HIT-193 The Magic Prison
By F.E. Campbell


CHAPTER ONE - Chained in Eden

I remembered the party, that’s where it must have happened. I don’t drink but at these 
affairs you have to have a cocktail or two, and it was probably the second of these, handed to 
me by someone I don’t recall, that contained the drug. It must have been a drug, unless I died 
and this is some other place. Which, when I look around, doesn’t seem too crazy an 
explanation. It isn’t the way I pictured Heaven, but there is a beautiful serenity about the 
sunrise. And the lovely oak trees and lush grass. Perhaps it is California. But nothing, 
absolutely nothing, explains my handcuffed wrists.

I must have slept a long, long time and who ever brought me here made sure I was 
comfortable on a bed of leaves. A gentle awakening in an enchanted world of slopes and hills 
with just enough widely spaced trees to add character. The first thing I did was look at my 
watch. That’s when I discovered I was handcuffed. And there was no watch, it had been taken 
from me, along with everything else. I was stark naked!

I was not as alarmed as I should have been. Harm comes from humans, and I was a 
twenty-seven year old young woman in a lovely vacant world. But the next thing I saw was a 
reminder of someone’s thoughtfulness on my behave. It was a picnic hamper, which, when 
opened, revealed food and fruit and a bottle of wine.

The wine was a kindly gesture I did not need as I quickly found a tiny spring within a few 
feet of where I awoke. The spring created a small pool which overflowed and trickled away 
down the hill without haste. I could eat and drink and bath. And, after all, what more could a 
naked girl desire.

A rational explanation would no doubt come in time. But for the moment I could well 
believe pixies left the hamper and mischievous wood nymphs had taken my clothes and were 
watching from behind the trees. But if they were there I felt no menace, only tremendous 
curiosity which offset the embarrassment of walking alone across a million acres totally naked.
And with my hands joined in solid chrome. I’ll admit the handcuffs bothered me a bit and I 
twisted against them, more because I felt I had to than in any expectation of a freedom I knew
was not for me.

Actually the handcuffs bothered me scarcely at all. Quite possibly in this strange dimension
of time and space every nice girl wore them.

I had no sense of being watched as I walked across the grass and climbed the gentle slope
of the nearest hill. When I reached the summit I found no more than other hills, trees and 
grass. If there was an Adam in my Eden, he most certainly was not in evidence. I most happily 
would have settled for the comfort of another girl. I needed someone to talk to. That would 
have been nice. As it was, I had the feeling I was the only girl alive on a beautiful planet from 
which all others had fled.

But the picnic basket refuted whimsy and resolutely I chose a direction and set out in a 
determination to find some answers.

Being handcuffed leaves a girl in the irritating situation of not knowing what to do with 
her hands. When you walk they swing easily at your side. But when closely joined together by 
metal the become ridiculously embarrassing with a tendency to position themselves as 
though you’re seeking to cover you pubic hair. Or, should you seek to raise them up between 
your breasts, they have seem to be praying. I compromised by positioning them at the level of
my navel as I determinedly strode forward in what I hoped was a straight line to somewhere.

I’m sure it was an hour before I saw the road and I wondered why I wasn’t happier over 
the discovery. Instead of quickening my pace, I actually slowed down and began to think of 
consequences. Unless I was the victim of a practical joke, I was some sort of prisoner with a 
vast prison over which to rove. The highway I could now see clearly was one of its boundaries, 
a barrier which suddenly loomed as solid as a wall as I envisioned the screech of tires and 
crunch of fenders if I intruded my nakedness upon the speeding cars.

There would be questions and embarrassment and inevitably the police. I suddenly 
stopped dead.

I simply couldn’t go on but stood in silence to seek decision. I knew for sure that perhaps 
tomorrow I would brave the traffic but not today. I turned to retrace my steps.

Eden must have had its boundaries and the speeding cars were mine. But there had to be 
other, and these J knew I had to see.

I refused to hurry. Some instinct told me I was privileged to be unique. Somewhere I knew 
there was an eagle eye, or a big brother, or a lord of the Manor. As I might as well enjoy his 
benefits before being plucked from this lovely prison, which, for all I knew, could go on for 
miles and miles. It was probably one of the old Spanish grants which linger here and there in 
Southern California. And being queen of all I could behold was an exhilaration to speed my 
pulse yet slow my steps as I enjoyed ever moment of my return. When I got back to the 
beginning, I faced a shock.

It was one of those funny vehicles which seem all wheels, a dune buggy or something of 
the sort. Waiting patiently like a tethered horse while its owner sat beside the pool in a sort of 
patient contentment awaiting my approach. Her hair was tawny gold as opposed to my own 
raven tresses. She was beautiful, her suntan matched her hair, and wore a red body stocking 
which covered everything modestly enough while at the same time revealing every curve and 
contour of the female.

“Hello, Trinity Evans,” was her greeting, with a faintly mocking tone to her lovely voice.

“My name is Jiminy.”

I was flooded with relief. And, in keeping with the place itself, there was no menace in the 
girl or the vehicle she drove. Stupidly I asked, “How did you know my name?”

“I know a lot about you, Trinity. You were sensible not to risk the traffic, you would only 
have gotten into trouble.”

She obviously knew everything I had done. Eagerly I asked why I was naked, and why I was
handcuffed.

“You’re naked because you’re beautiful. And you’re handcuffed because you’re owned.

Handcuffs are a wonderful reminder of that.”

“But I don’t want to be naked and I don’t want these things on my wrists. Am I some sort 
of prisoner?”

“If you’re a prisoner, you’ve got the biggest prison in the world to run around in.” The 
tinge of mockery was still behind the smile. “What you like and what you don’t like doesn’t 
count any more. Welcome to Stone.”

I echoed the word. It had a grim sound. “Is that what this place is called?” I asked. “Just 
‘Stone’?”

“That’s right. It’s really most appropriate. You’ll see why when you discover the big house.

You’ll run into it the same way you ran into the road today.” Jiminy’s voice became more 
warmly human. “You’d best not knock at the door if you wish to continue this freedom.”

Her eyes twinkled at some secret knowledge. “You’re bound to knock at the door sooner 
or later, of course, simply out of curiosity. And maybe loneliness. I’ll bring you a fresh picnic 
basket every day. And I’ll stay and talk a while. But that still leaves you alone. You seem to be 
handling it pretty good.”

“Please, why can’t I have some covering?”

“No one at Stone wants you to cover that lovely nakedness. You’ll soon enjoy running 
around with nothing on. Stop complaining.”

“And these?” I held up my joined hands. “They don’t stop me doing much. I don’t see 
much sense in making me wear them.”

“I could put them behind your back, if that would help.”

I clinked the shinning steel irritably. “So, all right, I have to wear them. And I have to be as 
naked as Eve. We’ve got those two things settled so now tell me why I’m here and what 
happens to me.” I laughed nervously.

“I don’t see why I can’t keep on walking and eventually find something to wear and 
someone to get these things off my wrists. This place called Stone surely can’t go on forever.”

“Find out for yourself, Trinity. Try and look at this whole thing as a lovely game.” Jiminy 
laughed at my features. “You don’t know how lucky you are. Surely this place has to be better 
than that office in which you used to spend your days.”

“No, it isn’t. I’m frightened.” I rattled the handcuffs for her to see. “How can you expect me
not to be frightened. I’ve never been so bare and so exposed in my whole life.” I snorted.

“Look, if you think being the way I am is so wonderful, why don’t you stay with me? Why 
aren’t you in the same fix I am? Don’t just sit there looking pretty and superior. Can’t you 
understand what I’m feeling?”

For answer Jiminy got to her feet, and took me in her arms with a tenderness infinitely 
comforting even though it was an embrace I could not return. We stood together in a silence 
commune quite a long time, until she patted my bottom and broke away to stand and look 
me up and down as though first noticing I was a girl. “You’re potent stuff, Trinity,”

she whispered. “You’re giving off wonderful vibes and we’re going to be good friends, 
even if I do have to be your jailer. That’s your lesson for this first day and I’m leaving you a 
picnic basket for tonight and tomorrow. Don’t worry, darling, where ever you may be 
tomorrow, I’ll find you.”

As I stood to watch Jiminy and her puttering vehicle disappear around the hill, I felt more 
lonely than ever. Jiminy was vivid and alive, and had done nothing to dispel the fantasies I 
created around my constrained nakedness. I rolled the name she had given me over and over 
no my tongue. “Stone” had a secretive sound to leave me envisioning granite walls and 
battlements. Within it was, presumably, someone to whom I owned my strange captivity. I 
knew I was being played with or conditioned, or perhaps the omnipotent being was just 
curious as to what I would do or where I would stray. I shrugged and, despite good intentions,
opened the bottle of wine.

Using a bit of stick, I created a sundial and tried to compute the time. Not that it mattered 
much, I was in a land without time, without anything at all except ME. Jiminy’s visit had failed 
to spur me into plans, even if I’d had the chance. I slept on my bed of leaves and dreamed of 
the conventional knight in shinning armor who would carry me, still naked and handcuffed, to 
a lovely old castle called Stone.

The next morning I explored, but did so with a feverish haste to insure being ready for 
Jiminy when she came. I don’t know how far I penetrated in a single direction because I made 
all sorts of side trips to examine trees and hills and draws. Jiminy’s visit was pretty much a 
repetition of the day before and it was not until the third day she delivered her next surprised.
We had talked a long time before she said, with deceptive casualness, “Step this way, darling, 
and let me have your hands.”

“You’re going to set them free?”

“Not exactly, dear.” Jiminy’s eyes sought mine. “When I’ve unlocked one cuff you’ll be in a 
position to fight me, should you wish. But please don’t. I can get the best of you, and if you 
make me prove it, I’ll also have to punish you….”

“Punish me!”

“That’ right, the rules would compel me to whip you.” I had gotten to my feet, and there 
we stood, two girls in quiet conversation. But my mind was racing furiously as I computed 
possibilities. For a couple of moments I was certain I would fight but Jiminy’s eyes were 
compelling and I believed she could, indeed, get the best of me. She was probably and expert 
of some kind. But even if I won, what then? I would still be on square one. And I would have 
lost a friend. I shrugged and held out my steel-clad wrists.

It was a very small key and when one hand came free, Jiminy said quietly, “Stretch if you 
wish, and then turn around.” I felt silly with one handcuff hanging from one wrists. I turned 
and stood erect in sulky shame while Jiminy gathered my passive arms and clicked the hungry 
handcuff jaws once more upon my wrist.

“You think you’re helpless,” she said easily, “but you’ll soon discover you can do all sorts of
things. Don’t be angry, it’s orders from above.”

I wanted to stand indignantly still and rebellious but almost immediately began to tug and
struggle at the handcuffs in the same manner as when they had first been locked on me.

Jiminy was right, I was almost helpless but not quite. I knew it was useless to ask questions,
but as I fought the steel I demanded, “What happens now?”

“Nothing happens, Trinity, dear. Just call it a lesson in helplessness.”

“I think it’s mean. Don’t you realize how vulnerable I feel?”

“I know the feeling. But you’ll get used to it. You’re going to have to get used to a great 
many things, darling. I’m so glad you didn’t fight and make a fuss. I would have hated 
whipping you.”

“I wouldn’t let you!”

“You would have had nothing to say about it, dear.

But it’s not a subject I want to talk about.” Jiminy grinned mischievously. “I have to leave 
you now but tomorrow you can tell me what a wonderful time you’ve had with your hands 
behind your back.”

She kissed me and was gone. I stood in solitary helplessness and thought how lonely this 
night was going to be. Spending the night with your hands joined in front is different from 
spending all those lonely, dark hours with your arms behind your back and knowing you are 
powerless to free yourself. But I’ll have to admit to a strange, secret little thrill blossoming into
life along my spine. I was more than ever curious.

If the wilderness of Stone had held more evidence of life, I’d have been horrified of this 
fresh loss of my hands. But once more the serenity of the place worked its magic as I stood 
wondering about how I’d manage to do this or that. Or in fact, anything at all with my hands 
the way they were. I discovered I could raise them up to either side to get a good look but I 
would eat my meals dog fashion and lay upon my tummy and breasts to drink from the little 
pool. I shrugged and went for an angry little walk without purpose or direction. I had not 
inkling of the disaster awaiting in the day to come. That light I slept with my breasts digging 
into the leaves because it was too uncomfortable to try and sleep on my back.

The following morning I steadfastly walked steadily in a fresh direction and got a small 
comfort from discovering that hands behind a girl’s back were better for that purpose than 
hands in front where they seemed forever in the way. But I was conscious all the time of some 
sort of sexual excitation. Perhaps it arose from the inability to cover anything. My breasts and 
pubic hair were completely on display. But since there was no one to see, I soon ceased 
worrying about that.

This chance in my captivity surely meant something and I looked forward to Jiminy’s visit.

I saw the horse and rider when they were far distance and the spot on the landscape 
stopped me in my tracks. Even at the distance I was sure the rider was a male, and my first 
instinct was to turn and flee. But since I could not outrun a horse that would be silly.

And by some instinct I could not explain, I knew this intruder into my life was a man and 
headed specifically in my direction. In quick succession I abandoned the possibilities of hiding 
my nakedness while conversing with a stranger who might offer rescue. By the time the horse 
and its rider were a few hundred yards distant, I had no choice but to bit the bullet and let him
see me. By the time we came face to face I was shivering, blushing and emotionally 
disorganized.

It was the strangest of meetings with me standing in flushed defiance, and a most 
personable male sloughing in the saddle while his horse seemed pleased to doze. I got a sort 
of pool hall greeting, “Hi, sweetheart, anyone ever tell you, you’ve got lovely tits?”

I said the first things that came to mind, returning his hi, and adding in a rush, “I think I’ve 
been kidnapped. Will you please take me back where you came from?”

“You wouldn’t like it.” I turned and wiggled my hands to give him a view of the steel on my
wrists. I think it must have been instinct that I offered, “You knew that I was here. You came on
purpose.”

“So?” He seemed a man of few words. “I don’t usually run around naked like this. Please 
help me.”

“Tell me why I should.”

“Because you’re a man and you’re free. And because it would be easy for you to put me 
back in civilization.” I was almost panting.

“Sorry, sweetheart, no rescue. I like you the way you are.”

“Well, if that’s the way you feel about it….” Indignantly I turned back and started to walk 
away. Horse and rider were soon walking at my side while ever motion of my nudity were 
closely watched by male eyes. As though to put an end to the embarrassment, I stopped with 
feet apart and heaving breasts. “If you won’t help me, I wish you’d go away. I don’t appreciate 
being seen with nothing on.”

“You’ve nothing to worry about. Nicest figure I’ve ever seen. Nice boobs and twat.”

If I were blushing before, I must have turned scarlet now. “If you don’t stop making 
offensive remarks, I’ll lay flat on the ground so you won’t see a thing to be rude about.”

“Go ahead. I don’t mind. There’ll still be that pretty ass of yours up in the air.”

I could have wept in frustration. “So, all right, I’m helpless,” I admitted. “You can look all 
you want and there’s nothing I can do. If you won’t go away, you can at least tell me what you
want. Am I going to be raped?”

“Would you care to?” It was his first show of interest.

I forgot my blushes and heaving breasts in a wave of anger. “Drop dead!” I snapped and 
once more turned to walk away.

I got twenty paces before the noose encircled my neck and brought me to a frightened 
halt. I turned to discover a male hand holding the other end of the rope. I shook my head in 
rage but there was no getting rid of it. Defiantly I demanded, “You want something, what is 
it?”

“Just a quite chat. I’ll let you go when its over.” He led his horse and me to where a rock 
offered him a place to sit There was also a scrub oak to which he tethered his horse. And then,
with a grin, he tethered me to a branch. He then tightened the rope around my neck and 
rearranged my hair.

Sitting on his rock he smiled at my shame as I flushed with fury. “You may as well sit on the
grass, sweetheart. That rope on your neck is just to keep you from waltzing off again.

Let’s get to know each other.”

I made an awkward descent to sit upon the ground. If my handcuffs had been in front I 
could hugged my knees and hidden most of my sexual parts. As it was I ended up reclining on
one hip and one elbow, with my legs crossed and stretched out. My visitor watched the whole 
performance with an appreciative eye. “There ought to be a law which says all girl’s hands 
should be handcuffed the way yours are now. I know you’re not happy about it, but you’re 
coming up with some damned fine effects. Pity I’m not an artist”

His rope was a band of fire around my throat and I couldn’t refrain from tossing my head 
this way and that in motions of revolt even though I knew it gave added pleasure to my 
visitor. “I wish you’d tell me what you want, instead of staring at my body. Can’t you look me 
in the eye for a chance?”

“There’s a girl named Jiminy who comes to visit you now and then.” His voice was 
suddenly serious. “She is a nice kid. What’s she told you?”

“Nothing much. She brings me food and changes my handcuffs. She says there’s a big 
house somewhere called ‘Stone’. I haven’t found it yet and, from what Jiminy says, I would 
probably prefer not to. That’s all.”

“You’re bound to go to Stone sooner or later. But put it off as long as you can. Enjoy this 
wilderness and make the most of it.”

“You mean to make Stone sound like an ogre’s castle.”

“Maybe it is. Depends on your point of view.”

“You know the owner?”

“Oh, sure. But I can’t tell you about him, he likes his privacy.”

“I think you and Jiminy are deliberately provoking me by cloaking Stone in a mystery that 
probably isn’t even there. Someone’s been keeping me naked in a wilderness with my hands 
chained behind my back. But you wouldn’t like it.”

“You’re handling it fine, kid.”

“I’m not a kid, I’m twenty-seven. Look, am I being punished?”

“I suppose you could say that. But I wouldn’t complain if I were you. There’s a lot of things 
worse than a pair of handcuffs.”

His tone was that of a big brother consoling a girl down on her luck. His eye was still 
ranging up and down my bare skin but I no longer felt the bum of carnal interest. I knew I was
being assessed for some reason I was not yet to be told. Patiently I said, “So, okay, we can say 
I’m being punished. But haven’t I a right to know why?”

“Maybe punishment isn’t the right word. How about ‘being conditioned’?”

I kept a sulky silence which seemed to suit the man who’s rope was around my neck. He 
spoke lovingly of the hills and grassland which had so far held me prisoner. He also spoke of 
the house called Stone but in ways which told me nothing. It was pleasant to listen to his voice
and I realized how lonely I had become and how much I longed for the touch of human 
hands. Then he was ready to depart and lifted his noose from around my neck, while, at the 
same time, kissing my forehead. As I watched him ride away, I realized I did not know his 
name. By the time he was a speck in the distance, I was yearning for my little pool and bed of 
leaves.

The picnic basket was waiting. But while I could drink from the spring without too much 
trouble, I hated the thought of eating dog fashion. I took the basket to a small tree and laid 
out a row of sandwiches on a branch so that I could sort of eat them while kneeling down.

I hate to think how shockingly helpless Jiminy had made me with her cuffs. When finished 
eating, I sat on a log, looking at the now familiar view. I was very conscious of the steel circles 
on my wrists. Wistfully I remembered my horseman who was pretty much the male image 
every girl desires. I knew that if I must be raped, he would be my choice. I had to be curious 
about him for he had answered nothing. I longed for our next meeting. There was no doubt in
my mind he would come to visit me again. Happily in the sunlight I wove about him girlish 
dreams and knew myself lonely beyond words.

I was increasingly aware of being under the influence of this enforced solitude in which I 
had nothing else to do but weave fanciful dreams. The lovely wilderness had made me a little 
fey, possessing me to a point where I was no longer thinking of escape but guiltily things of 
other things. I was vexed with myself for having proved too chicken to take my chances with 
the traffic on the road. Of course, that was something I could still do. I nursed my assurance, 
but not with comfort.

I knew I was using the handcuff behind my back to excuse my compliance with captivity, 
asking myself what I would have done had my hands been free. But I could think of nothing 
the handcuffs could truly stop me from doing. Jiminy had told me they were symbolic. But 
whimsy was once again at work and fear was tempered by excited curiosity.

The sum total of these reflections told me I was held in limbo by a spell from which I could
not escape.

It’s funny how you think yourself into things, but my conscious was suddenly hard at work 
reproving me for spinelessness and not at least trying for freedom. It explained that the 
embarrassment of exposure on the highway would be temporary. Idly I toyed with this idea 
very much like a sleeper thinking all sorts of reasons for not getting out of a warm bed.

Then, quite suddenly, I was on my feet and striding towards the distant highway.

It was twilight when I started the considerable walk and by the time I saw the occasional 
headlight of a car, it was as dark as the lovely wilderness would ever be. I dared not think of 
the consequences or the possibility I would soon be walking back to my little spring and bed 
of leaves. I was breathless as I crossed the little ditch and climbed up to the shoulder of the 
asphalt. Then, as I stood to await the next car, I felt ten times naked and was tugging 
frantically at my ironed wrists. When the first set of headlights focused on me, my heart was 
pounding. But the car only briefly paused before speeding on its way like a frightened rabbit. I
actually heaved a sigh of relief but held my ground. Surely someone had to stop!

It was the forth car which started to slow down. From the beginning there was no doubt 
they were going to stop and it took every bit of my courage to stand there and face them.

It happened very quickly. The car was almost touching me when it stopped. The door 
opened and a dark figure stepped out onto the road. Before I could complete my plea for 
help, he had put an arm around my bare shoulders and pressed something to my face.

There was a pungent order followed by oblivion.

When I woke up the sun was high. I was nestled into my bed of leaves beside the tiny 
spring, and my hands were still tight fastened behind my back. Jiminy stood looking down at 
me in amused reproof. I sat up unsteadily.

“I hope you feel ashamed,” said Jiminy. “It was not a shame I felt but a great surge of joy.

I had not approached that highway with any great optimism and to find myself back at 
square one in the care of this laughing beauty, was a relief I didn’t even try to hide. I made the
obvious remark, “What happened?”

“You tried to escape, darling.”

“Then how did I get back here?”

“That doesn’t matter.” Jiminy disposed of my nocturnal adventure with an airy wave of her 
hand. “Surely you understand trying to escape is an absolute no-no.”

I let that pass. “Someone drugged me or something.” I was trying hard to recall. “But I 
don’t know who they were or why they brought me back here.” I gazed up at my lovely jailer 
with thankfulness. “But, gosh, Jiminy, I’m so glad to see you again. I was so terribly frightened 
up on that road.”

“And so you should be, darling,” Jiminy said severely. “Look, I’m having breakfast with you.
And I’m going to give you back your hands. But there is one small precaution. Let me have 
your pretty feet.”

I looked at the new pair of handcuffs in distaste but knew Jiminy could get the best of me 
if I tried to run. I stuck my feet out and watched them locked together. At the moment I didn’t
much care and willingly offered my wrists for the handcuffs to be taken off. I stretched my 
arms, it felt very good. And I thanked this beautiful woman.

I fingered the shinning circles on my ankles and I knew they would probably hurt if I stood 
up. I crawled to the little spring where I washed my face and drank. Jiminy did not follow but 
let me take my time. When I returned to be as close to her as I could get, she had the picnic 
basket open and the container of hot coffee.

“You don’t deserve this, darling,” she said as she poured the first cup. “But I’m sure you felt
you had to make that escape attempt. Let’s forget it for the moment and eat these nice things
I’ve brought alone. You look delightful with your ankles joined.”

“You’re not leaving them on me permanently, are you?” I asked anxiously between sips.

“It would serve you right, but, no, that’s not the plan. Come on and eat your breakfast.”

I enjoyed the freedom of my hands. I knew Jiminy would tell me nothing so we babbled 
away at girl talk while the breakfast disappeared. As we lingered over the last cup of coffee, 
Jiminy said dreamily, “There is a penalty, you know, for trying to escape, dear.

Pretty little girls can’t be allowed to seek their freedom without paying for their fun.” She 
grinned at my blank stare. “Which shall it be, darling, you have a choice. I can use a riding crop
across your lovely bottom, or you can spend the day tied to a tree. Take your time.”

“You’re joking, of course!” I couldn’t believe what I just heard.

“I’m not joking and you know I’m not joking.” We stared as if seeing each other for the first
time.

Jiminy’s eyes were smoldering in anticipation as to how I would react. My own features 
probably mirrored the alarm running up and down my spine. “I don’t want to be whipped,” I 
said woodenly. “You needn’t think I’ll stand still for something so horrible. Jiminy, tell me 
you’re joking.”

“Then how about the tree?”

“I don’t want that either. Please, you’re frightening me.” Cuffed ankles now seemed more 
deadly than chained wrists.

“You’ve got a bit of an ordeal ahead,” Jiminy said bluntly, “so why don’t you decide which 
of the two corrections you prefer?”

“Corrections!”

“A polite word for punishment, darling.” I was still hoping it was a joke. I knew I could not 
run away with my ankles chained, but such a decision is impossible for a girl to make.

Sulkily, I inquired, “Won’t you forgive me or something so we can forget about those nasty
ideas. I don’t want either of them.”

“Have you ever been whipped, Trinity?”

“Of course not, don’t be silly!”

“Or tied to a tree?”

“Not that, either. Oh, Jiminy, stop getting me all worked up.”

“Well, if you can’t decide, I’ll have to decide for you. Since this is your first offense, I’ll tie 
you to a tree instead of giving you the whipping you deserve.” She looked around and 
pointed at a slender trunk. “That one will do. Walk on over and stand with your back against 
it.”

“I don’t want to.” Jiminy shrugged and went to her little buggy with the big wheels. She 
returned with a handful of ropes and, more frighteningly, a long, thin crop. It made the most 
alarming noise when she swished it back and forth. Any notion of resistance vanished as I 
obediently turned and did my hoping walk to the waiting tree. There I pulled myself up to 
stand as I was told. My standing on my handcuffed ankles made my ankles increase in size 
and that cut the steel into my skin. “The handcuffs hurt when I stand up,” I exclaimed. “Jiminy, 
they hurt too damned much. I can’t stand it.”

“Don’t be a sissy. When I’ve tied your hands behind the trunk, I’ll unlock the handcuffs. It 
won’t hurt you to suffer a bit for that short of a time.” Purposefully she picked up her jumble 
of ropes. “Get with it, darling, I can’t waste all day.

I sniffed and reached back to clutch the trunk while viewing with dismay the reappearance 
of my handcuffs. “It’s not fair,” I objected. “You said you were going to tie me to the tree, not 
handcuff me, so I don’t have a hope in the world of getting loose.”

“You won’t have a hope in the world of getting loose anyway, dear. But if that’s the way 
you want it, get your arms back here and cross your wrists.”

My hurting ankles canceled out notions of resistance. I stood there breathing heavily and 
with my breasts protruding while Jiminy wound thin rope around my wrists, taking her time to
make neat bands of bondage which she constantly drew tight and cinched, back and forth 
and between. I was beginning to believe her statement about not getting loose even from the
rope. I said no word but simply stood there in quiet submission as the strangest of feelings 
now possessed my body. I had formed a fondness for Jiminy and now, as her ropes cinched 
my wrists, I felt an equally strange love for the girl whose prisoner I might forever be. With my 
hands now secured, she knelt and freed my ankles, then dangled the shinning steel before my 
eyes to ask gaily, “Aren’t they lovely? And they didn’t hurt very long, did they? I hope you 
enjoyed wearing them these last days and night.”

“They didn’t hurt until you put them on my ankles,” I admitted, and, with a touch of 
humor, added, “I suppose I didn’t know when I was well off. Is this the way you’re going to 
make me stand?”

“More or less. But don’t think that I’ve really started to tie you yet. I’ve taken care of your 
hands but think of all the rest of you simply crying to be bound. I’ll tie your tummy next to 
sort of hold you in place.”

It showed how little I knew about being tied. Jiminy’s last remark had been right over my 
head and as she passed thicker around and around my middle to finally pull them tight and 
cinch me back against the trunk, I simply grunted. It was not until my knees were treated the 
same, and then my ankles, that the full possibilities of tying a naked girl to a tree became 
really evident. But by that time it was far to late to complain or once more ask forgiveness as 
my companion changed her attention to cording back my shoulders and compressing strands
into my flesh above and below my breasts. Jiminy took a lot of trouble with my breasts 
because she said it would be ashamed to spoil a pretty scene by distorting their contours. She 
assured me that they were the loveliest breasts she’d ever seen. But all I knew was that every 
time I drew a breath it hurt. I was soon wondering if I should not have chosen that outrageous
riding crop instead.

by the time Jiminy was through I must have been a pretty package, indeed. I could move 
fingers and toes but that was all. The rest of my nakedness was as much a part of the tree as 
was the bark. I wanted to cry, not because of the hurt and indignity, but because I was fearful 
Jiminy was truly angry. But in this I was instantly reassured because standing to judge her 
work, she impulsively put her hands upon my roped shoulders and kissed me avidly before 
playfully pinching my helpless nipples. She gathered up her odds and ends.

“That’s it, Trinity, my pet. I’ll leave you to reflect on your lost freedom and make good 
resolves about never trying to escape again. I’ll be back to untie you at the proper time.”

I watched her drive away, the big tires of her vehicle bobbing and jumping while taking 
everything in their stride. She was soon out of sight and I was a naked girl all alone, tied so 
tightly to a tree I could not move, and beginning to realize this seemingly childish adventure 
of being tied to a tree might soon become a punishment, indeed. The cords and rope bit at 
me everywhere to expose my private places in a greater vulnerability than I cared to think 
about. I tried to twist and turn and work free a bit of slack but was firmly held fast. After a 
while I didn’t try anymore.

It was another lovely day in the enchanted garden and I was soon longing for the freedom
previously enjoyed, handcuffs, either front or back, now seemed a mere trifle compared to the
impossible helplessness from this rope. Jiminy’s handiwork told me in no uncertain way that 
Miss Trinity Evans was going nowhere.

Serenity crept upon me like a living presence. The sun and the scene at that moment 
seemed to give me everything a girl might ask. That I was tied to a tree and had no choice in 
the matter seemed of little concern. From a sense of duty I once more fought the cords 
around my wrists until they began to hurt too much. I looked down at my protruding breasts 
and was proud of Jiminy’s praise. I was too tightly tied to look down at the rest of me but 
wished I could. Nothing was hurting too badly yet, and I was that way a couple of hour before 
I realized I had a companion in the form of pain. The strictures framing my breasts burned 
insistently. And since I knew I would have to stand like this a long time, I bitterly regretted my 
adventure on the road. Being tied to this tree was someone’s way of telling me I had to be 
obedient.

I didn’t much like the idea but the magic of this place made my anger less than it would 
have been back when I had freedom. Inconsistently I drifted into sleep, the ropes of my 
bindings holding me upright. Jiminy was clever with rope.

I slept a long time, waking intermittently to rediscover my bondage on the tree, and to be 
sleepily aware of an all pervading comfort in the clutch of rope. I could have cared less and 
drifted back to slumber. Eventually a foreign sound opened my eyes to behold a pair of horses
hooves with the rest of the horse attached. Widening my gaze, I beheld my visitor of the day 
before and heard his male chuckle.

“Bets me how you can sleep tied up that away,” he said in an interested tone. “You must 
have been a really bad girl to get yourself into such a fix. But whoever tied you up made you 
more beautiful than ever.”

“I went to sleep because I was bored just standing here,” I told him testily. “Please untie 
me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because you’re a man and I’m a female in distress. I suppose you know all about 
chivalry?”

“I’ve heard of it. But it doesn’t apply in your case, you’re somebody’s prisoner and who I 
am to interfere?”

The sarcasm may have been faint but it was there. I started to hurt again. He was looking 
at my naked body, which the ropes emphasized for his pleasure. And the blush which I could 
not stop added to my helpless feeling of being a slavegirl put upon the block for auction. I 
mean, the damned guy didn’t miss a single bit of me.

“You must know ever curve of my body by heart by now,” I said, trying hard to be polite 
and not make him hostile. Even naked and bound as I was, I was so damned glad to see the 
fellow and have someone to talk to. “I would be grateful if you would untie me,” I repeated. “I 
wouldn’t run away. We could talk and get to know each other. You seem so distant up there 
on that horse.”

“Lady, I’m a nice guy, I don’t interfere with other peoples’ fun. As far as I’m concerned 
you’ll stay tied just the way you are.”

He dismounted his horse, tethered the animal, then sat contentedly upon a log to watch 
me. His tone was that of sweet reason, Gee, sweetheart, how am I to know what trouble I’d 
cause if I did untie you? You must have done something to make someone fix you like that.”

“I just tried to go home. Is that so bad?”

“I think there’s more to it than that, girl. Talking to you yesterday and today, I get the 
feeling you ain’t all that unhappy here. Supposing whoever fixed you to that tree had taken a 
whip and marked you up, you would have had something to beef about, i Seems to me you’re
getting kindly treatment.”

“I was offered the whip as an alternative to being tied like this.”

“Were you, now! Looks to me like you’re in real good hands. What would you do if I 
turned you loose?”

“Since you’re refusing to set me free, I don’t see that it matters. I’d have to go in search of 
something to cover myself. And someone to tell me the way home. Can’t you understand this 
lovely wilderness is a sort of prison for a girl without clothes? I’ve never felt so frustrated in my
life since someone brought me here.”

“Do you know who that was?”

“No, I don’t. And that doesn’t make it any easier.

Look, please untie me and let me rest a while. Then when you’re ready to go, I’ll let you tie 
me up just the way I am now.” I was pouring my heart into ever word.

“Wouldn’t be possible. She’d know the ropes have been tampered with. Be honest now, 
you haven’t been unhappy here, have you?”

“I suppose not,” I admitted unwillingly. “I can’t understand it but there is a sort of magic at 
work her. First it was being naked, and then the handcuffs, and now being tied like this.

I’m not enthused about it but I’m not hysterical, either.”

Silently we stared, with me cringing and blushing. I don’t see how a girl can ever get 
accustomed to being naked and bound while amused male eyes rove freely up and down 
everything she has. It hurt too much to even try and move, so I stood there and blushed until 
the man on the log said easily, “You’re Trinity Evans, aren’t you? And you might as well call me 
Jim. Incidentally, the guy who’s arranged your stay out here is Adrian Rankin.

That give you any clues?”

“No, should it?”

“He’s pretty well know as a wheeler-dealer. He’s up there with the richest men in the 
world. Seems as though he liked you.”

“All I’ve seen is a pretty girl named Jiminy.”

“She’s cute kid. Be thankful it’s not someone else. I take it she makes you tow the line?”

“She keeps me helpless, if that’s what you mean.”

“I just dropped by to say hello. I’ll be on my way.”

He retrieved his horse and mounted to look down at me and add, “I’m glad you’re 
enjoying yourself and getting adjusted. Look, girlie, don’t sell Stone short. You haven’t begun 
to explore its possibilities.”

“How can I when I’m tied to a tree!”

“That’s today, and there’s always tomorrow. Be seeing you, sweetheart.”

“I wish you’d stay and talk to me.”

“Sorry, nothing to say. But I’ll be back.” Once more I watched him go, this time heading in 
a different direction. I was choking with things unsaid, and my blush was taking its own sweet 
time to disappear. In frustration I tugged and heaved but all I got out of it was pain.

Hopelessly I stood and waited for my knight in shinning armor, but he did not come.

It was twilight before Jiminy came, and by that time I was a most unhappy girl. The steady 
attrition of the ropes had weakened my flesh and spirit to reduce me to a listless captive 
whose only animation was the thankfulness in her voice. “Jiminy, oh, Jiminy!”

“I expect I should have whipped you, darling,” Jiminy said by way of greeting. “I suspect 
you had a bad day. But your correction is over now, I’ll soon have you loose.”

She went to work at the tree and I got fresh punishment as the cords were peeled out of 
the skin they had held so tight all day long. I made unhappy sounds but did not complain.

When my hands were free, I could do nothing with them, they were so numb. Jiminy had 
no trouble clicking the handcuffs back upon my wrists to leave me with joined hands in front.

I had forgotten how many times I said thank you as the torture continued with the peeling
away of the rest of the ropes. When I was finally free, I sank down to the grass in a great 
thankfulness then crawled to the spring to drink. When I stood up, I exclaimed over the rope 
weals deeply marking my skin. The rope burns were almost like the strictures of the cords.

“They’re absolutely wonderful, darling.” Jiminy knew my distress. “Don’t worry about them,
they’ll fade soon enough. Enjoy them while you can. I’ve brought a picnic basket. Come 
along.”

I had intended to say some damned sharp things to Jiminy, but my day of punishment 
knocked the stuffing out of me. And when she gave me the cup of hot coffee I felt only a 
return of affection for this beautiful creature who was my jailer. The best I could manage was, 
“Thank you for untying me, Jiminy. What happens now?”

“You go back to square one, darling. Enjoy your lovely garden. And, if you’ve got the 
courage to explore it, you’ll discover there’s more to it than you think. Try these sandwiches, I 
made them myself.”

“Jiminy, today was awful.”

“Then avoid another one like it, dear. There’s really no need to get yourself punished. And 
if you insist on being silly, then next time you’d enjoy me whipping your bottom instead….”

“There won’t be any next time. Oh, Jiminy, I’m so lost and confused. And that man was 
here again today. He says his name is Jim. And he says I was put her because of someone 
named Adrian Rankin who has some sort of interest in me.”

“Well, if that’s what he said, you might as well believe him. That fellow Jim is quite a 
character. He was right, you know, you haven’t begun to explore your great, big beautiful 
prison.”

Suddenly I knew happiness. My ordeal of the day was fading from my memory. I became 
more and more involved in girl talk, stimulated by coffee. It was wonderful to talk to this 
lovely girl. But I noted that Jiminy was cautious and told me little I did not already know. I 
dreaded her going but did not complain. Even though I was once more handcuffed, I was, to 
all intents and purposes, free. And when my companion drove away into the gathering 
darkness, I sank thankfully to my bed of leaves and went instantly to sleep.

I dreamed of Jim.





CHAPTER TWO - Chains and Slavery


The following morning I knew for sure what I had to do. I had explored two directions and, 
refusing to think of consequences, I set out over fresh ground. It was a glorious day and my 
heart was soon singing in response to sunlight and freedom. I cast negative thinking to the 
winds, and even forgot my joined hands as they adapted to my determined stride. I no longer 
had to consciously plan where to put them, I was used to being handcuffed. A girl gets used 
to anything.

I don’t know how many miles I had walked when my heart leapt in gladness at the sight of 
another human being. It was a girl as naked as myself who sat on the grass, hugging her 
knees, and looking into the distance. She heard my approach but showed no surprise.

She turned in my direction and said, without emotion, “You must be the new girl. Welcome
to Stone.”

I was all in a dither to find someone to talk to. The girl was about my own age and very 
lovely. Joyously, I exclaimed, “My name’s Trinity. Why are you sitting out her all alone?”

She laughed at my innocence, and, getting to her feet, raised her right foot for me to 
behold the shinning silver circlet of steel around her ankles. From it a chain, a heavy, shinning 
chain, trailed away across the grass.

“My name is Eve,” she said simply. “And I’m here because of this thing on my ankle.”

Again the sardonic laughter. “I don’t suppose you have the key?”

“I don’t have the key to anything. I can’t even get these handcuffs off.” My voice turned to 
pleading. “Look, I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. Nobody will tell me any thing.

Do you know why I’m here and what will be done with me?”

She kicked away her chain and sat down, motioning me to do the same. When she spoke, 
it was in a tone of disgust. “I know what you mean, I went through it myself. I wandered 
around for days before getting myself into real trouble. I don’t know why we’re made 
prisoners here except to tickle the ego of a man we’ve never seen. Don’t feel badly about the 
spot you’re in, there’s a whole bunch of us in the same spot” She was beautifully sleek and 
golden from the sun. I thought of the waste it was to keep her chained out here, away from 
everyone’s sight. But there had to be reasons for everything and these I had to find.

“Please don’t laugh at me, I feel such a fool being naked and handcuffed like this. Since we
both appear to be prisoners, please tell me what there is to tell.”

Eve had been studying me approvingly. We reached out and clasp hands in mutual need.

“There’s not much to tell,” she said reflexively. “One day I woke up beside that little spring, 
but I expect you’ve seen it. I was naked and handcuffed the same as you are now. All there 
was there was the little spring, the picnic basket and me. Jiminy came the following day with 
another basket. And while I sort of felt good about Jiminy, she told me nothing.

Except that I was free to roam.” Eve shrugged at memories. “I’ll but you found the highway
and maybe you tried to stop a car. I know I did. But I was picked up instantly.” She fingered 
the metal band around her neck. “It’s these collars they make us wear. They get some sort of a
beep out of them and can follow them easily. I can’t get the damned thing off and neither can
you.” She snorted angrily. “We’re always on the verge of freedom. I long ago gave up worrying
about escape. But the worst part of it is they won’t tell me why I’m a prisoner. I don’t suppose 
you’ll find out, either.”

“AH right, tell me the little things. Why are you chained in this particular spot?”

“I think it’s suppose to be training. You see, they’ve got this herd of girls who would 
probably go crazy if they never got out of their cage, so every day each one of us has to put 
up with something like this chain on my ankle. They come up with the damnedest things. If a 
girl decides not to be totally obedient, she’ll spend her day in some kind of punishment. Like 
standing in the pillory or tied to a tree. They’re not too terribly unkind to us, but you do get 
punished when you’re silly.” Even turned to show me her back which bore a number of thin 
purple lines. “You see what I mean? I collected these marks about a week ago. I got to feeling 
really pissed off and talked back to Florence. She’s the girl who shares the job of looking at us 
with Jiminy. Either of those girls can be either sweet or cruel. Watch your step, Trinity, being 
whipped hurts like crazy.”

“What about Stone?”

“It’s a sort of Robber’s Roost of a place. You can easily imagine the black Baron sharpening
his sword and giving the a fresh coat of paint. We all think it was built by the man who keeps 
us here. It’s got some dungeons down below. I’ve been locked in one for a while. But mostly 
they’re just the subject of conversations. Like I say, Trinity, they’re mostly kind unless we 
disobey.”

“But there has to be someone in charge of it all?”

“There’s Cora James. We have to call her miss or ma’am. I suppose you could call her the 
matron or head warden. If she asks you to her office for coffee sometime, be sure to be polite 
and attentive. She likes you to ask intelligent questions and delights in refusing to answer.” 
Eve sighed. “There’s also the staff of servants and they’re pretty much in the way of jailers. 
They’re okay unless you step over a line you don’t always see. We’ve become a very 
well-behaved bunch of girls.”

“And no men? Surely there has to be a man around the house somewhere!”

“There isn’t. They don’t need one. When we wake up on that first day, we’re handcuffed 
and from that day on we’re never completely free of some sort of restraint by which we can 
easily be controlled. Jiminy and Florence know all karate moves and we don’t have a hope. 
Make sure you don’t get too many stripes on your skin before you understand the uselessness
of fighting back.”

“But if someone keeps adding new girls, where’s it going to stop?”

Eve shrugged again. “The number of our prisoners remains about the same, somewhere 
around fifteen. They trickle in at one end, just the same as we did, disappear at the other.

All of us thought at first it was some sort of white slave operation, that we got sold to 
brothels. But now be believe someone makes a gift of us to someone else. When a girl is 
taken away we never now, they simply aren’t with us anymore. Oh, and by the way, asking 
about that is a no-no. The first time you’ll be warned. The second time you’ll be whipped.

None of us has ever asked three times.”

Ruefully we shared a sort of resignation, grinning at each other and shrugging away what 
we cannot change.

“Why don’t you have a picnic basket?” I asked innocently.

“We get fed before and again after. If Jiminy has been leaving the basket with you, it 
means she’s been breaking you in gently. Whoever it is wants us here evidently likes the girls 
thin. You’ll probably be slenderized a pound or two even though you don’t need it. But the 
food we do get is always good.”

“How long have you been here?”

“About seven months. A girl forgets. None of the girls have been here more than a couple 
of years before they get passed on to goodness knows where.”

We talked a long time until I finally came to the questions I should have asked in the first 
place. “But, Eve, surely girls escape. Haven’t you ever planed to gang up on Jiminy or Florence,
or this Cora James woman?”

“It happened once about a month after I arrived. About half the girls were handcuffed and 
half were with their feet chained when we tried to do our stuff. But the servants and Cora got 
into the act and we never had a chance. The first thing we knew we were all fastened in the 
pillory or stocks or hung up by our wrists, or made helpless anyway they could think of. Then 
they methodically whipped us for the rest of the day. It hurt so bad and went on and on until I
felt sure I was going to die. It was the same with all the girls. Now we don’t even talk about it. 
We didn’t heal for a month.”

So there was an iron hand beneath the velvet glove. I looked at my lovely companion and 
marveled at the simplicity by which she was robbed of freedom. The band of steel around her 
ankle could keep her someone else’s prisoner for ever and ever. I got up and followed the 
tethering chain to its anchorage, an iron ring in a solid block of concrete buried in the ground.
The ring was massive, no doubt as a reminder of the impossibility of escape. I walked back 
alone the trail of links and found Eve laughing at the dolor on my face.

“Once Stone has gathered you up, you’d be surprised at the ways they device to keep us in
safe custody. And it’s always by the slenderest threads.” She kicked at her shackle.

“Look at this, there’s almost nothing to it. And yet it holds me as safely as iron bars or a 
dungeon, sweetheart, I wish I had some good news for you but I don’t. Look at me and you’ll 
probably be seeing yourself in the not too distant future.” Eve looked at me earnestly. “Look, 
dear, why don’t you go on walking in the same directions. You’re bound to do it sooner or 
later so you might as well do it now. I can’t be sure what you’ll find but you’ll find something.”

“I don’t want to leave you. It’s wonderful having someone to talk to. Would you mind 
terribly if I stayed?”

Eve took me in her arms and held me close so I was able to sense in her the same 
frightening loneliness within me. We did not talk for a long time and when we did it was to tell
of our lives before the strange captivity which held us now.

Eventually Jiminy came on her way to take my picnic basket for the day. “So you 
discovered each other,” she said cheerfully. And then she added to me, “See, Trinity, I told you 
that if you sought, you’d find. Isn’t she a beautiful discovery?”

“I want to stay with her,” I said simply. “Please tell me I can?”

“Oh, sure, I know. You’ve been lonely and it’s nice to have someone to talk to. But you 
wouldn’t like it in the cage with Eve and all the rest of them for the night. Why don’t you run 
on back to your little spring. Or, better still, I’ll give you a ride there in my cart.”

There was no denying Jiminy was kind. But she was also practical and had a job to do.

The handcuffs appeared as if by magic and as though impelled by the same force, Eve 
meekly held up her hands without complaint.

“Behind your back, dear. Remember, there’s two of you and I have to be cautious.” Jiminy 
turned her prisoner around to lock her wrists in metal behind her back. She then turned to 
me. “Come alone, you’ll have all the company you want soon enough.”

“Please let me stay, Jiminy. I want to stay with Eve. And I can’t escape or help her.”

Our jailer surveyed us both before she shrugged and laughed. “Well, if that’s the way you 
want it, I’ll let you get away with it this once. I’m spoiling you, Trinity.”

She went to the cart to find a padlock then, grinning at me in amusement all the time, 
gathered up a length of Eve’s chain. I was ordered to surrender my joined hands. Deftly she 
inserted the padlock through a large link and then around the lesser link between my two 
bracelets. There was a loud click to tell me for sure I would spend the night exactly where I 
was. She placed the picnic basket in my imprisoned. She kissed us both as if we shared an 
immense joke, before returning to her iron and rubber cart to disappear into the unknown.

There we stood, a pair of naked girls in the middle of a Garden of Eden with twilight 
hovering close. Instead of being horrified, we shared giggles as we arranged the long, long 
chain to give us both plenty of slack. Eve came close to ease the weight of metal on my wrists 
and we even got a chuckle out of the padlock I was forced to lift with it’s links every time I 
used my hands.

“You won’t get away with what you want this easily every time,” Eve advised. “For 
goodness sake, get busy with that basket, I’m starving.”

It was an abundant basket as though Jiminy had divined our need. We ate and drank and 
enjoyed, even sharing the bottle of wine I usually ignored. Since Eve had been robbed of 
hands, it was I who fed her and tilted the glass to lush, red lips. I expect we were a little tipsy 
when we curled ourselves into a ball of female flesh and went to sleep.

In spite of the demands of the chain and lock, we did not easily awake. It felt so good to 
hold a naked girl and let the sun warm our skin. It was Jiminy who brought us back to life with
another basket and a key to my padlock. “I’m not indulging you any further, Trinity,”

she said decisively. “You can feed Eve and her hands can stay the way they are the rest of 
the day. And I don’t want to find you still here when I come back. Get on with your travels. 
You’ll find other girls. Eve isn’t the only one.”

It was a sad parting, filled with a lot of trepidation on my part. But we assured each other 
we would be together again soon, and I set out on my quest. It was nice to be free of my 
chain tether but I would have accepted it gladly if I had been allowed to stay. I took a deep 
breath and tried to recapture the magic of the place called Stone.

I didn’t see her at first, all I behold was the heavy wooden structure, which as I drew closer 
I recognized as an old time pillory. In it was a girl. Half fearfully I looked around, expecting a 
trap. But the pillory and I were alone in a small, pretty hollow in the hills. Seeking communion 
with another girl I ran the last few steps only to stare in shock at the lovely bowed head and to
either side a pair of clenched fists. The girl could not stand erect but, by straining her neck, 
she looked up to meet my eyes. The only way I could describe her voice was that it sounded 
bored.

“Hello, dear. I expect you’re new. And if I were you, I wouldn’t waste any time. Why don’t 
you just run along the way you were going.”

“And leave you standing here like this!” I was appalled.

“Sure, leave me like this. What the hell else can you do. It’s for sure I can’t do anything.”

Like Eve, she was beautiful, every bit as lean and golden. As I circled her imprisonment and
tugged angrily at its padlock which held together the two block of wood. Stupidly I said what 
came to mind, “It’s a pillory, isn’t it? It’s like they used long ago. Surely there’s some way I can 
get you free?”

“No, there isn’t.” She sounded understandably unhappy. “Not unless you’ve got a stick of 
dynamite or the key. Don’t waste your time on me. I’m here for the day, and if you want to 
feel sorry for someone, feel sorry for yourself. It will only be a matter of time before you stand 
like I’m standing now. How long since you were captured?”

“Five days….”

“That means you’re brand new.” The girl clenched and unclenched her hands and tried 
uselessly to toss the hair from around her head. I arranged it for her as best I could while she 
continued. “I can’t give you good advise because I’m no wiser than you about this whole crazy
place. But if I were you, I’d go back to where ever it was they left you the first night. Stick 
around, do nothing, make them come to you. There’s no use looking for trouble.”

“But I can’t leave you like this.”

“Why not? Everyone else has.”

“But what did you do? I mean, are you being punished for something?”

“Goodness knows!” Her voice was a bitter sneer. “It’s probably simply my day to be locked 
in this damned thing. I think they like to keep the wood warm. They seem to have some poor 
kid standing here half the time.”

“But that’s cruel!”

“They don’t think so. They claim it gives a girl time to think and know herself. They think 
up the damnedest horse shit. Sometimes I could scream with frustration.”

I tried to vanish a sudden thought but it would not go away. This girl, in this cruel captivity,
made a lovely picture. I walked around again, drinking it in, and realized how vulnerable she 
was. Her body was on one side of the pillory while she was on the other, and quite unable to 
see anything I or anyone else chose to do to her. She was totally defenseless and I wicked 
longed for the use of my hands to embrace her loveliness and cup those two very beautiful 
breasts which pointed down. It was then I saw the faded whip marks on her bottom and came 
up with one more useless exclamation. “You’ve been whipped! What did you do to make them
whip you?”

“I forget. There’s so many things.’ Her voice was weary. “It was ten days ago. And I think it 
was because I stuck my tongue out behind Cora’s back. Something childish. And childish 
things are all we can do. Why don’t you sit down?”

She didn’t have Eve’s personality but I wondered how well I’d show up in the same pillory.

There was a handy rock, smooth on one side, so I sat on it. And then felt foolish because I 
hadn’t a thing to say.

She told me her name was Sharon and she’d been kidnapped over a year ago. She 
laughed ruefully when she admitted, “I expect I’m too much of a bitch to get passed on the 
way most of them do. I’ll probably die here an old maid.” She strained to examine my face.

“It’s for damned sure you won’t. Whoever it is that chooses us has a keen eye for a pretty 
girl. And good firm tits. Gosh, when I think what I could be doing if I was back in New York.”

I had to feel sorry for her. I could tell it was miserable having to stand the way she was 
fastened. I felt innocent and childish in anything I could say in the face of her discomfort.

But I tried.

“There has to be some way to escape from this place,” I argued.

“Surely there has to be something they do to us, or do with us to make an opportunity. 
Eve said there were only two girls to guard and look after fifteen prisoners.”

“That’s all they need. When the prisoners are handcuffed or leg ironed or in a cage … Oh, 
don’t let me forget the dungeons. When a girl’s chained in one of them, she’s not hard to look
after.”

I sighed and felt the cold authority of stone upon my flesh. It was such a beautiful place to 
be a prison. Comfortingly I knew at the back of my mind that I would most certainly escape 
even though these other girls would try and fail. It was against reason that no opportunity 
would ever come. Some way I would get free and discover the whole reason behind the whole
damned thing.”

“Have you met and talked to Adrian Rankin?” I asked eagerly.

“No, I haven’t. None of the others have either. If I ever get out of this jackpot, my first 
priority will be to kill the asshole.”

“What about Cora James?”

“She’s a sweetheart, the same as Florence and Jiminy.

Just so long as you’re an obedient little girl. But don’t ever say a wrong word or make a 
wrong move.”

“But surely there’s a man in this somewhere. Hasn’t any girl ever been raped or used?”

“Not that I know of. But I can’t tell what happens to those who disappear. I’ll bet you’ll 
disappear real quick. I wish to god I would. I’d be thankful to be screwed by any man who 
came along just to get out of here.”

The poor girl was bitter and filled with hate, and not the best companion for a girl who 
was trying to find sense and meaning to what was happening. I heaved at her padlock one 
more time, than patted her cheek and kissed her warmly on the lips before leaving. At the end
of fifty paces, Sharon’s voice caught up with me in a toneless promise, “You’ll be sorry!”

If I was to be sorry, then I’d be sorry. I paid no heed but walked almost happily forward in 
that satisfying euphoria which comes with decision and exertion. The little hills and hollows 
were a constant delight as were the majestic oaks. I was sure that one of them hid a fresh 
surprise. I didn’t expect it to be a pleasant surprise but whatever I found might be an 
explanation of the crazy world which held me captive.

I caught sight of her as I rounded a hill. A bent over nudity busily engaged with something
hidden in the grass. As usual I was looking at loveliness and the pert, round bottom pointing 
my direction promised well. She did not hear my approach, she was far to busily involved in 
whatever it was she was doing. But she straighten up and turned to look. After a few moments
she said, as had the other girls, “Well, look what we’ve got. It’s a new girl and am I glad to see 
you!”

This was better. Sharon had sort of got me down and this joyous greeting promised well. I 
stepped forward until the whole new picture of a damsel in distress stood revealed in all it’s 
menace.

“For Pete’s sake, darling, come and help me with this blasted thing. I have to get it over to 
that big rock by evening or I get my ass whipped. I hope you’re finding everything a lot of fun.
Poor Sharon beefs at everything but I do try to make the best of it. Call me Connie.”

I now beheld her problem. Connie was shackled by one ankle to a huge metal ball. At least
it looked huge, and the way she was tugging at it, it must have weighed more than she could 
handle. It was the ball and chain of ancient fiction and fact made terribly real by the steel band
around an innocent ankle. Practically, I pointed out, “We can’t move that thing several miles. 
Why do you have to move it anyway? Can’t we sit and talk?”

“Well, I suppose we could.” She was taking inventory of all my sexual exhibits in much the 
manner of a man although there was nothing masculine about the female loveliness I was 
staring at. “I have to get this thing over to that rock before evening. If I don’t, I get whipped. 
With you to help, I’m sure we can spare a few minutes to get acquainted. Come and sit down.”

Once more I fell into the trap of innocence, to ask in wonder, “Why on earth would they 
do that? Why would they whip you? It all seems so crazy!”

“Sure, it’s crazy, dear. And I can’t explain it to you any better than anyone else.” She 
grinned in total unconcern. ‘Tell you what, darling, let’s both work at this and get the blasted 
ball over to where they want it and then we can sit and talk as long as you like. I can’t follow 
wherever you’re going but at least we can sit and talk. You haven’t been whipped yet, have 
you?”

“No. Am I suppose to be?”

“Well, there’s usually a whip around somewhere. Don’t let’s talk about that. Look, dear, if 
we both get a hold of this chain….”

We both did as Connie suggested. My handcuffs impeded the effort not at all. The brutal 
ball, beyond the strength of a single girl, was raised from the ground my our efforts and 
swung forward to cover a yard or so with comparative ease. We repeated the process again 
and again, and what might have taken Connie all day to achieve became history as we 
struggled and panted at swinging that blasted ball. The euphoria of motion once more had 
me enthralled.

Inevitable we reached the rock to sink to the grass, satisfied at having done the task and 
saved Connie’s skin from fresh whip marks. She hugged me, assuring me with every breath of 
her undying gratitude and vowing that if I ever needed help … At that moment we were 
happy.

It was the same story over again. I realized that each girl reacted to the imprisonment of 
Stone in her own particular way. Their temperaments varied widely but all were adamant in 
the conviction that for all of us there could never be escape. It should have saddened me but I
was so damned glad of company in captivity I no longer cared. Ahead of me was purpose in 
the form of a make-believe castle called Stone. Somewhere there I expect I would find answers
from someone.

Eventually I kissed Connie as I had kissed the others and left her in possession of her ball 
and chain. Gosh, how crazy can a world get!

I was now looking, not so much at the scenery, but for another captive maiden. I felt 
certain there would be one before too long and I was right. I don’t suppose I’d walked 
another mile before the cage came into view. It was under a tree, no doubt so its occupant did
not get roasted by the sun. And there was indeed an occupant who caught sight of me.

It was to be expected that she would be naked but she stood behind the bars in 
unconcern, clutching two of them in handcuffed hands. Everything was normal in the domain 
of Stone.

It would be easy to say the cage was girl sized, a lattice work of iron bars with an iron 
barred door, the whole thing being only about six feet square. The top was only an inch above
its occupant’s head.

“Hello. My name’s Trinity and I’ve only been here four days.” My introduction saved a lot of
questions. “Is there any way I can get you out of there?”

“Not without dynamite.” Sarcasm changed to urgency. “Look, honey, you’ve got your feet 
still free and those handcuffs won’t bother you much. Turn around and run back the way you 
came. And don’t stop running until you’ve found someone or something that makes sense. It’s
what I should have done long ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I was innocent as you are now. And I was so damned curious about the place 
called Stone. The damned place is an easy walk from here, and if you continue the way you 
are, you’ll end up as I am. Or the way you found the other girls.” Her voice became more 
heated. “Look, girl, you’d be better off wandering this wilderness alone forever than going to 
that damned house over the hill. You’ll get yourself frustrated into helplessness.

Go on, get started!”

I stood there in baffled indecision. Several girls, all with different attitudes had helped me 
much. But I looked at this beauty in the cage and had a mental vision of myself clutching the 
bars and trying to wiggle my wrists out of handcuffs. None of the mild punishments I had 
witnessed were painful or brutal but this girl had put her finger on the right word: frustration. 
It would be frustration enough to drive a girl crazy. And all of them were so beautiful, it 
seemed such a shocking waste.

I asked the question never far distant, “Isn’t there a man around somewhere? What about 
rape? Aren’t these girls forced to service someone?”

“Hell, no. It would be a lot better if there was, honey. Girls and more girls, that’s all I’ve 
discovered in Stone. Honest, it frustrated you to death.”

While my thoughts tried to understand her, I made a close inspection of the cage. It’s 
inmate eyed me all the time. The tiny prison was beautifully made and in its own way utterly 
feminine. But its bars were heavy and all safely embedded in the block of concrete which 
formed the floor. Suddenly I knew I had not wish to be inside. Acting purely on impulse, I 
muttered my thank thank-yous, and feeling an absolute bitch, turned and ran like crazy back 
in the general direction in what now seemed home, the little pool and my bed of leaves. When
I got there, I was genuinely disturbed.

Irrationally I fought the handcuff. But when I had exhausted that attempt and found my 
hands still closely joined, I contemplated the sober consul of the girl inside the cage. The next 
day I sat out in the direction where I had met the rider who said his name is Jim.

Before I started on this journey I had my usual visit from Jiminy. Not much caring of 
consequences, I told her of the day before and of my plans to go and look for the rider.

But I couldn’t shock Jiminy, she simply laughed at my earnest and asked casually if I would 
enjoy being raped by the rider if I found him. But I answered this by pointing out that, had he 
wished to do that, he had had several opportunities and used none of them.

And since no female, either captive or free, would tell me anything about my eventual fate,
I would now try to pry a bit of information from the most attractive male I’d seen in a long 
time. Jiminy laughed and wished me luck. That had been that.

I didn’t find Jim easily. In fact, I didn’t find anything except the usual lovely scenery. In grim
determination, I passed the point of no return, feeling certain that I had to reach someone or 
something eventually. Sure enough, I did!

Jim was waiting for me behind some trees as though he had advance warning of my 
arrival. He rode to meet me easily and proved to be every bit as male as I had been dreaming 
about. Without preamble I demanded, “Look, Jim, I refuse to go to that place called Stone. I 
don’t know where you live, but please take me there. I’m sick and tired of wandering around 
all alone.”

“It’s good for you, sweetheart. And you’re probably being observed even when you don’t 
know about it. Giving someone pleasure, perhaps. You mustn’t feel frustrated.”

“I don’t care about all that nonsense. I feel wound up. Take me home with you. And if you 
won’t turn me loose, I’ll at least be in the hands of someone reasonable sane … Please?”

As usual he laughed. Laughter came easily to this man and he evidently found me comic.

“You’ll be sorry,” he warned me without visible concern. “I’ll take you home. Just like it says
in the movies, I’ll take you back to the ranch. But just so there’s no misunderstandings, I want 
you to ask me right now to make you my prisoner. Say it as though you mean it.”

“Please make me your prisoner.” I blushed. “I mean it, Jim, I really do. I’m already 
handcuffed so you don’t have to do that. Or have I simply made a declaration of principle.”

He didn’t bother to answer but simply dismounted and took the lariat from his saddle. 
Then he fastened it some way to the ring at the back of my collar. Without pause he took a 
small key from his pocket, freed one of my hands, and then locked them behind my back.

“You asked for it,” he said jauntily, arid kissed my startled lips before mounting his horse.

Careful to give me slack, he played out the lariat and watched carefully as I adjusted my 
steps to the pacing of his horse. If ever a girl had asked for humiliation, it certainly was me!

Like everything else that had happened to me, it made no sense. I had invited a condition 
from which I would have fled screaming a week ago. In my heart I knew it was the 
male/female thing hard at work, and I was already feeling the responses in the right places. As
I walked behind a man and his horse under the compulsion of his tether. I was helpless but 
with it came an excitation I could not deny. I belonged to a man and was being led by him 
into slavery.

“Enjoying yourself, honeybunch?” Jim asked, laughing down at me. “I think you’re as 
happy right now as you’ve ever been in your life.”

“Do you always treat girls this way? You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“It’s the proper way to treat you, silly creature. And I’m proud of my discovery. I’ll whip 
your bottom when I get around to it. Getting her skin marked up is a wonderful way to cure a 
girl of the sulks. Stop pouting.”

Hurried I changed my face. Like a dog which comes to heel I sped up to walk beside this 
man who held me prisoner. I wanted very much to talk to Jim, but, finding no opening gambit,
I fell back on being female and inquired, “When we get to where we’re going what will you do 
with me?”

“Rape you.” I simply refused to believe. I felt certain Jim was kidding me. I knew he would 
possess me sometime but not in the manner of a rape. Silently I told my seething loins to 
behave. Suppressing laughter, I inquired, “Do you follow some sort of ritualistic formula in 
your raping of young ladies? Or do I just get knocked down and violated. It’s always seemed 
to me a rapist doesn’t get his money’s worth.” I

“When I perform the foul act upon you, we’ll have a sort of seminar and discuss its short 
comings.” He was suddenly serious, “Why aren’t you scared of me?”

“Because you’re a likable man and haven’t hurt me yet. Call me curious. I want to find out 
from you what goes.”

“You’ll learn from experience, sweetheart.” For a little while I was content to fall back a few 
paces and savor the sensation of being naked with my steel-clad wrists fastened behind my 
back and a collar and rope upon my neck forcing me to walk as with the Roman slaves 
following behind their conquers. I shivered delighted and was ashamed of myself. This was a 
hell of a lot better than talking to those sad captives I had discovered. I felt myself a female 
with a need to have man. I felt very superior to those poor girls in their cages and pillories, 
and all without a man.

“I don’t suppose I’m the first girl you’ve treated like this,” I inquired. “I suppose you keep a 
corral full of naked girls at your ranch?”

“Sorry, kid, you’ll be the only one.”

“I have a vision of you opening the big gate and you shooing me inside before you lock it 
behind me. It would be nice if you had a few more captives who might tell me something.

Up to now everybody’s been mean and won’t tell me a thing. And about that rape thing …

Will you give me time to clean up or do you like to take your women sweaty and dusty?”

“Honeybunch, you talk too much. How it be I fill your mouth with a gag?”

“I’d hate it. You don’t have to be a brute with me, I can take a hint. I’ll stop asking 
questions. What would you like me to talk about?”

“Tell me about your previous life, the one you’ve lost.”

Jim’s use of the word “lost” had a terrible finality which, being forbidden to ask questions, I
was forced to ignore. I told him what he wanted to know and as I spoke of my lonely little life, 
I realized how small it had really been. The wilderness of Stone had given me in a few days 
more drama than my whole previous life. I admitted this freely and pointed out that if I was 
treated kindly, without threats of whippings, I could easily become most grateful.

“You’re a most grateful girl now. You just haven’t realized it.”

In my heart I knew this man was going to continue to speak of whipping me and raping 
me as though discussing what we might eat for supper. It occurred to me that this was the lot 
of slavegirls.

Everything this man did or said would condition me to the point where my whole 
existence would be to please him. Or at least that’s the way I thought it was suppose to work. 
The thought also occurred that it might be worth it to receive his favors in bed each night.

“I know what you’re thinking about,” he continued. “You’re obviously concerned about 
being whipped, as is understandable. I wish I could tell you why men enjoy whipping girls.

But believe me, sweetheart, there’s no sadist in the act any more than there’s masochism 
in you. It’s pretty much a fact of life which society sweeps under the carpet. But when you 
think back into the manners and customs of ancient days, you’ll see that girls were always 
getting their pretty hides tanned. Why not take the advise usually given and simply relax and 
enjoy it?”

“Thanks a million. I’ll remember that when the time comes. The way you tell it, I sound like 
a little girl who’s been bad. Please tell me about rape?”

“Rape is relatively simple, kiddo. When a male knocks a girl down and kicks her legs apart, 
he things he’s about to have a bit of fun but what he’s really doing is obeying nature’s 
summons to get with it.” My captor’s tone modified into disgust. “It’s damned disgusting 
when you consider that almost all human activity in aimed at sex. They use sex to sell 
products, movies, even real estate. We are teased and provoked daily all around us, yet the 
simple act is hidden away and denied to most people.”

I knew this man had, for a few moments, allowed me to enter his mind and share his 
depression in discovery. He was right, but I could only thing that here at Stone there was little 
such things that only hinted at sex. Here there were naked girls, mostly bound up and ready 
for anything a loose male might wish to do. And it was the easiest thing in the world for him 
to rope on by her collar and take her home. I was living proof of that.

I shuttered at the thought of rape, even though I was attracted to his man. Perhaps if he 
were to treat me nicely, a good dinner, candlelight, and music … I would probably soon be 
contorting around in bed with him to the delight of both of us. But to be simply taken without
even asking permission….

I sighed and pushed the thought away for now. By the time we had reached the place 
where I would pay homage to the Male, I was tired and dusty. The dilapidated ranch house 
and run down barn did not show signs of life, or even of being used. I was led to the pump 
and horse trough where Jim’s horse drank gratefully. I was waiting permission to do the same 
when Jim took me a step beyond. Freeing my collar of the lariat, he urged, “Step right in there,
Trinity, and have yourself a bath. It’s the only one you’re going to get.”

“But it’s just for animals to drink from! I’ll bet it never gets cleaned. I don’t want to get in 
there.”

“You can get in or be dunked in.” Once more I knew the fury of utter helplessness. I had no
hands, there was a collar on my neck, and I was naked. I shrugged and stepped over the brim 
to stand above my knees in tepid water. “It’s a lot colder out of the well,” Jim advised. “I’ll 
show you some time but right now I ought to play host.” He picked up a battered pail and 
before I could protest had used it to pour a couple of gallons of water over my head. Gasping 
and sputtering, I declared, “Look, if you’ll give me my hands, I can do this for myself. If you’ll 
unlock the handcuffs, you won’t have to play lady’s maid.”

“I enjoy the role of valet. Maybe if you kneel down….”

It was a wooden trough, its bottom slimy. Gingerly I knelt. The bailing process was 
continued until I felt like a drowned rat and was sure my wet hair was a pitiful sight. After a 
while the water pouring over me begin to feel good. But I did not say so. It was all too evident
my wrists would remain in the clutch of steel. Sardonically, I reflected I might never possess 
free hands again. Finally I was told to sit as I pleased but to remain in the water while the 
horse was taken to the bam and out of sight. The owner of the ranch then went to the ranch 
house. It was quite a while before he returned with a dark-haired, dark eyed Mexican girl of 
whom I was instantly jealous. “This is Pilar,” Jim said. “She’ll attend to you while I do a few 
chores. If you give her any trouble, you’ll be whipped.” He walked away towards the bam.

There it was again, the threat of the whip. This time I could believe in it happening. But I 
looked at Pilar and complained, “My wrists are handcuffed behind my back. I can’t do 
anything for myself … I’m terribly sorry.”

Pilar’s voice was rich with the Spanish accent and her English passable. “It does not matter,
Miss Evans. You are Miss Evans, are you not? Pilar will look after you. It is good that you are 
handcuffed and will do as Pilar says. Here are a couple of dry planks. Please to step out on 
them.”

“I was glad to do as told. The towel Pilar had brought was huge and rough. Aided by the 
hot sun, it soon dried me completely except for my wet head. Even my hair was toweled dry 
by expert hands. Knowingly she rubbed my body in all the right places to excite me but 
stopped before I really got into a high state of excitement. She grabbed my arm and led me 
for the house. I thought of kicking and trying to run, but what was the use?

The ranch house could be described as untidy but comfortable. I was given the grand tour.

There was a big kitchen, well equipped, a huge living room, and three bedrooms, two of 
which showed no sign of occupancy. As if reading my thoughts, Pilar explained, “The Senior 
Jim keeps me in his own bed where he makes girls very happy with what he calls his ‘dong.’ 
No doubt you will receive his dong tonight while I will not. Let us go downstairs.”

The main floor bedrooms had been right out of Zane Gray while the basement with its 
flight of concrete steps was of today, even thought there was something ageless about the 
concrete chambers and their contents which Pilar pointed out with pride. What she showed 
me now was a revelation to stoke the flame of my fear. Her grasp remained firmly on my arm 
but it was a feminine grasp which told of her own shock of the hidden possibilities of this 
ranch.

There was one long room, its far end partitioned by a massive grid of bars, and a 
forbidding door, not instantly obvious because it was also of bars. The lock betrayed its 
presence and it was huge. In the corner opposite the cell was what I could only call a cage, a 
small barred prison in which a girl would have only just barely enough room to stand or 
recline. I said, yes, indeed, they were remarkable and what else did she have to show.

I expect you’ve guessed what the next stone chamber had to offer. I’m no expert in such 
matter but it was obvious that it was purely and simply a torture chamber. There were all the 
obvious gadgets and machines, and hanging ropes by which Pilar modestly explained a girl 
might be suspended that her nudity might be whipped. It was all extremely functional and left
me wishing I’d chosen to walk in another direction.

“Jim doesn’t use these horrible things on you, does he?” I innocently inquired.

“Alas, yes. Sometimes I am a very bad girl. Then the Senor Jim begins me down here and 
teaches me to be very good.” Pilar’s dark eyes were upon me. “I am hoping that you 
understand.”

I assured my guide I did, indeed, understand. Then added, with a touch of mischief, “Have 
any of these things been used on you lately?”

“Only to be whipped,” Pilar said with pride. “The Senor Jim has made me mistress of the 
Lazy T ranch, and I whip others more often than getting marked myself. The Senor Jim is good
to work for.”

“You mean you’re not a prisoner?”

“I am very free girl. Every month the Senor is giving me the lovely Yankee money.” Pilar 
giggled. “He calls it the Yankee dollar and says it keeps me here more securely than would a 
chain. No doubt he is right. The Senor Jim is very wise.”

I digested it cautiously, feeling my way. This girl I was obliged to obey was no older than I 
and no doubt far more wise in the ways of men. Her pay was no doubt high by the standards 
of Mexico, even it did cover whip marks on her skin. I simply said it was all very interesting and
was there more?

There was more, indeed. The rest of the basement area, which was fairly modern, was a 
corridor on each side of which was a couple of sad little cubicles behind iron bars. And behind
one of them was actually a girl, a girl as naked as I but who’s hands were cuffed in front 
instead of behind her back. At our approach she eagerly knelt against the bars, clutching them
as if in supplication to exclaim, “Oh, Pilar, is this a new girl? Please chain us together in the 
cell.” .

These two understood each other, I was redundant. The girl, who looked American, was 
freed from her cubicle to have one hand unlocked and that cuff snapped on my wrist. She 
seemed to find this a comparative freedom. Pilar urged us forward to the end of the corridor 
where there was a little larger cell. It was small enough but held a wooden bench.

A small little prison, devoid of comfort By the time I had sorted out my puzzlement Pilar 
was laughing at us through the bars. Reaching through she unlocked my cuffs but quickly 
relocked them so that my left wrist was firmly handcuffed to my fellow captive’s right, and my 
right wrist to her other. It left us unable to do anything unless we did it in unison. It was close 
bond which my companion appeared to regard a privilege to be enjoyed.

When Pilar left us alone to get acquainted, frustration opened my tongue. I told the girl to 
whom I was chained my name and asked what would happen to us next.

“It’s really Elizabeth Andrews, but Pilar and our master like to call me Conchita,” she said 
simply. “Please don’t be angry. This isn’t my fault and there’s nothing either of us can do 
about it. Pilar has all the authority she needs to make us toe the line. Come on, we may as well
sit down.”

We sat. It felt pretty much like those games we played as children and we chuckled in 
amusement at my efforts to fine a greater freedom than the two sets of handcuffs permitted. 
By the time I had assured myself of being firmly anchored, I had heard the story of Elizabeth 
Andrews. It was pretty much the same as mine.

A prisoner’s enemy is inaction. Conchita and I defeated it by playing around with each 
other’s hair to get it in order. I wasn’t in a mood to play with myself or to play with her, and I 
told her this frankly. Each of us had been given some freedom and it would have been 
possible. Conchita only shrugged and said, “What the hell, I’ve played with myself plenty when
they leave me alone and don’t tie my hands behind my back. Forget it, it doesn’t do much for 
me.”

We were not left alone for long. I suppose those who owned us considered it a good idea 
for prisoners to talk now and then. I gathered from Conchita that neither she nor I were the 
first to be locked behind these bars. She had no idea where the rest of them had gone, but, 
like myself, considered a bordello the most probably answer. Probably a red light house in 
South American. Considering this, I was actually thankful for what happened next.

It was obviously an old routine. Pilar locked my ankles together before releasing my hands.
I abandoned the obvious impulse to fight for my freedom because the iron on my legs 
prevented me from running or doing much else. Conchita acted as if this happened everyday 
while I hoped painfully up the passage to the fatal room and was told to stand and watch. 
While I stood there, Conchita was positioned beneath two ropes and leather was tight buckled
around her slender wrists. Within a time so short it could only come from previous obedience, 
she stood naked with her arms stretched above her head to turn to me and anxiously explain, 
“You must not feel guilty, Trinity, this happens all the time.”

“You see how beautifully she is trained,” remarked Pilar without emotion. “I’m going to 
whip her now so you may see how easily it can be done. Prepare yourself, and if you feel you 
have to make a fuss, I will lock your hands behind your back. And gag your pretty mouth so 
you can’t disturb us.” She turned her back upon me in dismissal.

It was the greatest frustration of my life. Except for my ankles, I stood there free while an 
innocent girl was horribly punished for my benefit. There could be no doubt I was being 
taught a lesson, the simple lesson that it could be me hanging as Conchita was, suspended by 
her wrists with her lovely nakedness exposed for the whip. When the first blows impacted 
upon the lovely flesh, it was my voice that made the complain.

“Pilar, don’t! Stop it! Stop it this instant. What you’re doing is horrible and unnecessary.” I 
sought for words but lapsed into futile silence and the whip sang its wicked song.

Can you image it? To stand more or less free and watch the torture of a girl. All I could do 
was hop like a lousy frog. And even if I reached the place of punishment, what could I do?

A good push between my breasts would seat me backwards on the floor. I had to stand 
where I was to watch Conchita take the punishment that should be mind. Conchita was 
innocent but no more innocent than I. I fought back tears.

The poor girl fought her pain as best she could. A girl can not tell pain to go away and so 
she raises herself from the ground and kicks her feet in wild dismay, or twists and turns and 
screams. It was a vivid performance, ended only by the arrival by the man we must now call 
“Master.”

“I expect that’s enough, Conchita, my sweet,” he said as he eyed the scene of terror with a 
practiced eye. “Hang Trinity up in her place for a few minutes. Then give her a taste of what is 
expected on this ranch.”

I was horrified and my outburst was natural. “But I haven’t done anything! I’m innocent!”

“That’s the point, sweetheart. At this ranch, you don’t have to do anything. Getting your 
pretty skin marked comes naturally.”

It was hard to believe it was actually happening, but I hoped to the spot where Conchita 
had been freed, and was now quietly sobbing on the floor. As though it was happening to 
someone else, I beheld the leather wristlets, damp and heated with Conchita’s sweat, buckled 
tight around my wrists before being attached to the hanging ropes. The ropes rose to lift my 
hands and arms above my head until I stood tip-toe in shivering anticipation.

Over and over I repeated my pathetic expression of innocence, “I haven’t done anything!

Please, I don’t deserve to be whipped. Please, please don’t whip me!”

I have since been whipped many times and know now that the blows were kind and not 
severe. But the first time a girl is whipped etches itself upon her mind in a manner to chance 
her life. It is like a sentence of doom by which a girl goes to prison. Or perhaps I could liken it 
to the vows exchanged between a man and a women. That also changes us.

But as I flung myself from side to side, or climbed an invisible ladder by my wrists, I knew 
only that this was a pain I could not bear and would perform any act or utter any word to find 
release. I remember stating these admissions, but no one listened. They watched the whipping
of a freshly captured slavegirl with pretty much the indifference of selecting a new pair of 
shoes. I kicked, I screamed, I pleaded, but the wristlets held me tight as Pilar’s whip found 
places on my skin and hurt them. When it was done I was sweating outrageously, and my 
pussy damp. That part only added to the shame I felt.

A whipped and naked girl will often do that And all can smell it.

I hung, limp and sobbing. When my feet let down and the leather taken from my wrists, I 
held out my hands for the handcuffs as though in welcome. I had traveled a long, long way.

The whipping had shattered me, and I stood there shivering and with eyes closed, longing 
only for the little spring and my bed of leaves. In the darkness of my thoughts there was only 
a terrible shame that Jim had seen me kicking and contorting and sending out wave after 
wave of my female scent as Pilar had cut my skin again and again. I felt Pilar clasp the metal 
restraints around my wrists but all I wanted was to go far, far away from the bitterness of the 
punishment Jim had ordered and I had not earned.

Passively I allowed Pilar to lead me from the place of punishment, almost pulling me along
by firm grasp of the link between my wrists. I sensed she felt sorry for me but knew not what 
to say. It was only when we had left the ranch house and crossed the yard that I began to 
come alive. I saw the unattractive place to which I was being led. The coral, like everything else
on this ranch, was falling apart with age and disuse. Pilar opened the gate only far enough for 
us to enter, and then to take me to a center point where there was a concrete block and a 
length of chain. The concrete block was buried deep and reminded me of something I had 
seen before. Swiftly Pilar bent down and clasp a shackle on my right ankle in a tight grip from 
which there could be no escape. She kissed and patted me and told me that everything would
be all right. And that after a while I would laugh over being whipped and find myself proud of 
the marks she had placed upon my skin. She left and closed the gate behind her.

It had all happened swiftly and night was not far distant as I stood naked and handcuffed 
beside the block of stone to which I was cruelly attached. I picked up some of the chain and 
found it heavy. I dropped it disgustedly, then sat on the dry ground and buried my face in my 
hands to weep out the bitterness of slavery. Finally I fell asleep.

When I awoke it was a starry night. I was feeling much better although my bottom hurt 
terribly. I explored the limits of my chain. There was quite a lot of chain and I wondered why.

The coral was a perfect circle and I should have guessed the purpose of the block at the 
perfect center of that circle. The chain, when stretched out, allowed me to the edge of the 
weathered coral fence but not to touch it. Disgustedly I picked up enough chain to ease the 
drag of metal and made a circle tour only to discover it was the same where ever I might go. I 
could strain a little with my shackled foot behind me and touch the weathered wood but that 
was all. I went back where I started and dropped the handful of metal. I kicked at the links of 
chain in anger. Then suddenly I froze. The kick had some how freed the shackle around my 
ankle! My ankle was free and the shackle lay there with its jaws wide open but empty.

I will never know if it was a faulty lock, an accident or by design. My tether to the ranch 
had vanished and I could run where ever I might chose. True, I was still handcuffed but I had 
been handcuffed so much that it no longer mattered. Like a wraith in the silvery light, I slipped
between the rails and fled back along the path that had brought me to this ranch and pain 
like I had never known.

Possessed of a vast and growing exhilaration I fled from the greatest disappointment of 
my life. The man called Jim was a charmer but he had me whipped, a fact the wind reminded 
me of as it touched the tender flesh of my wounds. I closed my eyes to the ranch and thought 
only of my safety by the pool. And the magic contentment I had found in the wilderness.

It was probably two o’clock in the morning when I reached the pool. I drank deeply. But I 
could not sleep. The events of the day crowded in on me in a jumble of confusion from which 
one old idea emerged. I was positive I would not be allowed peace and quiet beside the pool 
forever. Some sort of power was aware of me and would eventually demand my presence. 
Quite suddenly the highway beckoned with the promise of normal people going about their 
sensible affairs. Surely it was worth taking a chance. My captors could not always be parked 
there waiting. And whoever listened to the beep from my collar throughout the day must now
certainly be asleep. I shed weariness and started to run again.

At that time of night the traffic was very light. The first car roared past with a blast of its 
horn in obvious horror at the sight of a naked, handcuffed girl. But the second slowed to a 
stop, and as I hurried to the open window I noted with relief only a single woman who 
listened to my prepared appeal in pure curiosity.

“I’ve been kidnapped and I’ve escaped. Please help me.”

“Get in, honey, and tell me about it.” I was no sooner seated than my rescuer stepped on 
the gas as if sharing my wish to leave Stone as far behind as quickly as possible. She showed 
no signs of concern but listened to my gratitude and thankfulness with a quiet smile that did 
much to make me feel better.

“You may as well come home with me,” she said quietly. “If we go to the police, we’ll still 
be there in the morning, answering their questions and suspicions. It’s not every day a naked, 
handcuffed girl falls into their lap.”

“Can you get these handcuffs off? They make me feel so silly,” I asked.

“Not here in the car. But when we get home, I’m sure I can do something. Is there any 
danger we are being followed?”

“I don’t know. This collar I’ve got on my neck sends out electronic signals. But there’s no 
way I can get it off.”

“We’ll fix that, too. Did they keep it on you all the time?”

“Yes. Like I said, it simply would not come off. They kept me handcuffed all the time, too.

Do you know anything about a great big estate called ‘Stone’?”

“I’ve heard of it. It’s big money. By the way, dear, if you lean over the seat, you’ll find a 
blanket in the back. I expect you can wiggle it over your shoulders.”

I reflected how deeply I had sunk into enslavement. Once I would have grabbed that 
blanket like a shot but now it really didn’t matter. But I did as I was told so as to not appear 
strange. It wasn’t all that easy with my hands still imprisoned in their cuffs but I said nothing 
and did the best I could. My companion took an occasional sideways glance at me.

“My name is Shannon Andrews,” she offered. “Now you’re safe and settled, why don’t you 
tell me all about this kidnapping and where you come from.”

While I breathlessly told my story I examined the woman who had rescued me. I guessed 
her as thirty-five or so, good features and a good figure. In addition there was about her the 
aura of money. I suspected it was wealth which gave her the quiet authority to cope with a 
naked girl fleeing for her liberty in the middle of the night. I’d been lucky, Shannon was a lot 
better than I dared hope for. When, at the end of my tail, she asked if I would like a cup of 
coffee, I gave a hearty yes.

It was one of those long, low places with one side all window. Apart from the man behind 
the counter there were two other lounging at a table. Upon Shannon’s entry they got up and 
one of them came outside, looked around, and then walked over to where I was shivering 
within the blanket. At the windows he asked a few questions which told me all too clearly he 
was either one of Stone’s men or more probably assessing the possibilities of robbery. When 
Shannon came with a little tray she was followed by number two. And then there happened 
something to make me view her in a wholly different light. With one man stand beside me and
another rapidly closing in at her rear, she simply dropped the tray and replaced it with a 
revolver as if my magic and shot the male menace in the arm.

When the one by the car turned to run, she took careful aim and nicked him, too. Both 
men vanished, cursing into the night while Shannon, emotionally undisturbed, got back in 
behind the wheel.

“Damn them! A girl can’t even stop for coffee any more. Never mind, dear, there’s another 
place further on.”

“You shot them! You shot them both!”

“Just in the arm, dear. It will teach them a lesson and cause them a lot of trouble. We won’t
bother with the police, they make everything so difficult.”

I felt admiration but it was tinged with fear. What ordinary woman could do what Shannon
had just done with such quiet confidence? I began to suspect there was more to my 
companion than met the eye. At the next truck stop we got our coffee and drank it as 
unconcerned as if there were no such things as bandits in the world.

The house was like its owner, beautiful, compact, unintrusive. Everything about it spelt 
money, and I knew myself in luck.

“We might as well go up and get some sleep,” Shannon said. “Leave the blanket in the car 
and come alone, dear.”

The bedroom was a real gem. Right away Shannon ran some sort of magnet around the 
collar around my neck and said it would erase whatever signal it sent out. Briskly she 
suggested I sit on the side of the bed, then, in one continuous flow of motion, clipped on my 
right ankle a sort of big handcuff with a long slender chain. While I sat in dumb amazement, 
she removed her clothes to reveal a loveliness beyond expectations. She got into bed and 
patted the covers incitingly. “Come alone, dear, we both need sleep and you’ll find that chain 
plenty long enough not to bother you.”

“But I don’t want to be chained … I thought you were going to get rid of these handcuffs.”

Shannon sighed. “Well, I suppose I owe you an explanation. But the fact is I’ve always 
wanted a slavegirl all my own. And now you drop into my lap and are so absolutely perfect, I’d
be a fool to let you go. Don’t worry, darling, you’ll be well looked after.”

“But I don’t want to be well looked after. I want to go home.”

“From what you’ve told me, dear, you don’t have much of a home to go to. And I’m sure 
you don’t want to go back to sleeping under a tree.”

“But I don’t want to be a prisoner, I don’t want to belong to anybody!”

“You’re a slavegirl, you belong to me, and you’re a prisoner who I make sure never 
escapes. It’s just one of those things, darling. You’ll get used to it. Please do get into bed.

We can talk in the morning.”

I got into bed.





CHAPTER THREE - Bracelets


I slept. I’m still ashamed of it but that was exactly what I did, the shackled on my ankle causing
my no inconvenience while Shannon’s arm around my bare shoulders made everything all 
right. In the morning my ankle was freed and I was made to stand in the tub while Shannon 
soaped and laved and made me smell delightful. She stood in the bath herself and I did the 
same for her. And then we both sat down in the hot suds and managed to laugh.

“You see what I mean,” Shannon said with mature wisdom. “You’re going to like being my 
slave, and I’m going to love owning you. We’d best forget how it happened. I’ll attribute it to 
Fate. You can blame whoever you wish. Would you like to ask some questions?”

I held up my ironed hands. “These answer everything, don’t they?” I demanded with a 
touch of bitterness. “Until they’re off nothing else is important.”

“In that case, consider everything as being said, darling, because you’ll never get those 
handcuffs off unless I’ve got you fixed some other way. Come alone, lets towel each other, and
then go down to breakfast. Kato will have it ready by now, he’s my Japanese houseboy. I call 
him Kato because everyone calls houseboys Kato, and I can’t pronounce his real name. You’ll 
like Kato, and he won’t do a single thing to help you escape.”

Shannon as right. Kato was a treasure. He appeared to notice nothing below my neck and 
treated me as though naked and handcuffed girls were a routine. He evidently adored his 
mistress and when I came to think about it, I wasn’t exactly hating her myself. Life does 
strange things to a girl. I was still wondering if I might not wake up and find it all a dream.

“My husband died and left me money,” Shannon explained as we ate breakfast. “I loved 
him very much and so have not remarried. I’m not sure how rich I really am, and the effect of 
this wealth and this freedom made me very conscious of the fantasy I’ve possessed all my life.”
She laughed at my attention. “Perhaps it might be more correct to say the fantasy possessed 
me. I just wanted to sit here like this and know that I own a girl who can never possibly 
escape.” She laughed again. “I still find it hard to believe in my good fortune.

Some power, and I’m sure it wasn’t Stone, brought the two of us together. Oh, and by the 
way, I will tell you now this house has no dungeons. I do own a few treasures here and there, 
but they are all you’re going to have to cope with. I want a companion and a lady’s maid. I’ll 
train you to be both. And I should be honest and tell you that I’ll whip you if you refuse 
obedience. Obedience can do a lot for you with me. I value it. I shall want you often on your 
knees.”

It was a lot to think about but Kato’s breakfast modified everything. If this beautiful 
woman wanted obedience from me, I felt certain that obedience would not be hard to offer. I 
told her so and knew that she was pleased. There was something totally demoralizing about 
my first imprisonment at Stone. And now my second one with a woman who could have given
me freedom. Evidently I could consider myself a perennial prisoner. For the moment I let 
things rest.

After breakfast, Shannon sat me in a chair in the most luxurious salon or living room or 
drawing room I had ever seen, and locked my ankles together with a quite beautiful shackle 
with a linkage at the most fifteen inches long. While I was still looking at them in wonder, she 
said gaily, “Give me your hands, darling, it’s time for you to lose your handcuffs. I’ll put them 
back on again another time. But for now you can try running away with what I’ve done to your
feet. You see, dear, if you can’t run there’s not much use your putting up a fight.”

Everything was so beautifully logical. Shannon had everything figured. While I was still 
rubbing chaffed wrists, I kicked at the chain joining my ankles and knew she was correct. I 
could never run and walking would be done at a snail’s pace. But nonetheless I took a job in 
the freedom of my hands and used it in the full to do all sorts of physical exercises I had been 
powerless to perform for a while week. It felt good, good, good!

When I looked around and considered the manifold appointments of wealth in Shannon’s 
home, I was almost pleased that fate had brought me here to satisfy her whim.

Thank you for taking those handcuffs off my wrist,” I said simply. They were on so long.

Please tell me the things you now want me to do.”

She told me. There was a considerable list of do’s and don’ts which I tried to remember.

But I had the private conviction that sooner or later she would make an error by which I 
would find my freedom. In the meantime, being Shannon’s slave might be amusing.

I am not the dominant type and don’t wish to be. If Shannon wanted a submissive girl, she
was more fortunate that she realized. Determined to be even more than the wanted, I fell to 
my knees and whispered, “I am yours. Mistress, to command.” My reward was instant-the slash
of a whip across my back. I screamed out of pain and surprise, and fell sideways on the floor. 
Looking up, I inquired, “I meant well, what did I do wrong?”

“You took the initiative, dear. Never, never do that. I will tell you when to knee, and when 
to offer me your vows.” Shannon tucked the awful whip out of sight beneath a cushion of the 
couch. “Is that understood, dear?”

It most certainly was. The pain had been like that of my one and only whipping at the 
ranch-more than I ever wanted to experience again. Miserably, I said, “I’m sorry, Shannon, I’m 
just trying to please you. May I get up?”

“Okay. There’s no use you wiggling around there on the floor. Get up and we’ll talk about 
what you have to be. And I want to hear about that strange adventure of yours at Stone.

And those girls you said you saw fastened up there. Damn it, if I didn’t think I might 
become one of them, I’d go and have a look.”

They wouldn’t dare kidnap someone as wealthy as you.”

“Why not? Whoever runs the place probably has plenty of money. When you get enough 
money you take those things you want. Even pretty girls. I took you….”

I did not argue with her logic. “About those girls you saw chained up. Some of them might
have been wealthy for all you know. Once you lock a shackle on a girl, it doesn’t matter how 
much money she may possess. She becomes simply two breasts and a patch of pubic hair.”

“Is that all I am to you?” Shannon laughed at the tone of my voice. “You’re the only one I 
have. And one is better than a dozen. A woman can’t possibly love a dozen equally, there has 
to be one who is the favorite. You’re my favorite, leave it at that.”

Whoever reads this chronicle must understand the speed at which events carried me along
on a flood I could not fight. I had been a free girl but in only seven days I had been 
confronted with the pure magic of the little pool in Stone, the captive girls, the man named 
Jim and his faithful servant Pilar. Now I was the property of a beautiful woman who desired 
me as the fulfillment of a fantasy. I could understand the fantasy. Long ago when I was free, 
other girls had confided in me their secret thoughts and among them had been the wish to 
possess a naked girl who was kept chained, and who obeyed your ever wish or was whipped. 
A girl can come to accept whatever is done to her. It is a sort of conditioning and I was 
beginning to see myself within the context of Shannon’s desire.

The whip stroke was a burn across my back.

“Try walking, dear. You’ll have to practice.” Once more humiliation. I could walk but only 
with the tiniest steps to the accompaniment of metallic clinking. It was possible to achieve a 
sedate progress which appeared to satisfy Shannon but left me knowing how much I was still 
a prisoner. Even with free arms I could not dare make a bid for freedom.

When Shannon was happy with my progress around the room, she commenced the 
serious endeavor of instructing me on everything a slavegirl ought to know. It was a mixture 
of practical demands along with ego-shriveling commands altogether too easy to remember. 
They went something like this.

“Kneel before me, dear, with your knees well apart so I can see your sex. That’s right, you 
do it beautifully … And not the questions.

What do you call those little rosebuds on your breasts?”

I could see without doubt where this was heading. Revolt was instantaneous. Using both 
hands, I stood erect, and terribly afraid I confronted a beautiful woman I wanted very much as 
a friend. I had no plan but only a disgust at the childish nonsense Shannon appeared to desire
of me. Flushed and uncertain, I said with all the firmness I could muster, “That’s kid’s stuff, 
Shannon. I don’t want to pretend to be preoccupied with the bits and pieces of my body 
relative to sex. Please, Shannon, aren’t we both a bit old to be playing such games?”

“You and I are not, dear. We are two of the beautiful ones for whom the secret places of 
our sex can be an endless delight. I have never tired of my breasts or nipples, and I’ll bet you 
haven’t, either. Come on, don’t be silly, be a good girl.”

She was so beautiful and I wanted her so much as a friend. Stone had conditioned me to 
chains and the strangest of slavery’s, and I might find it easy now to play Shannon’s game if 
only she would excuse me the infantile ordeal of intimately describing my private parts.

“Look, Shannon, I don’t mind handcuffs or leg irons if it pleases you. I won’t complain 
being forced to play that game for as long as it gives you pleasure. You keep me prisoner that 
way long enough, I think you’ll only get bored. Please let me go so we can part as good 
friends.”

“You’re being presumptuous, dear, acting as though you’re my equal.” There was a trace of
steel in the lovely voice. “I suggest, dear, you look down at your ankles and assess your 
freedom. When you’ve done that, you should think on a different level. Oh, by the way, try 
addressing me as ‘Mistress’ instead of my given name. Whether you like it or not, dear, that’s 
exactly what I am.”

I stood there quivering under the stress of varied emotions, anger at the indignity of 
chained feet, the shame of impotence, and an overwhelming sense of injustice. A little voice 
inside kept crying aloud, why me, why me?

I repeated, “Please give me back my freedom. I can be any kind of girl you want without 
having to be chained. Or threatened with some awful punishment … Please!”

“You are so sweet, darling, when you’re trying to be rational. Submissives can never be 
really and truly rational simply because they’re submissives. We seem to be faced with a 
divergence of principle, sweetheart. How would it be I whip you until you realize what you 
truly are?”

T don’t want to be whipped. Being whipped is horrible for a girl. All I know is it makes me 
feel as thought I’m an absolute nothing, a piece of feminine meat.” The woman I had to call 
mistress smiled at my words, seeming to shrug away my arguments.

“Trinity, darling, this is the point at which I should give you a good thrashing,” she said 
evenly. “You couldn’t get away, you’d just stumble and trip and fall. And all the while as I whip 
you to bits. Somewhere in the process you’d blurt out that, yes, you’d be happy to say or do 
whatever I want. Even if it meant a crude description of your private parts. I’m sure you’d find 
a whipping helpful but I don’t want to use it unless you force me to.

Everything you’ve said about being whipped is true.”

“Please, Shannon, let me go. Please, Mistress, set me free. I’d be a much more interesting 
slavegirl for you if these chains were off my ankles.”

“You’d run away, dear, you and I both know this. I can imagine you might come back but 
do we have to go through all that fuss and bother. Why know simply kneel here in front of me
and describe the delights you have to offer? Then give yourself an orgasm with your finger 
while you look me in the eye. You poor darling, you don’t know what intimacy really is!”

In shame I tested my tether by lifting one foot against its chain. It was a pitifully small 
number of links by which I was allowed to walk and impossible to run. Shannon left me then 
return quickly with the slender length of a riding crop, the sight of which caused me to 
exclaim, “I don’t think those things are made for use on girls! They’re for a horse’s tough hide. 
It will cut me to pieces.”

“So what, darling? Does it matter?”

“Are you going to whip me because I spoke the truth?”

“Not immediately, darling. It should be possible for the two of us to come to an 
understanding.”

“You want me to be a little girl who whispers dirty giggles in the little girl’s room. I had 
been feeling respect for you but you’re trying to kill it. Go and find another girl to tell you 
about tits and cunts.”

The response was instant. I hadn’t really expected it but the slender snake of Shannon’s 
crop sliced my bottom with a venom to make me scream and try to run. The result was a 
scramble of arms and legs upon the floor, and a continuation of the blows from which I could 
not hide. I tried desperately to grasp the beastly weapon and drag it from her hands.

Had it been a whip that might have been practical, but the slender crop snaked in and cut 
my flesh whenever my struggles exposed some target. Before long I was about scolded until 
all I felt was an animal fear of being cut to bits. From time to time Shannon’s voice insinuated 
between blows, “Ready yet, darling? I’ll stop any time you say.”

It ended with me groveling upon the rug to endure cut after wicked cut where on my 
naked flesh Shannon chose. After an infinity of pain I cried out with a voice I could not believe 
was mine, “Stop! Oh, please stop! Shannon, stop. I’ll do anything you want.”

Instantly the blows ceased. The only sounds in the room were those of my bitter sobbing, 
gasps and little moans. There was no bit of me that didn’t hurt.

I suppose I should now recount the small, innocent obscenities in which I described my 
sexual parts in great detail. When I had covered about all that could be covered, my mistress 
said, “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Don’t you see how silly you were, darling, to get 
yourself whipped over a little thing like that?”

“It was horrible.”

“It was horrible only because you were conditioned to think of it that way. Wouldn’t it be 
fun to start all over again?”

It was too much. I flung myself face down upon the bed, thrusting my down my shackled 
feet so as to be totally available to punishment, sobbing in bitter defeat, “Go ahead then, whip
me to death. Go ahead and kill me and get it over with. I don’t want to talk about those parts 
of me again. You’ve got the wrong girl, Shannon, kidnap someone else.”

I had prepared myself for the cruel cuts, determined to bear them. But the crop was cast 
aside and I was gathered into loving female arms while the woman who owned me cooed, 
“There, there, darling, don’t take on so. We’ve had a wonderful encounter and you gave me 
the excuse to whip you beautifully. Trinity, my dear, you are most beautifully whippable and 
I’m going to have to watch myself. So don’t give me too many excuses for marking up your 
pretty skin. Let’s kiss and make up and talk about something else.”

She was unpredictable and I knew myself a prisoner indeed. If I was not conquered by 
cord or crop, I would be vanquish by a woman’s love. I let myself be cradled in her arms and, 
crazy as it sounds, found happiness in her adoration of my flesh. The irons upon my feet 
laughed at any thought I might have of liberty.

That night I was taught the arts of Lesbos. The interest Shannon felt in my reactions was 
no greater than that I felt myself. I was doing and saying things I would never have dreamed 
of a week or more ago. Even though my submission had been enforced by the cutting of my 
skin by a riding crop, it was nonetheless a submission I examined in astonishment. That this 
girl who responded instantly to her mistress’ commands might once have been Trinity Evans 
seemed beyond the bounds of reason. But I knew it was so.

Cautiously I took step after step into slavery and found it good.

I can see you shrug and hear you say what else could be expected of a girl who had been 
whipped half to death and had no hope of freedom. I’m sure anyone would have considered 
the homage and devotion I now paid my mistress to be nothing more than might be 
expected. After all I was only a girl and girls can bear only so much pain before they break. I 
did not know the rights of it then, and don’t know them now. All I do know was that Shannon 
possessed me totally and whatever she asked of me I obediently performed. I became proud 
of my obedience.

Ever day the two of us used the big mirror in the bedroom to admire my weals which had 
gone through the usual progression from pink to red, red to scarlet, and scarlet to purple with
a touch of pink here and there to tell for sure I had been well and truly whipped. I took a pride
in these adornments and Shannon laughed with me as we viewed their fading day by day. I 
tried to never invite another crop. I expect both of us were fitting our way into a strange 
relationship. I was the first girl Shannon had owned. And in spite of what Stone had done to 
me, she was my first real mistress. I was constantly controlled by handcuffs or leg irons, and 
sometimes both. Neither of these wonderful silver restraints bothered me any more for I had 
by now come to regard freedom as an abstract condition, undeserving of hope. Often we 
went for a ride in the car with me trussed tight like a turkey but discreetly hidden from prying 
eyes by a blanket My enjoyment of these trips was limited by the cut of the cords with which I 
was bound. But, no matter how I pleaded, Shannon insisted on this semi-immobility on our 
trips. Never, never was I allowed a single moment free.

It became automatic that if my restraints would be changed from my ankles to my wrists, I 
would first offer my hands for the cuffs, or the other way around for the leg irons. If I was to 
be bound, it always began with the binding of my crossed wrists behind my back.

Sometimes my wrists were not crossed but my hands placed palm to palm and trussed 
cruelly before a similar constriction was imposed upon my bare elbows to draw them tight 
together. That always caused me to weep and moan in a manner Shannon obviously adored. 
Eventually I simply accepted the pain and helplessness without demure.

Shannon and I came to a total understanding in which we were content. We shared 
laughter at those times when my restraints were changed, and it might be supposed there 
would be moments of freedom. But there wasn’t. I was never given one second of time in 
which I could fight. Always one part of me was immobilized before the other part of freed.

There was nothing magic about it, it was not hard to do. And this cleverness of Shannon’s 
control gave us much to laugh about. It was always understood between us that I would 
escape if I ever got the chance. This improbable liberty was often referred to in our 
conversations. After a while I ceased to believe in it.

Shannon delighted in what she called conversation but which was actually a time in which 
she made me listen to her convictions. I was always told to kneel before her on the rug, or to 
listen while I was trussed with her in the car, and discreetly hidden from view by the blanket. 
She loved to thus hold forth, and in so doing aided me in an understanding of the woman 
who held my life in her hands.

I remember one conversation all too well. It was one of Shannon’s favorites and we 
returned to it often. With me suitably restrained and attentive, she came out with the demand,
“What do you think about this thing called love, darling? I thought about it a great deal, and 
I’ve reached the conclusion it’s a bit of a swindle. How about you?”

“Love is love, Mistress. I haven’t thought beyond that.”

“That’s the whole problem with love darling. People simply don’t think about it. They just 
think it’s something beautiful that happens when the meet the right person. A girl envisions a 
man pretty much in the mold of a Greek god, and a man sees his chosen female as Aphrodite, 
Helen of Troy, or whatever screen star happens to be popular at the moment.

Darling, haven’t you realized what it’s really all about?”

“It’s about babies! Those cuddly little things with a loud noise at one end and no 
responsibility at the other.”

My mistress continued on along those lines for quite some time, pointing out that love is 
based on lust and lust is based upon the animal instinct to reproduce the species.

The first couple of times I told her that she was wrong and love was beautiful. But she 
quickly overrode me. And when you’re naked, tightly bound up, and ever conscious of the 
nearness of a riding crop, you can be persuaded. At least to stop your objections.

Maybe I was bored with her discourse upon the nature of love, but I suddenly heard my 
own voice making a request, “Shannon, dear, could I be unchained while we talk? I’m so tired 
of handcuffs and leg irons. They don’t do a thing for me … Please?”

Halted in mid-stride, Shannon sarcastically inquired, “Am I boring you?”

“Of course not, Mistress. But I’m so sick of being fastened. Couldn’t I be free for a little 
while?”

“You know that’s not practical, dear.”

“You think I’ll run away or refuse to be fastened again. But I’ll give you my word to be 
obedient.”

“I’m sure you would. And you’d also break it at the first opportunity. Don’t be silly, dear.

You know I have to keep you prisoner. If you’re so damned anxious to run away, then it’s 
doubly important I should keep you tightly secured.”

I shrugged and kept silent. But I’m sure I looked sulky and hurt. Which drew an instant, 
“Do you want to be whipped. Trinity?” Suddenly the slender crop was tapping my shoulder in 
a way to make me cringe. “I refuse to be angry with you, dear, because I realize you’ll have to 
be whipped quite a number of times to get you properly conditioned. Would you enjoy a 
repeat performance rolling on the rug?”

“I don’t want to be whipped. I’m sorry about looking sulky, I didn’t mean it. Please forget 
what I said about wanting to be free.”

“The trouble is, Trinity, you want to be free. And I can understand your having this 
obsession. Probably if someone handcuffed me for a week or two, I’d want to get rid of them, 
too.” Shannon sighed. “I don’t want to whip you every time we have a disagreement.

Whipping a naked girl could become addictive. I should whip you right now but I’m not 
going to.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” My gratitude must have been real. Shannon’s features softened as 
she said, “You’re welcome, Trinity. Isn’t it nice we understand each other.”

I knelt before her on the rug, my linked hands covering my pubic patch and the leg irons 
on my ankles hurting just enough as a reminder to behave. I could have screamed in 
frustration but that wasn’t a good idea so I kept quiet and listened in amazement.

“I just had a wonderful idea, darling.” Shannon sounded pleased with herself. “You want 
freedom so badly I’m going to give it to you. I’m sure you remember those lines about if you 
love something, set it free? If it comes back, it is yours. If it doesn’t, it never was.” She laughed 
at what she saw on my face. “It’s a chance I’m willing to take, dear. I’m handing you the ball.”

I remember making a great play with my handcuffs as thought demonstrating their 
authority. “Do you really mean that, Shannon? What’s made you suddenly chance your mind?”

“Put it down to feminine caprice, dear. I’m going to be amused at this experiment. I have 
to hope you’re ready for it.”

The rest of the day was a jumble in which I asked no questions for fear of Shannon 
revoking my promised freedom. I suppose I didn’t really believe it. I guess it’s like that with 
convicts in a prison in their final day. I don’t suppose they can possibly believe that tomorrow 
they’ll be free. The quiet, small smile of Shannon’s lips told me I did not know it all, but I was 
certain that if she unlocked the irons I’d be content. In the shadows of early evening, she took 
me to the car.

I should have guessed but we were half way through our journey before the idea occurred 
to me, and when it did I was not too sure I was going to be happy about it. But I was safely 
chained and not able to argue. When we finally reached our destination, I was in a quiver of 
excitement. Shannon left the car to open the door on my side to tell me to stick out my feet. 
My leg irons were unlocked and tossed into the back seat while I was invited to offer my 
hands.

When the second cuff fell open, I was still a naked girl but totally free of restraints. I slide 
to the asphalt and flung my arms around her neck in gratitude. I could feel her quivering with 
excitement in the same manner as I. We clung and clung, until she whispered in my ear, “Are 
you quite sure you want freedom, darling?”

Shannon was not one for heartbreaking good-byes. She kissed me once more, a very 
sober kiss, then patted my bottom and returned to her car. When she started the motor, she 
tossed me something I just barely managed to catch. As I watched the taillights fade away, I 
looked down at what I held.

It was the handcuffs.





CHAPTER FOUR - Pirate


I dared not stop long in indecision. There weren’t many cars but what there were would easily 
see my nakedness if I remained on the highway. Possibly I was foolish but there was no way I 
wanted to yield my nudity to chance. True, I was still glowing with affection for the woman 
who had placed me thus on the side of the road in total freedom. But next time I might not be
that lucky. Hastily I hurried down the slope of the shoulder and crossed the ditch into the 
refuge of the trees. I was back to square one. I stood for a while, savoring freedom, letting the 
cars flash by without sense of loss. But I could not pretend to be overjoyed as I started my 
familiar journey to the only place on earth I seemed to be able to think of as home. A maiden 
must indeed be in sad straits when home is a tiny spring and a bed of leaves surrounded by 
wilderness. The handcuffs I clutched were still warm from my skin. For a moment I considered 
throwing them away but their very warmth was an intimacy to make them doubly mine, and I 
felt the tiny thrill of satisfaction in holding something that had once held me. If I managed to 
escape from Stone, I could take with me no better memento of the strangest captivity a girl 
could know.

I had much to think about. Especially Shannon and her gift of freedom. I felt certain she 
knew something I did not. But if she were confident of my return, I could see no way to make 
it happen. Her home was far distant and I did not know the way. Shannon had exerted a 
tremendous influence and I was forced to wonder ruefully if I might not be better off her 
prisoner than naked and free in a lonely wilderness. What I needed most of all was a rescue by
rational people who would take me home. As I walked through the night, it seemed an 
unlikely dream.

I had got what I asked for but might easily be sorry. My gain in my encounter with 
Shannon was nothing more than the handcuffs I clutched as my only possession. I could do as
I pleased with them, they no longer held me prisoner. But when I thought of Stone and how 
to cope with it, they seemed a very small gain. I was almost tempted to clasp both circlets on 
one wrist to avoid the nuisance of having to carry them. But since I could not possibly get 
them off again, I had enough sense to simply put up with them. There were heavier burdens a 
girl might have to bear.

As I came closer to my destination I knew I would still be beset by decisions. By now Jiminy
would probably have ceased her daily visits to the spring, so if I wanted something to eat I 
would have to strike out in some direction. To be naked and alone within a wilderness, no 
matter how beautiful it might be, becomes a frightening way in which to pass each day. But 
for the moment I thrust decisions aside and sought only the familiar place where I could sleep.
Eve had Adam in her Eden, but I had no one.

Once more I felt the victim of magic. The little spring was cheerful and I could swear the 
bed of leaves had been replenished. But most outrageous was the lunch basket awaiting my 
attention. When I opened it, everything was fresh, someone had left it there during the day, 
and with it the bottle of wine I had once scorned. I now drank of it in a deliberate 
determination to get tipsy enough not to think. I ate a couple of sandwiches and was 
momentarily happy. Chuckling with the pixie thought, I dropped the handcuffs into the basket
as though telling someone they did not belong to me.

Jiminy came for lunch and was her usual radiant self, throwing her arms around my neck 
to kiss and kiss again, and to whisper in my ear, “We all knew you’d be back, darling, and we 
all knew exactly where you were.” She giggled, “I expect someone thought they’d destroyed 
that lovely collar, but it’s pretty much foolproof and its message came through loud and clear.
Isn’t it wonderful to think you can’t ever get it off?”

Neither of us mentioned my free hands and free feet. When I tried to speak of my 
adventure with Shannon, Jiminy put her finger against my lips. “I don’t want to hear about it, 
darling. I’m sure it was a wonderful experience but it doesn’t matter now. It’s over and done 
with and I don’t suppose you’ll even be punished.” Her tone became serious. “I really don’t 
think you should try escaping on that highway, darling, I don’t think it worked out a bit well 
for you and it could be far, far worse. There’s still lots and lots of this lovely wilderness to 
explore.” Her voice was once more mischievous. “Who knows, you may find your freedom 
right around the corner?”

“You know I won’t I don’t think there is any freedom for me. That ranch didn’t treat me 
kindly. That fellow Jim actually had me whipped.”

“But he allowed you to escape, dear. And I suspect the whip marks you’ve got now didn’t 
all happen at the ranch. Didn’t you simply adore Pilar? She’s sweet”

“It was Pilar who whipped me.”

“But only because she was told to, darling. You really must see things in their proper 
context. If you didn’t find what you were looking for in that direction, you can always try 
another.”

“I’m going to stay right here where I am,” I said firmly. “I don’t believe the rainbow’s end is 
in any direction. This little spot is probably as close as I’ll come to it.”

“Suit yourself, darling. But I’ll bet in a couple of days you’ll get itchy feet again. By the way, 
what’s it like not to be handcuffed?”

“It’s wonderful. I don’t want to ever see a pair of handcuffs again. I put them in your picnic 
basket to take home again.”

“So I noticed. Someone must have given you freedom. I’m sure you didn’t get them off by 
yourself.”

“It’s a beautiful freedom, I’m enjoying every moment.”

“But I’m afraid you’re required to be handcuffed. Would you like to put them back on 
yourself or should I do it for you?”

All I felt was indignation. My hands had been free only a matter of hours and already I was
asked to surrender then again into the steel bands. I couldn’t believe Jiminy would be so cruel,
but, of course, she was acting on behalf of the power I had not yet met. Quite simply I had out
my hand. “Give them to me, Jiminy,” I asked quietly.

“I’m so glad you’re being sensible, darling,” she said as she reached for the hateful things.

“It’s much the best to do as we’re told here at Stone. And when your wrists are locked in 
front it doesn’t bother you much.” With an approving smile, she handed me the bracelets. I 
snatched them out of her hand and hurled them with all my strength into what I hoped was 
oblivion.

Jiminy didn’t react much, almost as if she had expected a dramatic gesture. But the tone of
her voice was told me she meant what she said, “If that’s the way you want it, darling, you can 
spend the day looking for them. If you’re not properly handcuffed when I come tomorrow 
with the basket, I’ll have to handcuff you myself. But that would mean a tussle and we’d both 
get our hair messed up and probably a few bruises. You know you can’t beat my karate tricks, 
so I do hope you’ll be sensible. Think about it.”

I thought about it. There wasn’t much else to occupy my mind. My lips tingled from 
Jiminy’s departing kiss. Just as my pride smarted under the stem demand that she find me 
handcuffed on the next day. I sat and dreamed. Then I walked around and around for several 
hours. Then I began the search, cursing my cowardice as I poked among grass and shrubs, 
assuring myself that if I didn’t find them, Jiminy would have another pair anyway.

Needless to say, I found them easily. In a mood of strange defiance, I dropped them into 
the picnic basket as if daring Jiminy to do her worst. I absolutely was not going to lock them 
on my own wrists. For the balance of the day I enjoyed my lovely freedom with all sorts of 
running around, the hurling of rocks at everything, and also a number of leaps into the air. I 
also ran around a couple of hills and back again as if to reassure my feet. But when I thought 
of heading out in a straight line, my courage failed. I loved the spring with its little pool, and I 
loved my bed of leafs.

That night I dreamed a dream. I was tired hard and tight to the mast of a ship, a mast too 
wide for my arms to encompass, but my hands had been drawn back to either side and 
brutally knotted in a manner to stress my shoulders and protrude my breasts. Single strands 
of rope tugged cruelly above and below the breasts so vividly revealed, and a third stricture 
was around my waist. I could well believe the crew must have tugged in unison to make the 
hemp bit so deeply into my flesh. Probably I was being punished for having found a sword 
and having given a good accounting of myself before being overpowered and knocked 
unconscious. My head still throbbed and I moaned in misery.

Almost everything I had worn had been rent away as if my captors had been anxious to 
assure themselves of a prize possessing all the required feminine attributes by which to please
the male. Shame mantled me in scarlet as I realized how I was exposed. It was then I beheld 
my companions in distress.

There had been four of us girls on the journey to Geona and the other three were in not 
much better circumstances than I. Their clothing had been savagely torn away and their wrists 
and elbows tied cruelly behind their backs. They were linked together by a long rope tied 
around their necks at a distance of about four feet apart, the end of the tether being high 
beyond their reach. When they saw I had regained conscious, they wailed in unison, “We’re 
going to be sold as slaves, the men told us so. Oh, Diane, what are we going to do!”

I did not know what we were going to do. At that moment I was only interested in my 
throbbing head and the cut of cords. Without the sympathy I should have felt, I demanded 
sharply, “Surely one of you can get loose. You can tug at each other’s knots.”

“We’ve tried and tried but it’s just no use. And if we got ourselves free, there’s no where to 
go but jump overboard.”

I said no more. Girls made prisoner aboard a ship had little choice. They either submitted 
in a passive acceptance of their fate or two leap overboard to a watery grave.

A sudden hope struck me and I implored my fellow captives, “Can you reach me were I’m 
tied here to the mast? Your feet are free and you can walk. Maybe if you back up and use your
fingers on the knots around my wrists?”

“We tried that, Diane, but the rope won’t stretch. We figure they fixed us this way on 
purpose just to be cruel. None of us can touch you and we don’t suppose it would do any 
good anyway, all of us are tied far too tight.”

There the three of them were. We got no further then in what we had to say for a couple 
of the crew had heard us speak and came to investigate. They stood before me, grinning and 
tearing away the few bits of clothing that remained. My nipples were fingered as was my hairy 
secret place below. To these devils, nothing was sacred. But they refrained from harm, no 
doubt because I had become costly merchandise. And probably because they were aware that
the captain would want me for himself. I wondered if I would find approval in his eyes. 
Without wasting time, each man selected one of the trussed maidens on the deck. They were 
thrust back upon bound arms and each was lustily invaded by a vulgar crewman who 
exhibited neither gentility nor consideration. Each rape was harsh, quick and brutal. I longed 
to close my eyes against this horror but was gripped by a terrible fascination I could not 
control.

The third girl, easily the most beautiful and youngest of the three, was most unfortunate.

There being more crew members present than there were girls, she was picked as the 
choice of most of the extra men. She was ravished repeatedly.

All three of the girls were left laying on the deck in exhaustion and shock. For a long time 
they lay silent in their bonds, unable to meet each other’s or my eyes, so great was their 
shame. I wondered when it would be done to me. But I feared I was a tasty morsel the captain 
was keeping for himself. My rape was inevitable.

After a while the poor girls on the deck wiggled themselves into a sitting posture, and it 
was easy to see the agony of their bound elbows was severe. After my own first feeble 
struggled, I abandoned all hope of freeing myself. The strictures holding me were deliberately 
cruel. Miserably I wondered what humiliations I would agree to just to get myself untied. That 
was all that mattered now, for someone to cut the ropes. It was the same with all of us and we
viewed each other with stricken eyes. The pirates ravishing the maidens were not famous for 
good intentions. Because we were valuable merchandise, it was possible they might not 
torture us too much before our eventual sale. But even that was doubtful. Those who 
purchased girls like us were not adverse to whip marks of the burn or rope. No doubt we 
would be offered for sale as virgins but three of us had lost our maidenheads already within a 
few hours of capture and I felt my virginity would not last for long.

The captain took his time. Perhaps he was quietly punishing us for our failure to submit 
after the sinking of our ship. Or perhaps leaving us thus was a tried and true method of 
making girls amenable to the desires of men. All four of us had shed tears of pain and pity 
before he came into view. He tested the neck tethers of the girls his men had raped. His 
English was without fault and everything about him was contrary to expectations. This man 
was no savage Moor or Arab. He was English and educated.

“You are the Lady Diane Mosley. And I am Captain Terrence Linton, at your service. If I 
remember right, your home is Mosley Manor in the county of Kent. I trust those ropes have 
softened you temper?”

This man was so totally unexpected that I was at a loss for words. That he was English was 
not that unusual for pirates were of ever class and bred. In a flare up of the temper he 
deplored, I demanded, “Please cut these ropes and the cords of those poor girls your men 
have used so cruelly.”

He nodded. “I am a sailor and rope is a sailor’s best friend. Especially when he deals with 
maidens who’s pride needs tempering. I am much inc-lined to leave you there a few more 
hours.”

“Please, no! Oh, no. Please, I beg of you.”

“That’s better. Let me give you a small reward.” He took a knife from his belt and severed 
the brutal stricture from above my breasts. So deeply was it embedded in my flesh, he was 
forced to peel it from my skin. My moan was involuntary but I managed a polite thank you. He
replaced his knife and said, without emotion, “I judge that rope I’ve cut to have given you 
more pain than the others. It has left a fine gaudy mark above your breasts. I expect you 
would like me to cut the one below?”

“I would be grateful.”

“There is no hurry. You’re a pretty picture, Lady, which I’m enjoying. I do dearly love a titled
English woman bound tight to my mast. You contrive a quality of indignation none can 
match.”

“Have you no shame. Sir? To torture four innocent girls who did you no harm? Please, Sir, 
as an English gentlemen….”

Terrence Linton laughed at me. “I maybe English but I am not considered a gentleman. At 
least not in Kent. I am wondering whether to annoy the county by holding you for ransom or 
whether there would be greater reward in selling you to the highest bidder. You’d fetch a 
pretty price.”

“Sell me but send the others home. They are so young.”

“But you are so ripe and so ready, Lady Diane. And the youth of those who suffer with my 
cords is no disadvantage to their disposal.

It has been a profitable day.”

Unexpectedly he cut the cord below my breasts. “You are well and truly marked, my dear,”

he said as he cast aside the rope and eyed the brand it had left upon my flesh. I was still 
bound but could now breath more easily. Sensing mercy, I now pleaded, “Please, Sir, cut the 
ropes that bind my arms. And of those three girls who suffered much. If you need, you can 
surely secure us in some more kindly fashion.”

“Can I now! Perhaps you’d care to make a suggestion?”

“I have no experience in the binding of young women.

I am sure you would have no trouble in binding us.”

This time it was the rope around my waist his sword sliced into limbo. Painful as it might 
be, I was now free with the exception of my hands. But my corded wrists kept me hard back 
against the mast, and I had to stand there for this man’s pleasure. The three girls tethered by 
their necks were watching in faint hope as they .beheld me being slowly freed.

I most desperately wanted the agony of my wrists to end but dared not ask. I sensed the 
captain would do with us as he pleased.

My right hand was next and then my left. With a great thankfulness I stood there naked 
before our captor and massaged my wounds which were almost more painful then when 
indented by the bonds. While thus employed I gazed in accusation at the man who should 
have been a gentleman but was not. He laughed, guessing my intention. “If you’re seeking to 
shame me, m’lady, you should save your time. I am shameless. If you haven’t discovered that 
already, you will. May I suggest we adjoum to my cabin for a glass of wine?”

“But, what about these three girls?”

“They can wiggle and twist a little longer. Prisoners must learn patience. Especially when 
they are as pretty as they are. Let’s go, m’lady.”

I took his arm and was glad for the support for my period on the mast had left me weak 
and hurting everywhere. My principle hope was that the captain would have the decency to let
me sit and drink his wine before he raped me. I had no doubt that would be his next business. 
He read my thoughts. “Be not so concerned with rape, madam, rape is a simple act. There are 
others far more entertaining.”

“I suppose you speak of torture?”

“If you wish, madam, there are many names for the things men do to girls. In the 
meantime, let us find comfort in the wine.”

Considering the relative smallness of the ship, the captain’s cabin was indeed splendid, 
adored, I could well suppose, by many thefts from many places, and the loot of many sunken 
ships. Gratefully I sank into the deep fabric of the couch and accepted the offered wine. I 
drank greedily until he refilled my glass. Suddenly I knew myself naked.

“Please, Captain, give me covering. It is not decent that I sit there thus.”

“You are beautiful, m’lady, no sane man would hide such loveliness.”

“But I am shamed. Your gaze distresses me.”

“You’ll get used to it, madam. I suspect you’ve said farewell to clothes. In this climate a girl 
has no need of them. You like the wine?”

“It is most excellent wine. If I drink enough of it, I will cease to plead for covering. Is that 
your plan?”

Terrence Linton laughed. “You see ill in everything, m’lady. Because you see me less than a 
gentleman, I can do no kindness. Fortunately you have time to learn the ways of a man who 
lost his title long ago.” He sighed heavily. “I have already said you are beautiful in a way to 
melt the heart of any man. But do not tax my patience lest you find yourself once more 
fastened to the mast, this time your breasts will be hard against the wood and your back 
ready for the whip. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been whipped?”

“Don’t be absurd, no girl of my station is ever whipped. Whipping is for servants, and the 
criminals.”

My caption sipped slowly and eyed me over the glass. His obvious amusement was 
irritating but what could I do? The mere mention of the whip had made my flesh crawl. I 
wished I could sound more human and less stilted in my speech, but I belonged in a country 
manor house and most certainly not where I was. My thoughts turned to striking a bargain.

“Captain, in all humility, please offer us to our families for ransom. Please do not sell us 
into slavery.”

The captain waved my plea aside and poured more wine. I did not feel the effect of the 
wine but knew myself more alert and terribly afraid.

“You have spoken of something to wear,” Captain Terrence Linton said casually. “Perhaps 
you would like to discuss the matter of your irons?”

“Irons!”

“Sometimes called chains or fetters, m’lady. Their purpose, in your case, is to hold a 
maiden where she doesn’t want to be.”

“But that is outrageous! Irons are only for criminals … English girls of decent family could 
never endure such shame. Please, I beg of you, let us not talk of such things.”

He was playing with me and we both knew it. Scorn and contempt could not touch this 
man. He was secure in the power of his ship and his crew. With breasts heaving, I was forced 
to pay attention.

“You were concerned about the pain your maidens received from their ropes,” he 
suggested casually. “Would you prefer their wrists be ironed and anchored to the deck lest 
they jump over the rail? Surely you could see this an humane?”

“It’s horrible, you should be ashamed to even mention it.”

“Their ankles then, and not their wrists? I’m a most accommodating man.”

“Irons and shackles are horrible things no girl should be forced to bear. Fasten me thus if it
pleases you, but have mercy on the younger girls. I fear for there sanity if you iron them in the
manner of convicts.”

“Those pretty little pigeons have more endurance than you give them credit for, m’lady.”

The captain was openly laughing at my outrage. “If it please you better, we could rivet a 
collar on each pretty neck, and add a chain well anchored but with a sufficient length of links 
to allow them to move some. Come, m’lady, we must be practical.”

I didn’t like any of it, but secretly acknowledged any of his suggestions would be less 
painful than the binding of maiden elbows. I was about to make some sort of admission when
the tone of the captain’s voice changed. “If you would be so kind, madam, I would now like 
you to dispose yourself suitably upon the bed.”

So the moment had come! This was where I lost my virginity and commenced my 
conditioning as a slave. Reason told me I would do well to obey rather then invite brutalities, 
but this I could not do. I simply gave Terrence my coldest stare and tried to make my words 
seem final. “I will do no such thing, Sir. What you ask is something no proper English lady 
could ever bring herself to do. Surely you understand this.”

“Ready yourself upon the bed, m’lady, or I’ll have a couple of men come in and 
spread-eagle with more of the rope you say you so dislike. Don’t say I didn’t offer you a 
choice.”

“All you have offered me is degradation’s.”

“Would you be more inc-lined to reason if I promised a flogging to each of your girls 
should you not obey?” His voice was quietly curious.

“You could never be so cruel,” I said without conviction. “I refuse to obey any of your 
commands. They are all shamefully cruel. Do as you please with me, I refuse to bandy words.”

The two sailors appeared as if by magic. Like a cornered animal I turned and ran while they
laughingly persuaded me around the bed room. The captain took no part in the chase but 
stood and laughed at my panic. I was easily captured and tossed upon my back upon the bed,
my arms dragged out and up, once more to feel the awful bit of cord. Then my feet were 
dragged down and apart and bound to leave me in the most shocking exposure of my life, 
and struggling wildly at the constraints which held me. Three pairs of male eyes burned my 
helpless offered sex, while I twisted and tugged in rage within the small tolerance the ropes 
allowed. Reluctantly the sailors left and Terrence Linton began slowly to remove his clothes, 
leaving me in no doubt as to what was soon to happen. I am glad to say I did not plead, the 
binding of my nakedness had gone too far. It would not stop now, no matter what I said. For a
few moments I stopped my twistings to observe the superb masculinity of my conqueror. 
When he entered my private place and took me in his arms beneath his weight, I was certain I 
must surely die.

I realize now how ridiculous I was. I had witnessed the ravishing of the three girls outside, 
and knew none had died beneath the thrusting of the male. They had been as much alive at 
the end as at the beginning, and reason told me it would be the same with me. I expect I was 
entered kindly enough, but I screamed at the sudden pain before the sensations of my body 
took over from my mind to leave me with a vivid memory of gasps and moans and the cut of 
cord. My captain did not leave me when his ugly task was done, but lay heavy upon my belly 
before beginning once again the motions which made me utterly his possession. It would be 
wrong for me to say I found no pleasure in the things he did. And towards the end of his 
second ravishment of my flesh, I ceased to fight the rope and was passive in the bindings. 
When he again stood erect beside the bed, I dared not meet his gaze but closed my eyes. My 
heaving breasts betrayed the emotions I longed to hide.

Thus was the Lady Diane well and truly raped! Even with my eyes closed I felt touched by 
my captain’s close attention to what I could not hide. Fretfully I tugged at the ropes as if to 
reassure myself and the captain that I was helpless. When at last I opened my eyes, I found 
Terrence Linton had put on his clothes and now sat beside me on the bed. In supposing my 
ordeal to be over, I was very wrong, indeed, for now, in a reflective manner, his fingertips 
played upon my breasts, and pinched my nipples. I am sorry to say they were erect and 
surprisingly large. Fresh waves of shock now sent me surging against the ropes once more. No
man had ever touched me thus, not even a woman. And the captain’s cunning frictioning of 
my flesh was as much a ravishment as his intrusion within my sheath. I was learning fast that a 
girl can be raped in many ways and many places. I heard my own voice muttering in protest, 
“Don’t! Please don’t do that Please stop!”

Without pause the fingers continued their artful play to cause me to strain and struggle 
and chaff my wrists and ankles against the cords. When one tormenting hand left my breasts 
and followed a tickling course across my belly toward a place no man should ever touch, I 
went into frantic protests and jerkings at my bondage. I pleaded, “No there! Oh, please, not 
there!”

“And why not there, pretty lady? ‘Tis not the first time I’ve visited that pleasant place.” His 
male hand gripped my swollen sex and proceeded to knead it back and forth in a manner I 
knew I could not possibly endure without again becoming excited and hot. If this was indeed 
a newly discovered knowledge of my womanhood, I was learning fast!

I tried again. “You demean yourself with these beastly acts. It is hardly to your credit that 
you arouse me thus when I lay there tied hand and foot to your bed and utterly at your 
mercy.”

“You are probably right, m’lady.” His carnal manipulations continued without pause. “But I 
find this diverting and I am sure it is not without some interest to you. Don’t tell me you’re not
enjoying it yourself?”

I was in the power of a man who knew far too much about females. I wondered how many
he had raped as they lay bound down to his bed. I could well believe there had been many. 
Stirring restlessly beneath his touch, I said with heat, “You’ve had your way with me, Sir, please
untie me, you no longer have an excuse for keeping me helpless and exposed.”

“I’ll untie you when I’m ready.” His fingers keep busy and my flesh kept responding despite
my efforts of prevent the arousal I hated. But I was soon panting and had to give myself over 
to pure sensation and finally into a volcanic eruption somewhere within my sex. While I lay 
panting in sweating disarray, he ceased working my body with his fingers. Then he told me 
that he had considered leaving me tied as I was the rest of the day. It was a pleasant 
convenience to have me that way, he said. He also added that I was rather beautiful like that.

“I have served your purpose, have I not earned release?”

He laughed at me. “I still thing you need a touch of the whip to make you human.” He 
eyed me somberly for a moment. “Should I relent and allow you to rejoin your three maidens 
on the deck, how would you wish to be secured? I mentioned several possibilities.”

Hatefully, I gave a grudging answer, “Since you appear to have no mercy, I would prefer to
be fastened by one wrist to deck. I would ask, also, that you do the same for the girls.”

“Damn! You’re still stiff with your damn fool pride. I suspect there’s a whip in your future.

But for now I’ll have ye fastened in a manner to please the crew. It’s not often they get to 
behold a naked girl.”

“And the three girls? Please do not allow them to be raped again.”

“My crew are men. They need to dip their wicks in a comely female now and then. Your 
little girls will be raped as often as my men desire. I will make sure they are fastened for that.”

I could do nothing to win. I had become a slave to be bought and sold or used and 
whipped. I had been trying but now felt tossed into the winds. “If you will give me the 
freedom of your ship, without bonds or irons, I promise I will be as kind and female to your 
needs as any man might hope. All I ask is that my companions be spared.”

“Your concern does you credit, m’lady, but it follows that you must service my crew since 
you’re asking me to take away their fun. Is that your wish?”

It was a terrible thing he asked, but my virginity had already been taken from me, and I 
told myself with ridiculous bravery that I had nothing more to lose. I heard my own voice 
giving the ultimate surrender. “Very well. Captain. If the three maids are spared your crew’s 
carnal lust, I will yield my body as you demand.”

Strangely and unexpectedly, Terrence Linton bent down and kiss my lips. “That took 
courage,” he admitted soberly. But then, with a burst of laughter, added, “There is no way that
will happen. You belong to me and I refuse a female slit in use by others. You will service me 
alone, madam, and I’ll wager you’ll be surprised how well those three endure the thrustings of
my rowdy crew. Let me get you started on a fresh course.”

Perhaps it was because I had given my word, or perhaps I was just too tired to fight and 
considered that I had nothing left to fight for. I offered humble thanks when the last rope was 
taken from my limbs and stood there in naked shame as I rubbed the weals of strictures I had 
fought too hard. When the captain took my right hand and bound its wrist anew I said 
nothing but held my arm for his convenience and my fresh misery. Led like a dog upon a 
leash, I was taken back upon the deck to be greeted by cries of gladness from the girls whose 
elbows were still cruelly tied behind their backs. The captain led me to a taut web of rigging, 
lifted my roped wrist high and bound it firmly in a manner I knew I could never free. When he 
stepped back, I simply stood in naked shame with one hand well above my head and all my 
femaleness open to his crew’s carnal interest. In sardonic respect, he raised my free left hand 
to his lips before turning to leave me wondering and very much afraid.

The captain had been gone only a few seconds when three of his men came to release 
Mary, Nancy, and Carmen. But only to bind them once more securely for fear they might 
chose to jump overboard rather than face dishonor. There was ugly ring bolts set deep into 
the deck, and into these they were shackled and padlocked but with a length of chain to give 
some freedom. No doubt by pirate standards this loss of liberty was humane. For Nancy was 
secured by one ankle, Mary by a links around her waist, while Carmen, the youngest of the 
three, was forced to endure a collar around her neck and a few feet of chain which mocked 
her freedom. As though demanding payment for the freeing of young arms, each man now 
availed himself of the girl he had so competently secured. I watched in futile misery.

The three were in better shape than I, who could not move from where I stood. When their
ravishes had slaked their lust, the pirates went their way, the girls lost no time in testing the 
tolerance of their tethers to discover they could not embrace each other. The first violation of 
their maidenhead had left them dismayed, but this second assault on their virtue had 
appeared to have shockingly little effect upon their youthful bodies and minds.

Able now to touch and kiss, they became animated and bright-eyed. But when they 
sought to come to me, they discovered their linkage far too short. The closest they could 
come was a few feet away.

It taxed my mind to know that if I should feel sorry for them for their ordeal or reprimand 
them for their swift recovery from what all of us had been taught was a fate worst than death. 
But who was I to judge when I felt only shame over my own performance as the captain’s 
woman. I shuttered as I thought of our families back home.

It was tiring to simply stand but that was all I could do. I could turn the best part of a circle
or took a bare step before my stretched arm pulled me back. I was not lacking in visitors.

All were male, and by kind permission of their captain, were allowed to examine the 
nakedness of a captive girl and to bandy whatever obscenities my nudity brought to mind.

“A pretty piece of ass,” said one. ‘The Captain’s a luck man.”

“The other three bits of fluff will serve our need well enough until me make port,” said 
another.

“All four of them should be stung up and whipped until the pass out,” offered another.

“That brings a girl to her senses right fast.”

“But anyway we’ve got them nicely fastened, and it’s kind the Captain is to let us have this 
good a look at the best one of the lot. I reckon she’d do a pretty dance under the whip.”

They went away and were replaced by other from time to time. The crew was not large for 
the ship itself was of no great tonnage, being simply a bird of prey, ready to pounce on any 
unlucky merchantman. I became accustomed to their crude references to my body, and soon 
became thankful they dared not touch. Evidently they had their orders. But this was not so for 
Carmen, Nancy and Mary. They were touched often in outrageous ways and impaled by 
rampant rods again and again in a manner to leave me astonished that they suffered no 
visible harm. In fact, they were inc-lined to giggled in compare notes afterwards. I was a sadly 
perplexed young woman.

Amid much masculine merriment, the three girls were fed and told they would spend the 
night fastened as they were upon the deck. A single blanket was tossed to them, and the 
suggestion was made that they could easily sleep one atop the other, and thus keep warm. 
My roped wrist was freed from above my head and I was led back to the cabin of bitter 
memories. There I was given a basin of water and a rag to wash whatever I pleased of myself 
while the male steward laid an attractive table for the captain’s dinner.

It was all too evident that nakedness was to be out lot. All four of us had been stripped 
and out suggestions about clothes were laughed away or made a subject for ribald comment. 
When the captain came, he was attired as an English gentleman. He made me raise one foot 
upon a chair to be bound with rope and tethered to the wall with a length to give me the 
freedom of the cabin but not beyond. I watched him tie his knots and secure them with a 
small length of twisted metal, against which my fingers would be helpless. To sever the hemp 
itself might take a busy hour of sawing back and forth with a table knife.

I was offered a chair at the table with courtly attention. We ate and drank in a degree of 
luxury to leave me surprised. But the rope upon my ankle told me I was still a slave.

It is hard for a girl such as I to know herself a slave and subject to the orders and desires of
a man. We talked on that subject as we ate and drank. I had lost my fear of the wine and the 
food was excellent. And while I availed myself of both, I listened.

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, Diane, there are slaves and there are slaves. If the man is 
strong or the woman undesirably plain, they become work horses, enriching their masters by 
work in the fields, the gardens or the homes. The four of you whom I possess are altogether 
too lovely for such coarse labors. Unless you behave wrongly, you will not see labor but will 
live in luxury for the sole purpose of servicing the male.” Captain Linton grinned and raised his
glass. “To beautiful slavegirls,” he toasted grandly, “may they always know their place and be 
obedient.”

I touched his glass with mine. The toast was obnoxious but better than might have been.

With dry sarcasm I suggested, “Am I to suppose that this afternoon trained us well?”

“Without a doubt, dear lady. No doubt you though your treatment cruel but it will save 
much heart break later on. It is essential that girl slaves yield themselves without thought of 
either injury, pain or dishonor. If they behave themselves, they fulfill a human need and 
deserve high praise. Some who have been sold into the harems of the rich have come to wield
much influence with their owners. I believe you would be such a girl.”

Terrence Linton’s voice was a caress but the subject felt more like a lash upon my skin. It 
would have been nice to enjoy this lovely dinner without constantly being reminded of what I 
had become.

“I wish you would hold me for ransom,” I ventured. “Surely to exchange me for gold would
not be difficult?”

“It’s at least ten times for of a headache than a simple sale. I cannot always know or 
believe what a purchaser intends for the girls he buys, but I will do my best to place you with a
man you will come to respect.” He eyed me shrewdly. “Forget those dreams of torture and 
injury that fill your mind. Most of those who will bid on you are surprisingly civilized. But for 
them slavery is a fact of life, their whole social and economic order is based on it.”

“I am ignorant of slavery. What will happen if I transgress? Will I be punished?”

“Yes, thought there are many ways in which this may be done. Perhaps you’ve heard of the
bastinado? No? The soles of a girl’s feet are beaten with small, hard rods. Sometimes a small 
whip is used.” He laughed. “You would do well, m’lady, to enter enslavement with an open 
mind. And to try and be the best slavegirl you can.”

“Can we talk of other things? I am frightened enough without this discussion of 
punishments. I would like you to consider keeping me for yourself. Chain me as you wish.

Use me as you will. You can play with me for a long time. Is this not a practical idea?”

“You do me much honor, m’lady. I am flattered. But remember, this is a ship of war which 
may lead you into far worse adventures than to become a rich man’s slave.”

I would willingly take that risk. I eyed him evenly. “Where you like it or not, Captain, you 
are still part a gentleman who I would find much to my liking if I were free.”

Terrence chuckled. “I suspect you are hinting I should remove the rope knotted around 
your ankle. One of the first principles of owning a slavegirl is to stay away from the sly 
insinuations by which she will seek her freedom or your pity. Behave yourself.”

I flinched and realized how tenuous was the thread between laughing tolerance and biting
thong. Cautiously I continued, “Please, Sir, tell me you will consider my suggestion? If I come 
to harm aboard this ship, I will know it is my own fault.”

“Okay, I’ll think on it. In the meantime, do not call me Sir, address me as ‘Master’.”

Once more I flinched but this time caught the glint of laughter in his eyes. Demurely, in a 
way to make me blush, I gave instant obedience, “Thank you, Master. I will remember to 
address you properly. Why not forget my own title and call me Diane?” I took a deep breath 
and plunged right in. “I promise obedience, Master.”

I could tell my owner was pleased, and as we sipped our coffee, he asked the direct 
question of how much money I believed my family could pay for the daughter they had lost. 
But went I ventured the sum of a thousand guineas, he laughed and told me I would fetch ten 
times that sum if offered for sale upon the block. I thought no more of freedom. I was a slave!

I had supposed that when we sought the waiting bed I would bear no greater bond than a
roped ankle. Telling me frankly he had a perverted enjoyment in the things he did with girls, 
my master positioned me upon the bed with my wide spread ankles upon the lower rail to 
which he bound them fast. My hands he left free but I knew myself very much at his disposal, 
and had little hope of freedom in the night. It was a hateful posture, baring the very parts I 
needed most to hide, offering an open invitation to the rampant rod. When my master 
disrobed I saw that he was indeed ready and waiting to ravish me once again.

That I felt an erotic arousal at the prospect was something I was ashamed of. And on the 
score of honest, I have to admit to much pleasure through the night. My master slept with his 
head between my breasts.

The following moming all four of us girls were subjected to an ordeal I had first thought 
lethal but it turned out to be harmless enough by pirate standards. Each one of us had our 
wrists crossed and bound, and one at a time were thrown from the rail into the waiting sea, 
where we floundered around in fear of sharks or other horrors. Or of simply drowning in our 
helplessness. But each one of us was left in the water only long enough for a bath and was 
then hauled back up on deck by the rope, at the end of which, was the binding of our hands. 
The crew enjoyed our ordeal but we did not. Although in truth I must admit the wash was 
welcome. Somewhere out of sight the crew had made a wooden cage from slats and rods, and
whatever the carpenter could improvise. Nancy, Carmen and Mary were thrust therein, each 
girl having her wrists still crossed and bound. When the door was fastened with them safe 
inside, the poor dears could not stand erect, nor could they use their hands or arms for am 
embrace, but must be satisfied with the rubbing of their flesh against each other, especially 
their breasts. I was surprised to see that rubbing nipples had replaced a hug as an exchange 
between these girls.

They were roughly told not to think themselves secure behind the bars for anyone of them
might be extracted at any time to perform her slavegirl duty for The Male. Once more I was 
troubled by their obvious lack of concern about this threat, but once more I kept silence for 
there was nothing I could do and the poor darlings had trouble enough without my scoldings.
As for myself, I was tied as on the day before to stand with one arm up above my head and 
my wrist roped tight in cord. I could have wept at the thought of standing thus all day.

It was about half way through the morning when the captain came to call, examining first 
of all the unhappy trio in the cage, and then turning his attention to me. He asked, in what I 
read as sarcasm, “Is it not a lovely day, Diane? And what a lovely view you now enjoy.

Tell me you’re finding pleasure in this scene.”

“I am tired and my wrist hurts,” I complained. “Please be kind enough to untie my hand, 
and if my discomfort is not to your satisfaction, you could tie my left above my head instead 
of my right. It would give me some small comfort for a while.”

For a moment I feared I had given offense. But his smile was reassuring even if his words 
were not “I like you are you are, dear. And remember it is not for slaves to tell their masters 
the manner by which they should be bound.” He chuckled at the dismay on my face. “You 
would do well to remember, Diane, that if you complain too much of the discomfort of your 
right hand, we can easily fasten your left wrist the same way. Would you like that?”

“No, Master.”

“Would you care to apologize?”

“I am sorry I spoke. Master. I will try to do better.”

I was still flushed and angry five minutes after he had gone. I felt certain I had handled the 
encounter badly. Perhaps there had been some way I could have prevailed upon his sympathy 
to change my captive hand. But what was done was done, and all I could do was shrug and 
wave my one free hands disgustedly at the girls inside the cage. They could not wave back for 
their wrists were crossed and bound behind their backs. But they offered their sympathy in no 
uncertain way in their words. We consoled each other as best we could even though too far 
apart for conversation. They shrugged and fell silent and I nursed my anger with my hand 
above my head. It was not until later in the day I met disaster.

At noon the girls were taken from the cage, their hands untied, and then ushered inside 
with a bow of mush and a spoon with which to eat. But first they massaged their chaffed 
wrists while the man who brought their food watched with amusement through the bars.

He then turned to me and I realized his wrist was to remain tight bound while he used the 
bowl and I used my one free hand to spoon the mush in with. It was a demeaning business 
and the food was unappetizing porridge with bits of meat. It was quite a contrast from the 
fine food at the captain’s table. I ate some before saying that was enough.

“You must eat it all,” the crewman insisted. And, enjoying his power over me, tried to force 
a spoonful of the mix between my teeth. When I refused to eat and backed up the few inches I
had, he caught me by surprise by ladling a dollop of the beastly stuff and, in one swift forceful
sweep, slapped it hard between my legs, squarely upon that portion of myself I refuse to 
name. Outraged, I unloosed a vicious kick and by pure chance, impacted my heel within the 
one and only spot in which I could have caused damaged. I stood transfixed in horror at the 
result as my tormentor bend and clutched himself to the tune of colorful language and curses.
If I had been able to run, I certainly would have done so then. But all I could do was stand 
under the bound wrist to behold the damage I had wrought. I expected to be immediately 
brutalized, but after a single venomous stare, my enemy turned, still clutching himself, and 
climbed back from where he came.

Since there was nothing more I could do, I cleansed my body as best I could, longing for 
water and a towel. And, considering I had but a single hand, got rid of most of the offensive 
matter by the time the captain walked into view.

I paid small heed to the three girls in the cage who were watching. The captain’s stern eye 
was the last thing I wished to meet and kept my head lowered to clean my place, and looked 
up from that task when I could no longer ignore the presence of the man I now feared. I took 
the offensive, “Look what he did to me! Any man should be ashamed of that!

I kicked him and I hope he remembers to be polite next time.”

“His wound was not fatal, madam.” As usual, Terrence Linton was sarcastic. His tone was 
amused. “But I fear you have breached protocol. My crew demands punishment.”

“Damn your crew, isn’t it you who makes the rules?” I was angry. “And I remind you, sir, I 
have been standing here all morning. My wrist hurts and I need to rest.”

The captain nodded as if guessing what I would say. I realized my words were predictable 
and mean nothing. Unhappily, I pleaded, “Please don’t punish me, I was cruelly provoked.”

“A slavegirl may not do damage to even the humblest of her masters.” The captain’s tone 
was quiet.

“You call that scum my master? Really, Captain!”

“You’re a slave, all men are your masters. Possibly I’m in danger of being kicked in the 
same place?”

“You’re going to do something beastly to me, I can tell.” My breasts were heaving while I 
unconsciously tugged at the bound wrist above my head. “That oaf only got what he 
deserved. Any you’re making altogether too much fuss about it.” I delivered my volley and 
then stood there panting.

“You will be whipped, Diane.” Terrence Linton’s tone was quiet.

So this was it! I was to suffer the punishment implicit in everything said and done since my
enslavement. My flesh cried aloud in an agony of anticipation while my bitter words did 
nothing to ease my cause. “I suppose you will have me whipped naked while your men watch 
and gloat and think evil thoughts about using my body? It isn’t fair, I’d think you’d be 
ashamed.”

“I owe it to my crew and that’s an end to it. You will be dealt with quite soon, but for a little
while can stand as you are to consider your sin.”

“It was no sin, and I’d do it again if I had the chance.” With a voice quivering with emotion,
I asked fearfully, “How bad will it hurt? Will there be blood upon my back?”

“You will be whipped only, there will be no blood. What you have done does not merit 
flogging. But perhaps if I give you time….”

For a few minutes the girls in the cage and I were alone. But in the face of what was to 
happen, none of us had much to say. Our eyes bespoke shared suffering but that was all.

I told myself that many girls had been whipped throughout history and lived through it. I 
was not the first.

A couple of seamen took Carmen, Mary and Nancy from the cage and disposed of them 
by binding their hands behind their backs and tossing them overboard for what was evidently 
to be their daily bath. I was thankful the poor darlings could swim. When they were hauled 
back aboard they had suffered no injury. All three were again thrust within the cage. After that
events moved swiftly.

My wrist was free and I got my bath in the same manner as the girls. The men amused 
themselves for a time by leaning over the rail and using the rope as they might have done a 
fish line, playing me in much the same manner as a hooked fish. Even thought punishment lay
in wait, I was thankful to be hauled back aboard the ship. But I was suddenly thrust hard 
against the mast in a manner to flatten my breasts. My wrists were untied then refastened to 
awaiting hooks in a manner to leave me embracing the timber to which I had first been 
bound. My hands and arms were up to either side to expose my bare, wet skin for what was to
be done. By straining my head back to look sideways over a bare, bound arm I could witness 
the preparations for my punishment. The motley crew gathered one by one and formed a ring
of avid eyes, hungrily absorbed by the flesh they were not allowed to touch but which would 
soon be crisscrossed with scarlet lines from a whip. Close as I knew myself to be to the bite of 
the thong, I still found it hard to comprehend that I was bound naked as I was and that my 
bare skin was to be damaged by the bit of leather. When the captain took his place among his
men, I knew my time was close at hand. The seaman chosen to wield the whip showed me the 
fearful thong before my eyes in an act which might have been mercy or mockery. He stepped 
back to where I could not see and I gasped in shock as a pail of sea water drenched me from 
neck to heel. Why I did not know, I had ever in my life been whipped.

There was no roll of drums or navy ritual. Without warning my bare back exploded in fire. I
was robbed of breath and my body went rigid in shock. Apart from the gasp I made no sound.
That first single stroke shattered all my misconceptions to leave me fiercely tugging at my 
fastened wrists as though by causing them pain it might subtract from the awfulness my back 
must bear.

The weapon made it’s first impression across the width of my back which was now on fire 
and ready in quivering horror for the second stroke. But no doubt because of some obscene 
humor which the crew would enjoy, that infliction did not come. Instead my bottom was laced
from hip to hip squarely across the softness of the twin mounds to add one more shock to a 
girl in deep travail. I remember stamping my feet in agony against the deck and heaving 
against the restraints upon my wrists. I did not scream but emitted sounds which shamed me 
then and shame me still. Sounds with which I was to become even more familiar. My bottom 
was a fiery furnace.

He was clever, that man who used the whip. Each fresh stroke was unexpected and often 
across some part of me I supposed immune. The softness of my thighs appeared to be a 
favorite place, and the blows there certainly evoked pathetic responses from my legs and feet 
which had been left entirely free to express my anguish in a very visible way. The narrowness 
of my waist and the breath of my shoulders received the full attention of the searing leather 
but always as in a sympathy it returned to its main theme again and again, the round globes 
of my bottom. I could escape nothing.

I suspect nature aided me by making it essential in my mind that I must not scream, that 
screams were something I could deny the avid eyes and panting lips of those who watched. I 
made sounds aplenty but they were not screams as I flung my head from side to side and 
thrust my face hard against the mast. It appeared I was to receive fifteen lashes and after the 
eighth I received the doubtful blessing of another dowsing of saltwater. From the corner of 
one eye I saw my three maidens in the cage transfixed by horror at what they must behold.

At that point in my punishment I was divided by fears. Reason assured me the whip by 
which I was being marked was by no means the vicious tool it might have been. But I was a 
girl who had never been whipped or thought of such a thing until today. And my mind was in 
an increasing turmoil as the punishment progressed. In the second half of my ordeal I became
simply whipped girl without power to reason or protest. It was my wrists that screamed as I 
tugged at them with all my strength.

When the final blow sliced my bottom, my mind was in such torment I failed to recognize 
the end. But my hurt nudity got one more bucketful of water to aid my senses in recovery.

Panting, I thrust myself hard against the mast and prayed silently for release.

One my one the men departed to their tasks to leave only the caged girls and me on the 
deck.

For several minutes I was content to press myself against the mast and slowly recover my 
senses. My back and bottom burned with a terrible fire where the whip marks were spread 
from knees to neck. By that time I felt a need to reassure the girls I was still alive and not 
simply hanging from my wrists. Painfully I twisted against my bound wrists and gave them a 
pale smile. I also looked around for the eyes of the man who had ordered my punishment. But
I was tied too tight to turn all the way around and could not see him. I pressed my forehead 
against the mast and rested.

His voice was almost in my ear when he spoke. “You did well, Diane.” His voice was almost 
tender. “You did not faint or utter a single scream. You did credit to your noble house.” He 
leaned forward and kissed my cheek.

Even with the captain standing at my side, I was forced to stress my burning wrists to turn 
to look at him. “I am in great pain,” I told him simply, “please cut the cords that hold me.”

With his own knife he freed me instantly. I had not expected so rapid a response and 
stood massaging the cord marks upon my wrists. I whispered a sad, small thank you.

All that mattered to me at that moment was that my whipping had ended and I stood free.
I cared not for my nakedness and was more concerned with what Terrence Linton would do to
me now. I expected harsh commands and wondered if I would meekly obey as a whipped girl 
is suppose to do. But my master spoke no words. He grasped my naked arm and led me to his
cabin where I lay upon the whip marks, surrendering myself to his male tool. I am ashamed to 
say I was fiercely transported to the stars and back again. I had made strange noises beneath 
the whip, and I made them now in ecstasy without thought of shame. In the midst of it all I 
recall a small wonder in my mind that if the whip could do this to a slavegirl of noble birth, 
what hope was left!

After sex, Terrence Linton lay beside me on the bed and spoke of the place I had called 
home. I listened and made only the most obvious responses. At that moment it was hard to 
believe Terrence Linton was a pirate captain who would sell me into slavery. Thankfully I lay 
still to be caressed by the sound of his voice. When the time came that he stood me erect, 
crossed my wrists behind my back, and bound them tight, I made no complaint for it seemed 
only the right and proper thing for him to do.

He took me to the cage to thrust me within. I was told that my visit would not be long and
I should make the most of it.

We were for naked girls with their hands tied behind their backs and locked within a 
wooden cage. But kisses made up for the loss of hands and I got much sympathy for the 
marks on my back and bottom. They assured me that those marks were turning into 
wondrous colors. I spoke somberly of the fate we could expect and cautioned them against 
doing anything to earn themselves a whipping. We were outrageously cramped within the tiny
confines of their cage. I seemed to be forever ashamed of one thing or another. When the 
captain finally came for me I knew a measure of relief.

I was never quite certain if the captain enjoyed binding me or whether he was truly 
concerned that I might leap into the sea if given a chance. While my hands were still fast 
behind my back, he now tied a rope around my neck and fastened its other end in the same 
manner as he had tied my ankle. He then untied my hands and thoughtfully massaged one, 
and then the other. A flunky brought the dinner and the wine, and the captain held my chair 
as though I was still a noble woman and not a slave. I sat. After fingering the rope around my 
neck, I left my restraint alone and turned my attention to the food and to the man who was 
now my master.

The captain poured the wine and was every bit the gentleman. His mood was amused.

“Damned remarkable when you think of it, Diane,” he said. “Here you sit naked and 
whipped and neither one of us is embarrassed. A couple of days have done wonders for you. 
It’s rare now for you to talk like a member of the upper class who has just read a manual on 
diction and deportment. Congratulations.”

“Is it really necessary for me to be unclothed?”

“Diane, you know perfectly well the answer to that question. And being whipped has done 
you a world of good even if you don’t think so. And you have such a nice figure that you 
should show it off.”

I longed to speak of our sexual encounters but was still too inhibited to venture into 
realms I only dreamed of a week ago. Timidly, I asked, “Those poor girls in the cage … Will you
have them whipped?”

“It’s going to happen in the normal course of things,” the captain acknowledged. “They’re 
bound to make some sort of mistake sooner or later, the same as you did today.” Terrence 
Linton chuckled at some inward thought. “If they are too pure to give offense, I’ll have them 
whipped anyway as a welcome to their new condition. It’s desirable to have a reason for 
whipping a slavegirl but it would be unkind to your little darlings to deny an educational 
experience because they’ve failed to kick a man in the balls.”

“You’re being factious.”

“No, really I’m not. Whether you want to admit it or not, I can tell you benefited from the 
fifteen gentle strokes. It would be the same with your little pigeons. I’ll bear the matter in 
mind.”

The harsh rope was chaffing my neck but I deemed it best not to complain. I was the 
prisoner of a strange and complex man I hardly knew. I tried to steer the conversation into a 
channel I desired. “Have you thought further about holding me to ransom, Master?” I asked 
demurely. “Or if you deem a ransom too filled with risks, will you keep me as your companion?
I am fearful of being sold.”

He laughed at my earnestness. “I’ll admit I’ve thought of keeping your around as a pet,” he
replied thoughtfully. “You are habit forming. You are very beautiful and very good in bed.”

My heart leaped and I knew I blushed. Shameful as it was, if it was necessary to avoid the 
auction block, I would follow gladly where the captain’s passions led. “If I must be a slave, I 
would wish to be your slave,” I told him simply. “Please keep me for your own and I’ll not 
complain about chains or ropes.”

Terrence Linton eyed me critically, and laughed at my eagerness. “You offer too much too 
soon. Is there no fight in you?”

“It is there. Master, but I would be foolish to provoke punishment. The whip hurts terribly 
and I have just resigned myself to be very well behaved.”

He did not reply to that. The conversation turned to other things. When the time came, he 
laid my scolded back and bottom upon his bed and used me brutally while the rope collar was
still around my neck so there was no danger of me slipping away in the aftermath, an 
aftermath that left us both sweating and exhausted.

Among other things, Terrence Linton could be mischievous. “I’ve issued instructions,” he 
told me over breakfast “When you leave here I want you to seek out the ship’s carpenter who 
has a gift for you. By the way, your pigeons will have the run of the ship today. Their hands will
be secured, of course, but I no longer fear them leaping over the rail. There is too much love 
of life in them for that. There is one thing to remember, since you will meet each other now 
and then, conversation is forbidden. I’m sure you can manage greetings without speech. I 
expect obedience.”

I sought out the carpenter, who had evidently been warned of my arrival. He summoned 
an helper and the two of them then proceeded to make me disgustingly helpless by means of 
a length of wood, cleverly carved and in two halves which fitted perfectly. It was a yoke that 
fitted around my neck and wrists. It held my wrists up at head level as if I were surrendering to
someone. It also had the effect of holding my chin up. Laughing they bound the beastly thing 
tightly together and told me that there was a prize of a hundred guineas for any girl who 
could get out of it. There was no doubt in my mind I never could.

It was a new pose and new sensation. Once more I had lost my hands and the heavy yoke 
was hard upon my neck. For some reason I could not understand I felt doubly naked and 
vulnerable in a way I had not been since my first binding to the mast.

“Run along, lassie, and show yourself to the crew,” the carpenter said with good humor.

“Buofirstthe Captain’s got this message.”

I looked at the square of parchment in dismay. It’s message was simple and direct: “If you 
find me rude, please strap my bottom.” This shameful humiliation was fasten to hang from the
yoke on one side of my neck while a leather strap about fifteen inches long was made to 
dangle from the other. With a slap upon my bottom I was sent to suffer one more lesson in 
humiliation.

For any girl fastened within the yoke vulnerability was undoubted the word. With my arms 
out to either side and my hand helpless as though growing from the wood itself, I was 
instantly prey to the same feeling as if I had rent open my gown to hold it wide and expose 
myself. I could not bother to try and get free from the hateful thing, it was there to stay.

I could cover nothing. My breasts and pubic hair were there for all to see. I could touch 
nothing, I could not even scratch my nose. I was an instant success, leaving no doubt the crew
had been briefed and told the limits to which they could taunt me. They seemed to know that 
I was now touchable but must not be hurt. It was a bitter pill to be compelled to stand as I was
to be admired by individuals or groups, all of them wanting very badly to trip me into a word 
or action that would earn me punishment from the leather strap I carried with me. I noted that
my feet were free and wondered if that were so to give me the chance to kick some crew 
member. Hating myself, I tried hard to be pleasantly responsive to a collection of cutthroats. 
Cornered by three of the crew who painstakingly read the sign I was forced to wear, I did my 
best to speak politely of the weather but was soon interrupted.

“That there word you used, miss. That there thing about being balmy? Was you thinking of
us?”

My heart sank but I brightly explained the word “balmy” in relationship to the weather. It 
did me no particle of good.

“What she mean is that it’s us able seamen what’s balmy. If that ain’t rude, I’d like to know 
what is.” There was universal agreement. Undoubtedly my use of the word balmy was an 
affront and I was lectured accordingly. “You shouldn’t have said we was balmy, Miss,” said one 
hawk faced character. “Each one of us gets to strap your ass, according to the rules.”

He looked around with a grin. “That right, boys?”

Assent was instant. I tried to make amends with pleas but was roughly told to keep silent 
while I was taught my lesson. I was told to bend over to properly expose that portion of 
myself they called my “bum.” Miserably I obeyed to be rewarded by a slap so loud I was 
certain it could be heard all over the ship. There was new pain upon my already wealed flesh, 
pain more sharp and intense than I expected. I backed away from the trio quickly.

But to these men I represented no problem. He who had already had his turn at my flesh 
put his arm around my waist from behind to clutch my sex and lift my feet from the deck in a 
manner to once more expose me cruelly. The slap and the scold were every bit the equal of 
the first. And my pleas for mercy became tearful in the shame of knowing I had become a 
pretty plaything for a boat load of boors. Since the manner in which I was still held was close 
to perfect for their purpose, the third crew member availed himself of the strap and planted a 
resounding crack across my tortured flesh. Regretfully they set me back upon my feet and, 
laughing heartily, assured me sarcastically that they would be only too happy to, at any time, 
correct my rude mouth.

The strap was replaced upon the yoke and I was left alone. The day was long and I dared 
not intrude upon the captain’s privacy. Again and again in my walks I came upon one of my 
darling girls being ravished by a member of the crew. Always I pretended I did not see.

I was bitterly upset by what was taking place and wondered how guilty my girls might be 
in their obvious unconcern and actually enjoyment of these acts. It was evident they no longer
pretended to be distressed. But who was I to cast blame upon them? I had my share of shame 
at my enjoyment of what the captain did to me in bed. And how much I took part in the act.

My flesh smarted from the strap and I longed to comfort it with hands. But I had no hands,
they were sticking up pertly to either side. When I wiggled my fingers it seemed strange they 
would still respond.

My next encounter with the strap took place when a couple of bearded brutes made much
capital out of the fact that I spoke proper English. The managed to make it out that I was 
making fun of their course language. And if is rude to make fun of a person’s way of speaking.
I could see the lust in their eyes and knew that they were really baiting me and using the strap
on me because they couldn’t stick that male rod of theirs into my pussy.

Whipping a girl, even just a single swat across her naked bottom, gives a man pleasure.

Not as much as screwing her but pleasure nevertheless.

I was draped over the rail to view the water below while one man held my ankles and his 
friend applied the beastly leather across my rump. I was never so thankful in my life as when 
they pulled me back upon the deck, patted the wound they had planted upon my skin, and 
went their way. Bitterly I considered that if I ever was sold upon the block I would have no 
shame left by which to blush, or seek to hide my nakedness. It was not a good day for any of 
us girls but the crew scored heavily.

When the afternoon was over I was sent once more to the carpenter to have the yoke 
removed. He was loud in his praise of the havoc the strap had brought to my bottom. He said 
that the seat was now a lovely purple of which I might well be proud. He. forgot to tie my 
hands behind my back, but when I was half way up the stairs, he recalled me.

Listlessly I stood while my pour, hurt wrists were once more crossed and corded tight to 
be secured by a very tight knot. Unhappily I went back on deck and walked the circle of the 
ship. With the disappearance of the yoke from my neck, I was now ignored as if men had no 
interest in me. I was learning fast.

The captain’s door was open and I was ordered in. Bound hands made an embrace 
impossible but I thrust myself hard against the captain’s shirt to bury my face against his neck 
and wet it with my tears. We stood there like that for long, long time, until I was conscious 
that his arms did what mine could not. They gently comforted me, running an exploring finger
over ridges of yesterday and welts of today. When brandy was poured down my throat and 
my hands untied, I felt better and inc-lined to feel sheepish over my display of emotion. 
Terrence Linton spoke not of my day, and when we sat at the table it was as if the yoke and 
strap had never happened. But when I sat down my bottom hurt outrageously. But within the 
hurt was also a hot glow of passion. When I innocently spoke of this to the captain, he told me
simply that I was growing up and would soon be a big girl who could take her whippings like 
a man.

At bed time it was hours before we slept. In the aftermath of sexual exhaustion, my master
played out a pixie fancy by binding my hands behind my back and cording tight the ankles I 
no longer had a need to spread. If it pleased him to make me thus helpless, I was a happy girl 
as I was bound. And when my head hit the pillow I went instantly to sleep.

In the night it happened! I awoke to rough voices and rough hands. My captain was 
beneath a pile of male bodies, all struggling furiously. I was picked up as a neatly tied package
ready for delivery. I was slung over the shoulder of a villainous looking creature filled with 
pistols, daggers and a sword. He totally ignored the furious battle raging on the deck and, 
with calm determination, was carrying me towards the rail. He was half way across the 
adjoining plank when a bullet found him fatally to send him plunging into the narrow 
darkness between the two ships. Meanwhile I was dropped upon the plank to craw and grab 
as best I could the narrow piece of wood, not easy with tight bound hands and useless feet. 
But all I achieved was to slow my slide toward the drop. And as I beheld the dark, cruel water 
raising to accept my nakedness, my head struck something I could not name so that I fell the 
last few feet to a watery grave and never knew when I stuck.





CHAPTER FIVE - Ironed Beauty


I woke up to behold Jiminy viewing me with some concern. I smiled and sat up from my bed 
of leaves and gazed down bemused at handcuffed wrists. I had quite forgotten whether they 
had been handcuffed before I slept or if Jiminy had locked them on me during the dream 
which had been so vivid. Traces of that dream still lingered in my mind. I was still looking at 
my shinning bracelets when Jiminy exclaimed, “Were you having a nightmare, darling? What 
happened?”

I flung my hair from side to side as if to rid my mind of the captain and his crew and the 
three maidens in the cage. I was still in shock from the fall to almost certain death, which was 
the last thing I remembered. Slowly I said to Jiminy, “Yes, I had a dream. And I suppose it was 
a nightmare. But that fellow Jim was in it. He was a the captain.”

“Captain?” I told her the whole story from the beginning. It was so good to have Jiminy in 
charge instead of those awful creatures on the ship. Jiminy was a good audience who had 
more concern about my nightmare than I would have thought possible. She had me recount 
bits of it and was girlishly enthralled by Terrence Linton and the things he had done to me. By 
the time I was finished, I was more interested in the picnic basket than the fading dream.

It was hard to believe my pirate adventure had occupied one single night. I had discovered
a new light and even with all its horrors was loath to throw it in the discard. I ended up talking
it over with Jiminy frankly. I told her how sick I was of being a naked captive in a prison 
without bars. As usual, she was noncommittal except to repeat her advise to seek knowledge 
in further explorations. When she had gone I sought to return to Terrence Linton and his 
dream. It had wetted my appetite for a vivid life as opposed to the blank beauty of the park 
land of Stone and the unknown Big Brother who kept his eye on me.

For all I knew it could have been a Big Sister, but I had not wish to meet him or her, either 
way. I soon discovered I had slept too long and could not return to sleep. As I abandoned my 
bed of leaves and the pool when I saw something on the grass. I picked it up and had no 
question in my mind what it was. It was shinning and new. And when I contrived, after much 
wiggling, to insert it in the lock of my handcuff, it turned easily and the cuff fell open … I was 
free!

The other cuff quickly fell free and I marveled that I had been held captive so long by so 
tiny a sliver of metal. So there I stood, holding freedom in my hands and wondering what to 
do with it.

The key most certainly have been dropped by Jiminy, there was no one else. But had it 
been dropped in the grass by accident or design! I could see little point in Jiminy laying a trap 
for me, she would have no trouble getting the handcuffs back on my wrists if she wanted to. 
But I instantly beheld another advantage. I was now in control. I could clasp the handcuffs on 
my wrists or take them off at will. So why not enjoy the freedom of unfettered hands in those 
periods when no one was around, but lock them back on whenever Jiminy was due! It 
certainly wasn’t any big deal but I found I had taken a great step forward.

I hid the discarded handcuffs and their key within the leaves, having a quiet giggle at the 
thought of where I would hide the key when I was forced to wear the handcuffs. I rejected the 
obvious and entirely too absurd and consoled myself with the thought of hiding it somewhere
in my rather long hair. I then did all sorts of silly things to revel in the freedom of my arms and
hands. And then simply sat down to enjoy the view and ask the eternal question of what I 
should do next.

Nothing appealed and I don’t know what prompted me to think of the hours of darkness 
to make those explorations it seemed I had to do. The idea appealed for surely the residents 
of Stone did not wander around during the night. So far as that ranch was concerned, I was 
forced to wonder about the similarity of my escape from the shackles in the coral and my 
providential discovery of the handcuff key. Both could be pure chance but the question 
bothered me, especially since it was a question I might never know the answer to. I message 
my wrists thoughtfully and discarded the thought that some of the bracelet marks upon my 
skin were due to the adventures in my Dream. I know it sounds crazy but I could swear the 
chaff was worse now than before I became a pirate’s prey.

I decided against carrying the handcuffs and their key upon my nocturnal explorations.

One of the biggest nuisances about being naked is that you have no where to put things, 
and I certainly was not going to carry a picnic basket into danger. When night came, I sat out 
in the fading light, a totally free girl, a totally naked girl. I tingled all over with excitement for 
not only was I embarked upon an adventure but I had made a decision. I did not expect to 
unravel the mystery of Stone in the middle of the night, but I should be able to get a glimpse 
of the place without risk of being popped into one of its dungeons. I knew I could be wrong 
but I saw the fabled place as a prison in which an innocent girl could easily suffer punishments
she had not earned.

I retraced the path along which I had discovered the variously confined girl. And sure 
enough the chain and its shackle for an innocent ankle was still anchored there, waiting for 
someone. The same was true of the pillory and cage. I shivered out in the stars and felt certain
ghosts of caged young ladies lingered on and prayed for rescue. I wasted little time in 
heading off in the direction I had been told the house awaited me. I found it easy to believe 
that what it truly waited was a new young girl to ensnare and capture.

It was a beautiful starlit night with no real darkness. My heart sang joyously with freedom 
and motion but I suddenly stopped dead in the conviction I was not alone. Off to either side 
there were shadows and the shadows moved. Without pause for thought, I turned and ran.

They caught me easily. Three young bucks, nineteen or twenty, well hyped up by alcohol 
or drugs. Two held my arms for their leader to inspect me. There is always one who leads and 
those who follow. This was no exception. His name was Trapper and his followers answered to 
Rig and Dyer, names probably meaningless. As I stood panting and naked in the grip of harsh 
male hands, I was admonished, “Come on, say something! Don’t just stand there like a piece 
of ass.”

But what could I say? There were plenty of meaningless things I could offer, like, “Let me 
go,” or “Who are you?” All seemed inappropriate so I admitted frankly, “There’s nothing I 
could say that you would want hear. Why are you holding me? What are you going to do?”

“We’re going to screw you, honey. You’re a damned lucky girl.”

At least they were honest about it. It was no more than I could expect. Suddenly I was back
on the pirate’s ship, watching my three maidens used brutally. I didn’t count the captain, he 
was a gentleman. Now it was my turn to be impaled by creatures from the gutter. I protested, 
“I suppose you know you’re trespassing, this is private property. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for fun, sugar, and we’ve found it. The asshole who owns this place ain’t using it, 
so we might as well.” Trapper snickered. “Always figured we’d find something like you if we 
hung around long enough.”

I made a sudden wrench and, catching my captors unaware, jerked free. But I couldn’t 
outrun them, all three easily caught up with me and running on either side, engaged in 
conversation.

“I don’t think she likes us, Rig.”

“Maybe she wants to go home to mother.” Rig was not even panting. “What she’s going to
do is come home to poppa, all three of us. It ain’t every girl who gets three poppas in a row.”

Trapper slapped my bottom encouragingly. What was the use! I was becoming breathless 
from fear and a terrible sense of injustice. I wondered if that was how a raped girl feels. It 
boiled down to a “why me?” I slowed down in defeat and Dyre grabbed a handful of my hair 
to drag me down to the ground. The three faces gazing down at me were void of mercy. 
Trapper kicked my legs apart, and said, grandly, “I gets her first, fellows. I got a feeling she’s 
going to a be damned good lay. You two hold her while I get inside. And after that I’ll bet she 
don’t struggled none.”

Dyre and Rig knelt on my outstretched arms which hurt. A pain I soon over looked as 
Trapper stood between my legs and displayed for my benefit the male weapon by which I was 
to be subdued.

I remember vividly the sound of the shot, a distant but unmistakable crack. The silly grin 
vanished from Trapper’s face then he folded onto the grass. All three of us were frozen in 
shock but the brutal knees were suddenly gone from my bare arms as they frantically fled.

I was left on the ground with Trapper’s lifeless leg laying over my own legs. I pushed it off 
and stood erect to behold my would be rapist fleeing towards what they thought was safety. 
But there was another wicked crack and Dyre, by his own momentum, went head over heels 
and around to lay motionless on the ground. A moment later the rifle spoke again and Rig 
joined his companions on the grass. It had all happened swiftly but if there was a forth crack 
of doom, it would be for me. In panic I dashed for the only home I had.

Between walking and running, I carried in my mind the vivid picture of the death of rapists.

I was in bad shape by the time I reached my pool. I was in need of sleep but remembered 
the handcuffs. I must not let Jiminy find me free when I awoke. But searched as I would in my 
bed of leaves, the handcuffs and key had disappeared. Utterly wearily of the inexplicable, I 
curled into my bed of leaves and went to sleep. Like I said before, that spot held magic.

I woke up to a sun well above the horizon and to the click of handcuffs upon my wrists.

Jiminy was kneeling beside me and laughing at my shocked disgust at finding my wrists in 
their familiar irons. She held up the tiny key and then put it in her pocket. “Really, darling,”

she said with mock sincerity, “you can’t be trusted. You found the key and enjoyed a whole
day and night of freedom. Naughty, Naughty!”

You could never be angry with Jiminy for long, and I had given up worrying whether I was 
handcuffed or not. I shrugged away her comments without concern. Then she explained 
seriously that I had gotten myself another black mark against me. “You really shouldn’t build 
up too many black marks. One of these days you’re going to wish you’d been a good girl.” 
Then she opened the picnic basket and joining me at breakfast. Magically we became two girls
together having fun.

I was a waiting more marks for my little adventure during the night. By the time breakfast 
was done, Jiminy still hadn’t mentioned it, as if no one cared about three lives. Finally I could 
contain myself no longer but blurted out the whole story and asked if I was blamed for the 
whole affair. But Jiminy stared at me in blank innocence, to laugh and say, “You’ve been 
dreaming again, darling. Are you sure these three fellows aren’t from your pirates of the night 
before?”

“You know damned well they weren’t,” I retorted quickly. “They were three street creeps 
and got what they deserved. But just the same, it scared me to death, both what they were 
going to do to me and what happened to them. Jiminy, please put me in the picture.”

I might as well have pleaded with a rock. Jiminy foiled every question to leave me more 
puzzled than before. But when she was ready to leave I held up joined wrists to demand, 
“Look, Jiminy, dear, I didn’t have these things on me all day yesterday and it was lovely having 
my hands again. I can’t see it serving any purpose keeping me handcuffed. Please use the little
key.”

My cheek was patted and I got a kiss, along with a reproof, “You know you have to be 
handcuffed, darling, I’ve told you again and again. If you keep asking me to take them off, I’ll 
put leg irons on your ankles so you’ll really have something to beef about.” She winked at my 
sulky face. “There’s no use pouting, Diane. If you only knew it, you’re a lucky girl.

And if I were you, I’d keep on exploring. You might even like what it is you find.”

“You called me Diane! That was my name in the pirate dream!” I was suddenly intrigued.

“Did I really?” Jiminy was taken back. “Well, it was a cute dream the way you told it, Trinity, 
and I guess it was a slip of my tongue for me to call you Diane instead of Trinity.”

I sat in the familiar place long after she had gone. I was very unhappy over the slip on my 
name and the return of handcuffs I could not take off. And I had to wonder if they meant 
anything or were just tricks played on me to heighten the atmosphere of magic which clung 
to this imprisonment. Perhaps it also had no significance that she failed to concede my story 
of the three dead rapists. The whole effect was to keep me constantly baffled.

And, since I was weary of the whole thing, I decided to give it no more thought. But on my
way to the little pool and spring I discovered one more handcuff key laying within the grasp 
where Jiminy must have dropped it purposely. There are limits to coincidence and this place 
was beyond those limits.

I had to wonder about Jiminy’s actions and the list of marks someone kept on me. I was 
uncertain whether to use the key or to leave my hands chained together for the day.

Already an idea was in my mind to go in search of the house called Stone. If I tried often 
enough I must surely get there passed the barrier of naked girls in chains. On such an 
expedition I desired no handcuffs. I removed them and waited until full darkness before 
leaving.

A avoided the places no familiar but explored other place, careful to skirt clumps of bushes
and trees wherein might hide the unknown.

It came suddenly upon me as I topped a hill in all its glory half a mile distant. As I 
approached its similarity to a thirteenth century castle became evident. Someone had a pretty 
good dream but modern science had recreated it as a relic of the past in perfect condition of 
today.

It was useless to be cynical and I shrugged away the thought of watching eyes. At the last 
moment I had changed my mind about the handcuffs and now wore them snug upon my 
wrists with their key safely fastened in my hair. I hoped this would gain approval from whoever
I had to see. I decided against going directly to the front door but deemed it wise to circle the 
place to discover anything I ought to know. It was a long walk but revealing for everything 
was wonderful and beautiful and expensive. Standing in one of the gardens, I heard a door 
open behind my back and a pleasant feminine voice say, “You must be tired, Trinity. Come in 
for a cup of coffee.”

It was not Jiminy but an older girl. Her manner was educated and at ease as she 
introduced herself as Cora James, and said some of the girls had spoken of meeting me. I was 
trembling with all sorts of emotions and had little to say for myself. I was about to exclaim 
that I recognized her name as that of the matron when I stifled the words and waited 
demurely for what Miss Cora James might wish to tell. She might well be a matron for there 
was an air of authority she carried like a cloak. But what was a matron doing wandering 
around in the middle of the night when presumably her charges were safely locked up for the 
night. As though I was one of the family she said that she had been half expecting me because
Jiminy had said she believed it would be tonight I would make my call.

When I spoke of my aborted effort of the night before and the three shots from an unseen
gun, she nodded brightly and said, “Yes, of course, dear,” in the manner of pampering a child. 
I simply followed where I was led. It was an adventure from which I knew there might be no 
return.

The coffee was wonderful and we sipped it in a big lounge with a large window looking 
out onto the starlit night. Miss James spoke comfortable of familiar things in the outside world
and refilled my cup when it was empty. I must have been shockingly tired for when I finished it
I went to sleep with my head upon the table, the handcuffs on my wrists holding my hands 
together for a pillow. It was all very neat and well planned and absolutely deadly.

Waking was a strange experience. I thought it another dream for I was in a stone chamber 
in which the solid blocks of its construction had been used to present a cubist effect in a 
medieval atmosphere. Light was filtering through some small windows high above, enough 
light to reveal the frightening fact that I was well and truly locked within a dungeon.

As if the dungeon were not enough I quickly discovered I could not move without the 
clink and rattle of chain. All my limbs were under restraint. Smooth steel shackles clasp my 
ankles while other shackles held my wrists firmly. There was even a collar around my neck with
a chain trailing across the stone floor to be safely anchored on the wall. There were other 
chains, some rather heavy. I was forced to drag them as I walked my clinking way towards the 
door. There was a hateful weight of metal around my waist in the form of a steel belt, with the 
inevitable chain, the heaviest of all, snaking to the ring bolt in the stone. There was so much 
iron fastened on my nakedness I almost longed to laugh. I felt certain that, if there were eyes 
that watched, they would be laughing, too.

Laboriously I explored. There were links enough to allow me to circle my prison. I didn’t 
bother with the door for I knew right away it was hopeless. I clinked and rattled my hardware 
back to the place where I had spent the night. I sat there with my knees hunched up and my 
fettered wrists close to my face. It was thus an hour or so later that Jiminy brought my 
breakfast.

My greeting was an accusation. “Did you know I’d end up chained in a dungeon? Oh, 
Jiminy, this is awful!”

The stone chamber had no furnishings except the ring bolts and chains. Jiminy had 
brought a table cloth which she spread upon the stone floor, and then sat cross-legged while I
continued, “After waking up in this place I’d like to throw my arms around you. It’s so damned
good to see someone I know. But I can’t throw my arms around anything. This load of metal is
positively gross.”

“Never mind, darling, it won’t be forever.” Jiminy handed me a plate and a cup. “This is the 
start of your great adventure. Sorry about the chain and all that, but there’s nothing 
conventional about Stone.”

“Jiminy, I’m frightened. This is an awful place to chain a naked girl. If I’m locked in here for 
long, I’ll go crazy.”

She was suddenly at my side, kissing and fondling me in a way I could not return.

Thoughtfully she arranged one of the chains which impeded my breakfast then returned 
to the other side of her table cloth. I had little doubt the place was filled with girls in the same 
plight as I but food and coffee was working its magic. “All right then,” I grumbled, “what have I
got to look forward to today?”

“Adrian Rankin wants to see you. I’ll take you to him later.”

“What will he do, whip me!”

“Stop being difficult, darling. I can easily arrange for you to be whipped if that will make 
you happier. Cheer up, for goodness sake, these chains you’re wearing are just a bit of fun.”

“They don’t feel like fun to me. They make me feel as though I’ll never be free again.”

“That’s the whole idea, darling. Mr. Rankin wants you to get a picture of the facilities and 
how they’re used.”

“Doesn’t this guy Rankin realize that if any of his prisoner get free and go to the police, 
he’ll be in prison for the rest of his life?”

“It doesn’t work quite like that, Trinity, my pet. You’ll get a better idea when you talk to 
him.”

It was all bewildering, and I felt a small girl far from home. The little spring with its pool 
seemed utterly desirable, and I inwardly cursed the curiosity which had ended with me being 
locked up like a criminal, loaded with chains like they did to people in the dark ages.

I trusted Jiminy, but even her radiance was dampened by the dungeon gloom.

“We took your handcuffs and found the key. They don’t go alone with arrangement but 
I’m keeping them because you’re going to need them. By the way, you scored some points by 
wearing them when you came to call.”

“I’d sooner be wearing them than all this junk.” I produced a shocking clash of links to 
illustrate my point. But Jiminy told me not to be impatience and added, with a chuckle, “Look, 
darling, if you’re really bushed, I’ll take you to see the torture chamber, it’s just next door.”

“You have to be kidding!”

“No, really, darling. It’s as authentic as all the rest of Stone. It doesn’t get used all that 
much but has a sobering effect on young ladies. Come on, I’ll show you.”

“How can you when I’m fastened like this?” Jiminy used a larger key with the result that I 
found myself walking towards the wicked door with only my hands and feet restrained, a 
damned awful restraint which dragged against my steps and caused me to constantly to 
stumble and trip. I held my wrist shackles in my hands. I was scared but curious.

She was very beautiful, very naked, and suspended in limp misery by bound wrists, her 
reaching toes were a foot above the floor. Her head had been bowed but she raised it upon 
our entry so I could see the ball by which her mouth was gagged and the leather thong that 
held it in. She found us of little interest. She did not struggle or try to speak but allowed her 
head to fall again in sad resignation to what I was forced to conclude was some form of 
punishment.

“She’s been a naughty girl,” Jiminy explained helpfully. “We didn’t come to look at her so 
pay no attention. Oh, and by the way, that fix she’s got herself into is not torture by our 
standards. It’s just a routine punishment for one day only.”

“You mean the poor thing has to hang like that all day!” I was truly shocked.

“Unless someone lets her loose. I don’t know what sentence is. But don’t worry about her, I
brought you here to see the lovely things.”

Some looked fairly innocent but, since I did not know their use, could be the worst of the 
lot. Nothing was lovely and I could almost hear my own screams as I was stretched or 
compressed or subjected to all the other fun devices of which Jiminy seemed so proud. I knew
she was watching me intensely but to what purpose I did not know. Despite my determination
not to look, my eyes constantly sought out the suspended girl who’s presence was living proof
this room was not simply for show. This room was used!

I couldn’t tell about Jiminy. Her enthusiasm in telling me what the things were for and did 
to girls, and her total disregard of the suspended nude who had been “naught” was all done 
with her usual air of innocence and fun. But Jiminy had been an enigma from the start. I kept 
my comments to myself as I was led back to the dungeon, which wasn’t really a dungeon at all
but a bare chamber that left a girl without defense. The irons locked to my ankles made even 
that short trip a burden and made a great deal of noise as I went. She replaced the collar and 
the belt with their shackling chains and I was back to square one. I felt like crying, but had to 
sit and await the coming of the omnipotent male who was interested in me. The door 
slammed wickedly.

It might have been an hour when Jiminy came again to announce a change of plans by 
which my interview with the man I had come to hate would take place in the formal garden. 
She would let me out through a side door and I would sit under a tree and enjoy the sunshine.
“You’ll have to be shackled at the wrists and ankles,” she told me. “We can’t have you 
wandering off. Mr. Rankin enjoys the outdoors and this is his idea. In lots of ways he’s a very 
sweet man.”

“I bet that girl hanging up next door doesn’t think so.”

“Mr. Rankin doesn’t even know she’s there. Miss James ordered her hung up. Miss James 
looks after all the minor punishments.”

I swallowed more anger, or perhaps it was fear. “If,” I asked, “I’m to meet this Mr. Rankin, 
am I allowed to wear some clothes?”

“Of course not, dear, don’t be silly. And, by the way, don’t irritate Mr. Rankin with 
demands, or telling him he ought to be in prison. Just take it easy and let things flow.”

Once more a key was used and I shook off about a hundred pounds of iron. What was left 
locked on me was ample to insure I did not run away. In fact, by the time I had shuffled and 
clanked to the seat under the tree and Jiminy kissed me and departed, I was ready for a rest. I 
would have loved to walk back to my spring by the pool but it would have taken me weeks at 
the slow shuffle I was now capable of. It was a truly beautiful place, spelling money 
everywhere I looked. The flowers and trees were perfectly trimmed, and there was a small, 
stream, winding through the garden. As might have been expected, I did not recognize Mr. 
Rankin when he arrived.

The figure that emerged from the house of Stone was as authentic a replica of the 
thirteenth century as the house itself. It was the figure of a monk in robe and cowl, with 
around his middle the tasseled rope, his hands buried with the sleeves. His head was bowed 
as though in thought. But he walked purposefully along the path to where I sat.

Coming close the conventional pose was abandoned to stare directly at me with piercing 
eyes set in the astute features one would expect with the costume. However, there was 
nothing ancient about the voice. The stranger held out his hand to announce, “My name is 
Adrian Rankin, and you, of course, are Trinity Evans. Welcome to Stone.”

I took the offered hand and suppressed an urge to brush it reverently with my lips. I had 
saved up a lot of lovely things to say about why I had been kept a prisoner, and why I was 
loaded with iron, and what about those three dead bodies. But not a word came from my 
startled lips, except a sort of Victorian apology to the effect I was sorry he had to see me for 
the first time in this condition.

“You mean your chains? Or your nudity, my dear? Since both are by my orders, I am 
scarcely likely to be offended. Believe me, it is a very charming effect.”

It was a pleasant, authoritarian voice and I gathered enough courage to blurb out, “These 
chains on me are horrible. They weigh a ton, and I can’t understand why I have to bear them.”

“It’s all part of a scene, my dear girl. It’s a bit like the army where they give you a bad time 
in boot camp, which makes whatever comes after seem something to be grateful for. I’ve 
followed your adventures around the dominion. Surely you haven’t had too bad a time.

Those three young louts laid their hands upon a chosen girl and death was their reward.

Filth has no place within the loveliness of Stone.”

From what I had heard of Adrian Rankin, he was what was often referred to as an 
“industrial giant,” or business tycoon. He also owned the second biggest movie production 
company in Hollywood. My next question was easy. “You can’t blame me for feeling lost and 
scared, Mr. Rankin. I had expected someone quite different. Why are you suddenly a monk?”

Adrian Rankin seemed amused and pleased by my innocence. “I will sit beside you as we 
talk,” he said easily. “But perhaps it is more appropriate for you to kneel there on the grass 
while I satisfy some of your curiosity. Will this act of homage bother you?”

It bothered me a lot but it was easy to lie. With my irons properly arranged, I knelt at 
Rankin’s feet and sat back on my heels to allow the load of links from wrist to wrists to rest 
comfortably on my bare thighs. In what seemed disgustingly like adoration, I gazed up at his 
features in what I hoped was suitable respect. Quietly, almost abstractedly, he told me how his
film company had realized the services of an agent who had pictures of hundreds of girls on 
file. He had examined all of them and selected me. His reasons were not exactly comforting.

“You are a young woman perfectly designed for the role of a maiden in the dungeon,” he 
explained. “You are beautiful enough to have been considered a witch and burned at the 
stake.” He surveyed my in silence for a few moments before asking calmly, “How would you 
like to return to the thirteenth century when Stone was built?”

“I wouldn’t!” His quiet sigh disposed of my negative as though I had said no word. “You 
will find this hard to believe, Trinity,” he continued in the same vein, “but it is possible to 
return you to that point in time. Jiminy tells me you have already had your first dream.”

So that was it! I really had been drugged! In the same negation, I said tersely, “That wasn’t 
a dream, it was a night mare. I suppose you do it with drugs.”

“It need not matter to you how it is done, just so long as it is. And you are brought back 
here to tell me your adventures.” He paused to search my face for the emotions I was trying 
hard to hide. “I can bring you back successfully but all our research has revealed a flaw we are 
working to over come. We have been unsuccessful in transmitting anyone above the age of 
forty. I suppose you know the meaning of the word provenance?”

“Isn’t it someone who, by some magic, comes back from a future time?”

“You are educated, I knew you would be. I expect you are familiar with the works of 
Einstein?”

“He came out with a theory of relativity. I’m afraid I don’t know anything about it.”

Ranking nodded, still searching my face. “It is not needful that you know more. But 
without realizing it, Einstein hit upon magic in his formulas. I have picked up what he missed 
and my staff and I have been working on it for years. I built Stone as a basis for our 
experiment, and I dress as you see me now for my visits here.”

“I don’t see what having me chained like this can do to help,” I said.

“We will subject you to experiences and adventures, dear child. When you are finally 
transmitted, you must be in a frame of mind sufficiently attuned to that age so you can meet 
whatever contingency your journey may meet. What I’m saying is, we cannot be absolutely 
certain of the circumstances in which you will awaken….”

“I don’t want any of this, I want to go home!” I looked up at Rankin and made a noise with 
the chain. “It’s crazy and it’s dangerous.”

Adrian Rankin did not immediately answer. In the silence I realized I was panting and had 
lifted one arm to where the shackle fell in a cascade of links as a metallic evidence of my 
distaste. His answer, when it came, was sardonic reproof. “In that case, Trinity, go away from 
here. Get up and walk away, I won’t stop you.”

“You know I can’t. Not in these beastly irons.” He shrugged. “I suppose that’s the answer, 
isn’t it?”

“You mean you’ll hold me a prisoner by force? Always chained or handcuffed or locked in 
that horrible dungeon.” My anger was growing. “I suppose this time you’ve allowed me to run 
around your estate has been breaking me in easily. I suppose the food Jiminy has been 
bringing me has been drugged right from the start Why not use Jiminy for your experiment, 
she’d probably think it was fun?”

“Jiminy is not the type. You are the preferred subject.”

Once more I was conscious that I was panting and very angry at this nonsense. It had to be
rubbish and I can only suppose it reflected a side to his character the public did not get to see.
Stone and his silly playing around with time and Einstein’s relative were similar to the pet 
projects of other famous men. But Adrian Rankin had me totally in his power.

Sitting there in my chains and gazing up at him in despair, I could only await his next 
move. Actually, it was a pleasant surprise.

Reaching in his pocket, he extracted a large key to unlock the heavy irons upon my wrists 
and replace them with the familiar handcuffs. I could almost have kissed their shining steel, 
and Rankin, too, in my gratitude. He then did the same for my ankles but left them completely
free after the awful chains fell to the grass.

“There you are, Trinity. You want freedom, there it is. See what you can do with it.”

He walked back to the house to leave me a very puzzled girl. There were not many choices.
Certainly I was not about to follow Rankin back into Stone. Nor was I going to the other 
extreme of that ranch. I ran out of the garden and out of sight of Stone. And then fell into a 
casual walk to enjoy a freedom I did not understand. I examined the handcuffs. I was positive 
they were the same as I had worn before. I suppose it was a reflection upon my state of mind 
that I regarded them as freedom after my brief imprisonment as the captive of a bygone age. 
It was a gorgeous California day and I soon felt better.

I found my pool and leaves still there and waiting. I searched around in the grass but this 
time there was no forgotten handcuff key. I sat in my favorite spot and fingered my chromed 
wrists as I considered my plight. I condemned Ranking and all his dreams.

After a while I heard the familiar putt-putt of Jiminy’s buggy and realized I was hungry.

Nothing disturbed the radiant girl who opened the basket and spread out the goodies.

“You seem to have passed your test, Trinity,” she said as she poured coffee. “As far as I 
know, Mr. Rankin was pleased with you. Really, darling, you’re a terribly lucky girl.”

“Why did he turn me loose out here again?”

“Goodness knows! I can’t predict Adrian Rankin any better than you. Try some of these 
sandwiches.”

We munched in shared enjoyment. My handcuffs glinted in enjoyment and Jiminy told me 
there would not be another key. She admitted to surprise that I had not been subjected to 
even the mildest punishment. Apparently it was the custom in Stone to test a girl’s ability to 
take pain. She took my immunity as evidence of Rankin’s approval and went on to explain 
how she knew I felt his whole idea of space and time wrap had to be for the birds.

But if I could take it more seriously, it would be wise to do so.

When I asked if the food I ate was drugged, she laughed away the notion. And when I 
asked what I was suppose to do with my strange freedom, she laughed at that, too, and said I 
could do as I pleased. She kissed me and went away.

I sat a while and felt sleepy in the sun. But I was alert for warnings and wondered if it was 
not the drug Jiminy had laughed away as non-existent. It was easy to figure that a drug 
actually existed in my food, there was no way I could detect it or avoid it. If I was drugged at 
that moment, why shouldn’t I relax and enjoy. That dream of the pirate ship and its captain 
was still vivid in my mind and I would like to pick up where I left off. Well, if I had not died in 
those dark waters. On the other hand, my next dream might not be of the pirate ship at all!

I was not in the mood to explore and, having made sure my handcuffs would not come 
off, fussed with my bed of leaves before settling into their comfort, determined to go where 
ever a dream might lead.

If only I’d known!

CHAPTER SIX - The Second Dream of Punishment

I suppose that going to sleep with the determination to accept my dream as 
entertainment remained uppermost in my mind as I stormed angrily through the big hall of 
the Wicklowe Academy. I recalled from somewhere that the prospectus had described this 
place as the “correctional institution by which delinquent daughters of the upper class could 
be persuaded to see the errors of their ways.” Most of the pupils thought of it as prison. I was 
angry because I knew that no matter what I was about to say, I would be punished.

Miss Moira Winthrope and possibly Miss Alice Trimble were waiting to pass sentence upon
a naught girl-me.

It was always an awful moment when a girl knocked on the shinning oak and entered to 
meet her fate. But I said the only thing I could say, “Good afternoon. Miss Winthrope and Miss
Trimble, you sent for me?” Actually I wanted to scream and run.

“We all know why you’re here, Miss Blake. Miss Winthrope made it sound like murder.

“We need waste no time on pleasantries, you are here to receive a sentence of 
punishment.”

“Yes, Miss Winthrope.”

“We are pleased to see you have decided to be polite.” Miss Trimble glared at me. “At our 
last encounter you were extremely rude.”

If this was a dream, I wanted to wake up. I didn’t want to be a thirteen year old girl in 
some educational establishment long past But the thought of it being a dream was fading in 
the face of reality. These two women were formidable. I was just a slip of a teenager. I gulped 
as my memory of Stone was pulled away like a rug beneath my feet.

“Please don’t punishment me,” I pleaded. “I’m only thirteen andl promise I’ll be very good 
from now on.”

“Nonsense, my dear, you don’t mean a word of it.” I gulped again but kept silent. I wished 
most ardently that my parents were not thousands of miles away and I didn’t have to stay in 
the Wicklowe Academy for a whole year. I felt positive Mommy and Daddy hadn’t realized 
what sort of a place it was. But anyway, Miss Winthrope loved making speeches and wanted to
make on now.

I was wondering if I would be caned on the palms of my hands or my bottom whipped by 
one of the instruments of pain which Wicklowe Academy was addicted to.

“We’re in the year eighteen hundred and one, dear,” Miss Winthrope announced as if it 
were her own doing. “This is the state of Virginia and we believe in civilized behavior and 
instant punishment for delinquent acts. Your parents, a most charming couple, have placed 
you in my care, but in our previous interview I fear you did not truly believe the curriculum I 
out-lined. At Wicklowe Academy, our new girls are punished every day for the first three 
months of their stay. The punishments are varied and disagreeable. We expect our pupils to 
endure them with the proper fortitude in the knowledge that whatever sins they committed 
were left outside when they entered here. There are a few days of grace, of course, for a 
young woman to adjust to her new home. This period has now passed for you, Betty. Your 
punishment today will be doubly severe because it is not only the first one of your routine 
punishes but also the penalty you earned by your behavior yesterday. Miss Trimble and I both 
hope you are properly prepared.”

Once more I swallowed hard and assured both of these women I was deeply repentant 
and hoped they would be merciful. Every word I uttered went against the grain and I was 
hating Wicklowe Academy and these two witches more and more with every passing minute. I 
was also horribly aware of being unable to escape. Every girl I had spoken to in this beastly 
place had assured me earnestly that no girl had every gotten away in fifty years. I felt myself 
start to shiver.

“Miss Trimble has kindly consented to administer your punishment, dear child,” Miss 
Winthrope purred. “Dear Alice will take you to a private place to remove your clothes.”

“My clothes!” I looked from one to the other in dismay.

“Of course your clothes, dear girl. At Wicklowe Academy any girl about to be punished is 
divested of all covering. This facilitates whatever punishment she has earned as well as causing
her a proper sense of shame. Run along now, Miss Trimble will instruct you further.”

All consciousness of it being a dream had vanished. I was terribly frightened, a youngster 
far from home and in a cruel place. Alice’s firm grip upon my arm was a promise of what I 
knew was to come. And the set of her grim lips told me it would be severe. I had cried a lot 
since coming here and had seen other girls shed tears, mostly because of recent punishments.
I felt like crying now.

“This is my own bedroom, Miss Blake,” AT informed as though confirming a favor. “You will
have complete privacy to undress.”

I had known this moment would come but could not face it. I knew nakedness to be 
wrong, no body was suppose to show their naked body to anyone else. But Wicklowe 
Academy treated it as something commonplace. Sometimes a pupil’s punishment would be to
spend a day or two without her clothes for all to see and gloat over. I tried not to look but 
there was a fascination I could not resist. I knew about my own body because I had caught 
boys looking at me and making comments about what was hidden beneath my clothes. The 
impression I got was that I was rather well developed for a girl of my age. I could sense that 
my breasts had more growing to do and wondered what those boys would think of them 
when they reached maturity.

From somewhere I gained the courage to look Miss Trimble in the eye and explained, “I’m 
sorry, Miss Trimble, but I can’t undress. I only do that when I go to bed and never, never with 
anyone watching. I do hope you understand.”

Miss Trimble understood but her lips pursed in disapproval as she said, “A great many new
girls feel as you do, Miss Blake. If insist, I will call one of the matrons who will strip you naked 
by force.”

Meekly I started to remove my clothes. I was afraid. But what else could I do!

I parted with shoes, then dress then petticoats, all of which I folded neatly on a chair. At 
that point I stuck. To go further would be so terribly wrong. In the innocence of tender years, I 
inquired politely, “Please, Miss Trimble, isn’t this enough? Couldn’t you punishment me like 
this?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Betty, get those clothes off and do it quick.”

I took off another petticoat and my stockings. I was already feeling nude although most of
me was still covered. I trembled but under her firm gaze found myself removing the next to 
final garment and revealing my cone-shaped breasts. For some reason Miss Trimble was 
breathing heavily. “Never mind those blushes, Betty. Continue.”

“Please don’t look at me like that. It makes me feel funny.”

“Remove your clothes or I will be forced to give those tender young breasts a few strokes 
with a whip. Is that what you want?”

It was the last thing I wanted. I stripped away the last garment. Immediately my hand went
to my pubic patch and the other arm tried to cover both breasts at once.

“Good,” Miss Trimble said. “But put those arms down at your sides.”

A tear trickled down my cheek but I forced my arms to my sides. I longed to cover 
everything but was afraid of this woman and what this place could do to me.

When the fingers of this mistress played across the curves of my breasts, I was forced to 
assume that a higher authority had granted her this power. I clenched my teeth and stood 
trembling and tense.

My tiny waist interested this woman. She explored my waist and hips with those fingers, 
her touch was almost loving in its gentleness. I felt strange as she touched me. And strange 
that another woman should take such an interest in my body. I had been told that men would 
one day want to do terrible things to my body, but never had mother said a word about this.

I felt sure I know what would come next but in that I was mistaken. Miss Trimble 
transferred her concern from front to back, playing the curves of my bottom and running her 
hands back and forth across my hips. Not until she had explored those contours to the full did
she come to where I knew she must. Bending down with an affectionate arm around my waist,
she grasp that portion of me I had refused to name, and proceeded to manipulate it even to 
the extent of inserting a finger to cause me to gasp and back away.

But I dared not interrupt Miss Trimble’s pleasure. I closed shamed eyes and waited.

The tempo of Miss Trimble’s interest in my body now changed. I heard a rustle of material 
and when I opened my eyes beheld a white shroud with a black collar which she was busily 
shaking out preparatory to using it to cover my nakedness with it’s collar securely fastened 
upon my neck. Beneath this flimsy covering I felt more naked than before and was later to 
realize that there are many ways of being nude. My arm was once more grasp as I was led 
barefoot from the room. Even Miss Trimble could feel me trembling.

Wicklowe Academy had provided an enclosed space within its walls as a playground. At 
least that was what they called it even thought it contained objects certainly not designed for 
recreation. The girls enjoyed their games oblivious to several instruments of punishment 
which set my heart to racing but which for them were too commonplace for comment. Fiction 
enabled me to discern the stocks, the pillory, the whipping post, and several other terrifying 
horrors no doubt placed as there were to remind the girls as they played their games of the 
need for good behavior. I suppose the girls had seen it all before so the steady advance of 
Miss Trimble and I drew little attention. Our destination proved to be one of the grisly objects 
I could not name. I soon learned its function as Miss Trimble put it to instant use.

It appeared to be a table on two levels. I knelt on the lower of them while the mistress 
tugged at my shroud sufficiently to enable a shaped length of wood to close over the hollows 
behind my knees and, with a loud click, fasten them securely and well apart. Now that I was 
safely anchored, her fingers went to the collar of the shroud and a moment later I knelt there 
entirely nude with the outdoor air playing upon my bare skin in a way I had never known. 
Now, with my legs and knees safely disposed of, I was confronted on the higher level by a 
wooden panel obviously designed for a girlish waist. Thrust forward to support my weight 
upon hands, I found my tummy snugly nestling within the half circle provided, a half circle 
now completed by Miss Trimble placing in position the other half of the panel conveniently 
hinged and cunningly contoured to clasp my middle like a vice. It was locked tight and 
exerted downward pressure which caused my bare bottom to both protrude and raise itself 
into a shameful prominence. I could well imagine for what reason.

The panel in which I was now firmly clasp was larger than need be so that it formed a 
division in which half of me was on one side and half on the other. I could see nothing of 
myself below my waist and was forced to support half my weight upon my hands as though 
kneeling on all fours. It was a weird and shameful posture which now attracted several curious 
girls who stood around in casual unconcern while making rude remarks about my person. I 
think they felt sorry for me but not enough to matter, for when I looked at them for help, they
turned away. When Miss Trimble next returned to view, she was holding a beautifully shaped 
and very supple length of black leather. Taking pride in exhibiting it for my attention, she 
explained the advantages of its use upon bare girl flesh.

She also said that I could not be told the number of strokes I must suffer. I had never felt 
so helpless or hopeless in my life.

Those were terrible moments when Miss Trimble disappeared from view before her hand 
once tested the firmness of my bottom. In this fingering, she added to my horror by leaving 
not doubt that not only were the twin cheeks of my bottom wickedly exposed but that an 
even more secret portion of myself under the pressures of the awful position I was in was 
peeping between my legs for all to see. I could hear some of the watching girls making crude 
comparisons on it’s form.

The first blow from the black leather strap was so shockingly painful that I was 
momentarily paralyzed in shock. But, before I had caught my breath, the second blow 
smacked me hard. This time I screamed.

The third stroke didn’t come. Instead Miss Trimble came back into view, holding 
something I did not recognize but at least not holding that awful leather beast. She was 
terribly matter-of-fact. “That was an awful sound you made, Betty. I can’t have you disturbing 
the playground, can I?” She climbed upon the table with a leg on my shoulders and lowered a 
thing to my mouth. It was suddenly thrust hard against my lips with an order to open my 
mouth and not make a fuss. When I did that my mouth was suddenly filled with what seemed 
to me a wet sponge, depressing my tongue and filling my cheeks. A leather strap covered my 
mouth and buckled very tightly behind my head. I was now incapable of making any speech 
and not much in the way of sounds from my mouth. Miss Trimble paid not attention to my 
nasal whines but patted my behind. She returned to behind me. Almost instantly number 
three impacted across one cheek with a burst of fire. This time my scream was muffled inside 
me. I waved my head frantically from side to side and whined very loudly. But I was beautifully 
secured and my seat continued to offer a perfect target for the punishment of sins I had not 
committed.

The audience quieted down a bit. Perhaps they had all suffered the gag and a whipping on
their bottoms and were quieted by the knowledge of my pain. I shook my head in an effort to 
dislodge the gag but the effort was useless. And while I was making it, the supple leather 
welted me without cease. I longed to die.

My main concern now became fear that Miss Trimble could not possible understand the 
agony her strap implanted upon my flesh. But I could not reason with her and the blows did 
not soften. And I still did not know the number I was to receive.

It seemed likely to go on forever. No matter what I did, I could not influence what was 
happening to me. The lash fell and pain exploded in my bottom, leaving it burning something 
terribly.

There were only half a dozen girls who were curious enough to watch, but I did notice 
that, while most were dressed, one was as stark naked as I. And I noted her wrists had been 
crossed and bound behind her back, which told me she had been sentenced to this form of 
punishment for some misdeed, or perhaps nothing at all. Wicklowe Academy needed no 
cause or reason for anything it did to its girls. The thought was frightening.

I kept no count other than the increasing burn. The curves of my bottom screamed in 
agony but silently. It may have been after a dozen strokes that Miss Trimble, once more took 
time to visit. She brought the leather strap with her and made certain I got a good view of it at
all times. Of necessity, it was a one-way conversation.

“I am sure this strap is doing you a world of good, Miss Blake. Don’t bother to make 
noises, you can nod or shake your head if you wish to answer me.”

I nodded and made my eyes cry out in mute appeal. “I understand how painful this is for 
you, Betty,” Alice continued. “Punishment are useless unless they hurt. This one you are 
receiving now must make a sufficient impression to last you over night, until you’re punished 
again tomorrow. I hope you understand?”

I nodded dismally. I understood all too well and longed most urgently to speak and cry 
aloud my anguish. But the thing strapped inside my mouth was unmoving and solid. I kept 
shaking my head to indicate my dolor with the gag but Miss Trimble appeared not to notice. 
Probably every girl did it. The voice of the mistress continued its even course.

“Your bottom will not be punished again tomorrow, Betty. We do not overdo it on one 
part of your body. Which, by the way, reminds me that today’s infliction is not yet over. Not by
a long shot.”

She paused to cup one of my breasts. “You see, Betty dear, there are other places where 
you can be punished. There are the soles of your feet. There are the inside of your thighs…. 
And, of course, there are your breasts. Lovely things they are, too. And there is always your 
little pussy. It can be whipped, too, you know.”

I shuttered in pure fear. “And when we have punished all those parts, we simply start again
at the beginning of the list. Should you ever become too marked, we will then resort to the 
many, many punishment which are not dependent upon hitting you. They rely upon 
immobility or painful postures by which to build your character. You are a lucky girl to have 
been sent to Wicklowe Academy.”

I nodded in what I hoped was a suitably humble agreement about the building of my 
character. I would have kept on nodded a good long while it if would have kept that whip 
from my bottom. But she left my vision and soon there was a resumption of pain exploding 
upon my bottom. In part of my mind I was positive I must be the worst whipped girl in all of 
history. The blows went on and on. She cleverly used every inch of my tight bottom. From 
simple lack of space, the blows I now received were crisscrossing the welts already on my 
flesh.

I was crying into my gag as Miss Trimble beat happily away. It was about that time my 
audience of girls got bored and walked away. As a sort of continuing emphasis of my 
punishment, my arms were growing tired of the burden they must bare, and I was constantly 
bending or flexing one or the other in an effort to ease their stress. If someone had told me 
Miss Trimble had built and lit a fire within my loins, I could have easily believed it.

She came to talk to me again and I was grateful for the rest. The leather strap remained in 
view but at least it was no longer cracking across my unprotected flesh. Miss Trimble spoke of 
how I would emerge a more dutiful, obedient, and all together lovable a girl at the end of my 
sentence. I nodded even through I longed to scream or slap her silly face. But I was fixed for 
sure. And, by this time, I realized I would not die even though it sometimes seemed that way. 
Miss Trimble assured me that for a girl to be whipped upon her back, or her breasts, or her 
pussy, was much worse that what I now endured. She patted my bottom lovingly, then retired 
behind the panel.

The girls of Wicklowe Academy become used to their punishments. Their skin becomes so 
used to it that, while they hurt during their many infliction’s of pain, it was not a badly as upon
the first occasion. I had never been whipped in my whole life, and thus for me this endless rain
of cuts across my bottom were the most terrible thing that had ever happened to me. After a 
while, in the mists of anguish, I realized the blows had stopped. By this time my bottom was a 
fiery furnace. Expectantly I awaited Miss Trimble’s reappearance but she did not come. After a 
while I was forced to suppose I was being compelled to remain a prisoner as a lesson to 
myself and others. But I was still human enough to hope and hunched my back to discover 
the upper half of the panel holding my waist was loose. With a flare of relief, I pushed my 
hands and arms until I could reach back and lift the upper yoke to fold it back over on its 
hinge and kneel erect. The first thing I did was send my hands to explore my beaten flesh, 
which was puffed and ridged and painful. I soon left it alone.

The lock had been removed on the board holding my knees down and I soon had the 
wooden bar pushed aside. My feet found the ground and I stood shakily erect. Even though I 
was painfully weak and the agony of scolded flesh made every movement a reminder of the 
strap, Miss Trimble was nowhere to be seen.

I was still young and innocent enough to know what to do. It was hard to believe my 
punishment was over but a passing girl laughingly assure me this was, indeed, the case and I 
was now free to go where I chose. I was not certain whether I should believe and simply 
leaned against the beastly structure which had held me fast, and wept.

Feeling better, I stepped away from the support and once more employed fingertips to 
seek the blood I felt certain must cover my beaten flesh. I had never known such an intensity 
of sensations as then when I fingers searched. It was a kind of agony so intense as to 
approach a sensual ecstasy. But my fingers came back to me without a trace of red.

Later, when I found a mirror, I found the evidence of my whipping turning to purple and 
black and shades of red. At that moment the knowledge that the strap had spared my blood 
was heartening. I was going to live.

My next discovery was one more shock. I was totally nude as I had been throughout my 
punishment. There was no sign of clothes or of the white shift with the black collar. Miss 
Trimble must have taken them with her to leave me without covering. I’ll always be grateful to 
the girl who now came to my aid. She was as naked as I and with hands tight fastened behind 
her back. Her voice was vivid with sympathy. “You’re a new girl, aren’t you, dear?

And I’ll bet you feel terrible after that whipping from Miss Trimble. That strap is horrible, 
I’ve had it myself.” She glanced at me shrewdly. “I’ll bet being naked bothers you, doesn’t it? 
Forget it. Wicklowe Academy will make you naked many times, just the way you see me now.” 
She managed a laugh. “All I did was stick my tongue out at the teacher when I didn’t think she
was looking. Now I have to be naked for two days, and all the time my hands will be tied 
behind my back. The other girls will have to do things for me because I can’t. Don’t worry 
about being naked, dear, just try and get used to it.”

I felt better. Impulsively I clasp the lovely nakedness in hungry arms to nestle my cheek 
against hers. The girl was probably a couple of years older than I but we were sisters in 
distress. Comfort flowed back and forth in a reassurance that I was not alone. After a while I 
asked the obvious.

“Why haven’t the other girls untied your hands? Would you like me to untie them?”

“Sorry, love, that’s a no-no. Whenever Wicklowe Academy ties a girl, she has to stay tied.

The penalty for untying her is to be flogged. I don’t imagine you want to be flogged, do 
you?”

“Flogged!” I repeated the word in horror. “You mean our backs get whipped with a 
cat-o-nine-tails that tears the skin?”

“Darling, they certainly would.” My new friend gazed at me earnestly. “Don’t ever run the 
risk of being flogged. It cuts a girl’s back horribly so it bleeds and you have to go to the 
hospital here where they make you well in time for your next punishment. If you say and do 
the right things, you should get by okay. I was a new girl once.” Her voice became reflective. “I
remember how it was and how wicked everything seems to be. It’s designed that way, to mold
us into a pattern.”

Her name was Sharon and she insisted on taking me out to mingle with the girls and get 
acquainted. They’d all be friendlier now that I’d been whipped, she assured me. And there was
no longer a danger of them sharing my travail. I was hesitant at first but then anxious and 
shame-faced I walked beside her and away from the hateful things of punishment.

The girls looked at my beaten flesh which signaled I was now one of them and could be 
trusted.

They did, indeed, seem more friendly. At the end of the afternoon they guided me back to 
the big building and the clothes I had left behind. It had been a remarkable afternoon and 
introduction to Wicklowe Academy. I was forced to seek out Miss Trimble to reclaim my 
clothes. I dare not enter her bedroom without permission. I found her in the company of Miss 
Winthrope, who lavished upon me a degree of comfort I found embarrassing, especially when 
she looked at me this way and that to admire my wounded flesh and predict I would become 
an ideal pupil.

I had been fearful that my removal of the gag but no mention of it was made. It seemed 
understood that I was a new girl being helped along the path of correct thinking and action. 
Everything was that simple.

I moved through the days, eating, sleeping and attending classes as one of the other 
pupils. And being punished daily as was the custom with new pupils. The fact that this was all 
a dream vanished from my mind, everything was vividly real as of right now! But in telling of 
my time at Wicklowe Academy, the main elements were the punishments I had to bear. I 
would not become one of the laughing girls, safe from the pains of caprice, until I had 
completed the initiation, which was several months away.

I stood before the mistresses to learn of my punishment for the second day, my bottom 
still burning from that of the first day. The whole affair was designed to make me long to 
scream and perhaps rebel. But I had been warned and was obedient and submissive in a way 
to turn my stomach.

“Miss Trimble tells me you behaved well yesterday, child. We are always so happy when a 
pupil learns so quickly.” Miss Winthrope’s voice oozed love.

“Thank you, Miss Winthrope. Miss Trimble was very kind.”

“Wonderful, dear. And now I would like you to show me your punished bottom….”

I could hope against hope even though I knew that hope was useless. I raised my skirt and
reached for the next fastenings beneath when Miss Winthrope’s voice reproved, “Don’t be 
silly, dear. We want you naked. Kindly remove everything.”

Perhaps it was not as bad as the day before. The first stripping of a girl must certainly be 
the most difficult ordeal of her life. But just the same, I found my fingers paralyzed. I looked 
from one to the other of them and quavered, “Please don’t make me naked again.

Please, oh, please!”

It did not good. Under stern female eyes, I sent my fingers to discard one covering after 
another until I stood before them naked and shamed. I was even trembling a little, and, 
remembering the command, I turned my back to Miss Winthrope and bend over to give her a 
good view.

“How very charming. Alice, my dear, I must compliment you on a job well done. Betty’s 
bottom will do honor to our school. I expect you used the old Roman Ferula? It is a leather 
perfectly designed for young women.” Loving fingers explored what I could only think of as 
wounds. And it took all my self control not to move or cry aloud. Miss Winthrope was happily 
in her element. “And what portion of the dear child do you plan to mark today, Alice?” she 
inquired benevolently.

“I had thought perhaps her breasts. Considering Betty’s age, they are remarkable well 
formed. It is a portion of herself she treasures and it would thus be doubly a punishment.”

Alice Trimble smiled as though considering the offer of a cup of tea, while I was curling up 
inside.

“I think we should keep the little darling’s breasts in reserve, Miss Trimble,” Miss Winthrope
suggested. “Betty is young and she is new. For today I would suggest the whipping of the 
inside of her thighs. Or perhaps you could use that admirable strap again.

I am sure you could contrive some remarkable sounds.”

“Whatever you think best, Moira.” Miss Trimble let go my breasts with obvious regret. I felt 
sure they would be punished sooner or later. Since I had never been whipped there, I could 
not be certain of Miss Winthrope’s whipping of the inside of my thighs. No doubt it would 
hurt and I stood there quivering.

“Please don’t whip me again,” I pleaded. Miss Winthrope sneered. “I am sure she is going 
to be a wonderful student,” she said grandly, ignoring my plea. “Carry on.”

It was becoming familiar. The hard fingers on my arm as I was led to a punishment I did 
not deserve. Half way down the stairs I remembered and exclaimed, “But, Miss Trimble, I am 
uncovered. We have forgotten the shroud.”

“Nothing is forgotten, dear. You are exactly as you are suppose to be. A girl sentence to 
punishment should be completely nude. It would be ridiculous to have you clothed.”

I wished I could contest her point of view but it was all too obvious. A girl sentenced to be 
punished must present all parts of her body for that punishment. And being naked was 
obviously part of the punishment! Once more I allowed myself to be led into the playground 
and towards the waiting instruments designed for maiden pain. This time it was simply a table 
and I was puzzled until Miss Trimble made the first motions towards insuring my immobility. 
With tender gentleness I was laid upon the table while each arm and hand was drawn to either
side and raised to be strapped there. Next there was a belt and buckle for my waist, tugged 
cruelly tight, it secured my middle to the board on which I lay. It was at that point that I 
realized my hips and thighs extended beyond the end of the table. Miserably I picked up clues
as to what was about to happen. My ankles now became the center of attention. Leather 
anklets were strapped tight around each ankle. I then understood the sturdy posts awaiting to
either side. A rope was tied to each anklet and then run to the post to be tied tight. My legs 
and thighs were drawn out to either side in a manner which, with some adjustments my Miss 
Trimble, left me tight upon my back upon the table but with my bottom extended over into a 
suspension in midair. My feet and legs were drawn so far to either side I felt as if I were being 
torn in two. I was very helpless and parts of me were very open to punishment, parts that I did
not wish to present for punishment.

Miss Trimble patted me from time to time as she made further adjustments by which I was 
made taut. She then kissed my lips and, without a further word, left me there, shamed and 
frightened. I could turn my head from side to side but that was all.

Even without Miss Trimble with her beastly canes and whips and things, this was 
punishment enough. My shoulders soon began to ache from the upward stretching.

Already the split between my legs was hurting. I moaned in desolation at the helpless.

Preparing me for punishment was too commonplace an incident for the girls to bother. 
But it was not long before a woman entered my field of vision to sit beside me on the table 
and say, with feeling, “You poor kid. They didn’t have to do this to you right away. They could 
have used all sort of small punishment to break you in gently.”

The girl, or woman, was sharp. She was just as naked as I and her hands were tied behind 
her back so I had to know she was under sentence of punishment. She was very beautiful and 
might have been twenty-four or twenty-five years old, certainly older than I.

Laughing, and without embarrassment, she read my mind. “Your name is Betty and I 
should formally introduce myself. I am Mrs. Audrey Summers.”

“You’re married…?”

“That’s right, dear, I’m a married woman. I even have a husband who send me to Wicklowe
Academy as a punishment for something I didn’t do and to be trained in something he calls 
‘obedience’. I’ve been here a month. See my marks?”

Her body was decorated from head to toe with a number of purple streaks and lines, most
of them faded but some still new. I gasped as I realized how terribly she had been the victim 
of corporate punishment. The idea of a husband sending his wife to Wicklowe Academy was 
almost beyond comprehension. But there she was, a beautiful woman, naked and with her 
hands tied, looking down at me with sympathy.

“Poor little Betty,” she whispered tenderly. “You’ve been put in punishment and I’m waiting
for it. Don’t worry about both of us being naked, a girl very quickly gets used to being naked 
at Wicklowe Academy.”

“But you’re married and a … a woman! And you’ve got a husband!”

“That’s right, dear. Wicklowe Academy provides other services beside the one that you’re 
here for. Another wife was here when I first came. She had been getting her punishments 
every day, just like you and I, except that her sentence was just about up so she disappeared 
one night. I’m not sure the other girls trust me. They feel sure that at my age there is 
something wrong.” There was something hesitant about her next words. “Will you have me for
your friend, Betty?”

“Of course I will, but I’m only fourteen!”

“That doesn’t matter, darling. It’s nice to have someone to take to. There’s a few girls here 
who actually haven’t been punished at all. I haven’t discovered the reasons.”

“You’re beautiful, Mrs. Summers. This is so terribly wrong.”

“Yes, it is. But we can’t escape so there’s no use moaning about it. If a girl makes a serious 
escape attempt, she is punished so terribly I wouldn’t even want to try. It would be better to 
just endure what my husband wants.”

From my lowly maturity this gorgeous creature seemed more than I could hope for. “But 
you’re grown up!” I blurted out. “You’re an adult. Surely you can find some way out of here.”

The answer was her gentle finger on my lips and her equally gentle admonish, “Hush, 
Betty, dear, I can’t get free of Wicklowe Academy any more than you. I can’t even ask my 
husband to take you as his slave. Wicklowe Academy is firm about revealing identities.”

Audrey Summers sighed. “We’re simply going to have to work out our sentences and try 
and get as many remissions as we can for good behavior. What Wicklowe Academy desires is 
obedience and they are willing to reward it. Darling, I scream as much as you when I’m 
punished. Honey, I tried being stoic but it really seems to hurt more that way, so now I simply 
scream and let it all out.” Audrey Summers was suddenly alert. “Here comes Miss Trimble with 
your punishment. Would you like me to watch or would you sooner I go away?”

“Oh stay! Oh, please stay!” I was no longer the instant center of interest. Mrs.

Summers had given me a whole new look at Wicklowe Academy and now I was witness to 
an exchange of pleasantries almost beyond belief. Here were two adult women discussing 
something which, to my girlish mind, should never be discussed at all.

“How nice to see you here with dear Betty, Mrs. Summers. I’m sure you found lots to talk 
about.”

“We found a great deal to talk about, Miss Trimble. Mostly about the punishments you 
give us. We would both very much like to go home.”

“I’m sure you would, Mrs. Summers. But that day is far distant.” The voice of Alice was 
loaded with sweetness and light, as though discussing a small social amusement. “I’m about 
to punish dear Betty, and I presume you’ve elected to stay and watch. I expect you’d like Betty 
to witness your own penalty afterwards?”

Here we went again! Two females, far, far my senior, casually discussing the whipping of 
one and some unnamed horror for the other. Perhaps in time I would get used to this, but at 
that moment I longed to be elsewhere and was quivering in fear. Miss Trimble was 
thoughtfully flexing her cane back and forth and that scared me.

I longed for silence. I very much wanted to impress Audrey Summers. I liked her very much
and wanted to show her whatever courage I could muster. But Miss Trimble was as 
businesslike as ever, using her cane to cut and bite upon my flesh in places where the agony 
was shared with disbelief that any girl could be thus punished and so cruelly helpless. The 
strokes were measured and accurate, and after half a dozen or so, Miss Trimble’s interest was 
diverted to a small many thonged whip which she explained, with casual politeness, was 
intended for the punishment of the female vagina. For a single stroke, disbelief once more 
held me silent, but then the floodgates of my anguish opened and I screamed and screamed 
again as the beastly little leathers cut and bit at my most secret place. Throughout it all, I kept 
my eyes imploringly upon Audrey Summers as though to gain strength from her. Throughout 
my punishment, she was constantly twisting against her bound wrists as if the chaffing was 
her only outlet in her disapproval.

Shamed as I might be at the slat and crack of the leather impacts between my legs, I 
wanted it no other way but that Audrey Summers should see, and in seeing, share my 
suffering.

What Miss Trimble had satisfied her sense of what was proper with the tiny whip, she 
replace it with the strap of yesterday’s bitter memory. As she held it for my inspection, it 
seemed a live thing. When I closed my eyes, I was told sharply to keep them open and watch 
each stroke as it sliced the air towards my flesh. Miss Trimble was certainly proficient in her 
punishment of girls.

Once more the leather lit a fire in my private place. I screamed again as unbelievable pain 
shot through my very being. The fire very slowly died as my scream died away. The blows 
continued, slowly but relentlessly. Miss Trimble took her time and I wondered if it was that she
simply enjoyed her work or if spacing out the blows made the punishment all that much 
worse. Maybe both.

Throughout it all, Audrey Summers stood there to one side, tugging and twisting at the 
cords which bound her wrists. Perhaps she was reliving her own first punishment by watching 
Miss Trimble administer mine.

When Miss Trimble set aside the whip and made the first motions towards setting me free, 
Audrey, who was as much a prisoner as I, said what I will always remember as the sweetest 
request I have ever heard. “Please, Miss Trimble, Betty is terribly distraught over her 
punishment, let me comfort her. Let me hold her in my arms a little while. Untie my hands and
I promise I will allow you to tie them again without an argument.”

In light of what I knew of Wicklowe Academy, the words were doomed to die upon the 
wind. But Miss Trimble was a many-sided character. Continuing her process of setting me free,
she said, quite casually, “Very well, Audrey, that’s a nice idea of yours. Just hold on a minute 
and I’ll give you back your hands.”

Remember, I had been terribly whipped. At least it was terrible to me. And embarrassing in
the way it made me scream and the juices that flowed from my private place. I did not 
understand that part and was ashamed.

I stood there and watched the mistress untie the bound wrists of Mrs. Summers and then, 
as though it was a preordained fact, threw my arms around her as she clasp me against her. 
This was the first time I had known the nakedness of another woman against my naked body. 
Audrey’s breasts were large and firm and thrust against my own in a loving possession I 
wished could go on forever. Both of us ignored Miss Trimble, who stood there to one side as 
an amused audience. I suppose she was generous in her own way, but in the arms of the 
woman who befriended me, the time was all too short. We had been breast to breast and loin 
to loin, and this union of our hot flesh was intensified by our lips which sought and fed 
hungrily from each other. When Miss Trimble sardonically admonished, ‘That’s enough now. 
You’ll have to do your kissing another time. Come alone, Mrs. Summers, it’s time I tied your 
hands.”

We reluctantly stood apart. I think what happened then was as good a symbol of Wicklowe
Academy as anything that ever happened to me there. I was too frightened and engrossed 
with the heat of Audrey’s flesh to do more than stand and abjectly watch the most amazing 
submission I had ever known. Mrs. Audrey Summers was so much older than I that she 
undoubtedly have everything in its proper place and knew better than I that it would be 
foolish to resist. With remarkable cheerfulness she backed up to the awaiting mistress, crossed
her wrists behind her back, and stood thus with head erect and shinning eyes as her wrists 
were once more bound with those wicked cords. When she had been made helpless and Miss 
Trimble turned to me as though I was just one more domestic task, I caught a warning look 
from Audrey’s eyes and knew it best that I obey. Whatever motion I now made hurt but I 
submissively turned my back and crossed my wrists to stand in my nakedness while my own 
hands were made as helpless as those of the woman I was sure I loved.

Miss Trimble was full of surprises. Having rendered us both helpless, and with Audrey still 
subject to her punishments, she made us both glow when she suggested, “Go ahead and try it
again. You don’t need hands for what you two were doing. Kiss and rub your breasts together.
I’ll give you three more minutes.”

I was very nearly as tall as the woman with whom I now made fleshly contact. It was 
incredibly warm and pleasing to rub our breasts together and press our hips against each 
other’s. I longed for my hands but they were safely tied behind our backs. We did the best we 
could without the faintest regard for the woman who watched, entwining our thighs in thrusts
of what I realize now was passion. And we kissed like I had never been kissed before. Both of 
us were soon panting in a manner I did not understand but knew was infinitely good. When 
Miss Trimble told us it was time for Audrey to be punished, the separation of our bodies was 
as painful as the whip. In a daze and confusion I did not entirely understand, I walked beside 
Miss Trimble who now grasp Mrs. Audrey Summers with a grip of steel upon a bare arm. I 
would have supposed that Audrey would have done and said all the things I would have done.
But, of course, she had much more experience with daily punishments than I had, and went to 
this one with a sweet resignation to make me wonder.

We went to a small wooden structure without menace. Audrey backed up against a rail 
pretty much like the hitching posts of western movies but down closer to the ground was a 
second rail to which Miss Trimble bound poor Audrey’s ankles. She bound them far, far apart 
to achieve the exposure of her sex which I was beginning to see as a part of almost every 
punishment. Mrs. Audrey Summers’ bound wrists were untied to be spread in the same 
manner as her feet to be tightly tied to a third rail a little below her and behind her back. This 
left her standing naked with hands and feet far apart and a slightly bowed back to 
accommodate the binding of her wrists. She spared me a woeful glance and I realized she had
been given this punishment before. The rails were part of a controlled framework and Miss 
Trimble now turned a crank by which the rail to which Audrey’s wrists were tied was slowly 
pulled back and down. Then it dawned on me what was taking place. Audrey was breathing 
heavily as her arms and shoulders followed the rails and the small of her back was thrust 
harder and harder against the center rail. As she was being positioned to Miss Trimble’s 
satisfaction, she said no word but emitted small gasps in recognition of increasing pain and 
agony yet to come. Miss Trimble took her time about it, but finally had the naked Audrey bent
backwards across a pole so she could no longer move but made a picture of feminine 
exposure in which her most private part screamed aloud for attention.

And her lovely head fell back with its cascade of dark hair falling to the ground. The lovely 
breasts I had kissed only minutes before were now partly flattened by the strain on her body. 
Miss Trimble tightened the crank one more notch and then said, as though conferring 
benefits, “I’ll leave you now, dear. You’ve had this punishment before so you know what to 
expect.” To me she added, “Leave the crank alone, Betty. You’re welcome to stay with Mrs. 
Summers during her punishment but you’re expected to behave.”

“Please don’t leave me like this. It almost killed me last time. Please, Miss Trimble, ease the 
tension, it’s breaking my back.”

“Your back is in excellent position, Mrs. Summers. This is your punishment for today, and I 
expect you to bear it bravely. If you desire it, I’ll strap a gag into your mouth.”

It was all so neat and rational. At mention of a gag, Audrey kept silent and we both 
watched Miss Trimble walked slowly back to Wicklowe Academy. I now found myself doing 
exactly the same thing as Audrey had done was she watched me. I was testing and tugging at 
wrists in a terrible longing to ease the cruelty enacted before my eyes.

Cautiously, within the framework, I bent and kissed my loved one on her lips. Feverishly 
she kissed me back but the press of her lips was weak from the stressful manner of her 
fastenings. Her voice was a pale, sad whisper, “Don’t touch anything, darling, don’t try.

You can’t see me free. I don’t know when that woman will return but I must stay this way 
until she does. I expect they’ll fasten you like this one day. It’s a brute of a punishment.”

Timidly I bent my lips once more to their soothing task and then, as though moved by 
some unseen force, I found myself avidly at work with tongue upon the lovely nipples which 
stood erect and pointed upward. I wished I could spend the total time of Audrey’s punishment
so easing her pain, but she said it would only give her orgasms, something still pretty much a 
mystery to me, and it would be best for me to stop. Since I could only find distress in her 
predicament, it might be wise for me to join the other girls elsewhere and leave her to her 
pain. But this was something I could not bring myself to do. In walking around and around the
horrid structure which held my only friend tightly like the victim of a spider’s web, I found 
myself once more obeying some force of my flesh so that I sank to my knees between 
Audrey’s bound ankles and kissed her open pussy. Pussy was a slang term for it, I knew, but I 
knew no other words to describe it.

Quickly I buried my face in her sex and put my tongue to work. I can’t explain it, it just 
happened.

While our daily punishments were happen, we were certain they were beyond enduring 
and, if they continued day after day, we would surely die. But I have to confess that an hour 
after our release, we looked back at them without concern and looked forward to what they 
would do to us tomorrow with a shrug of resignation. At Wicklowe Academy I learned the 
amazing resilience of girls. And this it was that the days flitted by in the painful captive in 
which we were always bound or chained until the day came when Audrey guided me away 
from the others to whisper, for my ear alone, that a man who had been fond of her had 
discovered her plight and was going to rescue her on the following day.

She put her arms around my shoulders to hug me possessively and stated firmly that she 
intended to take me with her to freedom.

I had to wonder about Mrs. Summers’ affection for a man who was not her husband, but 
experienced only a girlish thrill at the thought of such romance. And the thrill at the thought 
of returning to a world where naked girls are not tortured every day. My parents were far 
distant and I had no idea where else I might find refuge, but Audrey assured me that where 
she went I could go too. And that the man who gave her his love would give it to me too.

There was now about Mrs. Audrey Summers a quiet air of assurance. Her lover was wealthy
and a powerful man under who’s protection we had nothing to fear. He had gotten word to 
her by a pre-arranged code in one of the few letters we were allowed to receive.

The details of how we were to be removed from this facility were not known to us but 
Audrey was sure it would come the following night. I had few questions and Audrey pointed 
out that a man with a sharp pocket knife could cut the cords around our wrists, and that quite 
probably ladders would be employed to get us over and beyond the great wall around 
Wicklowe Academy. It was indeed a formidable wall which I looked upon and trembled, but 
Audrey assured me her lover would deal with it with problem. We went to our punishments 
that day gladly.

Miss Trimble, probably from some amusement of her own, had increasingly punished 
Audrey and I together at the same time and with the same method of inflicting what she 
called discomfort and we thought of only as pain. Today we meekly held out our hands to 
have soft leather wristlets strapped on each. From a ring in the soft, heavy leather we were 
hung from a massive cross bar about ten feet off the ground. Our stretching toes were six 
inches from the grass and out tight strapped wrists a couple of feet apart above our heads. It 
was not one of Wicklowe Academy’s worse punishments, nor was it one of the easier ones, 
either. It was simply miserable and something to be endured for whatever period of time Miss 
Trimble considered adequate for our sins. Because she was full grown and heavier than I, there
was no doubt that Audrey’s suffering in this punishment was greater than my own. She 
panted and refused to struggled, which told me she was saving her strength for the hours 
ahead. I, on the other hand, wiggled, twisted, and kicked at nothing until my darling consoled 
me to keep still to reduce my distress to as little as need be. So there was the two of us, 
hanging naked girls enduring hurt wrists.

It was all routine. A couple of other girls were being punished in ways in which I could now
sympathize. From time to time, a girl or group of girls would come to gaze upon us. They 
exchanged a few words with us, patted our bottoms, but did not linger. For what they beheld 
in us was only a picture of themselves in a day or two. We did not mind out isolation, a girl 
being punished as disagreeably as Wicklowe Academy punished us has no wish for an 
audience or the touch of inquisitive fingers upon our flesh. But for Audrey and I, our 
punishment was bearable in light of the freedom we would gain tomorrow. Even in pain I 
could have sung sweet songs of joy.

We had underrated Wicklowe Academy. When we were finally released to stand upon the 
grass, and were so tired and hurt we lacked the spirit to revolt, we stood as we stood every 
day to cross our hands behind our backs that our wrists be bound tight in the approved 
manner of the school. We thought nothing of it. We were simply thankful our punishment for 
the day was done.

But was it done! There appeared to be a change in our routine. With a hand grasping each
of us by out bare arm. Miss Trimble propelled us over the grass to where we knew there were 
heavy iron rings deeply embedded in a huge block of concrete at ground level.

Standing there to eye the rings in unhappy speculation and with Miss Trimble laughing at 
our distress, we became aware of something which Wicklowe Academy had never exhibited 
before. It was the middle-aged male gardener who attended the grounds but who was never 
allowed near the naked girls. This man was cheerfully standing by a large box containing tools
and lengths of chain, to which I paid little attention for I was overwhelmed with a fresh and 
different shame to have this man of the working classes behold the nakedness I could not 
hide. Never had the binding of the wrists behind my back been as devastating as now. I could 
well believe myself scarlet from my neck to my knees. The workman’s cheerful greeting told us
he was not on our side.

“Don’t you worry, missy, I seen a naked girl before and I’ll have you properly secured, so I 
will, in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

I suppose we could have run but had longed before learned the foolishness of that.

Miserably beneath Miss Trimble’s watchful eye, we saw the instruments of doom unloaded 
beside the rings. First a heavy block of iron, a hammer and some small objects I guessed to be
rivets. Then a ten foot length of chain, and, at it’s end, a heavy shackle. I was told to sit down 
and raise my right foot upon the block. The shackle was slipped around my flesh in a snug 
embrace, leaving me knowing that it was made for a young girl’s ankle. Then not one but two 
of the rivets were inserted within the waiting holes and pounded expertly with the hammer 
until they were solidly flattened out. After that nothing but heavy tools would free that shackle
from my ankle.

“There you are, lass, safe and snug. There’ll be no young buck getting you free of that.”

He then threaded the heavy chain through the a ring and locked it with a huge lock. I 
wanted to cry for no one could free us now. I watched the imprisonment of Audrey’s right 
ankle in the same manner as mine, and her chain’s locking to the ring next to mine.

The laughing gardener replaced his tools in the box and carried it away after Miss Trimble.

The mistress had simply smiled at us but had not spoken a word as to why we were being 
thus imprisoned.

Throughout the long day Audrey and I sat in frustration, comforted only by occasional 
visits from curious girls who had never seen this method of securing a girl. My shackle was 
examined and commented upon. From time to time Audrey and I stood up to walk back and 
forth the few paces allowed us by the heavy links. When we once more sat upon the grass, we 
woefully speculated upon how any man could rescue a pair of maidens thus enchained. When 
Miss Trimble brought us a meager supper, she waved a piece of paper in Audrey’s face.

“No doubt you supposed this a clever code, Mrs. Summers,” she flaunted. “But we are not 
as stupid as your lover supposes. We read his message and know he will attempt to rescue 
you sometime tonight. I have conferred with Miss Winthrope and we concur that the man 
should be taught a lesson. We will make it easy for him to enter. He is unlikely to have with 
him the tools to remove these shackles. All he will be able to do is kiss you and say good-bye. 
It will teach him Wicklowe Academy is not easily defeated. I will say goodnight now.”

I knew Audrey close to tears but her exclamation echoed mine, “Surely you’re not going to
leave us here all night, naked and chained and without out hands!”

“I most certainly am. You can cuddle together in the manner you appear to enjoy, and thus
keep warm. For something to think about you may discuss the punishment you may expect 
for this infringement of our Rules. Upon receiving your coded missive, you should have 
immediately handed it to me with an explanation. Your failure to do this makes you guilty of 
an attempt to escape. I fear the same is true for you, too, Betty. Pleasant dreams.”

Audrey and I looked at each other in dismay. The words we had just heard spelt disaster.

If Audrey’s lover came and found us thus, he would be as helpless as we. Love might laugh
at locksmiths but would have no power against this metal bonds.

Audrey was tearful in her regret at my involvement, blaming herself for the punishment I 
would receive. But in the end we clung together in a physical communion from which we drew
the only comfort to be had. Mrs. Audrey Summers, no doubt because she was an adult, had 
been warned the first day of her imprisonment of the penalties she could expect if she should 
ever attempt to escape.

“They told me of several,” she moaned unhappily. “You don’t have a choice but they’re all 
there waiting. The first was to be flogged with a cat-o-nine-tails in the way a seaman on a ship
is flogged.” She shuddered. “Another one they spoke of was the bastinado. They tie you tight 
on your stomach with your feet turned up and then beat the soles of your feet with slender 
whips. They break no bones nor cut the skin, but I am told a girl does not walk for a week 
after it is done. Another I remember is to have a ring welded shut within your nose, while a 
second, larger, ring is riveted in the manner of our ankles. But only after it had been within our
labia below. That would deny our sex and proclaim out shame to all the world. There was 
some other things but I’ve forgotten. Don’t dwell upon them, darling, it is not impossible we 
may yet be rescued. I don’t know how, but I’ll cling to that hope. And so should you.”

We hugged during the night, cuddling each other that we might give each other comfort.

And we slept, actually awakening refreshed. Then Miss Trimble arrived with a breakfast that
was so small it took only a couple minutes for her to thrust the food between our lips.

She sounded miffed as she proclaimed, “Nobody came, did they? Your hero let you down, 
Mrs. Summers. But I’m going to leave you here today and over the night to follow.” Miss 
Trimble chuckled. “I wish I could see your lover’s face when he discovers that shackle on your 
ankle.”

There was nothing we could do except remain silent. There was no use getting ourselves in
trouble. I could easily imagine another shackle on our other leg and perhaps an iron collar on 
our necks. I was unhappy and needed Audrey’s loving comfort to keep from crying. We spent 
the day in conversation with the other captives who found our shackles intriguing. For time to 
time we demonstrated for their benefit the short, clattering steps we could manage. I suppose
I should have been pleased with the ugly iron upon my foot, but I wasn’t. I would have 
preferred the daily routine punishment to the boredom of the chain.

But it was good not to be alone, I loved Audrey being there.

The other girl’s amusement left us wondering if they knew something we did not. The 
morning passed and lunch was as tiny as the other meals. For lunch the plates were placed 
upon the grass and we were compelled to eat like dogs, kneeling and bending over, which I 
am ashamed to say we did for we were hungry. When done, our mouths were wiped tenderly 
by the mistress who we knew was enjoying our plight. In the afternoon it happened.

There were two of them and never was a knight in shinning armor so marvelously 
equipped. Audrey’s man spent only a moment to hold her tight while his companion cursed 
the shackle on my foot. I’m young and know little of such matters, but finding the shackles 
beyond their capacity to free, they set to work upon its closest link. In very little time we were 
free to walk away even through our ankle bore the shameful iron of slavery.

Audrey and I had stood still bound to look down in wonderment at the strength and 
ingenuity of the Male.

We were so accustomed to hands bound behind our back that we paid no heed to Miss 
Trimble’s cords. But the men were aware of them and a sharp knife cut them free. It was 
glorious and we rejoiced that true freedom was just across the wall.

Our rescuers had time to dwell, the girls had gone to the big house for dinner to leave the 
playground deserted. With hearts light with hope, we fled towards the ladders against the 
wall. Powerful arms helped us up the rungs and over the top. We descended to freedom and I 
thought it was the most glorious moment of my life. But at its very peak of euphoria, our 
lovely dream was shattered. From every side men suddenly appeared, men with clubs and 
weapons so that in the space of moments our heroes lay upon the grass beneath the blows of
clubs. For all we knew they would never rise again. Rough male hands bound our elbows tight 
behind our backs to hurt in brutal pain while rope was knotted around our necks and those 
tethers handed to AT, who must have been waiting in the wings. The men dispersed, tossing 
the bodies onto a waiting wagon and then the ladders.

In silence the drove away, leaving the scene exactly as before. Miss Trimble tugged upon 
the tethers and led us back to slavery. Led to Miss Winthrope’s office, each of us was 
sentenced to the bastinado on the following day. We were then taken to a tower room, a 
place of stone and iron bars, and there had locked upon our limbs what seemed to me a ton 
or more in weight of iron shackles and chains. Each of our limbs was fastened to the stone 
wall and we could scarcely move when they were done. To make things worse, each of us was 
chained to the opposite wall so the touching of flesh was denied as we spent the bitter 
evening and night in fitful sleep. Mrs. Audrey Summers and young Betty Blake were 
undoubtedly the saddest pair of prisoners in the world. We wept.

There is something about heavy chains that diminish a naked girl, reducing her to total 
subservience. Audrey and I were chained so heavily it was difficult to even move. I felt certain 
Miss Trimble must enjoy placing our breakfast on the floor and laughing when we explained 
we had no appetite. What girl would wish to eat when confronted by the bastinado!

The mistress had brought with her a wardress in case of need, a muscular female who’s 
strength we dared not test. Audrey and I stood in misery as we were divested of our irons, 
save for the metal circlets still riveted upon our ankle. At a word, we turned and crossed our 
wrists to have our hands bound tight behind our backs. It was all too familiar.

Helpless but able to walk we were led from the dungeon room where we had spent the 
night. What we were taken to was not a dungeon but a light and airy room. Standing beside 
each other in the center of the room were small, stout structures whose function we could 
easily guess. With unusual consideration, Wicklowe Academy spread upon the floor blankets 
on which we were compelled to lay face down, our hands remaining fastened behind our 
backs and our knees hard fast against a short and solid pole. To that pole our knees and 
ankles were bound. In cringing horror I realized the soles of my feet were now held and firmly 
exposed to whatever punishment was destined them. All Audrey or I could do was look back 
over bare shoulders at the preparations for our punishment.

It was beautifully simple, we could not move except to roll our naked bodies this way or 
that. Our feet and legs were immobile. We could not move our bound ankles a single inch.

It was done with ceremony. Miss Winthrope ushered into the room of punishment half a 
dozen naked girls whose hands were bound the same as ours. These were no doubt the 
witnesses to carry the story of our agony throughout the school. They were-lined up and then 
Miss Winthrope handed a bundle of short willow withes to Alice Trimble and the wardress we 
so feared. But first she must have her moment of triumph and her declaration of principle. 
Holding a wicked riding crops, she bent it back and forth between her hands while explaining 
the enormity of our transgression and its punishment. The six bound beauties listened in awe 
and were obviously scared half out of their wits. But finally the speech came to an end and 
Miss Winthrope announced the intention of delivering to both Mrs. Summers and myself one 
single awful stroke upon each foot before yielding out tender flesh to the doubtful mercies of 
Alice Trimble and her helper. I cringed in pure fear and bestowed a sideways glance at Audrey,
who I’m sure was just as scared as I but who managed a pale smile. I clenched my teeth and 
closed my eyes.

Suddenly the world exploded into pain.

CHAPTER SEVEN - A Hunt and an Auction

Strangely the last thing I desired was to relinquish my dream. I should have been glad to 
come away from that punishment and its agonies. But the prospect of the bastinado was 
nothing to me desire for Mrs. Audrey Summers. I wanted her so damn back it hurt.

I refused to open my eyes, I knew damned well where I was and memories of loneliness in 
the garden, even though it was a magic garden, held no allure. I did my damnedest to go back
to sleep and pick up where the dream left off. I pictured Audrey screaming and jerking under 
the painful slash of that riding crop and longed to share her travail. I even sought with every 
fiber of my being to thrust myself back to the world of Wicklowe Academy and the woman I 
adored. It did not occur to me to consider the differences in our ages. It did not matter to me 
in the dream, it did not matter now.

I felt the leaves on my bare skin and could hear the babble of the little spring and its tiny 
pool. I had no wish to go back into the world but as sleep and my dream dissolved, I knew I 
must open my eyes. As first concession I sought to move my limbs to discover in what matter 
they were handcuffed. In a sort of physical drunkenness, my left arm obeyed my will but not 
my right. With my right hand there was definitely something wrong. Slowly, and not much 
caring what Jiminy had done, I opened my eyes to behold Mrs. Audrey Summers kneeling 
beside me on the grass! She was looking down at me in rapt attention, her lovely face alive 
with concern. Beholding my return to awareness, she said very simply, “Hello, Trinity,” and 
then demonstrated with a small smile how her left wrist was handcuffed to my right

“I’m sorry about this but it seems we have to be attached.”

It was impossible. No doubt my dream was still influencing what my eyes beheld. Audrey 
was as naked as I remembered, but she had called me Trinity. No doubt to her I was Betty. 
Suddenly alert I sat up and, scorning words, threw my arms around her neck. I clutched and 
clung to her lovely nakedness in gratitude.

We did not want to part. But finally gave Audrey back her hand and asked breathlessly, 
“You do remember…?”

Audrey played with the shinning steel band around her wrist. In this magic garden we 
were now approximately the same age but she was looking at me with an adult tenderness as 
if I was still Betty of the dream. She explained, “I’m new to all this, I was only kidnapped a 
couple of days ago. I know something crazy is going on and last night I dreamed the strangest
dream. But that girl, her name’s Jiminy, isn’t it? She brought me here and handcuffed us 
together the way we are now. I’m wondering if you know any more than I?”

Once more I hugged her, admitting in bitterness that I was an ignorant as she. “They told 
you my name,” I said urgently, “please, what is yours?”

“I’m Mrs. Audrey Summers. I’ve got a husband way off someplace who’s probably going 
crazy. How long have you been a prisoner here?”

I told her what there was to tell. It wasn’t all that much and made little sense, but Audrey 
listened in full attention and looked as me as if I were still a delightful little girl who should be 
humored. But I was now maybe a year older than she. The Betty of the dream had given place 
to Trinity Evans who seemed like she would be a prisoner of Stone forever.

Audrey laughed with me about that and said that her memory of the dream was 
fragmentary and lacked the total clarity of mine. I could already sense that no matter what 
was said, she would lead and I would follow. I loved her very much.

Audrey took a delight in playing with her handcuffed wrist, shaking it to compel the links 
to make noise. We drank and bathed together in enforced union, and then turned our 
attention to the picnic basket. It was there we found Jiminy’s brief note telling us we had a 
date at Stone the next morning and to be sure to be prompt.

“If we go, they’ll simply chain us in a dungeon,” I said disgustedly. But Audrey said we 
ought to go and learn whatever there was to learn. She was still inc-lined to think the whole 
affair was a brutal joke or that we were being held for ransom. But I didn’t mind much, Audrey
was yummy.

The woman to whom I was chained seemed little bothered by nakedness, feeling its shame
far less than I. She laughingly explained that after a girl had been married a while, it no longer 
mattered all that much. Her memory of the dream of punishments was vague.

She felt certain someone would tell us the reason we were here and maybe give us some 
clothes. I laughed at her, said “Sure” and clinked our handcuffs.

Audrey also wanted to have a look at that ranch to see if any of the girls there would like 
to help us escape. I pointed that we were far more likely to find ourselves bound up or 
chained in some way to prevent escape. And tried very hard to get her to understand what a 
difficult place Stone was. We compromised by going for a walk, clinking our way and laughing
at the bracelets on our wrists. For me it was a carefree day but I knew Audrey was thinking all 
the time. We didn’t see a living sole anywhere.

The next morning we turned our steps towards the place called Stone.

“They can always cut off our food and compel us to do anything,” Audrey pointed out 
wisely. “And I’ll bet the only reason they’ve left you kicking around half way free is in 
preparation for the main event. Let’s get this business over and done with so we can go 
home.”

“I don’t think we’ll ever go home again, Audrey.”

“You’ve been around too long, Trinity, darling.

You’ve gotten depressed. Come alone, dear.” She laughed at my obvious lack of 
enthusiasm. “Be a well-behaved little slavegirl and everything is going to be all right.”

We discovered our first girl before catching sight of the house itself. She was very 
competently and artistically tied tight to a tree.

There was no sudden hope when she caught sight of us, and, since she was tightly 
gagged, there was no greeting. When we tried to take the beastly thing out of her mouth, we 
discovered it was solidly padlocked at the back of her neck. She managed a sorry smile and a 
shake of her head, that was all. She motioned with her eyes for us to continue on our way.

The next girl was bound and gagged the same way. And then the next. We were in a 
cluster of trees not that far from Stone itself. Audrey and I searched and discovered a total of 
total of ten naked maidens, all padlocked into silence, and all with an additional chain locking 
them to the tree in addition to the ropes and cords. It was useless to think of setting them 
free, we could free them from ropes but not the chains. Instead of dampening Audrey’s spirits,
the discovery convinced her of the silly joke theory, saying we were all in the same boat 
together and if she and I ended up tied to a tree, well, so what! Loaded with misgiving, I went 
along.

Among the tied up girls, I recognized those I had met previously on my first exploration in 
this direction. Attached to their tree, they seemed no better or worse off than previously. I 
didn’t make a big thing out of it but kissed them as we passed and then followed the trail as 
Audrey, more and more anxious for action, dragged me along. Maybe I should have been 
angry but I loved every gentle tug upon my wrist.

We met our fate in the person of Miss Cora James. With her was Florence. The mistress of 
Stone greeted us in the manner of old friends. “I hoped we would run into you,” she said with 
seeming sincerity. “We’ve got everything ready, so if you’ll just come along, Florence and I will 
get you nicely arranged. You’re going to love what we’ve prepared for you today.”

Since I couldn’t turn and run without Audrey running too, I looked to her for guidance but 
Audrey seemed to think she was hot on the scent of something and chatted with Cora while 
Florence and I walked in silence. We could well believe her keen eye was measuring me for a 
length of rope. My darling Audrey might believe this whole thing a joke, but I did not.

Two poles were embedded in the ground within speaking distance of the bench where I 
had talked with Adrain Rankin. Immediately I saw them, I knew what they were for. Once more
I should have turned and run, but I was attached to someone else. The voice of Cora James 
was bright with good will. “We have put these two poles here especially for the two of you. If 
you will back against one, Florence will get on with the job of tying you tight. We won’t bother
with your handcuff, I think it’s a nice idea.”

This was more or less what I had expected but I could see Audrey was giving it a lot of 
thought. As though to aid decision. Miss James continued in the same tone, “I don’t suppose 
you really want to be tied up, darlings, and I expect you’re thinking about running away. But 
let me made this easy for you. If you give us trouble in getting you fastened, you will be 
punished by being stroked with the riding crop for the count of ten on your bare skin. You 
see, Mrs. Summers, how convenient it is to always have you naked?”

“I’m sure it is,” Audrey replied. “But, please look at it from our point of view, we’d feel like a
couple of silly children if we backed up against the poles. I’m sure this is all a joke, but those 
girls we’ve just visited, the ones tied to the trees, were all hurting. And I expect we’d hurt, too. 
Couldn’t we give all this nonsense a miss and get on to the nitty-gritty?”

“No, dear. You will both stand against a pole and do as you’re told. Florence can handle 
both of you and I’m quite good at tossing girls around. You’re outclassed, darlings. Just 
surrender quietly.”

I hate sweet reason. Mostly it means you have to do or say something you don’t want. But 
I was getting vibrations from Audrey through out handcuff. And the more I looked at it, the 
sillier it would be to invite ten beastly strokes with a riding crop on some part of ourselves 
where it would hurt. I looked at Audrey. We didn’t need to speak. As if the handcuffs made us 
totally as one and docile as a couple of kids, we panted our bare backs hard against the wood.
The poles were planted close enough so our hands could remain joined. Cora chose me first.

Having someone tie you into helplessness is a very much from me to you thing. What I 
mean is it’s very personal. First of all, Florence tightened a chain around my tummy and 
clicked a padlock to make certain no other person could see me free. Then there was other 
bands of rope around me before my free hand was taken behind the post and tied so tightly 
that I knew it was there to stay. It was all very artistic, and I beheld a pleasure in the eyes of 
Miss James and an intense curiosity from Audrey. I was thinking of Audrey less and less as a 
married woman and more and more as a girl of my own age.

Ropes bit into my shoulders and beneath my armpits, and was cleverly woven into web 
work that held me quite firmly to the wood from ankles to neck. There was even a single rope 
drawn tight within my crotch. Florence then gave her full attention to my friend. When Audrey
was bound as tightly and artistically as I, the matron backed away and nodded in satisfaction 
as Cora James smiled her satisfaction. “Quite good. That wasn’t so bad, was it, darlings? If it’s 
any comfort, you look absolutely sweet.”

I kept a silence but Audrey asked a lot of questions, none of which were answered. When 
out two captors turned to go back to the house, I exclaimed, in bitterness, “Haven’t you 
forgotten to gag us? Or do we get to talk?”

I could have kicked myself when Miss James retraced her steps and held a hateful looking 
gag before my eyes. “There’s a touch of the masochist in you, dear,” she said gently.

“Open your mouth for this gag.”

I had lost any bargaining power I might ever have. I opened my mouth for the rubber gag 
which was thrust between my pouting lips and forced my tongue down. Straps compressed 
my cheeks and covered my mouth entirely with soft leather. I could now say no word to 
Audrey and for that I was very sorry. I used my eyes to make apology for being so perverse.

Prisoners must always be ready for shocks. I got one then. I heard footsteps and then 
beheld Miss Cora James laughing at me face to face. “I’m not being kind, Trinity,” she said with
sardonic humor. “But someone may wish to talk to you. And I’m sure you find all of this hard 
to take. You are forgiven the gag.”

With the rubber gag withdrawn from between my lips, my thanks were sincere. I got 
laughed at once more and my cheek patted reassuringly. And then, in the space of a minute, 
Audrey and I were alone.

“You didn’t deserve that,” she said harshly. “You’ve acted like a bratty kid all morning. But I 
won’t say you’ve gotten what you deserve, none of us deserve all this. We’re just like those 
other girls out in the woods. I still insist this must be a joke.” There came a brief pause, then 
she asked, ‘Trinity, dear, can you reach any of the knots? I mean, we’ve got half a hand each. 
And if we-don’t tug and pull, maybe we can untie each other one at a time. Can you reach 
anything on me?”

Whoever planted the poles knew what they were doing. They seemed very close but even 
thought I strained at ropes with every ounce of strength, I could reach nothing. When Audrey 
tried, it was the same with here.

Resigned to immobility, we started to speculate on the day ahead but were interrupted by 
the appearance of Jiminy upon our scene. As usual she was bubbling over with the joy of 
living. She kissed us both, told Audrey to keep quiet while she was busy, then, without 
warning, her fingertips took possession of my nipples.

A girl’s nipples are loaded with magic. Or maybe mischief should be the word. Mine are so 
responsive that from the first moment Jiminy began her amusement with my breasts, I was 
becoming excited. I was apprehensive over what I feared would happen.

“Oh, please don’t do that! If you continue, I’ll get an orgasm! I don’t want that.”

“That’s exactly what I want,” she smiled back at me. “It’s not fair. You know I can’t move.

Please stop!” I might as well have whistled at the wind. With someone playing with my 
nipples I become totally disorganized. And I become just a package of sexual excitement, lost 
to all reason. I knew for sure I did not want to gasp my way through an orgasm with Audrey 
right there looking at everything. It was for sure I would not move, the ropes looked after that.
But mostly certainly I would emit sounds of which I would later be ashamed. It was easy to 
look Jiminy in the eye, but those two lovely eyes glinted only mischief and a firm purpose. For 
those few minutes I belonged to Jiminy utterly and she was about to extract from my naked 
flesh my surrender to passion. When she lowered one hand to cup my hot, wet sex, she 
replaced it upon my nipple with her lips and tongue.

I knew I didn’t stand a chance, and no longer cared. In less than a minute I was crying out 
in ecstasy and surging against the ropes. Beside me Audrey’s eyes were orbs of dark desire.

Never have two girls been so much in the power of a third. Jiminy was savoring her 
possession of my body to the full while I panted and sweated my way back to normalcy. I had 
never known an orgasm of such intensity, or an aftermath which burned on and on.

Jiminy missed nothing, not even her mischievous playing with one nipples to make me 
gasp again and the words of pleading to form upon my lips. When I was finally left alone to 
calm down, Jiminy turned her attention to Mrs. Audrey Summers.

It was like a cat playing with a mouse. Jiminy turned from me to move slowly towards 
Audrey. Her hands were raised with fingers at the ready, and Audrey was looking in the same 
frozen stare I had. It was a mixture of disbelief and apprehension. She was already panting as 
Jiminy’s fingers slowly touched her erect nipples on those magnificent breasts.

The difference was that Audrey was glad, she was welcoming what was about to be done 
to her. Her eyes glowed and her blush was not one of shame as mine had been, but one of 
heated passion. The fingers played and teased and I could tell that Audrey had given herself 
over totally to the pleasure of being played with. Her breasts would have been heaving had 
she not been bound so tightly to the post.

I loved Audrey and had no wish to see her brought to orgasm any more than I had wanted
her to see mine. But my gaze was riveted in fascination as she closed her eyes in surrender as 
the wicked fingertips began their play. I had never felt so drained or helpless in my life.

I don’t think orgasms are the least bit pretty. I can understand Jiminy’s enjoyment because
she was in complete control and bring from the lovely flesh whatever response she might 
desire. But as I felt the tremors cross the steel linkage between our hands, I could offer Audrey
only pity. When Jiminy’s hand sank down to grasp the pubic bush, I was panting disgracefully 
and ashamed.

When the sex play was finally complete and two naked girls fought their way back to the 
reality of being bound against a post, Jiminy expressed her enhancement with the whole 
perform, congratulating us both for the responses we could not control. Then she kissed us 
lightly on the lips and delivered her next announcement, which was one we could both have 
done well without. “I’ve given you pleasure, darlings, and before I give it again, I think it only 
fair and proper to give you just the tiniest bit of pain. I’m sure neither of you will object?” She 
looked from one to the other of us with a smile on her face.

The wooden clothespins looked innocent enough but no girl, naked and bound as we 
were bound, could fail to know their purpose. “They will bob up and down very nicely,” she 
explained, “and let you know who you belong to. I’ll clip you first, Trinity, and it would be nice 
if you tell me how they feel.”

“I’m sure they will hurt,” I said, sourly. “Please don’t.”

First one and then the other. I had the privilege of looking down as our torturer positioned
my breast and nipple to her satisfaction before releasing the hateful spring. The pain was 
instant and severe and, since I had no wish to be stoic, I let out with a loud, “Jiminy, take it off!
Oh, take it off!”

The second clothespin followed the first Jiminy had been right the damn things had a 
jaunty life all their own, with them firmly biting both nipples. She flicked them with 
mischievous fingertips to make me wail a desperate, “Don’t do that! Jiminy, this is torture, get 
them off!”

The laughing girl paid no heed so I stood in seething anger with a couple of burning 
breasts. Clothespins were never designed for the torture of a girl but they certainly did the job
well. I use the word torture but I suppose it was something short of real torture. But at that 
moment it certainly felt like torture. But then, as with the erotic play, my attention was riveted 
upon the performance with darling Audrey. I can’t say that my pain was completely forgotten 
as I watched, but it was at least partly nullified by the handcuff jerking at my wrist and 
Audrey’s outraged protests. This was Jiminy’s day and Jiminy was making the most of it.

When the hateful clothespins were taken from our nipples, after what seemed like hours 
but was probably only twenty or thirty minutes, Jiminy kissed our sore rosebuds and tongued 
them until she had both of us once more in a state of excitation. I think those beastly 
clothespins had sensitized our nipples because we were doubly responsive to her attention. 
Our joined hands jerked and out flesh burned at her touch. We cried out aloud our ecstasy.

When Jiminy finally departed for the big house, she left behind a pair of totally exhausted 
young women who could move nothing except the hands the handcuff made them share.

When we got around to talking, I knew Audrey was ashamed of her sexually reactions.

Audrey knew as well as I that a girl in orgasm is not a pretty sight but she brushed over 
Jiminy’s pleasure in our bodies to return to her original insistence that the whole thing was a 
bad joke. And that sooner of later she would receive apologies, get back her clothes, and 
return to her husband. Comfortingly, she said that if I had no where else to go, I should go 
home with her and she would look after me. The whole thing was terribly like my dream.

We talked, we rattled our handcuff, and carried on a rational conversation, not really 
believing anything we said but it was better than silence. After an hour Adrain Rankin came to 
sit upon the bench and sat there to examine our twin nakedness with an appreciative eye.

“I’ll bet young Jiminy’s been playing with your tits.” He looked from Audrey to myself and 
added, “Tell me if I’m right? Is there anything else the little so and so did to you?”

It was easiest to tell the truth and this we did. Audrey went a step further. “I have to 
assume this is some sort of joke, Mr. Rankin,” she said. “Please set me free, these ropes are 
painful.”

When anyone has you safely their prison, they don’t have to pay attention to a word you 
say. It was thus with Audrey now. I didn’t say a word because I knew he wouldn’t tell me a 
damned thing. And, anyway, I was still remembering his dungeon and those chains. As usual I 
thought longingly of my little spring and the bed of leaves.

“You’ll be my guest for the night, of course,” Mr. Rankin told us in a friendly tone. “And 
tomorrow you’ll take part in an institution I’ve just gotten under way at Stone. The boys and I 
are going to have what I hope to make a quarterly event, and which I’ve named the Girl hunt. 
In it we give the female staff of Stone a thirty minute head start before getting on our horses 
to hunt them down. If one of the hunters catches a girl, he can lead her back to the big house 
at the end of a rope and do whatever he likes with her. Naturally, the girl should expect to be 
screwed.”

I suppose it wasn’t any crazier than anything else that happened in this crazy place. And it 
justified all this land over which I had roamed. I won’t pretend I was boarded with what he 
said, I was actually anxious to hear more. I looked at Audrey and knew she was drinking in 
every word. For some reason or other this was the Stone she could understand.

“So all right, we get raped,” she said almost impatiently. “So what happens then?”

“Your master will hold title on your for the entire day. He maywish to simply talk, or he 
may quite probably mark you up with a whip. Whatever he wants you’ll damned well put up 
with it. The following day you’ll be sold by auction.”

I had suspected something like this all along but Audrey hadn’t. “You mean you’re not 
going to have your fun with us, then send us home?” she demanded. “I absolutely have to get 
back home to my job and husband. I can’t spend my life providing amusement for some 
overgrown schoolboys.”

“Perhaps you should walk away right now, if that’s how you feel,” Rankin said softly.

“You know I can’t. I can’t move.”

“In that case, you’ll have to play the game, won’t you, my dear?”

I could tell Rankin was enjoying this baiting game of female helplessness. I longed to do or
say something myself but I had been a prisoner of Stone too long to have any confidence in 
anything. As thought to aid the mental processes of both his female captives, Rankin mused 
quietly, “It’s a natural instinct in the Male to treat women as possessions. I own both of you 
right now as surely as I had bought you in a store. And when you’re sold at the auction, you’ll 
be possessed in a way no woman has known since the days of true slavery.” Rankin chuckled 
quietly. “Take my advice and don’t mention woman’s Lib after you’ve been sold.

“Tomorrow I can promise you an interesting day.” Our lord and master took his leave as 
casually as he had first come. I like to kid myself there was a kindly twinkle in his eye when he 
looked at me, but that was wishful thinking. When we knew he was safely out of ear-shot, 
Audrey said something she had never said before.

“Trinity, darling, I’m frightened. That man’s actually going to go through with this 
nonsense. Damn it, are you quite sure you can’t reach a knot anywhere?”

“What good would it do? We’d only be tied up again,” I said unhappily.

Audrey gave the attempt everything she had but the hand linked to mine could reach no 
knot or even touch my skin. After what seemed hours, Jiminy came again to use our private 
parts disgracefully to the point where, when she untied us from the post, Audrey and I were a 
pair of dispirited and exhausted young woman who never wanted our nipples touched again. 
Audrey and I were still linked by the handcuff and now, with pixie humor, Jiminy joined our 
ankles the same way to leave us with one free hand and one foot each.

She told us that we could walk slowly to the house and there wouldn’t be a penalty for 
falling on or face.

The joined ankles were worse than the linked hands. We constantly snubbed each other’s 
ankles and nearly tripping. Jiminy walked along beside us and constantly offered good advice.
It was she who took us to were we would spend the night, a huge stone chamber, warm and 
with lots of barred windows. She told us quite seriously the place had recently been named 
“The Slave Pit,” and she hoped we’d be very comfortable. When we complained that we were 
chained together and couldn’t sleep very well, she pretended not to hear.

“I knew we shouldn’t have come anywhere near this place,” I complained. “Surely they’re 
not going to send us out like wild animals to be hunted down? And surely not chained as we 
are?”

“Oh, Audrey darling, I’m scared, too.” For answer I was embraced in two loving arms.

Audrey’s lips found mine and stilled my voice. Female breasts soon forgot their outrage 
and quickly became rigid as we pressed our flesh together in loving contact. After those two 
damned posts we’d been tied to, we couldn’t get enough of each other. Audrey’s whisper 
sought to still my fears, ‘Trinity, darling, at least we know what we’re up against.

Surely there’ll be some opportunity to escape. There just has to be! We’ll be dealing with 
men and a beautiful woman can sway a man.” Audrey paused only a moment before adding, 
“If I can bribe our way out of here by giving my body to some damned fool man, I’m certainly 
going to do it.”

Our fellow prisoners joined us, one by one. Each was naked, each was handcuffed, either in
front or behind her back. We never discovered a reason for this difference, but those with 
freedom looked after those without. None seemed to find anything unusual in our linked 
captivity. Those girls I had previously met in my excursions around Stone greeted me as an old
friend, and assured Audrey and I that there was no significance in the manner we were 
chained together. All of them shared Audrey’s hope that in tomorrow’s hunt they would find 
an opportunity to escape.

Some of the girls had been held prisoner for several months in a more or less painless 
captivity. In that time their number had been augmented by whatever additions were 
kidnapped. Since they had seen little of Adrian Rankin, they supposed his only interest in 
possessing so many naked girls was to accumulate a sufficient number to make his girl hunt 
interesting for himself and privileged male friends. None doubted it would happen exactly as 
described. They had been told there were fifteen girls and fifteen males, thus assuring Rankin 
and his guest of a captive girl led in triumph back to the house as a plaything.

On following morning fifteen naked girls were drawn up in line, each of them with hands 
handcuffed in front. Even Audrey and I were unlocked and were looking at our wrists.

When the fifteen girls were told to place their locked hands behind their necks and stick 
their chests out for inspection, there were enough guests and female staff walking around 
with riding crops to insure instant obedience. We stood in various degrees of blush as we 
were poked and prodded and stared at as our attributes discussed. If this had been my first 
day at Stone, I think I would have died right there.

Our inspection over, we were allowed to stand easy while a male voice imparted the terms 
and conditions by which we would be hunted down. When given the signal we were to run.

Any girl refusing to play would be whipped until she changed her mind. We could run at 
whatever speed we chose and in whatever direction might appeal. The voice went on to 
explain that we were free to hide instead of run if that were our choice. It was explained that in
such a large hunting ground there would be numerous places in which a girl would be hard to
find. We could run singly or in groups, and should not complain about the handcuffs. They 
were symbolic to our role, and would aid in our handling when finally run down. The speaker 
doubted the we would run after if our hands were free. He assured us at the very least a half 
hour start in our run for freedom. And it was a run for freedom, for any girl still eluding 
capture after sunset. Those girls would not be dragged back nor owned by a man for that 
night.

I didn’t kid myself that I was not excited. Audrey was excited, too. I’d roamed a goodly part
of the huge estate and even though I had not found freedom then, there was still the chance I
might find it now. When the starting gun barked, Audrey and I ran together towards a fate 
unknown. In the exhilaration of almost total freedom, we laughed as we ran. Then I thought 
Audrey the loveliest thing my eyes had ever beheld.

I had told Audrey of the ranch I had found and we agreed to run in that direction. True, it 
was a long way, but everything was a long way in the huge acreage of Stone. I had told her of 
the man named Jim and of his obedient maidens. I admitted we might be exchanging one 
captivity for another. Jim might well chain us in his corral, I could not imagine one of those 
men behind us would dispute his ownership. Perhaps under the influence of Audrey’s charm, 
Jim might even be willing to help us escape.

We paused briefly at the spring to drink and rest. Our wrists were chaffed because no 
matter how we held our hands, the handcuffs did not take kindly to the motion as we ran.

The hot California sun made us swear. Reluctantly we left my magic garden and headed 
towards the ranch.

On my previous explorations I had walked but now we ran and covered the distance in half
the time. Luckily we noticed no pursuit. Probably because Audrey and I knew where we were 
going but the rest did not. Quite probably some already had a rope around their neck and 
being led back to Stone by a triumphant male.

The ranch was quiet and no one was in right. There was an eerie silence about the place as
if it knew some secret we did not. We slowed down to a careful walk as we passed the barn 
and corral. I knocked at the ranch house door. It was opened by Pilar who surveyed our dusty 
nudity with disfavor. “Please,” she said, “to go away.” Then she slammed the door in our face. 
It was not a good beginning.

When the door was opened to our second determined knock, I could sense Pilar was more
frightened than angry. “The Master is not here today,” she told us as if she wished he were. “I 
do not know when the master will return. Is best you go.”

“But we need help. We’re being hunted. We need a place to rest and hide!”

“What a silliness! It is a nonsense men enjoy. I will give you water but that is all.”

We drank Pilar’s water gratefully but did not leave. I had a sudden inspiration. “I think your
master would wish to help, or at least possess me once again. Why don’t you chain us in your 
corral as I was once chained. It is possible we will not be discovered. And even if we are, you 
can claim us as your master’s property to those who are hunting. Besides they won’t have the 
key to the shackles.” I was almost panting as I uttered our plea, “Pilar, you must help us! 
Please?”

I had struck a responsive cord. Pilar’s features softened almost to a smile. She understood 
the corral and the chain and her master’s pleasure at finding a pair of unexpected captives. 
Without further ado she said simply, “Very well, Pilar do as you say. You come alone.”

I winked at Audrey and she grinned back. Neither of us believed this new imprisonment 
could be worse than being dragged back to the house for a night of rape and torture.

Entering the enclosure behind the rails, my ankle was immediately captured in the shackle 
it had worn before. This time I felt certain it would not come loose. Pilar found a second 
shackle for Audrey and she accepted its steel authority upon her ankle without demure.

“This is all I will do for you,” Pilar said with firm decision. “I hope my Master is pleased and 
will whip you both. It is the first thing I will ask.”

Audrey and I simply did not care. We were seething with hope and excitement and a 
glimpse of freedom. A shackle locked on a girl’s ankle leaves all the rest of her free, and she 
finds it hard to believe it will make her prisoner for long. We showered Pilar with our thanks to
receive, in return, that huntsmen came, she would tell them we were her master’s property. 
But she added that if they wished to take us by force, she would dare do nothing to stop 
them. We pointed out that without the key to our shackle, the huntsmen could not take us 
from the corral but she shrugged that away in a manner to leave me uneasy about this fragile 
safety. Saying she would bring us water and food later in the day, she once more checked our 
chains and went back to the house.

“We are either very lucky girls or very stupid,” Audrey summed up our position. “Darling, 
are you quite sure these bands of iron won’t come loose?”

For half an hour we twisted and tugged in useless efforts against our irons. But we found 
no weak link. We were fixed for sure, and only the arrival of our chosen master was likely to 
get us loose. At least it was a far friendlier captivity than being led back to the big house at 
the end of a rope to be ravished and tortured. We lay down in the warm afternoon sun and 
slept.

We awoke to a nightmare. Smiling down at us in pure delight were a pair of the huntsmen 
who had discovered our hiding place and found us sleeping. Beyond them we saw Pilar 
hurrying from the house.

These men were surprisingly similar in type. They were the faceless type hiding behind 
their wall of money. Smoothly middle aged but keeping themselves in good condition at an 
expensive Spa. We cringed under their male approval of our nakedness and the chains that 
keep us from running away.

“I knew about this ranch,” one of them told us. “I’m glad we came. You two were the best 
of the bunch. You can call me Cliff and my friend here is Reggie. You’re Trinity and Audrey, 
right?”

There wasn’t much to say since they had seen us earlier that day it was useless to claim 
ownership by this ranch. When Pilar arrived her claim to ownership fell flat.

“Forget it, sweetheart, we know they don’t belong here.” Reggie patted shoulder in a 
friendly way. “Just give us the key and we’ll get them out of your way.”

“They are not in my way and there is no key. They belong to my Master and they are 
chained safely to await his return. Please go away.”

Poor Pilar. She was out of her depth. The men laughed at her until she went scurrying back
to the house, probably fearful of a rope around her own neck. She was instantly forgotten 
when Reggie suddenly tensed in his viewing of female breasts to focus on the lovely features 
of my fellow captive. “You’re Mrs. Audrey Summers,” he exclaimed suddenly. “I would have 
recognized you earlier but without clothes I wasn’t really looking at your face. Does Bill 
Summers know you’re here?”

I was flooded with hope while Audrey blushed. “Of course he doesn’t know! I’m held 
prisoner, the same as Trinity. You will help us get out of her, won’t you?”

The huntsman contrived a thin-lipped smile. “Don’t see why I should, gal. Bill Summers 
never did a thing for me. I don’t even like the guy. I don’t see why I should help you.”

“But in the name of humanity … What’s being done to us is terrible!”

“Doesn’t seem all that bad to me. You’re getting lots of exercise and a pretty good sun tan.

If you haven’t been screwed yet, you will be pretty soon. What more could a girl ask?” He 
chuckled. “Cliff and I have run you two down fair and square, and you’re going back to Stone 
at the end of a rope. Damn it, don’t begrudge a couple of boys their bit of fun.”

Battle lines were drawn. Poor darling Audrey was panting in frustration. And, since I 
couldn’t state the case any better than she, I kept silent while Audrey played the only card she 
held. “So, all right, you refuse to be civilized,” she said savagely. “But will you accept a bargain?
I’ll give you my body here and now, in any way you wish to take it, if you’ll give us freedom in 
return.”

“You’re forgetting your body doesn’t belong to your anymore, it’ belongs to us,” Cliff 
explained gently. “We’ll use the two of you any time at our convenience. You won’t have a 
thing to say about it. Can you understand that?”

We understood all too well. Audrey shrugged, her blush deepening in the chagrin of 
rejection. It seemed incredible that any man should refuse her offer. But we were prisoners of 
Stone and we had to obey whatever laws Adrian Rankin chose to make.

When I thought of what lay ahead, a cold hand clutched at my heart. If I had been able to 
run, I most certainly would. Our only hope now was a pair of shackles. We took comfort in the 
trailing chain. By now Pilar would have hidden the key, and if we could remain safely chained 
her, we had hope. But hope faded as our two huntsmen dismounted and took the ropes from 
their saddles. It appeared Cliff had chosen me and Reggie took possession of Audrey. He 
looped his rope around her slender neck, positively gloating. “Life’s full of surprises. This time 
yesterday I wouldn’t have dreamed I’d own Bill Summer’s wife. And have her naked and 
helpless at my disposal. I like those handcuffs, they’re a pretty touch to what you two girls 
aren’t wearing.”

I was blushing now myself. To have a man you’ve never seen before knot a rope around 
your neck was an outrageous intimacy to make me cringe. I looked Cliff in the eye to retort 
bitterly, “I don’t know why you’re doing this. You can’t possibly get us out of this corral.”

He made no reply. He didn’t have to. When my neck was secured to his satisfaction, he 
tossed the rope to the ground and produced a key ring with many keys. He used one of the 
keys to free one wrist, then turned me around to lock my hands together behind my back. Our
fortunes were going from bad to worse. When he tossed the keys to his grinning companion, I
guessed what was to come.

Our captors stood us side by side, as helpless as a girl could be, while they paid our 
nakedness the tribute of admiration. And they pointed our, as though we didn’t already know,
how convenient handcuffs were for a gentleman who owned unwilling slavegirls.

Audrey stood in bitter humiliation to see what came next.

Audrey was first. Reggie knelt and, after two or three tries, found a key to fit her shackle. It 
opened and was cast aside. While my own foot was being freed, our eyes exchanged despair.

They got back on their horses and, without preamble, led us from the corral and into 
slavery.

It’s hateful to be tethered behind a horse and compelled to match its pace. We were 
frightened by the rope around our neck, but there was nothing we could about that. In 
obedience to the leash we trod the path of humiliation. Frequently the men who now owned 
us turned back to admire their prizes.

Stone was far distant. If we walked, the journey would be long. But we did not always walk.
Whenever there was level ground or a down slope, our neck was jerked as the horses broke 
into a trot with Audrey and I running in a determined effort not to fall and be dragged by the 
neck. Reggie was right about the exercise-we were getting plenty!

At the end of an hour we had made good progress. Audrey and I did not talk much 
because the men could easily overhear. They called a halt, supposedly to let us rest, but in 
actual fact to position us upon the grass and lay upon bare, chained arms while they kicked 
our legs apart and enter into their prizes. They impaled both of us with gusto but all I got out 
of it was an endless series of painful thrust. But Cliff shot his load just as I was beginning to 
work up to a state of excitement, and I was left panting in the grass. I was disgusted. When 
the ropes once more jerked on our necks, we resumed the degradation of the trek.

We stopped at my little spring to water the horses, a term which seemed to include 
Audrey and I since we were encouraged to lay on our bellies and drank our fill without the aid 
of hands. Never for a moment were we unleashed, and, once refreshed, again found ourselves
running behind a horse. When, in late afternoon, Stone came into view, we were so tired we 
felt nothing but relief.

We were handed over to Cora James, Jiminy, and a couple of muscular female guards who 
took the tethers from our necks before dunking us in a horse trough fill of cold water.

We were cleaned in a rough manner, then toweled until our skin glowed. Throughout 
these rough treatments, our hands remained behind our backs and were never once unlocked.
We were then taken into the house where we were scented and our hair given a truly 
professional job. Knowing myself only a pet being prepared for male approval, I hated the 
whole thing. But, at the same time, I felt a feminine thankfulness for once more looking and 
feeling like a girl. We were inserted once again into the big stone chamber to find most of the 
other girls already captured and cleaned. And every one of them had handcuffed wrists, all 
behind their backs. They told us how they had been run down, and how there were only two 
girls still eluding capture. But those two were thrust within our prison shortly after we were, so
we know that no one had escaped. The girl hunt had been an obvious success, and our hope 
that at least one girl might escape to go to the police and bring us help was totally erased.

The Hunt Ball was a resounding success. We were escorted to the ball room naked and 
handcuffed, but on arrival the handcuffs were taken from our wrists with the admonish to 
behave ourselves. At each door and window was a guard. In addition, our new owners, the 
men who had run us down, would not allow us to escape. The music was a live band who eyed
us with only a little curiosity. The food was of such quality to make us wonder what would 
happen next. But the truth was we danced and feasted, and out nudity didn’t seem to bother 
us so much. There was champagne flowing and some of us became a little tipsy and briefly 
happy. After all we were only flesh and blood young women who hadn’t had much fun in a 
long time. When the ball was over we got our handcuffs back and were ushered into the big 
stone chamber.

The new day was bad, bad, bad. Breakfast was a slender meal but we were bathed and 
made as beautiful as possible. One by one we were led away to our respective masters and 
reminded that this was the day on which they would enjoy the privilege of doing whatever 
they pleased with us. The auction was tomorrow. I was delivered, naked and with hands cuffed
behind my back, to the man I knew as Cliff.

Each guest had been assigned his own bedroom, a room reeking with luxury but with 
overtones of discipline for naughty girls. Before catching my master’s eyes, I noted the devices
by which he might be entertained but which for me only meant pain. Cliff was seated on the 
bed wearing only brief to tell me without words what I might expect. He was pleasantly 
cheerful in a manner I could easily read as the comfortable feeling of total possession and 
complete authority. Whatever this man wanted I would have to do.

He was polite as I stood at his disposal and wondered what was happening to the girl I 
loved. Cliff was in an expensive mood why shouldn’t he be! He had everything a man desires 
and more time than I cared to think about. From the tone of his voice it was hard not to 
believe he cared for the girl he would now punish. Like everything at Stone, it was a strange 
mix. I stood there in full frontal exposure while he said his piece.

“I don’t want to seem a total bastard, Trinity. But I suspect all us guys who hunted 
yesterday are going to be real sons of bitches today.” He gave me a hopeful grin. “What’s the 
use of me saying I don’t want to do the things I’m going to do? I do want to do them, and so 
bad it hurts. But I want to give you the information on something your education may have 
missed.”

“If you had any real feeling for me, you’d set me free,” I said woodenly. “No one’s twisting 
your arm.”

“You’re absolutely right, sweetheart. And that’s the whole point of the matter. I have to 
make you understand that in every man there’s a demon, a devil who demands we totally 
subjugate a girl.” He shrugged. “All my life this devil has been pulling at me. Now, at last, I 
have the chance to lay the ghost. Adrian Rankin is a very wise man.”

“He’s very cruel to girls,” I said forcefully. “By tonight you’ll think the same of me. But I 
want you to think a while, sweetheart, about this ultimate desire which every man carries in his
heart. Today I’m going to make it come true for ME. And since you’re the available girl, you’re 
going to have to put up with whatever I’m going to do. Sweetheart, can you glimpse the glory
a man feels in possessing a girl like you?” His voice was almost anxious.

“So what else is new?” Cliff sighed, than asked casually, “Have you ever been whipped?”

“Yes.”

“Did you hate it or love it?”

“I hated very stroke. I’m not one of those girl who enjoy getting their skin marked up. It’s a
hateful thing to do to a girl. Please don’t do it.”

“It’s sort of a basic thing, don’t you agree?”

“I suppose.”

“Is it worse than hanging up by your thumbs?”

“I’ve never been hung up by my thumbs.” I had a feeling I ought to be more talkative, if 
nothing else but to drag out the time until I started hurting. But it wasn’t my favorite topic.

I’m sure I stood there sad and forlorn in a way to make Cliff laugh at me. “Sorry if I can’t 
laugh,” I told him. “But standing here naked with my hands chained behind my back and 
knowing I’m going to be whipped isn’t exactly a fun way to start my day. But, if you’ll give me 
a few pointers, I honestly will try to make your day as happy as I can.”

I seemed to strike a responsive cord. I was kissed and the handcuffs set aside. I was totally 
free but knew it would do me no good. As was to be expected, he decided to impale me 
before we really got going. But one of his hang ups appeared to be a naked girl, spread-eagle
and tightly tied to the bed. Obediently I lay on my back and let him do the work.

The spread-eagle was very tight and my muscles hurt. Needless to say my sex was very 
much on display and this man took full advantage of the exposure until I warned him I was 
coming close to orgasm. Cliff debated whether he wanted this or not, but decided he did and 
proceeded to tease my sex until I went off with a bang. The ropes cut deeply into my skin as I 
twisted and arched my body in response to the incredible feelings surging inside me. I hated 
showing off my orgasm for a watching male but there was nothing I could do about it.

With my pussy stretched the way she was, I had to wonder if Cliff wasn’t cheating himself 
but said no word. He climbed between my legs and delivered a wonderful performance in my 
juicy pussy. I had to suppose it was better for the man when he tied a girl the way I was tied.

When he was finished and spent, he lay between my legs with his head between my 
breasts and went to sleep. Figuring it was better than being whipped, I simply lay still, not that
I had a choice, and waited for the next round while the cords bit and burned my wrists and 
ankles. The pain was considerable and I almost wanted to wake him and let the show get on 
to the whip or rack or thumbscrew. I was far from happy.

It’s wonderful being owned. You don’t have to do a damned thing because everything is 
done to you. It was a sort of gift thing from Cliff to me, and while he only required me to say 
thank you for some of the beastly things he did, I could mostly keep quiet or scream if I 
couldn’t hold it back. Mostly I don’t care what people say, screaming really does help. But I 
discovered that if it really annoys your owner, he simply gags you.

I think Cliff must have believed I had been punished far more than was the case. Often, 
when he needed advise on my punishment, he would ask me about how things hurt or how I 
should be tied. I’m sure that back home he was a loving husband and kind to his children … 
Holly cow!

The whip was very much on Cliff’s mind. I think he saw it as an obligation or perhaps it was
simply the easiest way to extract female responses. All he had to do was tie me up a different 
way and beat me with whatever instrument he chose. He could have whipped me right there 
spread-eagle on the bed but I’m thankful to say the idea never occurred to him.

He untied me and asked if I wanted a drink before the pain began.

At the touch of a button a heavy shaft came down out of the ceiling, at its end was a cross 
piece with two straps well apart. They were obvious designed to hold my wrists. “Up with 
those hands, sweetheart,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll stand on this stool to get you strapped good 
and tight.”

I was learning why prisoners don’t kick and fight and try to run. I always wondered why 
they went to the gallows or electric chair in such docility. But when you’re sentenced and 
condemned there’s a sort of inevitably about the whole thing and you don’t swim against the 
tide. In this case I pushed my hands inside the leather loops and gazed up to watch Cliff carry 
out his promise of buckling them very tight indeed.

When Cliff pressed the button again to lift me up a few inches off the floor, I hung there 
beautifully exposed and trembling in apprehension. This pleasant, civilized man was going to 
whip my bare skin while I just hung there as if it was something I much desired …

Crazy!

Thus I was whipped. I preyed silently that the civilized part of this man who had strapped 
me tight would prevail. Perhaps he would get to thinking about his wife and children, and 
unfasten me after saying he couldn’t do it. Watching Cliff’s face I could believe those same 
thoughts were in his mind. But this was the dream come true, the high point of his sexual life, 
a time of desire. The bitter pain he would inflict upon my bare skin would be an excitement to 
him like none other. From my point of view the whole thing was hopeless. I was going to get it
and there was nothing I could say or do.

I didn’t bother to plead. Cliff’s whisper was soft, “Forgive me, Trinity,” followed by the 
whine of the lash as it cut the air to find my soft flesh. The pain was ten times my expectation. 
My body jerked and I think I screamed.

“I can’t stand it, it’s too awful! I’m going to scream.”

I suppose Cliff had lots of time for he savored his first stroke and its effects for a while 
before delivering the second. Almost lovingly his fingers traced the burning weal. “Of course 
you must scream, Trinity. I should have gagged you at the start. Just a minute while I get one.”

I hung there, panting and wanting to tell him not to gag me. But then I realized that 
perhaps a gag was best. My wounded back was still burning and that pain disorganized me. 
When the moment came, I obediently opened my mouth to accept the rubber ball that was 
tied tight in place by a leather thong behind my head. The ball was really too large and forced 
my jaws wide apart, pressing my tongue down. When the whip cut at me again, I was 
surprised by the noises I could still make. But none were screams, they were simply pathetic 
sounds between moans and whines. Without meaning to I lifted my legs high and kicked 
wildly at the air. It was while doing this that I received stroke number three.

I was not an authority on whips or how they were suppose to feel. The whip Cliff was using
on me was not awesome to the eye, and no doubt there were instruments more severe. But he
who whipped me was ridding himself of the frustrations of a lifetime. His arm was strong and 
the leather slapped and bit at me like a living thing. After the forth stroke, the rest up to 
number ten came fast, one upon the next. I went totally wild within my bounds. I jumped up 
and down and could not keep still. There was no way I could stand and endure. And I didn’t 
care what I looked like.

I was constantly shaking my head from side to side, perhaps a subconscious effort to rid 
myself of that terrible gag. I could do nothing. I was perfectly controlled.

Cliff told me I was beautiful, a perfect picture of woman flesh and pain. I remember little 
save the pain, and didn’t care right then how much pleasure I was giving this man.

After a short rest. Cliff once more lashed into me with that whip and I moaned at its bite. I 
wanted to plead, to promise anything if this pain would only stop. By the time Cliff had 
inflicted twenty bitter strokes to mark me from neck to knees, he said regretfully that he had 
to stop before I became damaged merchandise. With swift motions he lowered me and freed 
my wrists from the straps. Then he threw me on the bed upon my back, and violently entered 
me. The wounds on my back screamed at me as his savage thrusts drove home his hard rod. 
And strangely, I was sexually ready. My loins had been heated and that heat suddenly spread 
and exploded in waves of bright colors as we both climaxed. I would have screamed in 
pleasure had not the gag prevented it.

We lay together a long time and I would cheerful have laid there all day rather than face 
whatever Cliff had next in store. But, as usual, the gentleman in him came through and he 
thrust a glass of brandy in my hands. He untied the gag straps and pulled the ball from where 
it had been wedged between my teeth. I drained the glass in a gulp.

“You won’t whip me any more, will you, Cliff?”

“It was pretty bad,” he said. “I could tell. You put on a marvelous show for which I’ll be 
forever grateful. Turn over and let me look.”

I finished the brandy and handed him the empty glass before obeying his command. He 
not only looked at the damage his whip had done, he traced each weal with a fingertip to 
make me moan and cringe. I did not complain. It was better than a repeat

“I wish I could. But it’s the old story of a wife and family. A slavegirl simply wouldn’t fit.”

At that moment I didn’t much care. My back and bottom were on fire and I gratefully 
sipped another glass of brandy. Cliff evidently figured I’d made a good enough recovery 
because he inquired, “Ever been suspended. Trinity?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“You know what I mean. We’ll experiment a bit and see how we enjoy.”

“I’m not suppose to like it, am I?”

“Well, no, I guess not. But anyway I’m going to aim for some artist effects. If it doesn’t hurt 
too bad, it would be nice for you to take an interest.”

The bed was a massive four poster, undoubtedly constructed with the punishment of girls 
in mind. With surprising ease, Cliff extracted a slat from below and fixed it well up on one of 
the massive posts. There was a pair of slots obviously made for that purpose. I began to watch
with interest as Cliff worked to prepare the way for my next pain. A chair was placed against 
the post and I was invited to mount. When I did so I was instructed to put my arms back over 
the slat. My wrists were then strapped together and cinched down to tug my back hard 
against the post and stress my shoulders back over the wood. This had the effect of 
protruding my breasts outrageously and clamping my armpits hard against the wood. It was 
beautifully simple and wickedly deadly.

The man I had to call master should have been satisfied to leave me thus. I was helpless 
and knew I look very helpless. But I should have known what would happen. Without warning,
he snatched the chair away and I knew for sure what my punishment would be.

Once more I was explaining between gasps that there was no way I could possible stand 
the pain.

My master placed the chair a little way in front of me so he could sit down, lean against 
the back and enjoy the full frontal view of my nudity. I wasn’t exposed any more than on 
previous occasions, but it sure did feel like it. With my armpits screaming, I found myself 
pleading frantically for release. But all that got for me was a polite inquiry as to whether I 
desired the gag. When I said no thank, my master just grinned.

From time to time I was told to spread my legs that he might view my private parts. But 
mostly I hung passive because any motion I made hurt my arms. When Cliff satisfied with 
making me spread my legs impossibly wide, I could have wept in disappointment because it 
seemed likely this punishment would continue a long, long time.

My feet were a full two feet off the floor, and I figured that things couldn’t get worse. 
That’s when they got worse. Cliff produced from a drawer a pair of metal balls with short 
chains attached to them. He put one on the bed and took the other over to my left foot. There
was a small padlock at the end of the chain and Cliff used that to lock the short chain around 
my ankle. When he let the weight go the additional pain made me cry out. Quickly he 
attached the other ball to my right ankles and I was pleading as sincerely as I could.

“Please, please! My shoulders are killing me! Please take me down!”

I was hanging and in agony. In a sort of clinical manner, Cliff explained that each ball 
weighed twenty pounds and that forty pounds wasn’t really too much. In the same tone he 
explained there were other weight and most of them were heavier. I was whining and 
moaning all the time but dared not say a word after that threat.

He asked me if it hurt and I nodded my head. “Good,” he said. “It’s suppose to. That’s why 
it’s called punishment.”

I cried. Cliff dried my tears. I had no choice but to endure. When Cliff resumed his seat and
began to talk in a conversational manner about his life and work, I could only reply with 
moans. It was too much effort to even plead for mercy. He ignored my moans. After a while he
exchanged the twenty pound balls for a couple which seemed to me to weigh a ton but which
he assured me were only thirty pounds each. And they were a weight sufficient to stretch my 
nudity in ways Cliff assured me were beautiful to look at. I absolutely couldn’t move other 
than to toss my head from side to side, but that increased the pain so I stopped. My strapped 
wrists cried and my crushed armpits were a constant anguish. Occasionally my master palmed 
my puss but I no longer cared.

I don’t suppose I was fastened thus more than an hour but I could have sworn it was days 
and weeks. When I was released and tossed once more on the bed, I hardly noticed my 
ravishment. Everything hurt and kept on hurting.

The act of intercourse sent us both to sleep but this time my wrists were handcuffed 
although I hardly noticed. I was very grateful to pass the time without torture. And grateful 
that the end of this day of torture was growing closer. Cliff cuddled and comforted me in a 
manner totally inconsistent with the torture he had inflicted on me. But it was in keeping with 
his actual character. I kept quiet and wished my body didn’t hurt.

Part of Cliff’s consideration for me was that I shouldn’t be bored. In that end, in early 
afternoon, we adjourned to one of Stone’s big, grin chambers far downstairs. I had been there
previously and knew it designed for the punishment of girls. But I wasn’t prepared for what I 
now beheld. My hands were cuffed behind my back and my master’s hand was on my arm. We
didn’t exactly gasp in amazement, but there was recognition in our eyes.

Where ever we looked there were girls fastened or suspended in a manner their anguished
eyes showed as pure pain. I saw one girl hanging by her thumbs and moaning constantly. 
Another couple of girls were standing in the middle of the room with their bound arms pulled 
up high behind their backs so far that they were bent far down. And one blonde was hanging 
by her ankles, turning slowly in midair so that I could see her arms were extremely tightly 
bound with thin rope. Some of the men were there surveying their work. The first thing I saw 
was that each girl’s back and bottom was marked the same as mine own. I almost fell in love 
with Cliff when his guiding arm turned me around and we went back up the stairs.

“That was too much like a torture chamber,” he said apologetically. “You and I have got a 
much better thing going for us up in my room. How’d it be I hang you by your thumbs?”

For a moment I though he was kidding. First compassion, then cruelty. But Cliff was serious
and at the same time concerned. He made me wish that at sometime in the past I had been 
suspended by my thumbs so I could offer advice. When I told him it was something no one 
had ever thought to do to me, and I’d be very thankful if it didn’t happen at this time, it was 
not enough to divert his interest in something which probably seemed to him routine. I could 
see from the expression on his face I was going to be suspended by the thumbs.

As usual the bedroom provided a means. The same device used in my whipping was 
obviously ideal. The leather straps were removed to be replaced by slender leather thongs 
with a loop in each end. The device was lowered enough so Cliff and I could examine it 
together. I asked if he couldn’t find something else to amuse himself. But he explained that he
was no professional torturer and couldn’t think of anything else at the moment.

I thought about that for a moment before asking him if he wouldn’t like to hang me 
upside down by my ankles. He seemed to consider it for a few moments but then shook his 
head.

The thin leather bands seemed to fascinate him and that sealed my fate.

Each thumb was placed in a loop and it was tightened down. I swallowed hard and was 
almost shaking with fear. The leather was soft but I feared how much it could cut into my 
flesh. He made sure the bands were smooth and pulled tight on each thumb. By this time Cliff 
had gotten himself excited. “Well, I think we’re ready to go,” he said. “You can tell me what’s 
it’s like after your feet have left the floor. Let’s try five minutes at first. Okay?”

Cliff gave one final adjustment after I did not reply. Then he turned to the control. It’s 
almost exciting to watch your hands raise up before your eyes and then your bare arms. I was 
scared silly because I knew I had a far better knowledge of how this was going to be than Cliff.
It seemed to me that my master didn’t know how painful this ancient torture could be. When 
my toes finally left the floor, I knew how wrong he was. I wanted to scream right from the start
but I had promised myself I would be brave and give this strange man as much pleasure as I 
could. I clenched my teeth and took the first shock of suspension with a groan. When Cliff had
raised me a foot above the rug, he locked the hoist in that position and stepped back to take 
a complete survey of his triumph over a naughty girl. I was hurting too bad to pay much 
attention.

The five minutes was forever. My master had to remind me to give him a description of 
what it felt like. I tried to convey the intense pain but am sure my words fell far short. I 
wondered if my thumbs would rip out. “You’d better let me down before I loose my thumbs,” I
offered.

Men are never sure about any utterance a girl makes. They think we’re twisting them or 
seeking an advantage. Cliff did not believe me now and certainly had no intention of letter my
feet back onto the floor. He stood to cup my pussy with a loving hand. Then he performed 
some teasing which, in other circumstances would have turned me on, but which right then 
failed totally to counter pain. Brokenly I began to plead but he ignored my pleas. While he 
played happily with my puss, my mind thought of nothing but the space between my toes and
the floor. I was as non-sexual as a girl could ever be, and longed only for the stopping of the 
pain.

Probably supposing I had nothing to say, my master now inserted the gag between my 
teeth and tied the thong tightly behind my back. That damned gag frightened me because 
somehow I had to convince this man of the terrible pain from hanging like this. Having 
rendered me mute, he returned happily to playing with my sex, a pleasure he enlarged to 
include my nipples. I dared not struggle for it simply hurt too much. All I could do was make 
pathetic sounds behind the gag. Cliff had become blind to everything except those portions 
of my body that interested him. I realized in despair I had become simply a plaything for an 
adult boy.

I don’t know how long I hung like that but finally I lost consciousness. When I awoke it was
to find an anxious and repentant Cliff busy with handcuffs while I lay uncaring on the bed. I 
felt the bite of steel upon my wrists but made no complaint. Tenderly an arm raised me up 
while another male hand held brandy to my lips. My own hands were useless, all they could 
do was hurt while they lay passively at my side.

All I wanted was to go to sleep, but, of course, my master’s needs came first. His whispers 
were almost pathetic, “Darling, I went too far. I simply didn’t know. Why didn’t you say 
something?” Suddenly he let loose with an emphatic, “Shit! You couldn’t say anything, I had 
you gagged! Oh, sweetheart, I’m so terribly sorry.”

I had to admit his concern was more comforting than either his brandy or his hands. It was
good to know my suffering had finally reached him. After a while I asked, weakly, “How many 
more tortures do I have to take, Cliff? I’m sort of played out.”

The poor guy did everything he could. Brandy and sympathy flowed. When he told me my 
punishments were done and he was ashamed, my secret heart had scored heavily and should 
not allowed him to return to his prior ways. I put my arms around his neck and whispered in 
his ear how kind a master he had proven to be, and how my spirit was broken. I was willing to 
obey any command he chose to make.

At this juncture there was a knock upon the door to announce the arrival of Mrs. Audrey 
Summers and the man called Reggie. Our greetings were cut short with an awful realization 
that Audrey was not the same as I had last seen her. Now not only her back and bottom, but 
also her breasts were marked cruelly by the whip, and she was led and controlled by a collar 
locked upon her neck and a leather leash held by Reggie. She spared me only a pale little grin 
before falling to her knees before Cliff. “I’m a slave, Master,” she said sincerely. “I will do 
anything you ask.”

“Wonderful, isn’t it, Cliff?” Reggie beamed. “All you have to do is break them down and 
they’ll be anything you want. When I knew this beautiful bitch outside of Stone, she wouldn’t 
have given me the time of day. But look at her now. Why don’t you make her do something 
degrading to prove how well she’s trained. I’ll unlock her hands if you need them. Go ahead!”

I hated Reggie bitterly. I could tell Audrey’s spirit had been broken in a way Cliff had not 
even tried to do to me. I gazed in horror upon the lovely breasts I so adore for each was 
crisscrossed with whip marks while mine were still virgin. I could have wept.

Cliff was human. He was intrigued by the beautiful picture of submission Audrey made as 
she knelt in fearful obedience. I knew Cliff was embarrassed, this was not his thing. But he 
instructed darling Audrey to name her sexual parts and what could be done with them.

And to do so in as crude a language as possible. In a dull way she obeyed, uttering words 
that I would have found impossible to do. Reggie beamed and Cliff almost looked 
embarrassed. It was horrible to see such a glorious female so degraded.

Forgetting everything I had learned I stared Reggie squarely eye to eye to exclaim with 
force, “You rotten son of a bitch! You haven’t been clever, you’ve simply been a bastard.

Unlock her hands and let her go.”

There was a shocked silence while Audrey visible trembled while Reggie look as though as 
if he might carve me into little pieces. With Cliff it was different and I could tell how much he 
felt embarrassment and wished Reggie and his slavegirl had stayed away. But Reggie was his 
friend and it was a matter of male friendship which overrode concern for a mere female. 
Reggie grabbed my hands by the link between the cuffs, and forced me over a chair with my 
bottom rearing high. He tied my hands to the front leg with a short piece of rope before 
selecting a riding crop from a bunch of whips in a drawer. He asked, “I suppose you know 
what you’re going to get for that little outburst, Trinity? It was very ill-advised. Hold your 
bottom still while you are whipped.”

I held still. I don’t know how I did but I managed it. I think larger because I hated the 
though of Reggie breaking me as he had broken Audrey, I closed my eyes. The crop hurt with 
my skin stretched tight. I cried out but held my bottom as still as I could. At the fifth stroke 
Cliff order a stop to ask blandly if I was ready to behave. When I was able to reply in the 
affirmative, the matter was allowed to drop. I was told to get up after the rope was taken off. 
At that moment Audrey and I were broken and trained in obedience to the Male.

A toast was poured but it was for male lips only while the two slavegirls, one kneeling on 
the rug, the other standing with chained hands, watched and wished we had been born a 
male.

“Pity we can’t buy them,” Reggie chucked. “They’re habit forming. It would be nice to keep 
one around the house.”

It shows how low my spirits were that I uttered a plead to my master, “Please buy me.

Cliff. Please buy me and take me home. Keep me in a cage or chained in the basement, so 
somewhere that won’t bother your wife. I don’t want to be sold at auction tomorrow.

You’d be a better master for me than anything I’m likely to get.” I sighed and gazed at him 
soulfully. “Please buy me, Cliff. Please!”

I got a kiss and a pat on the bottom. With Reggie looking at me as though he hadn’t 
noticed me before. “Damn it, she’s perfect!” he said. “You two seem to have hit it off pretty 
well. You probably hadn’t punished the little sweetheart nearly enough. Why don’t you get a 
divorce and marry her?”

“Same reason you don’t.” Cliff was looking from Audrey to me with a good deal of 
longing.

I think he would have liked to buy us both. Prudently we too girls kept silent until Cliff 
exclaimed, “You do what you want with yours, I’ll take care of mine. There’s a few more things 
I’m going to do to mine. I’ll see you tonight at dinner. I understand we’re going to get a 
speech.”

Audrey’s collar was jerked and she scrambled instantly to her feet to stand with downcast 
eyes. No doubt Reggie was going overboard, but I knew no badly how he treated me, I had 
gotten the best deal with Cliff. With equal docility I awaited his command. I was dead tired 
and hurt all over. Cliff saw me look longingly at the bed. He picked me up and tossed me 
there, following himself so his body pinned me down. My joined hands went over my head as 
he pushed my legs apart. It was as though these men were so hungry for a girl’s body they 
could never get enough. Again he ravished my body, an act which I endured with thankfulness
that I could do it on my back even though every contact with anything hurt my skin. I got 
another break when Cliff went to sleep and I slept, too.

Dinner was almost formal had it not been for fifteen naked girls, all whip marked and 
chained by the wrists. Each of us sat beside our master. It was all neat and tidy and as it should
be except that every girl present bore the blush of shame at being exposed to so many.

The seating insured that each master had a girl to either side as he ate. While each naked 
girl had a master to either side. Cliff was on my right and to my left was a burly, jovial type 
who occasionally stared at my breasts.

“If there’s one thing I surely do admire, it’s a pair of handcuffs on a girl,” my neighbor 
stated with a fine Southern accent. “I ain’t saying it’s not all good, it is. But a naked girl looks 
extra sweet when there’s a pair of handcuffs on her wrists. Hell of a lot better than clothes.”

It was male justification for our condition. I raised my hands and clicked the link by which 
they were controlled. “I expect you’ll be bidding at the auction tomorrow,” I inquired politely. 
“If you buy a couple of us, you can indulge in that enjoyment every day.”

“Don’t torture me, honey, it’s something I’ve been thinking about all day. But once a guy 
gets a wife and family, he ain’t getting nothing except an odd bit of tail from a whore.” He 
sighed heavily. “No, sugar, some other man’s going to do the bidding. Some lucky guy who 
don’t have no Jane or Judy pounding on his ass. Ah sure do wish you luck.”

Feeling he was ignoring the girl who bore his whip marks, he turned back to talk to her.

This time it was me who sighed. The whole thing was so damned hopeless.

Adrian Rankin had discarded the habit of monk, revealing a quite magnificent head and 
the features to be expected of a man who owned everything in sight. When he rose to speak, 
there feel a respectful hush with each slavegirl as interested as the male who sat to either side.
Rankin was a practiced speaker.

“Welcome to the Hunt Dinner.” He beamed at us. “I expect you’re asking why we don’t use
the same girls over and over again, and naturally I gave this a lot of thought. But the girls 
would get stale being kept in prison between the Hunts, and if I let them roam the park, 
they’re going to get too wise and maybe find things they shouldn’t see.” Rankin beamed good
will around his guests with their handcuffed naked girls. “So what I’ve got scheduled for 
tomorrow is likely to be the best for all. Each gal is going to find a new master who’ll look 
after her real good. And I don’t want you to forget, gentlemen, it could be any one of you. 
You’re all welcome to bid. Then, when we enter a fresh period, it’s up to me to kidnap enough 
of these little darlings to provide entertainment for the next Hunt. In the course of doing this I
subject our pretty prisoners to various tests to see how they react. In the course of these 
experiments I may whip an ass or two, but, after all, the Master of the Hunt is privileged.”

Ranking took a sip of water and sent wave after wave of good will. “I ought to tell you the 
terms of the auction tomorrow are strictly cash. And there is nothing to stop any guy from 
buying more than one girl. Now, in the event any of you are careless enough to mislay one of 
these pretty little tricks and let her slip away, he’d best let me know right quick and I’ll arrange
to have her picked. She’ll get herself a damned good whipping to teach her a lesson, and be 
include in the next Hunt.” Adrian Rankin beamed his pleasure with us all and ended with a 
flourish. “I think we got ourselves an institution here, something that’s going to last and 
maybe grown. And which is going to keep us interested the rest of our lives.” He raised his 
glass in a toast, “Here’s to naked, handcuffed sweethearts, we love them all.”

Male applause was loud. We girls couldn’t applaud too well with chained wrists. The 
Southern male next to me let out with a, “Damned if I ain’t gonna make a bid tomorrow. I got 
me lots of places where I could keep a gal without that ball and chain of mine sticking her 
nose into what I do in my spare time.” He turned to the girl he had hunted and whipped. “That
okay by you, honey? If I buy you tomorrow and take you home in the trunk of my car?”

The poor girl said yes, indeed, that would be lovely. But what the hell else could she say! I 
turned to Cliff to plead for a second time, “Cliff, please buy me. I don’t care where you keep 
me chained. I want you for my Master.”

I got a male anguished look and a pat of affection on my shoulder. But it was not a pat of 
possession.

After dinner we were discretely separated from our masters to be safely locked again in 
the big stone chamber. The mood was somber. Fifteen naked girls, all handcuffed, agreed that
being sold by auction was more likely to be bad than good. We told each other what our 
masters had done to us. Every girl had been severely whipped but, discount this as a vital part 
of male fulfillment, our treatment had varied considerably, from simple love play to medieval 
torture. But all of us figured that if a man paid a huge sum to possess us totally, he would 
want to get his money’s worth, a price we would have to pay in pain.

Even though Audrey and I were no longer chained together, we shared the same bunk and
cried ourselves to sleep.

The day of the auction was made festive by our guards, who did their best to laugh away 
our apprehensions, assuring us sardonically that being a rich man’s slave was better than 
being a poor man’s wife. Our morale was further enhanced by the bath, the perfumes and the 
styling of our hair. We all remained handcuffed throughout but, with such a maid service, who 
need hands! When the time came to assemble in the big stone chamber of California’s most 
exclusive slave market, we were handed a cute little frock which fastened in such a way so as 
to be able to be put on or taken off with hands still in their cuffs. It revealed more than it hid, 
and just barely managed to cover those portions of ourselves men most truly valued. They 
would get the rest of us as a sort of bonus. None of us cherished illusions about this wicked 
little covering for undoubtedly we would have to part with it somewhere along the way. Thus 
fifteen maidens were placed with our bare backs against the stone wall and told to wait our 
turn. Each female who tended us carried a long, lean riding crop, and promised to use it 
without mercy on any girl who chose not to behave. It was almost possible to hear feminine 
hearts pounding up and down the line.

Purchases outnumbered the slavegirls two to one. They were permitted to talk with us 
before the bidding began but were forbidden to lift the hem of the frock or pinch a nipple in 
the way men are wont to do. The only furnishing of the place was the steps and the platform 
where the auctioneer and his merchandise would stand in full view of all present.

Needless to say, Adrian Rankin had chosen for himself the role of auctioneer.

The selling of girls has been a familiar theme in story books, and this affair at Stone turned
fiction into fact. With her fearful crop, Cora James would point to a girl who would then walk 
in docile obedience to mount the fatal steps and stand beside one of the world’s richest men. 
There she would gaze with whatever courage she still possessed at a crowd of hungry male 
faces. The auctioneer used a short, coiled whip to direct her around as might be desired, and 
to point at those who bid. There was a good deal of ribaldry and undoubtedly the clients 
would enjoy their day whether they bought one of us or not.

Rankin possessed a pretty good turn of wit which helped the bidding while telling each 
girl she had said good-bye to freedom. When I listened to the bidding I was shocked by the 
huge amounts a California girl was worth.

It was now possible to discern the wisdom of Stone in the preliminary captivity by which 
we had been made conscious of nakedness as a fact of life. Together with the wearing of 
handcuffs on our wrists, a girl kidnapped yesterday would have been scared, confused and 
awkward on the block. But our time as prisoners of Stone, along with the whipping we had 
each received, made us docile to Adrian Rankin’s handling of us as a piece of merchandise 
and well able to cope with the inevitable demand to “take it off!” The fastening of our frock 
was simple and it fell to the platform floor in erotic revealment. All of us had been previously 
instructed that when this moment came we would clasp our hands behind our heads and 
stand erect to point our breasts and nipples at the men. In spite of having been kept naked 
for weeks or months, each girl replaced her coloring with a blush that no doubt added to her 
price. One by one each girl was sold without incident until Mrs.

Audrey Summers was called upon to mount the fatal steps.

All of us had in some measure been broken by the ordeals of the day before. Audrey was 
no different from the rest and faced her would-be purchasers in calm defiance, which I’m sure 
would melt anyone’s heart. Adrian Rankin was busy with his opening remarks when a woman I
had not previously seen strode from where she had been standing towards the block and 
Audrey’s apprehensive and fearful gaze. She cried aloud, “That’s my sister you’ve got there! I 
demand you instantly release her. If you don’t allow her to walk with me from this place, I shall
go straight to the police.”

There fell a silence, not so much of shock but of interested curiosity. It was broken by 
Audrey’s heartfelt cry, “Nancy, go back. Go home. Run away from this place. You can’t get me 
free, no one can. Run, run, run!”

I can’t tell the story of Nancy, she was simply there. All I could see was a woman somewhat
older than Audrey, flushed and panting and prepared to do battle with all present. And I had 
to feel sorry for the fool hardiness which was her only weapon. As if everything had been 
rehearsed, guards appeared, gathered Nancy up, and used their strength to perform an act 
which left ever slavegirl aghast and every man entertainingly amused. They stripped the poor 
girl naked, bound a rope around each ankle, and then hoisted her aloft upside down and with 
feet obscenely stretched apart to expose her more cruelly than any slavegirl in the place. I 
have no doubt that the punishment had been intended for any rebellious girl the riding crops 
failed to subdue. Adding insult to injury, Cora James produced a candle which was now thrust 
into Nancy’s upturned sex, pushed far enough in for solid anchorage, and then lit to provide 
an additional attraction. Another thoughtful act was to gag Nancy’s busy mouth and cease its 
flood of threats and futile fury.

Upon the slave block Audrey hid her face within chained hands to quietly weep.

by the time she had been gagged and the candle lit in her pussy, Nancy had expended 
much of her strength. She still possessed her hands but could not use them with profit except 
to reach up towards the burning candle threaten her pubic hair. That venture was soon 
stopped by the binding of her hands behind her back. After a while she hung there motionless
while her sister was told to strip and was then sold for the highest price thus far. Five girls later
Adrian Rankin lightly announced that he was open for bids upon the stupid sister who had 
laced the sense to stay at home. She would not join him on the platform but would be sold as 
is in her present condition. A touch of humor was added to the scene by his hope that a 
purchaser would make a successful bid before the candle burned too low. That quip brought 
fury to the upside down eyes and twisting and jerkings of anger to her bound limbs. I watched
her wilt and cringe in horror as the bids came thick and fast until she was knocked down at 
the same price as Audrey. And to the same man who laughed about his conviction that if one 
sister was good, two would be better. And that since he did not wish to spoil a good show, he 
would allow Nancy to hang as she was now for the rest of the proceedings instead of being 
taken from the room like all the rest.

After a couple more girls had found favor in male eyes and Nancy had ceased her 
struggles, Cora James pointed her riding crop at me.

I was disgustingly obedient, beholding the upside down figure with wide spread legs. But I
went through the motions, making the desired responses until I was standing stark naked with
my hands clasp behind my neck and was anxiously viewing every male who chose to bid on 
me with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. The knowledge that one of the men out 
there would possess and keep me in naked helplessness most of my life sent shivers down my 
spine.

The bidding was brisk and accompanied by crude comments. I was finally sold for an 
outrageous price to an ordinary looking man. I was disappointed. Picking up my discarded 
tunic, I embraced the final humiliation of going back down the steps and around to where my 
owner waited at the door. Trinity Evans had been sold!

Nothing was the way I expected. The guard was outside and helped my purchaser remove 
the handcuffs, which were, of course, the property of Adrian Rankin. And then they placed my 
hands palm to palm behind my back and cord them tight. That done, some thicker rope was 
used to constrict my elbows until they actually met behind my back and were then knotted as 
tight as were my wrists. The whole thing hurt. I was beautifully under control.

No one had anything to say while I was handled. The whole thing was accomplished with a
matter-of-fact expertise which told me that I was merchandise. When I was quite helpless, my 
new owner left me with the guard to return back inside the house, no doubt to write the 
check which made me his. And perhaps to take one last look at Nancy and to see how low the
candle had burned down. When he was gone the guard casually looped a few strands of rope 
around my neck, knotted it tight, and left the rest trail upon the ground as a leash. She said 
she hoped I would have a happy slavery, and then handed the least to the successful bidder, 
who now was eyeing me with even greater curiosity than before. He led me out into the 
formal garden where he tied my leash to a convenient tree, and said I should behave myself 
while he did a couple of chores. He walked away to leave me standing a bewildered and 
unhappy young woman.

I stood there as bare as I had ever been and with my elbows burning to gaze upon my 
tether and wonder if I could use my teeth to free it from the tree. I was still debating that 
when fresh footsteps warned me of a visitor. I turned as a strangely familiar voice exclaimed, 
“Hi you, beautiful! I hope you’re glad to see me.”

It was the man named Jim. I got soundly kissed, my bound arms and hands were examined
but not freed, and my leash was taken from the tree. All this was done with a purpose I could 
not fail to note. And when Jim started to led me from the garden, I said in alarm, “You mustn’t 
take me away, I’ve been sold!”

“That’s right, sweetheart, you’ve been sold to me. The guy who did the bidding was a 
friend. I now own you completely. Breasts and bottom, tits and twat. I hope you realize you’re 
a damned lucky girl.”

I was more bewildered than ever. But stern tugs upon my neck spelt the wisdom of 
obedience. So I followed Jim out of the lovely garden and across the grass beyond to where a 
saddle horse waited beneath a tree. As the surprise wore off, I felt fresh hope. I was not afraid 
of this man who’s prisoner I had been before. True, he had whipped me and chained me in his 
coral. But I had never been certain it was not he, himself, who set me free from the coral. Jim 
was an enigma but seemed unlikely to remain so for long. With fresh courage I made the slave
girl’s ritual plea. “Jim, please untie my elbows, they’re hurting something awful.”

“That’s right, sugar. You’d best get it into your head that you belong to me. And if I want 
your elbows hurting, they’ll damned well hurt I’ll also expect you to be reasonably polite.”

He was different from the rest, more boyish, closer to my own age, and as good in bed as 
a girl could hope to find. I wondered at the manner in which he would keep me prisoner, but 
this was something I would soon discover and in the meantime we had reached his waiting 
horse. Jim mounted and tugged at my rope collar. “Come on, sweetheart we’ve got a long 
way to go.” He was laughing at the frown on my face.

“You’re not taking me to the ranch like this, are you?” I demanded with more courage than
I felt.

“Of course I am. Where else? You’ve walked it before and you can do it again. You’ll have 
to run on the downhill slopes or we’ll never get there.” This time his tug on my leash was more
gentle, although his voice was stern. “Look, sweetheart, I don’t want any female nonsense. 
You’re going to walk the entire distance and that’s final. And you’ll do it with your arms 
hurting behind your back. Get used to the idea of being bound this way. I like it and may keep
you tied like this often. And for periods of time you would not believe possible.”

He guided his horse and the girl he had just purchased out across the grass.

I had no choice but to follow. Quite soon the sunlight and the open spaces had their 
magic effect as opposed to the gloom within the stone chambers of the big house. I was able 
to view Jim and my new condition more cheerfully. Since I had to be sold to someone, Jim was
probably a better choice than any of those nameless faces I had seen from the block.

It was sort of like being back at square one as he tugged my rope and I ran as best I could 
down a slope. My new master was right, we had a long way to go.

Jim didn’t set too fast a pace and I was able to catch up until I was along side Jim’s horse.

This enabled us to talk and I asked him point blank why he chose to live in a tumbled 
down ranch house if he could afford to pay the huge amount of money he had paid for me.

His answer was simple, “I thought you knew, sweetheart. I’m Adrian Rankin’s brother. My 
name’s James Rankin. But you can call me Jim. But if you prefer to address me as ‘Master’ I 
won’t complain. But you don’t have to.” He flipped the rope end ideally against the bare skin 
of my bottom. “I’m writing a book and the ranch is a damned good place for creative work. 
Look upon yourself as one of my creations. Books don’t answer back but they’re a hell of a lot 
more trouble to write than you are going to be to train.” He chuckled cheerfully. “Don’t worry 
about getting whipped. I’ll whip you whenever I feel like it. But it won’t be too often or any 
harder than you can bear. I notice someone really laced into you yesterday.”

“But where are we going with all this?” I looked up at him imploringly. “I don’t see how 
you can keep me for the rest of my life. Or are you going to turn me loose at the end of a 
month, or a year? After I’ve become a bore?”

“You underrate yourself, sugar. Can’t you understand that owning you is an end in itself?

You’ll always be there to be whipped, or taken to bed, or chained out in the corral. Damn 
it, girl, don’t you see the possibilities? You’ll never be bored, and neither will I.”

I digested this optimistic assurance as I panted my way beside the horse. I suppose it 
could have been a lot worse. Maybe life with this man might be bearable. But for now my 
elbows were hurting terribly and I didn’t suppose I’d ever be free again. Apathetically I asked, 
“What about Pilar?”

“Pilar will be there. She’ll have my permission to do as she pleases with you. When I knew I
intended to buy you, I sold Conchita so you won’t have another slavegirl to conspire with.”

“Pilar won’t like it. She wants you to herself. She’ll be mean to me.”

“That’s something you’ll have to put up with, honeybunch, but always remember Pilar 
does as she’s told and is subject to punishment herself. If she ever injures you, she’s going to 
be damned good and sorry.”

I was getting the picture and now voiced a tentative hope. “Jim, would you sometimes let 
me be completely free? I mean to have both hands and feet and maybe run around a bit?

Instead of being always chained or tied.”

“Sure I will. Don’t worry about it. If you want some exercise, you and I can stage a hunt like
brother Adrian fixed for you. I’ll give you a head start and then run you down.”

“But then you’ll punish me.”

“No, I won’t. It will be a fun thing between the two of us. I may bring you back at a rope’s 
end the way you are now, but that’s not so terrible, is it?”

I wanted to tell him how terrible it was but thought better of it. And since we had started a
long, long run with me obliged to jog, I had no breath with which to talk. After a long time we 
came to my little spring with the pool and my bed of leaves. When I saw these familiar things 
where I had been so happy and strangely contented, I let a tear trickle down my cheek but 
said a polite thank you when water from the spring was held to my lips, and I was told to sit 
upon the fallen log. Once more I assured myself things could have been a lot worse.

I was tired and dispirited by the time we reached the ranch. Pilar’s welcome was polite but 
not as much as it could have been. When I was handed over to her tender mercies to be 
cleaned up and made ready for the evening meal, I wondered if I could ever break down her 
suspicion and distrust, and get her to understand I did not want to share her master’s favors 
but was forced to endure them as I was a slavegirl while she was free. But I was too tired and 
contented myself by saying, “I won’t give you trouble, Pilar, I’ll do whatever you tell me. I know
you don’t want me here, but then I don’t want to be here, either.” It was as good a 
compromise as I could make.

When I was bathed, Pilar untied my elbows. And when the dust and grime had gone did 
not tie them again. Instead she left me adequately helpless by binding my wrists with cord 
behind my back. When she delivered me to the table of our master, Jim demanded the 
removal of the cords to be replaced by handcuffs so I could eat. And leg irons on my ankles so
I could not run away. Since these metal bonds did not hurt, I was more grateful than I should 
have been, which shows how far down the scale of courage I had slid. By the time I’d eaten 
and drank the wine, I could almost believe myself a lucky slave indeed.

When taken to my master’s bed that night, this suspicion was abundantly confirmed.

With chained wrists and ankles, I was given the run of the ranch during those periods 
when my owner was away on business. I walked around the barn and corral and house but did
not venture farther than that. As it was, the trip took me two hours of hobbled steps. Pilar 
laughed as she watched my stumbling steps. And even more heartily when I stumbled and fell.
I had the feeling Pilar was reserving judgment on me, that my chained condition was but 
temporary. From time to time Jim Rankin departed in his car along a narrow gravel road which
I assume gave access to a highway. When I asked him about it, he refused to talk. But each 
evening after dinner I was taken to his where the two of us found it easier and easier to 
converse. There came into being between us that electric something which spells a special 
magic for the two sexes. At such times my irons were often taken from my flesh so I could 
romp uninhibited with him on the bed or on the floor. I waited and was obedient in a way to 
make me secretly ashamed. But after a while my kneeling at his feet to serve the drinks or to 
serve his abundant maleness became second nature and something I enjoyed. These 
freedoms became the bright spot in my day, and had Jim only known it, cemented me to him 
far more rigidly than irons. Whenever he unlocked the metal from my wrists and ankles I was 
so damned grateful that I kissed and hugged him like a wife who’s just been given a fur coat, 
or a diamond ring. It was on one of these occasions he handed me a sheet of Rules and 
Punishments which I could expect to enjoy from time to time regardless of my behavior. When
I started to demure, I was reminded what his purchase had made of me and how I might have 
been bought by some asshole who would whip me every day. All in all I began to feel 
increasingly fortunate, and I expect it showed for Pilar became increasingly solemn and more 
and more inc-lined to inflict strange rope tricks upon my nakedness when the master was 
away. When I showed her the list of Rules and Punishment, she said immediately that I should 
receive at least one of them everyday.

When the whip marks on my skin began to fade, there was increasing reference to my 
becoming once more ready for the lash. I knew I was going to get it sometime but tried hard 
not to think of it. Whenever Jim brought the subject up, I became outrageously loving and 
submissive to divert his interests elsewhere. Instead of whipping me, he now found pleasure in
the use of rope and cord. Often I spent the night tied tight to one of the posts of his 
four-poster bed. Or laying on my back with my feet up and separate over the lower rail and 
tied tight to make their soles available for a session of tickling which drove me up the wall. Or 
maybe thirty minutes of gentle slapping with a leather strap. Mostly now, on such occasions, 
he would carry on a conversation in which I could hold up my end only by heroic efforts at self
control against whatever pain I was having to endure.

Often I had to endure two or three hours in a tight hogtie laying on the floor at the foot of
his bed. Those times made me feel very helpless. One night he let me stay in a hogtie for a full
five hours. I could hardly move when I was finally untied.

He liked to tease me but often that teasing included modest amounts of pain or extreme 
discomfort. Yet I felt no real hostility in his actions. Actually I got the impression that he liked 
me quite a bit!

On another occasion he suspended me upside down over the bed at just the right height 
so my head was only a few inches off the bed. Then he lay down under me so that his male 
tool was directly under my mouth. Since I was naked, my arms tightly bound behind my back, 
and hanging upside down by my ankles, I obediently followed his order to perform oral sex 
upon his tool with my mouth. It was shaming and terrible, not to mention difficult while 
hanging upside down, but I did it. And, strangely enough, found it somehow exciting.

It was a real fun time for Jim. But at least I was not being whipped.

Jim was very much involved in his book and he took me into his confidence as a test 
reader for his skills. This brought more between us that me might otherwise have achieved. 
But it also had the effect of making Pilar jealous. Sometimes when she looked at me I could 
almost feel the venom of a girl discarded for another. And I knew my only security when alone
in Pilar’s care was his master’s threat of a flogging if she harmed me.

Poor Pilar! She had her troubles too.

I had no idea how long this menage a trois might have prospered. Certainly Jim and I were
finding a great deal of common ground. And I began to enjoy his more sensual and less 
punishing attentions. But never for a minute was I given a chance to escape. Mostly it was 
handcuffs and legions, although sometimes I was put in a sort of cage affair with iron bars. My
master also did a good deal of experimentation with rope and I spent an occasional distressful
day with my wrists and elbows tied in the same way as when I had followed behind his horse. I
suppose the best I could say for it was that it was never dull.

The day our idyll ended should have been predictable. After breakfast Jim drove away in 
the car and I helped Pilar with the dishes. When my chore was done she said simply, “There is 
something in the barn. Come, I show you.”

I was held safe in handcuffs and legions so we giggled a good deal during the short walk 
while I tried hard not to stumble. When we got inside the old building I couldn’t see anything I
hadn’t seen before. A heavy clip snapped on my handcuffs was a total surprise.

I was so damned helpless I could have screamed, but a moment later my arms were drawn
up high and I stood there taut and trembling and beautifully exposed for what Pilar had 
carried in her hand from the beginning. Her weapon was the riding crop of bitter memory. 
“Now I give you what you got coming,” she said with heat. “You steal my man and I get you 
good.”

“But, Pilar, it’s not my fault,” I wailed dismally. “I’m a prisoner, I don’t have a thing to say 
about anything. I can’t stop him taking me to bed every night.”

“You like it. Jim like it. Maybe now you get punished good.” She was as good as her word.

I’ll never forget the awfulness of that slender crop on my bare skin. In her fierce anger, 
Pilar put everything she had into each sweep of her arm to plant the instrument again and 
again upon flesh I could not hide. I did not plead, I knew it useless but soon she had me 
twisting and jerking and even raising myself from the ground by ironed wrists which screamed
agony at me. While Pilar whipped me the riding crop was the beginning and end of 
everything. The crop cut me back and front and all over my body save for my breasts. When, 
after endless agony, she let me down, I lay upon the straw in a sobbing agony. Gradually I was
aware of unsuspected motions and realized the irons were being taken from my ankles. When 
my feet were freed, my hands followed. Strong arms raised me to sit up in bewilderment at 
Pilar’s gift of freedom.

“You go,” she said urgently. “You run like hell so Jim never find you. I do not want you 
here. Jim is mine.”

Like an animal I did not stop to think, I ran as if the devil was in pursuit. When I reached 
my pool and bed of leaves I threw myself upon the green leaves and lay there panting. I was 
exhausted and wanted only one thing. I wanted Terrence Linton.

I was going to sleep and to dream. But what would the dreams be of?


The End
