashed and swished away across the bareness of my back and down to join up with the 
marks of the tawse across my hips. They soon had me screaming and sweating and promising 
anything they wanted. Even that filthy thing I hated to put into words. The simple fact of the 
thing is that those stories about stoic heroism is pure bunk. Any girl who is really and truly 
whipped will say or do anything to make it stop. We are no longer reasoning creatures but 
simply packages of skin designed for the application of the whip.

Once again, when the whipping ceased, I was a panting, heaving female piece of nothing.

The girls loved me fiercely.

The way they had me bound gave my two new owners much pleasure. They found me 
artistic, helpless, and in some way appealing to their better instincts. They would have left me 
as I was had they not examined my arms and been a bit shocked at what they discovered. In 
order to keep their new-found treasure in good condition and usable for other pleasures, they
swiftly removed the evil twine. I just stood there with limp arms, unable to move them for a 
long time. Plus I was far too tired and hurt to even want to do anything else. I had been 
humbled before in my captivities but I was doubly humbled now.

I have to admit they fed me well, allowing me to share their evening meal with my ankles 
tight tied together just in case. I was hungry and I have to admit that as I ate my two 
companions looked better and better, such is human frailty!

I felt tremendously privileged that only my ankles were tied and neither girl had thought 
yet of inflicting anything upon my breasts. Our sleeping arrangement were disappointing to 
my captors who unblushingly explained that they would much have preferred to hang me 
suspended above their bed so my pussy was conveniently in view. However, the conceded my 
need of rest so I could sleep beside the on the floor with only one ankle chained to the bed 
and my hands completely free. As I thought about it I realized that, by their standards, they 
were being extremely kind. Everything is relative.

We were relatively civilized at breakfast except that my feet were now bound tight to 
either side of my chair. It was even suggested that as I met with increasing approval, I might 
be allowed to cook some of the meals, or at least assist in that endeavor. There was no reason 
why they should work while possessing a slave like me. I said nothing, I was learning.

The dish of the day was, of course, ME. Possible discomforts had been discussed at 
breakfast so I had a fair idea of what was to come. This time it turned out to be a pleasantly 
sylvan situation in which I was to be bound to a tree. It had sounded innocent enough in 
discussion but in actuality I discovered it’s hidden venom. There was to be nothing casual 
about this binding to a tree trunk, it was to be a work of art and something memorable for all 
concerned. It began with my nudity backed against the chosen trunk and my waist tightly 
secured to it with more than adequate loops of rope. I pointed out that was all they really 
needed because I could not possibly reach the knots and certainly could not slip out of the 
very tight bands. Those rope around my middle were so tight I had difficulty breathing.

“It’s just the beginning,” offered Jeanine sweetly. “You’ll be real proud of yourself by the 
time we’re through,” added Rosilyn.

I did not immediately loose my hands because apparently they would get in the way of 
other bindings planned for my poor body. The next infliction was a quite different sort of tie 
by which my shoulders were clamped hard back by thinner ropes cleverly cross behind my 
neck, brought down over my bare shoulders to be crossed again behind my back and to be 
tugged tight so there was no danger of slippage. I was thus held firmly to the trunk with 
breasts untouched by bonds. It hurt and I simply could not move.

The girls had lots of time so the progress of my binding was accompanied by friendly 
comments such as, “Those shoulder bindings cut in beautifully, don’t they! And her breasts 
will stick out even more when we get her arms tied.”

Or, “Shall we tie her hands or her hands and the elbows…?

They’re next stricture upon my flesh was purely unkind. My middle was ready secured so 
they took a single strand of rope, secured it somewhere around my navel, and brought it 
down between my thighs to carefully insert it within my female lips before tugging it back 
with all their strength. It hurt but not as much as I expected. They then moved on to a debate 
about my feet. One wanted to tie my feet pulled way back so my pussy was exposed and 
available. The other wanted tie my legs together but then attach a rope to my ankles and pull 
both feet off the ground and up so that my legs would be level with the ground. I groaned 
inwardly at that picture.

The “spread her legs and pull back” side won and they set to work making me feel very off 
balance, as if I were about to fall forward at any second. Of course, with those ropes holding 
my body to the trunk, it was impossible. My legs spread as the ankles went around the trunk 
and I felt very vulnerable with my sex so exposed. It was a beastly way to be tied. They decided
not to bother with my knees. Not that they had to, my legs were not going anywhere. It was 
then they gathered my arms behind the tree, crossed my wrists and bound them tight. As far 
as I was concerned, that had to be it!

“How about her neck, Jeanine, seems to me her head’s got far too much freedom?” asked 
Rosilyn.

I quaked. What they had already done to me was bad enough but ropes around my neck 
was too much! Dully, I said, “Please don’t … Please, no!”

I could just as well have saved my breath. Rope encircled my neck in strand after strand, 
loosely looped to enable a final cinching. My bondage was certainly a punishment as well as a 
means of keeping a girl in one place. I could not move at all and felt the tightness of the ropes
about my body.

“Please don’t do this to me,” I begged in a pathetic voice. “You don’t have to do this to me,
I’ll be good. You don’t have to….”

Jeanine and Rosilyn pinched my nipples and patted my pussy before they went away. But 
they promised many delights before my day was through. I remained as captive to the tree.

The ropes became more unkind with each passing minute, that was to be expected. But 
perhaps the most awful part of the binding was the immobility. I could move nothing of 
myself and even my view was limited because the ropes around my neck compelled a frontal 
view only. After a while my breasts, beautifully sticking out, were rising and falling with heavy 
panting. I tried to compose myself for the long hours ahead and cautioned myself against 
becoming too excited by the bondage I was in. I would have shook my head in wonder at why
my body should respond with a raising sexual excitement at such harsh treatment. If I could 
have moved my head.

“I think this is the most beautiful thing we’ve done to her.”

Rosilyn’s voice intruded upon my quiet contemplation of pain and immobility.

“Just look at the way the ropes cut into her,” added Jeanine, happily.

That was their first visit. On their second they brought water for me to drink with laughing 
assurance I could undoubtedly pee despite my handicaps should the need arise. Those two 
girls left me with nothing, absolutely nothing! The only weapon I had was my voice and I used 
it pitifully to try and touch their sympathy, to remind them of the pleasure they had had from 
me. And to promise other pleasures still to come. But a naked girl bound tightly to a tree has 
nothing to offer for everything she has is easily available to others.

The girls pointed this out with sweet reason.

“Darling, we can give you twenty orgasms, if that’s what you want. Or we can make you 
give us twenty each if that’s what we want. You don’t have a thing we don’t already own.”

That was the bitterest part of what I was enduring, this knowledge of helplessness and 
being owned. I thought of all those old time novels which spoke of “a fate worse that death.” 
Good gosh, I would have promised anything!

Being bound that way to that tree wasn’t bad enough to make me pass out. I was vividly 
alive all the time, wishing ardently to slip into unconscious but never having the chance.

And my stupid body refused to ignore what was happening to it. It kept telling me it 
found this treatment exciting. Oh, how I wished I could touch myself!

The girls visited me a number of times before coming up with what they must have 
thought of as a cute notion but which was to me an unbearable horror. I had seen nipple clips
before but had never dreamed they would be used on me. They were just too horrible, 
something out of the Spanish Inquisition.

The girls made no pretext of hiding the little clips, there was no sneaking up on me.

Instead they held them up for me to view and even insisted I should kiss the little steel 
jaws before they were moved to my nipples.

“We’ll clip them on you properly, luv, so they won’t cut the flesh or fall off,” Jeanine 
assured earnestly.

“You won’t have to wear them all day, luv, we don’t want your tits falling off,” was Rosilyn’s 
contribution.

It was one of the worst moments a girl can have when she sees those little horrors moving 
slowly towards her unprotected and erect nipples. It is, of course, a ritual prolonged for as 
long as it produced the desired gasps and moans from me. But there came the moment of 
truth when the open clips closed upon the soft flesh. They closed them gently and I don’t 
think the tiny, sharp teeth did actually break my skin. But they hurt plenty, more than you can 
imagine. I cried out with the pain and begged them to remove the little demons before they 
tore my nipples to shreds.

They laughed at me. The pain was hideous.

I could not move and this was the worst of all. Surely a girl should have been able to shift 
her breasts and divert her nipples to avoid what had just taken place but that was not for me. 
Within the space of seconds I had come into possession of a pair of wicked little metal jaws 
driven close by strong springs. There they were now, gaily bobbing as I gasped to bounce my 
breasts and inflict upon myself an additional agony. After they first waves of pain, I looked 
from one to the other of the entranced girls and pleaded some more.

“Please…! They’re awful and I can’t stand the pain. Please don’t spoil my nipples. Please!”

Instead of taking them off, Jeanine and Rosilyn each flicked a clip with their finger to make
it bounce and vibrate most entertainingly for. It was pure agony for me. Thereafter I kept quiet
and quite soon they tired of their little toys and left me with an order to enjoy my punishment.
Desolate, I watched them go.

Alone I faced the agony of not knowing how long the torture would go on. And not 
knowing if the clips might not bite my nipples deeply enough to do harm. The horrid thought 
raced through my mind that my poor little nipples could be torn and mutilated for life. And 
the metal jaws bit and burned.

I need not have worried. Rosilyn and Jeanine knew a good thing when they had it and that
good thing was ME. They had chosen their clips carefully, maybe even testing them on 
themselves for a second to make sure they would not do damage, and had placed them 
carefully upon my nipples, not near the ends but at the base where they could get a solid hold
and not slip. They lovely my breasts and nipples almost as much as I did and would not let 
anything too serious happen to them. About the time I was gasping and ready to scream they 
showed up and suddenly released the tiny jaws from my flesh. Then I screamed.

It is strange how some punishments can hurt more when they’re taken off than they did 
when on. Clamps and clips are like that. Maybe it is the returning circulation. But whatever, my
nipple burned and tingled and send shock waves of pain through my breasts.

My screams seemed to please the girls very much. When I was down to moaning only they
patted my breasts lovingly and left me alone yet again.

Late in the afternoon the girls approached me again. But this time it was to peel the ropes 
from my tired and aching body. They were delighted in the deep red marks left by the cords in
my soft skin. And sparks of pain shot up through my pussy when the rope through there was 
roughly pulled out.

“Honey, you’re beautiful!” Jeanine offered. “You have the most beautiful marks!”

“You’ll wear those rope marks for a long time,” was Rosilyn’s contribution.

When the shoulder bindings were pulled off I slumped to the ground.

At the evening meal the girls again began their campaign against my body. I ate without a 
single restraint upon my nakedness during the meal. I was only too thankful to be free of 
bonds and did not comment upon it. neither to thank them or to voice suspicion as to why 
they allowed me such freedom. As usual the meal raised my spirits to the point where I 
considered I had only five or six days to go. When the girls gave me the dish washing task I 
sped to the work. Oddly, there was not a single thought of escape in my mind, so completely 
was I mastered. Or enslaved, if that is the better word.

When the work was finished and they casually asked me if I would like to be handcuffed, I 
meekly submitted. “Yes, please,” of said with down-turned eyes, and offered my hands behind 
my back. But surprisingly I was turned again for the steel bracelets to be locked upon my 
wrists in front. Thus I spent my evening in the mildest of bondages.

As bed time approached I was surprised by a question from Jeanine. “We like you, Clair.

And we’re not always as mean as we were today. How would you like to stay with us 
always?” I was appalled but dared not say so. Instead I said, “You mean to torture me every 
day of my life!”

“Don’t be silly, that wasn’t torture at all. We were just being mean to you. If we kept you 
always, it would be the way it is right now. We’d keep you handcuffed or leg-ironed or 
restrained in some sort of way but we’d be kind to you. They wouldn’t be any punishments 
and all three of us could make love as much as we liked. Wouldn’t that be super!”

Knowing I played with fire, I said, “I’m sorry, but I’d sooner go home. Please try and 
understand.”

I expect they understood all right but this was just a continuation of The Game. They said 
no more about keeping me as a” chained pet. But that night it was not my ankle which was 
chained to their bed but a collar was locked upon my neck instead. The chained of its tether 
being no more then a couple of feet which compelled me to lay on my belly or crotch.

I don’t know what idiot constructed that old bam but he must have had a nagging wife or 
daughters because he contrived in one wall three holes exactly designed for my neck and 
wrists. It was a sort of stock contraption and I could be locked in it facing either side. The girls 
pointed to it with pride as if making a discovery.

“You won’t be the first one, luv. Looks like a lot of girls must have worn that wood down 
smooth. Must be a real snug fit.”

It was a real snug fit, perhaps made originally for a girl with a little smaller neck and wrists.

I had lost my will to fight so, when the yoke was raised, I stuck my neck in the appropriate 
hole, gathered my hair down beside my cheek, and then put my wrists where they would be 
lost to me for the day. The plank snapped down and there I was! The girls had elected to have 
most of me available out in the sunlight which meant my view was restricted to the musty 
interior of the barn which was damned uninteresting and left me wondering what was likely to
happen to the rest of me out in the open air. I soon found out!

It did not happen right away, the girls were making the most of this female thing they had 
to play with. Suspense was very much a part of what I must endure. I looked at the ancient 
straw and smelt the remains of horse droppings of long ago. I wished they had turned my the 
other way around with my face in the air. About the time I was figuring this was all there was 
to this, a hand inserted itself between my thighs and cupped my pussy. I waited in agony for 
something to hurt but nothing did, instead the hand seemed bent on giving me pleasure, a 
pleasure I could well have done without. I love sex as much as any girl but not like that!

Slowly and cruelly the hand brought me to orgasm. It’s horrible to gasp and jerk and 
moan in that most private of girl’s mysteries when your neck and wrists are held as captive as 
mine. The smell of old horse sweat and droppings didn’t help much, either. When the hand 
was certain I has gasped my last gasp and might be in danger of beginning the build up to 
another orgasm, it withdrew to leave me dismally alert for whatever came next. I was positive 
something would come.

I could not be certain if it was a cane or a riding crop, one of those slender crops that bit a 
girl’s skin pretty much the same as a whip. But whatever it was, it slashed across my beautifully
posed bottom without the slightest warning. While I was trying to handle the shocking pain, I 
could hear the sounds of female laughter. I was evidently a great success.

I got three strokes, just enough to leave me wondering and fearful of ten or twenty, or 
even thirty. But the pain stopped there and I could hear the voices but could not distinguish 
words until, without warning, my waist was encircled by a loving arm and a loving hand began
to slap the two cheeks of my bottom in a childish punishment to make me blush. But there 
was nothing I could do about anything so I just had to stand there and take it. Soon it was 
making my bottom burn even more than the crop had done. Despite myself, I knew my feet 
were making motions of protest.

I could not recall ever being spanked but that was what was happening to me now as a 
female palm impacted again and again from side to side on my flesh. It was surprisingly 
effective at making my bottom burn and sting. And the sound was something else, like no 
sound I had ever heard before. And somehow highly erotic.

The spanking lasted a long time, far longer than any child would have to bear. As the pain 
grew I finally could no longer hold in speech, “Stop it! For goodness sakes, stop!”

My complaint must have been heard for suddenly the girls were beside me in the bam, 
one stroking my hair and the other patting my chin as if I were a little girl. They were actually 
making cooing sounds of sympathy. Jeanine carried a thin yellow length of cane and asked 
brightly, “You want us to stop spanking your bottom, darling?”

“Yes, it’s awful!”

She swished the cane to cut the air. I hated that sound. “They I expect you’d prefer we use 
this, it’s a beautiful cane.”

“No, I wouldn’t! Please don’t be so mean. I don’t know how you can possibly enjoy hurting
me like this.”

“Oh, but we do! You react so beautifully, Clair. And since you said you don’t want us to 
keep you prisoner always, we have to make the most of you while we have you.”

You can’t win with those girls. “If you’re going to get all that money for me,” I offered, “I 
don’t see why you can’t be nice to me now. Please?”

“The poor darling wants an orgasm,” said Jeanine.

“Would you like us to play with your pussy, dear?” added Rosilyn.

“No, I wouldn’t. I didn’t mean that!”

“Well, we have to do something with you, luv,” Jeanine pointed out. “You can’t expect us to
waste something as lovely as you. Come along, Rosilyn, let’s try out this cane.”

You can imagine my feelings as I watched them leave. I couldn’t be really certain if they 
would use that damned cane or were simply teasing. But my bottom was still burning and I 
was very much aware of how much more strokes across it would hurt now compared to if it 
had been unmarked. I weaved my bare bottom from side to side in the only protest I could 
still make. My longing to be free almost drove me to panic.

Across the curve of my bottom, already scorched by Scottish palms, a line of scolding fire 
crashed into being as one of my new owners tried out her “lovely cane.” The shock combined 
with anger and frustration to banish shame and dignity and gave me courage to scream at the
top of my lungs in a vocal expression of outrage. Uncaring of results, I gave it everything I 
had. Nothing happened. I waited tense and apprehensive for the second cut, with my bottom 
burning. But it didn’t come.

I stood helpless in unhappy anticipation, wishing I had not screamed. I was pretty certain 
the cane had not ceased because of my noise, the girls were hatching something up. But 
whatever it was they left me alone to stew in my own fears until I was actually pleased to see 
them return. But pale hope died as I saw the object Jeanine held for my inspection.

Straps and buckle and bits of shining metal along with a rubber wad made up something I 
had never seen before but I could easily guess its intent was to seal my lips.

“You’re going to love this, dear,” said Jeanine.

“It will save you saying things you don’t mean, luv,” said Rosilyn.

I suppose horses put up with it all the time but this was my first experience with being 
bridled. The wad of rubber filled my mouth before metal clamped my lips beneath a soft 
leather band which buckled tight behind my neck. There was nothing I could do, I just stood 
there while they made me silent. My mouth was filled with the rubber and I could not move 
my tongue. When the beastly thing was buckled to their satisfaction, they stood back to watch
me fling my head from side to side in attempts to rid myself of it.

I made silly sounds as they kissed my forehead before leaving me in mute misery. I know 
what was coming!

The yellow cane was so thin it inflicted a quality of pain all its own. It did not cut my skin 
but that’s what it felt like as it burnt my flesh. The gag muted me effectively so I could do no 
more than make pathetic little sounds the girls could not hear. They took turns at swishing 
their beastly cane across my skin from thigh to lower back. I was shamingly certain the girls 
enjoy the dance of anguish my feet could not control. They caned me to their heart’s content 
then left me with my scolded seat and clamped mouth to shed what tears I wished and to 
wonder what would come next.

What came next took a long while in coming, time enough to dolefully view my plight and 
to frantically think of some way by which I might appeal to whatever mercy might be left in 
these two females. It’s hateful to be held as I was held and hateful to have my mouth sealed in
steel and leather. I spent half my time shaking my head in the way I’ve seen horses shaking 
theirs.

After a while my two captors showed up in high spirits. We’ve just called your Uncle 
Angus, luv, and guess what he said!” Jeanine giggled delightedly. “He told us to give you a 
good thrashing and tie you to a tree for a week so you’d slop roaming around. What do you 
think of that?”

“It was a lot better with Mr. Phillips, dear,” Rosilyn added. “Mr. Phillips doesn’t want your 
bottom whipped. He doesn’t want you whipped at all. In fact he offered us quite a lot of 
money for immediate delivery.”

I longed to plead for immediately delivery but could make no sound. I tried to make them 
understand with my eyes.

“We can’t possibly part with you that soon,” Jeanine continued. “We told him he’d have to 
wait a while and the price should go up while he’s waiting. We didn’t tell him what we’ll do to 
you while he’s waiting.”

I wondered if they were telling the truth. But I could well imagine Uncle Angus feeling I 
needed punishing for eluding his clutches and walking around London all by myself. As 
regards Jason, the news caused my heart to sped up with hope. If the girls were telling the 
truth, I had only five more days to endure before being clasp once more in a pair of strong 
male arms.

“We don’t think we should cane you any more today, luv,” said Rosilyn cheerfully. “So 
we’re going to give you an afternoon out in the sunshine. Aren’t we kind?”

They removed me from the wall but kept on the gag. My wrists were yet again crossed and
bound behind my back with their favorite twine. I simply stood there in submission and 
wished it was Jason who tugged the cords. I was then led out to a field beside the cottage.

I had been conscious of a coil of rope, much thicker stuff than they had used on my hands 
or arms. They put a loop of it around my ankle and knotted it tightly. They threw the coil 
carelessly on the grass and tied the other end to a tree, just a little higher than I could reach.

“There you are, luv, don’t say we weren’t ever kind to you,” said Jeanine.

“Roam around and enjoy yourself, dear. You’re quite free … Almost!” said Rosilyn.

I could never tell about those girls. My bottom was still scolded from the cane but the 
sunshine was very warm and good against my skin. I watched them return to the cottage and 
wondered what sort of hidden kicker there might be in this new situation. Cautiously I kicked 
my tethered ankle then walked a few equally cautious steps with the rope uncoiling and 
following like a snake. Since I had nothing to loose, I walked until my foot was snubbed. I was 
about fifty feet from the tree. Dolefully I realized that even with a feet foot radius I was still a 
prisoner. The sunshine and the air and the space were all lovely but I was still captive to the 
rope. I kicked viciously with my looped ankle and wondered if the girls were watching.

I stood nakedly there upon the grass and wondered what chance there might be of a 
passerby. But there was no road in sight and woods surrounded the grassy area where I was 
tethered. I was pretty sure the girls would be amusing themselves by watching me, but that 
was something I couldn’t help. I felt I should at least try for freedom. I knelt down and wiggled
around, trying to get my fingers at the knots on my ankle. But the girls knew what they were 
doing. After a long struggle I had to give up because I could barely reach the knots with only 
the tips of my fingers and couldn’t do a thing about unraveling them.

I gave up and, with a sigh, contented myself with enjoying the out of doors. But it was 
‘frustrating to be so nearly free. I wondered if I could cheat the girls by getting out of sight 
but where ever I could go I was still visible from the cottage. I was, in fact, outrageously 
exposed.

Have you ever lain upon your back on grass and gazed up at blue sky and drifting white 
clouds? You become one with the earth and sense the planet turning and drifting through 
space. It’s a really remarkable sensation and if you haven’t tried it, you should. I tried it then 
just for something to do. I soon found out it was a lot better without tied hands, but even 
laying on my forearm I still got that wonderful awareness of myself drifting through space 
alone. The grass irritated my caned bottom but a girl prisoner can’t have everything.

It wasn’t too long before I, without intending to, drifted off into sleep beneath the warm 
sun.

They were a boy and a girl, each carrying a small bucket of blackberries they had picked 
along the fence while I slept. They were somewhere around twelve years old and were gazing 
down at me in shocked disbelief. I came instantly awake and knew shame in my nakedness 
and in what they may have seen of me while I slept. Without preamble I said, “Please untie this
rope,” but, of course, no sound left my lips.

I shook my head violently to indicate dissatisfaction with the gag. They watched in silence 
until the boy said, “What’s she doing that for, Effie?”

“I don’t think she likes what she’s wearing on her face,” Effie said doubtfully.

“She ain’t got no clothes on,” the boy said as though noticing for the first time.

“She must be a bad woman, Timmy, and you shouldn’t be looking at her.”

“While you’re looking, too.”

“That’s different, I’m a girl. You’d better go away while I see if I can talk to her.”

“Ain’t no use going away now, I’ve seen everything she’s got,” Timmy pointed out. “She 
acts like she can’t talk.”

“You know what I think? I think she’s a crazy and that’s the reason they’ve got that rope on
her ankle and her hands tied,” said Effie sagely. “And I’ll bet that’s the reason they’ve got her 
fixed so she can’t talk. If she could talk I’ll bet they would be bad words.”

It was frustrating. If the girls in the cottage got tried of looking, these children could be my
chance for escape. The boy probably had a pocket knife and could cut the rope, they could 
also unbuckle the gag. But since I could not speak and my motions were misinterpreted, I sat 
before them on the grass, not knowing what to do next. Suddenly inspired, I rose to my feet 
under the boy’s appreciative eye and then knelt before them in supplication which surely they 
had to understand. I needed help, why else would I kneel and look at them so pleadingly.

“She’s going to say her prayers,” said Timmy.

“I think she’s going to pee,” said Effie, glancing disapprovingly at my hair.

I knelt forward to place my forehead upon the grass to expose unmistakably the strap on 
the gag behind my neck. Surely they would get the hint!

“That’s how they say their prayers in foreign places.” Timmy was still on the same track.

“I’ll bet she’s some sort of hearten.”

I heard them move around and Effie’s shocked exclamation, “Just look at her arse, Timmy! 
She’s been caned something awful. That’s what they do to lunatics when they don’t behave.”

I got back on my feet. I was making no progress. This time I kicked angrily at my tethered 
ankle and held it forward for their inspection. “She’s proud of that there rope,” Timmy 
observed with interest. “It’s probably the custom to wear rope like that back where she comes 
from.”

“I still think she’s a lunatic who has to be kept under control,” Effie said. “I don’t think we 
should stay around in case she gets loose. No telling what she’d do.”

I was in despair. If only I could speak! But that was impossible and the noises I could 
produce would just alarm the children. I tried again by advancing to the limit of the rope and 
tugged my foot against it’s tether in an absolute frenzy of attempted communication.





The children watched with interest

“Nutty as a fruitcake!” Effie said firmly.

“I wonder what other tricks she can do. I sort of liked that one.”

“You shouldn’t watch while she does that,” Effie said, “it uncovers her cunt and you can’t 
help seeing it. You ought to go back to the house.”

“Not unless you come,” Timmy protested.

What else could I do! I stood there, naked and bound, while these two children looked and
misunderstood everything I tried.

“I’ll bet her hands are tied like that so she can’t hurt herself,” Timmy sounded pleased.

“More likely so she can’t hurt us,” Effie said with conviction. “I’ll wonder if I’ll grow up to 
look like that with my clothes off, with breasts and things….”

“Nah! You’re too skinny,” her brother said. “I’ll bet a girl has to be fucked a whole lot to get
the way she is. Jimmy Dobson told me girls have to fucked to get their breasts to grow.

Gee whiz, look at hers!”

The three of us stood there indecisively, the children convinced of my lunacy and me 
unable to speak a word. Having exhausted me as in item of interest, they turned and walked 
away. I hoped they would tell their parents but then realized that with impending release in 
prospect I might be better off to suffer whatever the girls might still do rather than be 
involved with the police.

What a hell of a jackpot I was in!

by evening I had to admit my day could have been worse. I enjoyed the field, and after the
first hour or so the rope on my ankle ceased to bother. The children, even though a lost cause,
had been a break and something of interest. When the girls removed my gag for dinner I 
found myself saying thanks for a pleasant afternoon. That was on the theory that when they 
were kind I had best show gratitude. Suddenly everybody loved everybody and I was once 
again subjected to a sales pitch for the rest of my life. They pointed out that, while they could 
never let me loose, I could contrive some way of diverting my income in their direction to 
enable the three of us to live happily ever after. I said I would think about it but at the same 
time thought of Jason Phillips.

Bedtime was a frustration for the girls. They wanted to hurt me or at least make me 
uncomfortable for the hours of darkness but realized I had to sleep if I was to be any good for
them the following day. Instead of being chained or roped in the bedroom they got the bright
idea of putting me in the dog cage outside. The cage was large enough for me to move 
around, I could even stand erect. They produced a massive padlock and tossed me a blanket 
against the night air. Before I was locked inside they once more tied my hands behind my 
back in their favorite way, and I was later to discover the near impossibility of wrapping a 
blanket around my nakedness with hands behind my back. The girls were enjoying me very 
much and went to bed well content with their captive in a cage.

“What should be do with our darling today?” Jeanine inquired at breakfast, as though she 
didn’t know.

“There’s all that chain we bought. Pity not to use it,” Rosilyn suggested slyly.

I was the way they had be before, my ankles tied tight together but that was all. But I was 
safe for their attentions.

“Couldn’t you put that rope on my ankle again and let me enjoy this beautiful summer 
day?” I suggested without too much hope.

“But you’d get bored with the same old thing, dear. We wouldn’t want you to be bored.”

I tried again. “Couldn’t you phone Mr. Phillips and get more money for releasing me ahead
of schedule?”

“She wants to leave us, we’ll have to punish her for that,” said Rosilyn with a sniff.

“She wants to be fucked,” offered Jeanine.

I ceased to argue.

The cottage and its surround was perfect for the girl’s favorite hobby. This time they 
selected three trees growing close together, a five inch trunk in the center and saplings to 
either side. I caught the drift.

My hands were still untied so now each girl too one, placed it against a sapling at the 
height of my shoulders and tied it with their usual lack of concern for my comfort. They then 
pushed me back against the larger trunk and began with my waist. A single loop of chain links
was padlocked tight. I was fixed for sure. But this was only the beginning. They had a couple 
of links, shorter than the rest, to be fastened to each ankle. They did this by wiring two links 
together around my ankle and also to the base of the sapling at its other end. They didn’t 
need much chain because the design was to pull my legs as wide as might be without splitting
me in two. I think I could have stood for their obvious intention had it not been for the 
obscene spreading of my legs.

“Please, do you have to spread my legs so far apart? It’s terribly indecent and it hurts.”

“Don’t apologize, luv, we like it.”

“The flies may bother you down there, luv, but we all have to share things, don’t we?”

That was that and I had to be content to take the rest of it in haughty disdain. It was really 
a work of art and pretty much the same as they had achieved with rope on the other tree 
previously, even right down to the single chain passing between my legs and tight up against 
my pussy. They wound their blasted chain around my neck for additional discomfort. They had
several padlocks and invited me to listen as they snapped shut each one to rob me of all hope
of escape.

The girls didn’t hurry away but stayed to admire they work. They told me that I should be 
happy they hadn’t wrapped chain directly around my breasts. As it was they had me pretty 
tight above and below my breasts. But after a while they left me alone.

They were right about the flies. My pussy became a prime target for the little bugs. I was 
almost grateful for the chain squashing my pussy for it covered some of me from the pests. 
But enough remained available to cause me to be forever tugging one leg or the other in a 
useless effort to dislodge the crawling insects. I was glad the scorch of the cane had now 
faded every time I wound up rubbing my bottom against the wood. My hands were lost, there
was no way I could get them free.

Except for the flies it was a dull day. I couldn’t move and while I hurt a bit all over, the 
chain lacked the drama of real torture. But I had long since learned how a captive girl can 
become so bored with her condition that she welcomes pain. At least it was something to 
complain about.

This time it was what the girls chose to call “The Tit Nips.” I watched them come, glad of 
any relief from boredom. But when I saw them playing with the beastly little things, I changed 
my mind. I knew there was nothing I could do or say, I would get them anyway.

But I got them where I least expected them.

“We know you’ll love these, dear. You’ve only got two tits but we brought four just for 
you.”

“Please don’t.” I had to say it.

It appeared the flies were to receive competition. My lips down there were swollen to each
side of the embedded link. To those swollen lips they attached two of the clips, making my 
squeal. I was surprised how much they hurt. I pleaded but was ignored.

“And now your tits, darling? We mustn’t forget them.”

This visit the girls stayed quite a time to watch. No doubt I made an interesting spectacle 
as I tried to jerk the clips off and generally wiggled under the pain of the metal jaws. But I 
could not dislodge a single one. I could not even move enough to deter the flies who now 
returned. I was totally absorbed by pain and unaware of anything else until Jeanine 
announced, “We’ve been in touch with your male phallus, luv. That guy must really want to 
shove it into you real bad. He’s boasted the money to get you back a day earlier.”

“We explained some of the things we do to you, dear,” Rosilyn said. “It made the poor guy 
feel certain it was time to get you home.” She made a sly pause. “But you don’t really want to, 
do you?”

Most ardently I assured them of my desire to go back to the man I now realized I loved. If 
that made me a fickle bitch, so be it. All I knew was I wanted Jason inside me so bad it hurt. 
The chain links and the wicked clips were no substitute for what I got from him.

Weakly I asked, “How many days does that still give you to work on me?”

“Only three, dear. We wouldn’t cut it that short only he’s making us so very rich.”

The pain of burning nipples and pussy lips prevented my complete attention to what was 
said but I got the most important fact-Jason wanted me bad enough to pay a lot of money for
me. I hoped the letter I had sent him would make up for his lose. And that it had arrived in 
time to prevent poor Nancy being whipped. After that reflection I reverted to being a mildly 
tortured girl chained tightly to a tree. The hours dragged by.

At dinner that night I had to take the two girls seriously. Once more, and in spite of Jason’s
offer, they urged me to accept slavery with them for eternity. I realized they meant it and was 
further forced to conclude they made the offer with a measure of affection. They liked me. I 
expect they would have called it love but what the compelled me to do for them each evening
was certainly not love as I knew it but simply a beastly sexual perversion I could not escape. I 
suppose had it not been for Jason on my horizon, had I simply been a captive girl, I might 
have embraced their offer simply to be out of constant pain. The girls made it quite clear that 
as their own pretty slavegirl, they would subject me to punishments only rarely unless I truly 
earned them. Disobedience or seeking to escape, for example. It was all very plausible.

That night I did not even rate the cage but was laid down against one of the sapling which
had held my wrists throughout the day, made to embrace it, and was then handcuffed. I could
stand, I could sit, I could lay down. But I could not go away. I did not even get the blanket for 
there was no way I could manage to cover myself. Many night insects fed upon my body that 
night.

I was standing up when the girls came for my release the following morning. Being 
handcuffed the way I was with my arms around the tree was infuriating beyond words.

You stand or sit but can do nothing. They unlocked one wrist, took if from the tree, but 
then locked it once more to leave me a handcuffed maiden. They then broke the joyous news 
that Jason had phone in the night to raise his offer so high that even the Scottish thrift of my 
two female owners had been overcome. His terms were my immediate release of me and my 
return to him that very day.

“The poor fellow needs a piece of tail in the worst way,” commented Jeanine.

“Either that or he wants to whip her arse,” chipped in Rosilyn, hopefully.

I simply did not care. I did not care about my hands joined in front as they were now. I ate 
breakfast in a daze of pure delight, a delight tempered by what next occurred. In their 
determination to extract from my female nakedness one last, ultimate suffering they had 
chosen a quite unique way of returning me to Jason Phillips.

I guess if they had tarred and feathered me and made me crawl on hands and feet to the 
man I now desired above all else, I would have been glad to do so. But this different. It was a 
square sort of crate of solid construction. It was opened by a hinged door and I was invited to 
step within. I did so doubtfully. My ankles were then strapped to either side, my knees 
beneath my chin, a leather band cinched my waist, and, while I could still move, I was invited 
to bend forward for the sealing of my lips. By this time I was in no condition to protest so I 
obeyed to the point of opening my mouth for the hated rubber wad and then clenching my 
lips for them to be buckled tight beneath the band. This done, another strap encircled my 
neck and my hands taken to each side of my head as distant as the crate allowed and there 
strapped tight as was the rest of me. I could not move. I could not make a worthwhile sound. 
Each of the girls now kissed me gently and affectionately as though suffering loss. Then then 
closed the lid and I heard the snapping of a padlock. The inside was not completely dark for 
the crate had holes drilled in the side, not enough to really see anything out of but enough to 
breath out of. I sat there, encased in wood and beset by doubts, only a short time before I 
heard a vehicle. The container and I were picked and after that there was only the hum of 
wheels on the highway.

It was the damndest sensation. I knew I was being transported but to where? For all I knew
I might find myself in Castle MacNish! It seemed too good to be true that at this journey’s end
I would find myself in the arms of Jason Phillips. The hum continued.

I could not move, I could not utter sound. The crate had been wonderfully designed for 
the transportation of a naked girl. Within it she had no chance, no chance at all. I knew that all
around me people were free and going about their daily affairs, unaware of a naked girl 
strapped tight in a crate only a few feet aware.

All things end. In the cessation of road noises and the motor’s hum I sat in my crate in a 
terrible expectancy. I hoped for one mercy but feared it would not be there. My crate and I 
were carried for what seemed quite a long way then dumped upon a floor and left in silence.

After what seemed like ages I heard a key in a lock. The door was opened to reveal my 
nudity and Jason’s anxious face. When I was finally freed I was so cramped by immobility he 
had to help me from my small prison. But soon I was in his arms, my own arms, gloriously free,
went around his automatically. For long moments we stood tight clasp together in a mutual 
thankfulness. I could find no words for my emotions but Jason had words enough.

“Did those two bitches hurt you?” he demanded.

“Not more than I could bear.”

“I want you, Clair, I want you so damned bad.”

“And I want you. Oh, Jason, thank you for paying my ransom, thank you for taking me 
back. I was so scared.”

“It’s over now, sweetheart. No one else is going to kidnap you. And the amount those two 
bitches got wasn’t half as much as they think. I gather they belong to the underprivileged.”

“I don’t know about that but I do know they love hurting girls who can’t fight back.” I 
paused for thought. “Jason, darling, do you realize they asked me to be their slavegirl for the 
rest of my life? They promised not to whip me too often and not to hurt me much. Can you 
believe!”

We did those things men and women do when they are hungry for each other and who 
have experienced travail. I scarcely noticed when, at the end of it, Jason clipped my hands into
handcuffs before taking me to bed. Long, long afterwards, as I lay beside his bare body, I 
suddenly remembered.

“Darling, what happened to Nancy?”

“Don’t worry. The poor child didn’t get the flogging she was so scared about. When you 
didn’t come back I figured there was something wrong. Then your letter came the next day, or
should I say Ginevera’s letter, and that excused her from further imprisonment. I kissed her 
and let her go.”

I turned to kiss him and hold him tight as a girl may hold a man when her hands are 
chained. I was not yet seeing the handcuffs as having any significance. I was too absorbed in 
the heat of lovemaking with the man I loved. I was content to listen

“I want you to phone Castle MacNish, things have happened there. Oh, by the way, I got a 
call from your Uncle Angus. He was a bit put out and insisted I should give you a good 
thrashing should you ever return. And then chain you in a dungeon for a month.”

I have to admit to shame in the absorption Jason and I found in each other and in the act 
of sex. We reveled in each other like a couple of mink. We couldn’t seem to get enough.

At least I couldn’t.

“Were you suppose to be whipped for some reason or another, darling?” he asked. But 
instead of damping my spirits, I found the idea exciting and highly erotic. I had quite 
forgotten whether I had been due for a whipping or not, and simply did not care. I said 
bravely, “I expect I ought to be whipped, Jason. I don’t know why but I’m sure I deserve it.

Please whip me.”

Even to stand naked with my hands strapped tight above my head was joy. Anything 
relating to Jason was happiness! I was soon to be whipped but knew my screams would be for
him alone, and that my lord and master would be without mercy. I totally failed to realize my 
eligibility for release, Jason had the letter. But a man marries a slavegirl not by rings and vows,
but rather by marking her skin. I was to be whipped and I wished to be whipped, it was that 
simple.

Over a cup of coffee we discussed how I should receive the marks upon my skin. Brashly I 
assured him I would stand still infliction without a single bond beyond the one now encircling 
my wrists. I really believe this possible, I was so dedicated to this man. But Jason laughed at 
my innocence. In the end we agreed to the conventional whipping post with my hands 
strapped above my head and my body naked. The whipping post is extremely practical.

I glowed and vibrated against a man I now intended to marry. Hand in hand we walked to 
where the whipping post awaited me with its stark promise of agony. But before I was 
strapped to it Jason insisted I phone Castle MacNish.

It was a male command and I obeyed it without question. Imagine my surprise when it was
Harry’s voice at the other end of the line. He sounded happy. When I got Ginevera I got the 
story. Alpha was now unconcerned with any of us. Ginevera was bubbling over with elation 
and I gathered that the man who stood beside me now had found a profit in that letter which 
I had mailed to Alpha’s detriment. Uncle Angus was decidedly miffed and insisted she be 
soundly whipped, a penalty still in her future. But she and Harry Lord were going home to 
Tintagel and the nymphet inquired if I would be there to give them welcome. They were to be 
married almost immediately. I put down the receiver with a great thankfulness. “Okay, 
sweetheart?” Jason asked.

I held up bound hands to clasp them over Jason’s head and showed him how okay 
everything truly was.

After a while I remembered unfinished business. “You still have to whip me, darling. Come 
on, let’s get on with it.”

I’ll admit my euphoria dampened a bit at the sight of the awful post waiting with its straps 
but I held my arms and my wrists were duly secured in leather. With his usual casualness Jason
suggested, “I’ve been thinking in terms of twenty across your bottom with the cane and 
twenty on your back with the whip. What you think, sweetheart?”

I told him that twenty on each of those portions of myself would be wonderful.

No one is going to believe me if I say that I didn’t feel each stroke. Of course I felt each 
one and knew agony indescribable. By the time my bottom was roasted by the cane I was off 
somewhere in a world reserved for love-sick maidens who must, for one reason or another, be
whipped by the one they love. It is a gorgeous thing nature provides for female flesh which 
much prove itself beneath cane and thong. When Jason had disposed of my glowing seat, he 
changed over to the whip and once more I transported myself into that strange euphoria by 
which the strokes of the whip become the kisses of the one you love. I was weak and 
breathless when it was all done but I was very happy.

I knelt. I was not anxious to place my scorched seat upon a chair. All I was concerned with 
was the man who gazed upon me now.

“Have you forgotten, sweetheart, that you are now a free girl, no one has to keep you 
prisoner? You can go back to Tintagel.” His voice was toneless.

“Jason, don’t be silly. I’m a slave and you know it. I can’t go anywhere, not unless you tell 
me to.”

“What if I tell you to go back to Tintagel?”

“Sorry, I refuse. If that means you have to whip me again, then do it.”

Crazy, wasn’t it! But I can only tell you that’s the way it was. I knelt on the rug at my 
master’s feet and looked up at him in pure adoration. Thus had Clair Steward embraced her 
slavery.

He knew that I would always be his slave.

“I will keep you chained and punish you as I see fit,” was his simple statement.

“Yes, Master. That’s the way it should be.”


The End
