Slave Of Shalima
by F. E. Campbell 


CHAPTER 1 

Castaway 

I remember someone once telling me the sea was the loneliest thing in the 
world and now I know they're right. My dingy had been drifting two nights 
and day towards a compass point I could not name. The tiny craft was 
equipped with oars but I could not use them for my wrists were handcuffed 
behind my back and there was no way I could ever get them free. I had 
struggled and twisted and tugged most of the first day until my skin was 
chaffed and had cried it's protest. I had then reverted to sitting as calmly 
as I could on the only seat to assess the circumstances of my life, a life 
most probably coming to an end. 

Rankin had been cheerful as he bit my wrists with the shinning steel of 
handcuffs before dumping me in the tiny craft which could survive not storm, 
but which he assured me would drift onto some distance shore for which he 
had a name I've now forgotten. He said I'd be bound to be picked up or run 
adrift on an island. When I asked him what would happen if that were not so, 
he simply shrugged and repeated that the boat would have to end up 
somewhere. "If you refuse to play, then you'll have to pay, sweetheart. 
Look, girl, I'm losing a nice little dingy and a pair of handcuffs because 
you're obstinate. Goodbye, kid. And good luck!" 

It had been hard to believe but I knelt in the little boat and watched the 
sleek hull of Rankin Teller's very large, very expensive yacht slide by to 
leave me alone with the Pacific. I felt certain he would stop his big ship 
within a few minutes and return to give me one more ultimatum. If he had, 
I'm not sure what I would have done. I was scared half out of my wits as I 
watched the disappearing ship. The good weather and kindly sea would not 
last, and the dingy which now protected me from the jaws of sharks would not 
survive and angry waves if the ocean changed its mood. 

As though to emphasize my peril, a sharks fin cut the water only a few feet 
from my tiny craft. A very large sharks fin. It circled for a while while I 
fought chained wrists in frantic efforts to escape. If I could have gotten 
my hands free, I could have at least used the oars. But freedom was not for 
my hands and arms. As I gazed after the disappearing speck on the horizon 
and the vastness of an ocean holding in store goodness knows what horrors, I 
knew myself the most frightened girl in the world. 

That was yesterday. The container of water Rankin had left me was now sadly 
depleted. He had also allowed me to wear a torn and tattered summer frock as 
protection from the sun. I drew what comfort I could from both these mercies 
but they were a frail comfort. And they were partly offset by the handcuffs, 
a restraint I had never before know or dreamed of. Handcuffs were for 
criminals, not proper girls like me. 

I won't make a dramatic affair out of the sharks. There was always one or 
two keeping an eye on me but they made no effort to overturn the boat even 
though some of them were certainly large enough. I tried to pretend they 
weren't there. I also tried not to think of what other sea monsters lurked 
below that green surface. Once more I sought relief for my parched throat. 
It was when I lifted my head an moistened lips that I saw the first trace of 
a smudge on the horizon. It seemed far too large for a ship and was 
undoubtedly land. I could have wept with joy. From the beginning I was 
unable to tell if the dingy was moving or in what direction. Obviously 
Rankin Teller's story about a current must be true. It took an agonizingly 
long time before the island took shape. There followed a further stretch of 
anxiety in case the current and wind pushed me away from the island. But 
they held good and soon my tiny boat was nearing a sandy beach and being 
lifted gently ashore by small breakers. I leapt joyfully from the boat and 
grabbed the tethering rope in joined hands to pull the boat as far up the 
sandy beach as I could. I couldn't say why but I felt that I should save my 
tiny craft. Perhaps I would need it in the future. 

I stood there and looked back across the waves and knew myself the 
beneficiary of a miracle. I knew I was on an island. This beach was part of 
a sizable chunk of land. There were trees and rocks and a tiny stream of 
fresh water from which I drank by laying myself out on the ground. 

Having survived the Pacific Ocean, I now must face a fresh unknown, a forest 
which I would have dearly loved to walk in what I not been handcuffed. It 
was glorious to walk and to be rid of the rolling feeling of the sea, even 
if I had no hands, I was at least a thousand percent better off. I marked up 
the beach and into the trees and there found, of all things, found a path! 

I was still afraid but now there was curiosity about where this path led to. 
I followed it. 

She was suddenly standing on the path ahead of me like a nymphet of the 
forest but very much a being of flesh and blood. She was probably fifteen, 
dark haired and dark eyed, and completely nude. Her wrists were joined by 
handcuffs more like pretty bracelets. Her voice was alive with laughter. 

"You're Celie Collins. And you can call me Allie. We've been expecting you. 
I'll bet you're hungry." 

Elfin feet twinkled along the path and elfin fingers sweetly teased my 
breasts to come to rest on my shoulders. While I stood there in shocked 
disbelief, I was affectionately kissed. Her handcuffs had a somewhat longer 
chain than mine, and this exquisite sprite from nowhere seemed unconscious 
of restraint. Dazed, I muttered, "I'm starving and I don't know where I am." 
In a burst of thankfulness I added, "Gosh, am I glad to see you." 

"And we're ever so glad to see you," Allie said with equal feeling. "Marjory 
has told me to bath and feed you, and to get rid of that silly frock before 
the two of you meet. You're going to love it here, I'm sure you are." 

Allie's skin was polished gold upon an alive young body, who's perky breasts 
and narrow waist were everything a wood nymphet should be. 

"Celie, there's all sorts of wonderful things you have to see." Allie 
bubbled over with all sorts of information as we walked. The place was named 
Palm and consisted of a couple of square miles of land, and owned by what I 
gathered was the total authority of a woman named Marjory. Almost everything 
left me wondering. But the last thing I wanted to do was end the flow of 
information. I longed for free hands but refrained from asking if Allie 
could confer this boon. I though it reasonable to suppose that had she 
possessed a key to handcuffs, she would not have allowed her own wrists to 
remain locked together. As far as Allie seemed to be concerned, it must have 
been the most natural thing in the world for visitors to arrive with their 
hands cuffed behind their backs. 

I was beginning to wonder when all those wonderful things I simply had to 
see would materialize, when quite suddenly the forest yielded to a 
delightful area of well-kept lawn. At its furthest edge was a huge, 
sprawling house which owed nothing to any school of design but which was 
obviously designed for personal and individual living. This whole area of 
green covered at least ten acres and contained only one tree, a tree quite 
close to where we stood. It was an enormous Banyan, providing adequate shade 
for a structure that left me gasping in disbelief. It was a huge cage which 
circled the huge tree making an iron-barred prison pretty much in the shape 
of a doughnut. Inside the prison were four totally naked girls who, as we 
drew closer, displayed an indolent acceptance of a strange captivity. None 
of the four were free-all had their elbows constrained behind their back by 
what I can only describe as a metal clamp which could be locked in varying 
degrees of restraint to join the elbows tight together or allow some 
distance between them but still secure them behind the wearer's back. It was 
far from pleasing in its similarity to birds with clipped wings. I was 
pretty sure it either hurt or was damned uncomfortable. 

"They're so lucky," Allie sighed. "Marjory does different things to the all 
the time but mostly keeps them in the cage. The new ones seem to find this 
difficult but I think it's wonderful." She giggled delightedly. "I talk to 
them a lot, and sometimes Marjory agrees to putting me inside the cage with 
them. They're all my friends and they'll be your friends, too." 

That should have been my cue to turn around and go back to the dingy and 
seek another island. I might actually have done this had I possessed hands, 
but with wrists safely locked behind my back I realized such an act 
impractical. Instead, I asked as politely as I could, "What have the poor 
things done to deserve such an imprisonment? They don't look the least bit 
happy." 

I realized I had said the wrong thing when the fingers on my arm clasped 
tighter. "But Celie, you can't expect them to be laughing all the time. They 
are, however, tremendously interested in everything that goes on. Right now 
they're coming to the bars to have a look at you. Don't be nervous, just 
talk to them naturally. I'll sort of introduce you but afterwards you can 
ask you own questions. I'll bet you've got some." 

I had lots of questions but what I needed then was a good cup of coffee. And 
maybe a meal. But my need of food and a bath was set to one side by the 
naked girls inside the strangest cage I had ever seen. They got their 
greeting in first, and it didn't do a thing for my morale. 

"Where did you get her, Allie? Will you be putting her in here with us?" 

At close range I could see how beautiful they were, lovely of face and 
figure. Laughing at them through the bars, Allie made the introductions to 
which the responses were far from reassuring. 

"Welcome to the club, Celie." 

"You'd best run as hard as you can, sweetheart, while you can." 

With Allie's fingers tight gripped upon my arm, all I could manage was 
indignation. "I drifted ashore on this island and Allie came to meet me. I 
don't know where I am or what goes. Aren't your arms hurting with those 
clamps on your elbows?" 

"They hurt a bit but we've gotten used to them. Tomorrow there'll be 
something else. Marjory is endless inventive." There was gay, silvery 
laughter. "You'll find out, darling." 

I was not so dumb that I wasn't putting two and two together. It was not 
hard to figure that Rankin Teller's cruelty in casting me adrift had 
something to do with the girls inside the cage. It would be stretching 
coincidence to believe it simply happened by chance. These girls in the cage 
knew things I did not. Cautiously, I inquired of the girl holding my arm, 
"Did these four girls come ashore the same as I? Has this Marjory of yours 
have some connection with Rankin Teller?" 

"You're supposed to ask them the questions, not me. I don't answer anything 
because Marjory does it so much better. But if you haven't anything else to 
ask these darlings, we'll go up to the house and get you fed and bathed." 

The first thing I got was a cup of coffee by a maid who saw nothing wrong in 
my condition. Allie held the cup to my lips and I was too damned grateful to 
make complain. The bathing process was far more illuminating since it 
transpired I was to be bathed by Allie with my role purely passive. I would 
sit or stand as directed to be soaped and rubbed down in a way I must admit 
I found rather comforting. I'd never been bathed by someone else in my life, 
and I found young Allie's hands possessing a magic entirely new. She had cut 
my skimpy clothing off with a pair of scissors and my new nakedness made me 
feel even more strange. Yet, I sensed that the best thing would be for me to 
keep quiet and wait for things to happen. The handcuffs had taken away my 
power to protest, so why take a chance on losing friends? Allie's hands were 
loving and mischievous, and I sensed in her an unusual sexuality for a girl 
so young. 

I was vigorously toweled with special attention to those portions of me that 
sent erotic tingles through my body. By the time I sat before a mirror to 
have her do my hair, my nipples were rigid and my sex happily generating 
heat. When Allie announced herself satisfied and that I was to join Marjory 
at dinner, my exclamation was spontaneous, "But I have to have something to 
wear! I can't possibly have dinner with a woman I've never met while I'm 
this naked." 

"Of course you can," Allie said cheerfully. "I do, so why can't you? Clothes 
are silly in this climate, and with bodies like you possess, clothes would 
be indecent. Come along, darling, Marjory's waiting." 

"But I'm handcuffed and helpless!" 

"Marjory won't mind a bit, she wants you like that." 

"Don't be difficult Celie, Marjory and I want to be kind if you'll just do 
as you're told." 

It was suddenly there, a presence I had sensed even before seeing the cage 
with its prisoners. Some strange authority was force behind all this. I was 
expected to do as I was told in the manner of a child who knew no better. 
But when I thought of revolt, I realized once more how this chain of events 
from the moment Rankin had clasp the handcuffs on my wrists was a force 
guiding me and more powerful than I. Allie was sweet and had treated me with 
tenderness. Once more defeated, I allowed her fingers to guide me to the 
person I had to suppose was the final authority on Palm Island. 

Marjory was simply a mature edition of the girl who held my arm. There was 
the same dark hair and dark eyes, and a slender perfection of figure. The 
difference between them was that Marjory wore clothes, which, while 
appearing to cover everything, artfully drew attention to everything they 
may have been suppose to conceal. Her age may have been thirty and she 
exuded vibrations and warmth which enveloped me as she swept forward and 
took me in her arms. Never in my life have I been more competently kissed. 
Good will possessed us all, and I was thinking of reviving the subject of 
the handcuffs behind my back, but Marjory was a jump ahead. 

"Allie, darling, please look after Celie's hands. Here's a key." 

I could have kissed her again and fallen on my knees in gratitude, except 
that things didn't turn out as I supposed. When Allie unlocked my wrist, she 
gently brought both arms forward and clicked the cuff back on as tightly as 
before. Marjory just about summed it up, "We're about to have dinner, Celie, 
my dear, and it would be nice for you to use your hands. Allie could feed 
you if you were completely helpless but this is a get-acquainted occasion 
and I want everything to be comfortable. Please do sit down." 

If I had to be handcuffed, it's much better in front than in back. For a 
couple of days I'd been longing to get rid of the steel bands on my wrists. 
Now, with hands joined together in front, I simply didn't know what to do 
with them. They felt silly and awkward. I felt myself blushing but allowed 
Allie to propel me to the chair on Marjory's right. I wouldn't dare 
complaint about handcuffs because I had the feeling if I did, they would 
immediately go back the way they had been before. But after I said thank you 
for my hands, I added, tentatively, "I feel really terribly coming to you 
like this, without clothes. I've never been naked in public before. Not in 
my whole life." 

Marjory's laugh was rich and genuine. "But we're not the public, Celie, 
dear, you see how beautiful Allie is in the nude, and you're something very 
special, too. I couldn't possibly bear to have any of my girls covered up. 
Allie tells me you saw my beauties in the cage. Wouldn't you agree they'd 
look silly if they were fully dressed?" 

I was trapped by trying to be civil. To break this venire of good will was 
something I could not do. Everything pointed to nudity and restraints being 
a part of normal life on Palm Island. I sat down with my cuffed hands hidden 
in my lap, but it instantly appeared I was not allowed to be demure. 

"Keep your hands were we can see them, Celie, dear," Marjory ordered 
sharply. "I cannot tolerate girl's playing with themselves, and they'll do 
it at the most unlikely moments if you give them the chance. I want to warn 
you now that fingering your clit will not be tolerated." 

Such a frank prohibition was something I hadn't expected. Flushed, and 
feeling inadequate, I put my fingers up on the table, and muttered, "I 
wasn't even dreaming of such a thing." 

"Then everything's wonderful, darling," my hostess said sweetly. "Now I have 
to tell you not to panic when George brings up the dinner." 

"George!" My blush was growing. 

"George is the butler, dear. He wears clothes and you'll see him around 
quite a lot. He will do what you ask within reason. I don't suppose he'll 
want you in his bed immediately because he's pretty well looked after by the 
girls you saw in the cage. Well, anyway, when George shows up, I don't want 
you playing the shrinking violet." 

There would have to be an understanding between, and more particularly and 
understanding on my part as to what bizarre amounted to in this place. But I 
soon discovered I handled the attentions of the family butler remarkably 
well. George was used to newly arrived naked girls. At least I assumed he 
was since he gave no evidence of surprise or interest. He was a handsome 
black man with a voice that sounded educated. He served our needs in a 
polished manner. 

My next confrontation was with the steel bands around my wrists. They gave 
me a tremendous amount of freedom but never quite enough. I could use the 
knife and fork by being careful, but my main handicap was mental. I was a 
naked and handcuffed young girl at dinner in a foreign place. When I lifted 
something to my face, I had to use both hands and this simple motion was 
watched with interest by both Allie and Marjory. By now my blush had reached 
a considerable shade of red. 

"Allie tells me you had been cast adrift in the ocean in a dingy and drifted 
up on our beach by chance." I could tell Marjory was making conversations. 

"I'm not sure there was any chance about it." I took my courage in hand and 
added, "I'm sure you know Rankin Teller, and I'm sure both of you knew that 
when he put me in that little boat and handcuffed my wrists, I was going to 
end up here in your possession." I faced Marjory with disillusioned eyes. 

"Come, dear, I'm sure you don't believe such nonsense. Let's have a pleasant 
dinner without probing each other's minds. I don't suppose you've ever been 
chained or tied up, Celie? But if you have, please tell us, we'd love to 
know about it." 

"No, I haven't, and I can't understand these handcuffs one little bit. It 
baffles me why Allie is so pleased with them." 

"Why don't you ask the dear child, she'll tell you anything you want to 
know?" 

Allie looked bewildered. "But I've always worn handcuffs," she said as if 
explaining the obvious. "I got my first pair as a birthday present when I 
was six years old. And I've worn them ever since." She giggled happily. 
"Sometimes Marjory has to give me a larger pair because I'm still growing. 
We keep the ones I've outgrown in a little box. I sometimes take them out 
and look at them. Marjory is so sweet, she spends all sorts of money buying 
me the most gorgeous handcuffs, like the pair I'm wearing now. I don't know 
why you look so startled, Celie. Girls are supposed to wear handcuffs. Don't 
they wear handcuffs where you come from?" 

I let the subject drop. Obviously it would lead nowhere. I suspected the 
condition I was in was one of ignorance being bliss. I let Marjory continue. 

"The story of Palm Island is fairly simple," she explained. "Seriously, I 
had a grandfather who was immensely rich, so rich money scarcely meant 
anything to him. He bought this island because of the climate, and he built 
this house so he could live here whenever he chose. He also imported enough 
young women to attend his every need. In return he settled large sums of 
money on us and kept us naked because of his belief it was a girl's natural 
condition. I was one of these girls, and when Grandpa died, he left me Palm 
Island and a rather large income to maintain it. I'm terribly lucky, I don't 
pretend I'm not." 

"You mean your own grandfather kept you chained and in a cage!" I was 
aghast. 

"You've got a gift for false interpretations, Celie, my pet." She was 
unruffled by my disapproval. "It's a habit we'll have to break you of. If 
you look at Palm Island from the proper viewpoint, you'll see that 
everything is perfectly correct." 

"I wouldn't go away from here, not for the whole world!" Allie was looking 
at me as if unable to understand a female so obtuse as I. 

I let it drop. It was as though there existed a transparent wall I could not 
surmount even though I really wanted these people as my friends. I turned my 
full attention upon a pair of hands in steel. I was terribly ashamed of 
being forced to wear these restraints and, even though Allie also wore 
handcuffs (in apparent joy), I sensed between us a great divide. Every time 
I clinked my cuffs in movement, I felt like a criminal being transported to 
jail. And it was easy to see Palm Island as exactly that, I could not leave 
it on my own power. Even though my dingy awaited on the beach, I lacked the 
courage to put it out to sea. 

"When we finish dinner, George will serve coffee and we can sit outside in 
the shade and talk about a few things." Marjory would have said more had we 
not been interrupted by a girl, a girl as fully naked as Allie or myself. 
But she was totally free of any kind of restraint. She casually walked in as 
if part of the family, only to announce that she wanted only dessert and 
would join us for coffee. I stared at the nude loveliness in disbelief. She 
was one of the four girls I had seen in the cage. 

Marjory made a formal introduction. The girl's name was Janet. She kissed me 
in casual affection and I kissed back. She then sat down at the table and 
accepted a dish from George. It was all so damned natural, I thought I'd 
scream. 

"I thought I'd do some more work on that picture I'm painting," Janet said 
as though the words were of small account. "There'll probably be an hour of 
descent light after coffee." Janet looked at my astonishment and smiled. 
"I'm trying to be an artist," she explained. "And some of my work isn't all 
that bad. I'll show you if you'd be interested." 

"But you were in the cage!" I blurted out. "You were locked in there with 
three other girls. I ... I don't understand!" 

"That's when we said our first hello." Janet grinned at me. "You looked so 
wonderfully puzzled." 

"You were wearing some sort of metal device that locked on your elbows." 

"That's right, dear, it's an invention of Marjory's. Isn't she clever!" 
Janet laughed at me. "Like I told you at the cage, we hurt just a little and 
they're most beautifully frustrating. There's no way a girl can get them 
off." 

I looked at Marjory. "Tell me I'm dreaming. Tell me this isn't real. Tell me 
this is all a joke and you're all quietly laughing." I felt my blush 
returning. 

My words vanished into thin air. Janet and Marjory took up a conversation 
about our nude visitor's art, while Allie winked at me as though we shared a 
secret but at the same time knew when to hold our tongues. If I were baffled 
before, I was twice as baffled now. 

Coffee in the garden was wonderful. So wonderful it left me wishing I was 
not handcuffed, not naked, and was somewhere far away. Janet and our hostess 
continued their conversation until Janet abruptly rose and said she had 
better catch the light while it was exactly right. Marjory looked at me with 
a lifted eyebrow and I knew this was the moment, a tense moment softened by 
Allie's girlish giggle and Marjory's gentle question, "I'm sure there'll 
questions you want to ask, Celie. Go right ahead." 

I felt myself pushed into a focus from which I was likely to emerge feeling 
boorish and insensitive. But the questions were too demanding to be ignored. 
"Why must I be handcuffed?" I asked as simply as I could. 

"I guess there's more than one reason," Marjory said thoughtfully. "But I 
positively adore seeing a girl wear those things. I've kept Allie handcuffed 
most all of her life." 

"Isn't that a bit kinky?" 

"Don't use that word again, Celie. Nothing is kinky if it's beautiful. And, 
of course, there's another reason - handcuffs on a girl's wrist keep her 
aware of her condition." 

"You mean tell her she's a prisoner?" 

"You should try and avoid these too definite conclusions, Celie. They're 
real purpose is to say you belong to me." 

I was breathing heavily, and more than a little scared. Everything about 
Palm Island was bizarre, with some girls running around free, some chained. 
But everyone basking in the benevolence of Marjory's quiet smile. With a 
bitterness I could not hide, I demanded, "So when do you put me in the cage? 
And get my elbows clamped together?" 

"Oh, that!" My question was greeted with amusement. "You may never get 
inside that cage, Celie. For a while I want you close. I'll do all sorts of 
things to you I'm sure you'll complain about." 

"What sorts of things?" 

"Small discomforts to teach sulky girls how to behave. They'll improve you 
very much." 

It was all so vague I wasn't getting anywhere. I then asked, "Tell me about 
Janet. Why is she privileged to walk around completely free?" 

"You'll walk around completely free, too, dear. Once you've got over this 
initial shock. You time in the dingy must have been traumatic, and I'll make 
all sorts of allowances for you." 

"How long will you keep me prisoner?" 

"There's no deadlines or dates on Palm Island." 

"I'm not a lesbian, I hope that's not a part of it. That's something I won't 
do." 

"If I want you tongue, dear, I'll train you for it. In the meantime, you're 
not a lesbian." 

It seemed silly to continue. My chained hands probably told me all I needed 
to know. I was curious to know about the "small discomforts" but would 
probably be happier not knowing. Wearily, I looked at my hostess, "Marjory, 
can't you understand how much better we could communicate if you gave me 
back my hands and let me have clothes? Please, Marjory, it's not asking 
much." 

"You'll learn not to ask questions like that, Celie, dear." Marjory poured 
me another cup of coffee. "We'll get you properly started tomorrow morning. 
Tomorrow morning you'll be whipped for the first time. And after that's been 
done to you, you'll find yourself seeing everything in a new and clearer 
light." 

"Whipped! I've never been whipped in my life!" 

"That's the trouble, dear, we now must make up for lost time. No girl 
understands herself as female until she's had a session with the cane and 
the crop. And there's a whip I'll use on you that isn't too severe." Marjory 
grinned at my pained expression. "Months from now, darling, you'll look back 
at the moment and the way you're feeling right now and you'll laugh. Take my 
word for it." 

"But you don't simply whip people, not just like that. Not the way you're 
telling me. In fact, you don't whip people at all. That's illegal." I stared 
from one to the other in bewilderment. 

"Everyone wants to whip a girl. Haven't you heard? Allie's been whipped just 
for being a girl, haven't you, Allie?" 

"I can't count how many times," Allie assured me seriously. "My skin isn't 
marked right now because Marjory hasn't whipped me for at least a month. 
She's been whipping some of the other girls." There was her girlish giggled 
again. "There's marks on Janet from her last time. I'm surprised you didn't 
notice." 

"Allie's my kid sister, Celie. I've got every right to whip her whenever I 
chose. You and I aren't related, Celie, but it works the same way. Why don't 
you two girls run off to bed. I'm sure Allie will answer your questions 
better than I." 

It was a dismissal and mention of bed told me I was shockingly tired. Allie 
and I had no need to undress, we were already naked and I presumed we would 
sleep that way. With a touch of shyness, Allie brought me up to date. 
"Marjory's given me the key and made me responsible for you throughout the 
night," she told me. "I'm afraid I have to move your hands." 

I didn't catch on until Allie removed one cuff and quickly gathered my arms 
behind my back. Before I could struggle, there came the click of handcuffs 
and I was a prisoner after a very brief bit of freedom. My chance to fight 
was over almost before I realized it was coming. 

"Do you have to do that? I'm so terribly tired of handcuffs." 

"You know I do, darling." Her voice was gentle. "You're so new to all of 
this that you might do something foolish if you had more freedom." She 
wiggled and looked embarrassed. "Before we go to sleep, Celie, dear, I just 
have to ask you something. It's simply why you have to make all this fuss 
about being handcuffed or whipped." She gazed at me yearningly. "Back where 
you grew up and came from aren't girls naked all the time, and don't they 
wear lovely handcuffs like I do? And aren't they whipped whenever someone 
wants to whip them? And whipped again if they've been bad?" 

The child was looking at me so earnestly that I caught a glimpse of how she 
was seeing things. Palm Island was normal and there was nothing unusual 
about the handcuffs on her wrists. For Allie, Marjory's authority was 
absolute. "Of course, a girl's not treated like that," I said hotly. "The 
idea is ridiculous! Marjory gets away with it here because the rest of the 
world never sees this place. Do you realize, darling, that in the rest of 
the world Marjory would be considered a criminal and put in prison for years 
and years. I wish you could understand how wrong it is to rob girls of part 
of their lives and keep them captives in a cage to be played with because 
they look so pretty. I don't know why those other girls put up with it, I'm 
certainly getting out of this situation first chance I get." Allie was 
looking at me in a way I could only construe as pity. Her locked arms went 
up over my head and down over my shoulders to clasp me tight. 

"Poor, dear, Celie," she whispered, "you've got everything wrong. It's just 
the outside world that's out of step, not Palm Island." 

She wiggled against me delightfully in what I thought might be sympathy. 
"Celie, I'm going to take off you handcuffs and tie your hands behind your 
back with some nice, strong cord. It will be something of mine on you, and 
something you can't get rid of. I think for a girl to have her hands tied is 
so much less impersonal then handcuffs. But, of course, when Marjory gets 
you some lovely handcuffs like I wear, you'll fall in love with them the 
same as me." 

Laughingly we disengaged. Without being told to, I held out my hands, but 
Allie was still Marjory's sister and shook one finger at me. "You're going 
to be free for a few moments, Celie dear, promise you're going to stand 
still for me to tie your wrists?" 

She was such a darling child I could not resist. I'll admit the thought had 
crossed my mind of making a dash for the door but inside I surrendered with 
meek, "Okay, Allie, I promise." 

The girl looked at me shrewdly before using the tiny key. I was permitted to 
stretch my arms a few times before being turned around, my wrists crossed to 
accept the bit of cord, and to start breathing heavily at the touch of 
youthful fingers on my skin along with the twists and tugs of the cord as it 
sealed my hands even more solid than the steel had. Never in my life had I 
been tied up and this was a strange blend of despair and what I considered 
an untimely excitation of the senses. Allie did a remarkably competent job, 
unhindered by linked hands. For Allie I was simply Marjory's property to do 
with as she chose. With my wrists tight tied, I knew handcuffs would have 
been more comfortable but did not complain. Instead I turned around and 
laughed as I said, "I'll bet you've tied up hundreds of girls, Allie. And 
I'll bet I can never wiggle loose." 

"Of course you can't, Celie, dear. I know how to tie a girl's hands. Now, 
let's get to bed, you must be dead tired." 

She pushed me playfully so that I fell back on my freshly bound hands. 
Joining her in laugher as any couple of girls might do, there was still 
something on my mind. 

"How do you expect me to go to sleep, Allie, when my mind is full of visions 
of being whipped tomorrow morning? Tell me it isn't going to happen." 

"Oh, it will happen, love, and it will be just the way Marjory has promised. 
You'll feel a lot better afterwards." 

"That doesn't make me feel better now." Allie cuddled close, pulling a 
single cover over out nakedness before thrusting her belly hard against my 
bound hands. I knew she wanted to reach over and cup my breasts but even she 
was denied this by the irons she so proudly wore. 

We slept. 

* * * 

I didn't enjoy breakfast but Marjory was cheerful and bright about every 
subject except the one that frightened me half to death. Allie, too, avoided 
mentioning whips and canes and prompted me to join in on the pleasant 
clatter the two of them so easily maintained. In order that I feed myself, 
my wrists were now handcuffed before me, which, after the strictures of the 
night, made me feel ridiculously free. So far as I could see, those 
handcuffs were the only bright spot in my day. 

I had expected at least a dungeon or something equally appropriate for 
punishing a girl. But well ahead of time I was taken to Marjory's own 
bedroom, which appeared to be equipped for many other things besides 
slumber. Everything was electrically controlled, and when Allie positioned 
me dead center on a large area of costly rug, I saw no visible menace until 
she pressed a button on the wall and down from above descended a massive 
metal cylinder with a cross piece at its bottom that might have been thirty 
inches across with leather straps and buckles at each end. I did not have to 
ask its purpose. It was stopped at the level of my eyes so I could watch 
myself made helpless. Allie unlocked the handcuffs so I was again totally 
free, but also totally unwilling to do anything about it. As though in a 
trance, I raised first one hand and then the other, fitting the slenderness 
of my wrist within the leather cuff while Allie buckled and tugged to insure 
a snug and almost painful confinement of each wrist. I was quickly left 
standing naked with hands well secured and well apart and cursing myself for 
not having put up at least a token fight. I could indeed well believe there 
was some magic at work on this strange island, and where it now appeared I 
was the property of a woman named Marjory and her younger sister Allie. 

The pressing of a second button above the first caused the bar to rise, 
taking my arms with it. It did not come to a stop until I was standing with 
my heels just slightly off the floor and my body nicely stretched. The balls 
of my feet were still solid on the rug so I would be able to move my body 
some. I wondered why I was not lifted totally of the floor. That would have 
seemed more appropriate to the torture of a girl. 

"Marjory wants you to have enough room to wiggle and dance about a bit," 
Allie answered my unspoken question. "She calls sit the expressions of pain, 
and I've always found it sort of nice when it happens to me. I sure wouldn't 
want to be tied so I couldn't move at all. Darling, you look simply 
gorgeous." 

The posture in which I was held accentuated everything feminine I possessed 
from my toes to the fingers. Allie was quick to point out how my figure was 
enhanced, "Aren't your tits lovely? Mine get the same way, every girl's 
does, they sort of stick out like that. I've been told the same thing 
happens when a man makes love to a girl." 

There really wasn't much for me to say, it was too late to beg for freedom. 
Soon Marjory would come with her whips and canes and things, but for a 
little while the precious moments belonged to Allie and me. I could do 
nothing but she put her handcuffs over my head to hold me while she wickedly 
frictioned her nipples against mine, an exercise I found outrageously 
exciting. It was probably just as well the four girl prisoners choose that 
moment to come in to watch the newcomer receive her first whipping. None of 
them were free, a couple had their elbows hard joined behind their backs 
with Marjory's special clamp, while the rest were simply handcuffed behind 
their back. 

"If they weren't fastened the way you see, they give you the darnedest 
time," Allie informed wisely. "Their fingers and lips and tongues would give 
you six orgasms before Marjory and the men arrived." 

"Men! What men? No one told me ... " 

All of them laughed at my dismay while a fresh voice informed, "George and 
the gardener always get in on these affairs. They get the damnedest 
erections and you can bet each one will select a girl to bring it down to 
size. It's a privilege the men have here on Palm Island. You can bet they'll 
take you to some private place the first chance they get." 

At that moment Marjory arrived and sent Allie to fetch the cook and 
housemaid. All the servants were native to the islands, and when all were 
assembled to behold the whipping of a naked girl, they took the whole scene 
rather casually, as if it were a very common occurrence. I feared it was. 

The concern of the men was purely carnal, to be confronted with a naked 
bound girl would have a predictable result with any male anywhere. George 
and the garden grinned at me. 

Marjory ran her fingers up and down my bare skin, kissed me, and said good 
morning for the second time. She then manipulated my puss with a firm hand 
in much the same spirit as she had kissed my lips. She then disappeared in 
back to say ridiculously, "Celie, dear, I'm going to start off caning your 
bottom. I hope you don't mind. Here we go." 

I had had a good look at the cane and it had seemed innocent enough. But the 
way it burned itself into my bottom flooded my mind with visions of 
fictional punishments I had read. I could suddenly recall all those 
descriptions of how a girl's seat would be branded, scolded, burned, and cut 
as she received each stroke of the instrument. Marjory's cane was all these 
things, and more. I hadn't believed such pain existed, or that it would be 
administered by a girl who had shown evidence of being fond of me. The 
second impact came while I was still struggling to contain my screams from 
number one. The cane seemed a living thing, wrapping itself around the 
contours of my bottom. Obviously I had not previously understood what a 
bottom was really for. I had just assumed it was a good place to sit on, and 
to wiggle at men. Lustily I screamed. 

Marjory now took a few moments to marshal her prisoners and staff into a 
semi-circular audience standing close enough to catch every nuance of 
physical expression I could not control. She paused long enough to once more 
cup my pussy and pat my cheek, which gave me time to plead, "Please, 
Marjory, don't so hard! I simply can't bear it ... " 

Evidently punished girls were not supposed to plead. Number three and number 
four were every bit as terrible as number one and two. I found myself doing 
a frantic dance which in no way made my flesh less accessible. With the 
fifth stroke I actually raised myself from the floor to contort in mid air. 
I screamed and pleaded in a manner to soften any heart except the one now 
marking my skin. After number six, Marjory said gently, "You're making a 
terrible lot of noise, darling, you'd best be gagged." 

At that moment a gag in my mouth was the last thing I desired. But I got 
gagged anyway in a manner which to me seemed unbelievably awful. In a matter 
of fact fashion, Marjory removed her scanty briefs and went from girl to 
girl holding it against their pussy that it might soak up any juices 
excreted there. When that was performed, the panties were rather wet and 
smelled of girl. 

"Open up, darling, this is a really lovely idea," Marjory said as she held 
the panties to my lips. "It's a gift from each of us to you. I'm sure you'll 
be grateful." 

"I won't open my mouth, I simply won't. That's too horrible!" I clamped my 
teeth and drew as far away from the offending wad as possible. But Marjory 
simply pinched one of my nipples which sent lightning bolts of pain shooting 
through my body. "When you open your mouth, darling," she informed, "I'll 
stop. Please do be sensible." 

My reaction was exactly as desired. The sudden pain was so terrible I opened 
my mouth which was immediately stuffed full of the wad. The flavor was not 
as bad as I had supposed but I was still shamed and disgusted. A moment 
later a strap was passed between my teeth and buckled very tightly behind my 
head. My lips were parted, I couldn't make much noise, and words were out of 
the question. 

I flung my head from side to side in futile rebellion before gazing deep 
into Marjory's eyes which were laughing at the distaste mirrored on my 
features. My strapped wrists burned as I wiggled this way and that in 
struggles that did no good. 

Suddenly her face was gone and a second later the whipping of my bottom 
resumed. I could not scream but my lips fought at the leather they could not 
eject, and which bit the corners of my mouth. By now my bottom was on fire 
with a blazing I was sure meant blood. I was later disappointed and shocked 
to find that the whipping had not broken the skin. I received a total of 
fifteen strokes with the cane. It seemed far more and lasted forever, during 
which time I have only a recollection of trashing feet and legs and the 
repeated lifting of my weight from off the rug, frantic efforts that grew 
slowly weaker as my certainty that I was going to be whipped to death grew 
stronger. 

While I was firmly gagged, everyone else present was free to comment as they 
chose, and I have to give the girls credit for abstaining from jeers and 
four letter words. They limited themselves to an appreciation of the 
artistic qualities of what they be held. Apparently in their eyes my 
struggling nudity was beautiful beyond imagining, and my sad sounds and the 
flinging back and forth of my hair held a merit of its own. I suppose each 
of them was remembering when she had received her first whipping. When the 
caning of my seat came to an end, the cook fetched coffee in what turned out 
to be only an intermission. Allie took the gag from between my lips and 
extracted the shameful wad of panty from my mouth. She held the cup to my 
lips and I drank thankfully. 

When no one left and I still stood with hands above my head, I asked, "Isn't 
over? Please tell me there isn't anymore." 

"It's just half time," Marjory whispered as though bestowing good news. 
"We're all going to leave you alone for thirty minutes then gather again to 
watch me whip your breasts and front. It's quite different, and will 
complete this part of your education. Would you like a shot of something 
stronger than coffee?" 

"Yes, oh, yes! But I can't stand any more. Is my bottom badly cut?" 

"It isn't cut at all, you silly girl. It's beautifully marked, if that's 
what you mean. And there won't be blood on your breasts when I'm finished 
with them. Here's a shot of brandy." 

I drank the brandy and pleaded until threatened with the gag. I was supposed 
to find it restful to stand as I was to await and to think about the second 
half of my introduction to Palm Island. Marjory's bedroom was suddenly very 
quite. Allie only stayed behind to talk to me. 

I looked up at strapped wrists and wished I could rip that leather off them. 
The coffee and the brandy worked miracles and I felt a lot better by the 
time the second half was ready to begin. 

I knew I would no longer contest the gag, it saved me from the shame of 
screams. No doubt it would be replaced for the second half of my punishment. 
And that was the only word I could think of to describe it. I kept 
remembering Allie's laughing assurance that what was being done to me would 
change my life. And I was forced to admit that the pain given me thus far 
had indeed made me more receptive to the authority by which Marjory held me 
enthrall. I tried to sleep but the thirty minutes vanished like a flash and 
there again was my faithful audience. When Marjory once more inserted the 
panties into my mouth, I didn't fight it. I accepted the shame and was 
thankful that I would not scream aloud. When the brutal strap was tight, all 
I did was toss my head two times as though assuring myself my gag was there 
to stay. Marjory's gentle whisper, "I'm ready to whip your breasts now, 
darling," told of the adoration of my naked body. I caught her eyes and 
found in them only love. 

It was worse, much worse, in a way I would not have believed possible. She 
used a different instrument, a small whip of soft leather but it still 
scolded my tender flesh in a terrible way. Perhaps the pain was less than 
what had burned my bottom but a girl is very sensitive about her breasts and 
to see and feel them being cut by the leather thong was terrible. Sometimes 
she slashed them across the middle, sometimes the whip came down on my 
tender globes. And a few strokes even slashed upward to give the under sides 
of my large breasts marks and pain. I screamed into the panties and lifted 
myself by strapped wrists to kick wildly at nothing. I flung my body from 
side to side in useless attempts to escape the horrible pain. 

"Open your legs, darling, get them wide apart, we mustn't forget your sex." 
Marjory's voice was vibrant with joy. 

I had no thought to disobey and spread my legs wide open. There came a 
series of fiery cuts to make me dance in pain again. I could not believe 
such pain can be experienced in the place that usually gives such pleasure. 

I don't remember the count of strokes on my breasts but my pussy took five 
hard ones, I felt each impact will all of my being. It was the most horrible 
time of my life. 

Thus I was whipped for the very first time. 

 CHAPTER 2 The Discipline of Palm Island 

There was nothing casual about my initiation into the strangest captivity a 
girl could ever find. I was whipped almost into unconsciousness, so bad was 
the pain. I was far too weary for the motions of agony by the end and stood 
passively to hang from strapped wrists. There was a little time in which 
everything was a blur and the bite of the lash left me alone. I was kissed 
and kissed again but not released. When I again became aware of events 
around me, I found myself once more in Marjory's bedroom and unable to move 
from where I stood. I didn't much care because I was pretty sure I'd be 
chained or tied anyway whenever Marjory chose to release my hands from these 
straps. I simply stood and dreamed about the pain I'd suffered and what 
Marjory might do with me next. My mouth was still filled with Marjory's 
panties, the tight strap still cut at my lips, and my body burned with 
terrible aches. My bottom was on fire and my breasts throbbed and hurt. And 
there was a terrible ache in my pussy, terrible enough to make me wonder if 
I would ever gain pleasure from that part of me again. I was a sad little 
girl. 

But the worst part was over, I told myself. And the promise came back to me 
and I knew it was right - I felt better! It was as though a load had been 
lifted from my shoulders and I was starting everything again fresh and clean 
and absolved of sin. I didn't find anything remarkable about this sensation 
because, no doubt, every girl ever punished felt that way when it was over. 
But what was remarkable for me was the rapidly diminishing pain of cane and 
whip. My fevered imagination had supposed the agony would last for days but 
it was gradually fading into a weary ache. 

Walking might be painful but I didn't worry about that because I couldn't 
walk! 

At that point I became aware that my loins were warm from more than just the 
whipping I had received there. Amazingly I recognized that my sex was 
responding as if I had been sexually teased, not tortured! I had read that 
the flesh of whipped maidens responded erotically even to the point of 
causing the girl to desire the same infliction again. I had dismissed the 
notion then and I dismissed it now. No doubt there was some explanation for 
the way I felt, but it was a pleasurable feeling about which I could 
certainly not complain. Still I found it strange that such pain could 
generate a sexual excitement. 

I looked up at the wrists still firmly strapped and buckled and found myself 
admiring the neat and tidy strictures by which I was forced to stand with my 
hands held high. There was something artistic about the way my encircled 
wrists pulled my arms straight up. No doubt such nonsense was a sign of 
recovery. By the time Marjory showed up again, I was back to normal. 

"What an idiot I was to forget the gag," she apologized. "But I'll bet it 
did you good to have it in your mouth all this time. Now you know what every 
girl tastes like. Here, I'll pull my panties out and put them in the wash." 
She unbuckled the strap and plucked the offensive cloth from my mouth. Then 
my bruised lips were kissed again and again, and my nakedness was hugged. 
Mischievous fingers roamed over my body, exploring erotic zones as well as 
whip marks. I gasped in a strange and unexpected pleasure at such touches. 
Finally she backed away to meet me eye to eye. "I'm sure you're wondering 
what happens next, darling. Did you enjoy being whipped?" 

I did not answer her question, it seemed all together too silly. I suppose I 
could have been polite and said, "Yes, it was wonderful!" but that would 
have been even more silly. All I managed was to say, "I'm so tired, Marjory, 
can I get my arms back and sit down?" 

"Of course you can, darling." Marjory held up a length of cord for my 
inspection. "I brought this especially to celebrate the occasion." She 
pressed the button on the wall until my wrists were lowered to the level of 
my eyes. A moment later they were free and the bar was up and out of sight. 
Marjory massaged my wrists briefly before turning me around and crossing 
those wrists. "This is the first time I've tied you darling," she said. "I'm 
very good at tying up girls, and I promise you'll never wiggle yourself out 
of any knot of mine. A nice length of cord is a pleasant change from 
handcuffs. I'm sure you'll agree." 

I was turned and again kissed when my hands were secured. I blurted out a 
question, "Why did you do that horrible thing with your panties. I've read 
about it but it's not something you do to a girl you love, or even a friend. 
It's just plain horrible." 

"You see, darling, it did you some good! It's gorgeously humiliating and you 
should have seen the look on your face! But enough of that. Besides, it's 
just part of your training." Marjory ran her fingertips gently over my caned 
skin. When I winced and gasped, she pointed out reasonably enough, "See, 
darling, it's a good thing you don't wear clothes. Your skin is very tender 
on your bottom and breasts. And in between your thighs ... Clothes would 
simply be another punishment. Come along and have lunch with Allie and me. 
You can sit at her side and she'll feed you. I'm leaving your hands the way 
you are. You don't know it but you're really too adorable for words." 

I had been right about the walking, it rippled my skin to make it hurt, 
especially between my legs. When Marjory motioned me to a chair at the 
table, I gasped out an embarrassed, "But I can't possibly sit down!" 

"Yes, you can, dear. In fact, I insist on it. Push her down, Allie, and 
let's have no nonsense about it." 

There was a flat fire and then a slow burn with I handled with only a moan 
or two because I was finding an ally in the lovely heat beginning in my 
secret place, a heat with power to counter pain and leave me feeling good. 
Also pretty humble. I had never been whipped before and so presumed it was 
all a part of what had been done to me. Rejecting the idea of asking Marjory 
if this was always the case when girls were punished, I kept quiet. 

I was told that after lunch Allie would get me started on a holiday 
afternoon. I was being given the freedom of Palm Island and could roam where 
ever I chose or sleep. "It's a reward for good behavior," Marjory explained. 
"You put on the most marvelous display while I was whipping you, and you 
stayed away from hysterics and threats. You're a most definite asset in my 
group of girls. Run along, but be sure to be back before dinner." 

With Allie's fingers on my arm, I was guided out into the sunlight to a 
small tool shed which proved to contain what Allie lovingly described as 
"girlish restraints." She carefully selected a pair of anklets joined by a 
great many links of chain. The whole thing was heavy and might have been 
ominous had it not been so expensively made. I stood still for Allie to fit 
them on my ankles where they fitted like a glove. Laughingly, I kicked one 
foot to behold a swirl of sliver links which sang a metallic tune. In 
puzzlement at the length of chain, I asked the reason. 

"Because it looks good, darling," Allie assured me in perfect seriousness. 
"Every time you take a step the chain will do a sort of dance to tell you 
how proud it is to hobble such pretty feet." 

"You're just making that up." 

"But it's true, dear. Why don't you go for a trial run?" 

"I can't possibly run. I'll trip on my face." I took a few cautious steps 
and realized someone had spent a lot of money to insure my feet being 
hobbled. Returning in anxious caution, I pointed out, "But Allie, if I trip 
and fall I'm going to hurt myself. Please give me back my hands so I can 
fall and not hurt anything." 

My teenage jailer considered my request. "I suppose you're right, darling. 
I'm not suppose to untie any of Marjory's knots but we don't want you hurt 
and we do want you to have an enjoyable walk. You've become a part of Palm 
Island and you ought to have a look at it. Turn around." 

Even the simple act of turning around produced the metallic response. But I 
didn't care, I was going to have my hands again for the rest of the day. 
With Allie holding the discarded cord and laughing at my enthusiasm, I 
massaged my wrists and said far too many thank you's. I then was told to run 
along. 

It was the strangest feeling. As I walked across the grass, I tripped and 
fell a couple of times but freed hands saved me. Each time when I looked 
back, Allie was still watching. We waved in a sort of reassurance until the 
trees hide me from sight. There were several paths but I chose the one that 
Allie had used to lead me from the beach. I wanted to see the cage and also 
find out if my dingy was where I'd left it. Since the path was smooth I made 
good time, developing a technique in which I stumbled less and less. Often I 
kicked out at the shinning links to see them swirl and hear their response. 
I was beginning to enjoy myself. 

The cage was empty and that was a disappointment. I had looked forward to 
chatting with the girls without authority present. I felt sure they had 
things to tell me that Allie would keep silent about. I was not a bit sure 
about this halcyon island fantasy. Somewhere, unseen, were forces and powers 
to effect my life. Perhaps I was just being trained so I could be sold to 
some middle east brothel. Or they never intend to let me go. A lifetime 
sentence, and I didn't even do any crime other than to tell Rankin I didn't 
want to jump into bed with him. Knowing nothing about anything, I easily 
conceived any possibility. In the meantime I was a naked girl with chained 
feet learning how to walk. 

The cage was irresistible. I clinked my way to the door and found the bars 
unlocked. Cautiously I swung it wide so I could step inside a place I saw as 
a prison but which these islanders apparently saw as an amusing pause for 
girl talk. I spurred my chain to its very best effort as I progressed slowly 
to savor whatever aura captive girls might have left behind. A walk around 
the edges of the cage took a fair amount of time as the cage was larger than 
it looked. I found only a torn nylon and a batter shoe to show any human had 
ever been in here. The door was still opened when I returned to it. I 
clinked out of it, turned around, and wondered what girlish hopes had been 
shattered against those iron bars. 

I had to walk half way to the beach before feeling better. The dingy was 
still there but it had been pulled way up, beyond the highest tide, and was 
basking in the sun as if waiting for my return. Giggling over the handicap 
of chained feet, I managed to get back in and sit as I had sat during my 
terrible trip. On this occasion I did not even notice the pain of sitting 
down. 

The heat was still there, a comforting warmth in which I viewed my shackled 
feet, my dingy, and the island in a glow of benevolent tolerance. It was 
warm in the sun, and I soon slipped sideways into sleep. 

I don't think it was more than an hour when I awoke. Nothing had changed so 
I sat a while longer to dream my dreams, which were mostly a song of 
thankfulness over not becoming a lunch for sharks. I swung my feet over the 
side and continued my exploration up the beach. Strangely, I had become a 
very happy girl. 

I found a path and then another. Without them I could not have penetrated 
the forest for my chain would have been constantly snagged to make me 
helpless. As it was I picked the third path and kicked my links down the 
dirty path. I felt like singing. 

Marjory's grandpa much have had a Thing about cages. This one was much, much 
smaller and held a naked girl who clutched its bars with chained hands to 
watch with astonishment my approach. When I was close enough she said as 
though talking about the weather, "I'm Natalie. I was there when you were 
whipped this morning. Remember me?" 

I remembered well. She was a dark and flashing eyed beauty, fully up to the 
best standards of Palm Island. I showed her my whipped skin but she wasn't 
all that interested because she had seen whipped skin before. In fact, she 
turned around so I could see the fading wounds on her own back and bottom. 
"What you're looking at isn't an initiation, Celie, dear," she explained 
without concern. "I wrinkled my nose at Marjory when, she wasn't looking and 
what you see now is what I got for it. Please be careful. But those marks 
you've got are gorgeous, and I do envy you that first time. Didn't you find 
it wonderful?" 

"No, I didn't. It was too awful to even talk about. Natalie, 

"You'll find it a lot easier to take next time," she said casually. 
"Sometimes I've wanted it so badly I've provoked darling Marjory into having 
me whipped. It's the most wonderful aphrodisiac in the world. Don't tell me 
you're not horny?" 

"I certainly am not and I'd do anything to keep from being whipped again. 
That horny thing you're talking about is simply because you want a man." 
Slyly, I added, "Doesn't George or the gardener pick you for their favors 
once in a while?" 

"Hell, no! Those bastards have got a thing about a couple of the girls, 
those are all they use. A couple of us girls complained to Marjory about it 
but she says it's simply the luck of the draw and surely we're old enough to 
know how to play with each other." 

I might have said the same thing because here was a beautiful creature who, 
if she raised no spark in the local men, would certainly do so in a girl. I 
was beginning to have suspicions about Marjory but did not say so. Instead I 
asked, "How long have you been here on Palm Island?" 

"Oh, I've forgotten. Probably three or four years. I've been whipped more 
times than I can remember. It's a lovely place and I wouldn't leave it for 
the whole world." 

"Isn't that a contradiction?" 

"I suppose it is," Natalie said without concern. 

"This place turns everything upside down. I've got so I simply love being 
inside this cage and wearing these handcuffs. Has it got to you yet?" 

"Don't be silly! No girl loves something like that." 

"Well, I do. I expect what you really need is to be whipped again. Don't 
worry, you'll get it sooner or later." 

I would not get answers from Natalie. I did, however, have a terrible 
feeling that I was looking at myself in time to come. Hopefully, I inquired, 
"Can I let you out of that cage? Is there a key around?" 

"Of course not. There's never a key when you want it. And if you let me out, 
I don't know what I'd do then except come back inside and slam the door. 
Marjory takes a dim view of girls who manage to escape any situation she 
puts us in. I'm pretty sure I'm here for the day so don't think you have to 
stay around on my account. I'm not the sad and solitary prisoner you seem to 
think me. If you keep on up this path you'll find one or two other things of 
interest. Run along, darling." 

I could not begin to understand her satisfaction in being handcuffed and 
caged but that was her affair, and I resumed my exploration of the path, 
feeling pleased and self-satisfied over heated loins and Natalie's 
suggestion about feeling horny. If this was being horny, I was all for it. 
But strangely, I had no desire for a man. The last thing I wanted was George 
to chose me to penetrate. Thinking back to what I knew of male equipment, I 
felt only disgust. And I was still not certain my recently whipped sex would 
function without pain during normal sex. 

This one was tied on what appeared to be a sacrificial rock but which was 
actually a simple product of some natural process into which had been driven 
a number of ringbolts to enable to girl to be bound on the hard, rough 
surface in a dozen different ways. This one was nakedly spread with her arms 
above her head and special attention given to the binding of her feet far 
apart, which left her legs wide spread. Additional ropes were tied to her 
knees to spread them wide, leaving her private sex wide open and exposed. It 
was a pretty little mound of which its owner was obviously proud, because 
her first words left me thinking she was insane, "Do you like my cunt, 
darling? Most people would do things with it but I've been tied like this 
ever since you were whipped this morning and no one's passed by. Would you 
like to untie me, I'm terribly bored." 

At least it was a change. I recognized her as one more of the girls who had 
witnessed my shame. She said her name was Gloria and she loved being played 
with. It came as something of a sock to realize I had free hands and was 
able to do as she asked. But I was cautious enough to demand, "I'd love to 
untie you, Gloria, but is it allowed? I mean, what would happen to us then?" 

"Don't be so fussy. We'd both be whipped, of course." 

"I was whipped this morning, I don't want to be whipped again." 

"Well, I do. If you look, you won't find a mark on my skin anywhere. I 
haven't been whipped in the longest time. And those silly men chose Janet 
and Elsie to screw after they got a hard-on after watching you get whipped. 
I expect you saw Natalie in her cage, and you see me here like this. We 
weren't chosen. Please let me loose so I'll earn a punishment." 

"But I'd be punished, too!" 

"Yes, I expect that's true. Would you mind?" Here I was again back at the 
unexplainable. Here were gorgeous girls who all appeared mentally deviant 
the way a friend of mine used to describe as "not having all their marbles." 
My first impulse was to tear at the knots which held this beautiful girl 
spread-eagled on the rock, but I fought it. It was not my fault if she felt 
erotically arouse. And what I had learned of Palm Island so far left me 
thinking that she should stay tied. The prospect of she and I being whipped 
together if I let her loose was something I did not have the courage to 
face. I told Gloria this, then turned and continued on my way so that I 
would not have to argue the impossible with her. She called after me, 
"You'll be sorry, darling. One day you'll want the whip as bad as me." 

I simply shrugged and did not look back. I felt a bitch and did not enjoy 
the forest as much as I should have. My mind was filled with the girls and 
the shocking situations they found themselves in. And how they seemed to 
like those terrible situations. I was defeated in my wish to help. It 
appeared that no one on Palm Island needed help except me. And my walk, even 
with chained feet, had done me good. The exercise had made my wounds feel 
better. I could do nothing about the warmth in my loins. And when I found 
myself thinking of the attentions of George and Hank, I angrily expelled 
such notions from my mind. Seeing my fellow captives as brainwashed from 
being on Palm Island far too long. They were more than prey to Marjory's 
smile. But I had fallen victim to Marjory myself, so who was I to preach? 

Elsie was sitting naked on the grass. Beside her was a sizable iron ball 
with a chain running from it to the shackle on her ankle. She stood up and 
greeted me with laughter. "Look at the fix they've got me in, Celie," she 
said as if exhibiting something of great value. "This damned ball weighs 
eighty pounds, and the key to the shackle is a mile back down the road. I'm 
supposed to push or carry this damned ball that far in order to get loose. 
If I'm still attached to it at five o'clock, I get whipped." She paused. 
"It's so nice to get to know you. I was present when you got whipped this 
morning. I must say you put on a marvelous performance. I suppose that was 
your first time?" 

"And I hope my last," I retorted bitterly. "I've never known such awful pain 
in all my life." I paused to look at the massive hunk of iron. "But, Elsie, 
if you've got to move that ball that far, shouldn't you get going? You'll 
never do it sitting down." 

"I moved it about ten feet and decided that was plenty. I decided I'd rather 
be whipped. That's why I was sitting down." 

"But being whipped is terrible punishment. Look, if I give you a hand, can 
the two of us work it down the path?" 

"That's sweet of you, Celie. But the chain is far too short and there's no 
way I want to try picking it up. At the best I'd probably get half way and 
then be whipped anyway. Let's sit down and talk about something else." 

I went to where Elsie stood and bent down to her ball. I got the best grip I 
could but the iron ball defeated my efforts to lift it. I took a deep breath 
and tried again, this time getting it two or three inches off the ground. 

"They told me it weighed eighty pounds," she said, "for all I care it could 
weigh a ton. They're laughing at us." 

I turned my attention to the chain and the heavy band of steel around Elsie 
slim ankle. Everything was solid and fit perfectly. The keyhole in the 
shackle laughed up at me. Cautiously I lowered my injured seat to the grass. 

"If you can't get your feet free, how would you expect to get this off me?" 
she asked reasonably. "But they're terribly attractive on a girl's ankle, 
don't you think. Marjory must have spent a fortunate to make us pretty." 

I looked at her but she was serious. She added, "I haven't been whipped for 
about ten days. I expect you've seen the last of my marks." She giggled. 
"I'm looking forward to it." 

Here we went again! "You have to be kidding," I protested. "No girl can 
possibly want to be hurt the way I was this morning!" I paused to give her 
another look. "But you're absolutely right about these ankle chains, they're 
beautiful in their own way. If we ever escaped from this island, we could 
start a new trend." 

"We can't escape, no girl ever has. I don't want to anymore, I know when I'm 
well off. And it will be the same with you if you give it time. Palm Island 
is beautiful and the things they do to us are cute. It's a good thing us 
girls have got George and Hank to help us out because everything Marjory or 
that younger sister of hers does makes us girls horny as all get out. You 
wait awhile, darling, and you'll be rubbing up against those two middle aged 
old farts, yourself." 

I had to laugh. Elsie was dry with the joke always on herself. Slyly, I 
interjected, "I hear those two only favor you and Janet. What you get, the 
other girls don't." 

"We're simply nice to the old boys and laugh at their jokes. And we ask 
their advice on how to be good girls. It's the oldest female trick in the 
world. I'm surprised Gloria and Natalie haven't caught on. I'd put them wise 
about how to act but Janet and I don't want to share the wealth. Hank and 
George aren't as young as they used to be. They're pretty good, but at their 
best men are pretty limited. By the way, if you want to watch me whipped 
this evening, I'm sure Marjory will let you. She's terribly sweet." 

Here it was again, a jumble of reactions I could scarcely understand. I 
could almost laugh about George and Hank but there was nothing laughable 
about whips and canes. Meeting impossible head on, I demanded, "You can't 
possibly be telling the truth when you talk about your enjoyment in being 
whipped. I don't believe you want to be whipped this evening any more than I 
do. I can understand your giving up the battle with this iron ball, that 
makes sense. But I'd be in a dither of apprehension if I were in your 
shoes." 

"If you were in my shackle," she corrected. "Look, I know you can't really 
understand the attitude us girls have towards punishment. But you're new and 
you'll pick it up as you go along. I'm sure your feet aren't chained as a 
punishment, it's just another of Marjory's cute ideas. But I'll bet you 
don't feel half as bad about it as you would have out back in the world you 
came from." 

"Well ... Maybe not. But everything is so different. Have you and the others 
reconciled yourselves to being prisoners her for life?" 

"Of course we have, silly! It's a perpetual holiday. The only black cloud on 
our horizon is when Marjory sells one of us. The girl simply disappears and 
that's the last we see of her. But she's always replaced by another, just 
like you!" 

"You mean Marjory actually sells girls? Wouldn't that make her a slave 
trader?" I shivered at the thought. 

"I suppose there are many names you could use. But every once in a while a 
man will show up and we'll be paraded for his inspection. What you have to 
play for is to be Marjory's favorite. That girl never has to stand in line." 
Elsie giggled. "We're always hoping young Allie will absent-mindedly get in 
the line up some time and get herself sold. It's just a pleasant little 
fantasy because Allie's a real sweet kid. Have you decided to come and watch 
me get whipped?" 

"You seem to want me to, so I'll ask Marjory's permission." 

"You do that, darling. I hope I can kick the way you did. But I'm sure I'll 
put on a pretty good show. Look, isn't it time you were headed back? I don't 
suppose you'll break any speed records the way you're fixed." 

I raised Elsie's shackled ankle to my lips and kissed it in some sort of 
emotion I can't explain. But it seemed pleasant to my companion for when we 
lightly kissed as girls do, we had nothing more to say. When I looked back 
at the end of a hundred yards, she was still sitting there and gave me a 
wave. My links swirled as I resumed my march. 

Allie freed my ironed ankles, but first took the precaution of handcuffing 
my wrists. I was thus robbed of that wonderful moment of complete freedom 
from rope or chain. She did it in the manner one used to keeping girls from 
having such minor freedom. "I'll give you a bath, darling, and then it will 
be dinner time. I suppose you've met all the girls, what do you think of 
them?" 

"They're all crazy! They seem to like the horrible way they're treated." 

"Of course they do, Celie. I like it, Marjory likes it. They know how lucky 
they are to be ... Chosen." 

"Don't you mean kidnapped?" 

"That's an awful word, Celie. Would you tell someone you'd been kidnapped?" 

"Was I really kidnapped? It seemed to me I was sort of collected on the 
beach." 

"You were already handcuffed, Celie dear, so it made everything so easy. 
When a girl is handcuffed the way you were, it's a sort of introduction, as 
though you'd arrived with good references. See what I mean?" 

I could see what she meant but refrained from getting myself in another 
tangle of attitudes. I had to admit I could become addicted to Allie giving 
me a bath. It was a delightful pleasure which no one could really criticize. 
True, she soaped my pussy much more than necessary, but that felt good. But 
girls are inclined to do that to each other anyplace. Her attentions added 
to the fire I already carried deep inside, but I refused to consider it or 
mention it. I simply went along with this bubbly young thing to join Marjory 
in the dining room where, over a cocktail, I was made to recount my 
adventures of the afternoon. I was assured I did remarkably well to cover 
such a distance with ironed feet. As usual, everything was as jolly as all 
get out. 

Everything was rich and pleasant and luxurious, which tended to make me 
forget the handcuffs and recall the captive girl's opinion that we never had 
it so good. As far as I knew I wasn't going to be punished for anything so I 
could just be an honored guest. I worked hard at it until I remembered the 
girl who would be whipped that evening. Timidly, I asked, "May I please be 
present when Elsie is punished later this evening? She seemed to want me 
there to watch." 

"And what are you going to watch, dear?" 

"She's going to be whipped, isn't she? That's what she expects." 

"Does she now! I think we'd better give that young lady a surprise. She's 
all together too fond of corporal punishment. If I remember, she was whipped 
about ten days ago." Marjory gave me a shrew glance. "Remember, dear, it can 
become addictive. I don't suppose you believe that now but you will. Sure 
you can watch Elsie's punishment, but you'll find it a bore. Come along, 
we'll have coffee in the lounge." 

"Did I say something I shouldn't?" I asked after Allie had given us our 
cups. "I mean I wouldn't want to get Elsie into trouble. She seemed a nice 
girl, I liked her." 

"Do I detect a hint of disapproval?" 

"Oh, no!" I should keep my mouth shut about these things. 

"Well ... Let's forget it until it's time to go downstairs. In the meantime, 
you can tell us about your life on Rankin's yacht." 

"There isn't much to tell. He took away my clothes in front of all his other 
guests. I struggled but it did no good. Then to make me more easily 
accessible, he put those handcuffs on my wrists behind my back the way you 
found me. When I kicked a couple of his friends in a place where it hurts a 
man, that's when he dumped me in the dingy and cast me adrift. When I was 
invited for a cruise, I didn't expect that he would try to turn me into the 
main attraction at a gang bang." 

"Were you the only loose girl he had on board?" 

"There were half a dozen who didn't have escorts and most weren't any 
happier than I. Probably they're floating around in dinghies across the 
Pacific. I'm sure Rankin had enough handcuffs to secure an army of girls." I 
cocked a questioning eye. "I sort of had the feeling Rankin knew where he 
was sending me. Isn't there some sort of current that's predictable?" 

"Darling, I'm the one who asks the questions. Your story sounds about par 
for the course. And now, since you're so interested, I'll ask Allie to take 
you to where Elsie gets her big surprise. Run along, darlings." 

This time it was not a bedroom. A highly amused young woman led me down a 
flight of stairs and a long corridor with doors on each side. Allie took me 
to one door and opened it. Inside was a pleasant room with high windows 
providing some fading sunlight to help remove the taint of being below 
ground. The room contained nothing except a girl and a box. The girl was 
Elsie and her hands had been tied behind her back. Her presence appeared 
voluntary for I saw no chain by which she was compelled to stand. She was 
obviously pleased to see us but her greeting was loaded with apprehension. 
For me it was a simple "Hi, pussycat," but for Allie it was an urgent plea, 
"Darling, please whip me. Don't punishment me some other way." 

"Why do you want to be whipped, Elsie, as if I didn't know." 

"You don't have to be kind about it, Allie. Or doesn't she wish to bother 
with it?" 

"She knows how much you adore being whipped, Elsie dear, so this time you'll 
get punished another way." 

Elsie let out with a wail of despair. "When I was told to come to this room, 
I knew you'd lock me in this lousy box. But, Allie, darling, can't you 
persuade Marjory to give me twice as many strips with the whip? I'll go 
crazy in that box." 

The box didn't seem all that bad to me, I would certainly have chosen it in 
preference to being whipped. But I was seeing only half of the picture. Poor 
Elsie was quite frantic and was tearing at bound wrists as though her life 
depended upon getting them apart. "I don't mind that lousy box so much," she 
demanded of Allie, "but it's what you put inside there with me. What's it 
going to be this time?" 

I gathered that Elsie was prone to punishment. She had seen everything 
before and it was now a case of trying to cut her loses. I do not know if it 
was fear or a belief she could soften Allie's heart that now drove her to 
her knees as a pitiful prisoner begging for mercy. Kneeling there, the made 
one of the prettiest pictures of a girl I have ever seen. Her voice throbbed 
with pain. "I'll go crazy, honest I will. Please whip me instead. I know I 
get a charge out of being whipped, but it lasts less than ten strokes and 
after that I'm hurting the same as anyone else. Please ... !" 

It was hard to realize that Allie, who was stripped naked and handcuffed the 
same as the rest of us, should hold so much power in her hands. But she 
lifted up the lid of the massive crate to demand, "Get in here, Elsie, and 
stop your beefing! You know perfectly well you earned a punishment, so why 
complain about getting it. Get inside!" 

Poor Elsie looked at Allie then at me, but there was nothing I could do but 
stand and watch as she sat on the edge of the box to swing her legs up and 
over the side so she could stand within. All the time her hands wiggled and 
strained at the ropes holding them. "I don't mind being shut inside this 
box," she told us. "But I know you're going to put something in there with 
me. What is it?" 

"You're being given a choice, darling." Allie was enjoying her position of 
power. "We've got a box full of those big ants. We've also got several mice. 
Or you can have that cute little dog the cook keeps for a pet. But, of 
course, we all know what a little doggie does to a girl whose legs are tied 
wide apart. Does anything appeal to you?" 

"The dog," Elsie said decisively. "I'll take the dog. I don't want ants and 
mice up my puss. I don't want that dog, either. I think you're being 
terribly mean." Then she added, "Can I have my hands free?" 

"Don't be silly, of course you can't. Now sit down and let me do the straps. 
This isn't your first time, you know what to do." 

She sat down to allow Allie to move a portion of the top separate from the 
lid. The result was a flushed and anxious face above a neck locked firmly by 
two boards with a hole cut in the middle. Her hands were already behind her 
back so I realized how helpless she was going to be. But Allie raised each 
ankle and strapped it high up on the side of the box so that Elsie's sex was 
wide open and staring at us. "If that damned dog bits my pussy off, it's 
going to be all your fault," Elsie stated bitterly. "I think you and Marjory 
are being terribly mean to me." After a second she added, obviously with 
little hope, "Are you sure you wouldn't rather whip me?" 

Allie was unfailingly cheerful. I could tell this was a task she had done 
many times before. "If you keep on asking to be whipped, darling, I'll be 
glad to whip you after you've had the box punishment. But it won't be simply 
those ten strokes you get such a charge out of. I'd say about thirty stripes 
would be about right ...? And some of them up between your legs ...? Would 
you like that, dear?" 

Elsie simply sniffed and keep silent. While Allie went to fetch the dog, I 
asked in real concern, "Do this sort of thing happen very often? I mean, 
this sort of punishment?" 

"It wouldn't be happening now if I'd had a lick of sense," Elsie admitted 
sadly. "I expect I would have hauled that damned ball back to the key if I'd 
really tried. But being whipped isn't all that bad a punishment for me and I 
hadn't expected this. I'm going to hard every minute I'm fastened in here, 
and Fido's snout and tongue working over my pussy. That dog's been trained, 
you know, to go right for a girl's cunt and lick it until she's ready to 
scream. Marjory's cute, she knows what girls don't like." 

The dog was a friendly terrier and, judging by his waging tail and the way 
he ran around and around the box, I felt pretty sure he'd kept other girls 
company. He knew what was going to happen. Allie dropped him in the box and 
closed and locked the lid. Elsie's punishment had begun. 

"You said you wanted to watch Elsie's punishment, and here you are. Stick 
around as long as you like, I can't be bothered so I'll go back upstairs. I 
expect you'll want to be a real heroine and get your hands loose so you can 
get Elsie out of there. But I'll put a stop to those notions right now. Come 
here, Celie, while I put your hands behind your back. It's by far the best 
place for them." 

The exchange was swift, there wasn't much I could do. In the space of a 
minute I was alone in the big room and the box containing a naked and 
obscenely spread girl. Angrily I tugged at the handcuffs which made me 
helpless but, as usual, they were far too tight and I was now veteran enough 
in captivity not to chafe my wrists needlessly. What I was most interested 
in was Elsie's flushed features as her head swung this way and that in 
rebellion against her confinement. It didn't take much imagination to know 
what was taking place inside the box. 

"The little son of a bitch has had be like this before," Elsie said in 
between gasps. "He's damned clever, and if you stay here and watch, you'll 
see me have about fifteen orgasms in a row." 

"But does he hurt you?" 

"Sometimes he bites a little. But he doesn't hurt in the way you're 
thinking. Gosh, Celie, I wish I'd worked at the damned ball. Ohhhh!" 

"I did offer to help." 

"Oh, sure, but I was expecting to be whipped. It just goes to show a girl 
shouldn't be too certain of anything on this damned island. Ohhhh! God, 
that's terrible and wonderful at the same time!" 

"Can't you get your hands loose? If you could, you could just push the dog 
away." I knew it was a sorry effort but it was all I could do. 

"Don't make me laugh. No girl on the island has ever worked her hands loose. 
Or her feet, or her neck, or anything else. You ought to know that by now. 
Oh, damn, I don't think this lousy dog every stops for breath. I'm wide open 
and I can't do a thing about it." 

The box and what was inside was not conducive to conversation. I knew myself 
watching in anxiety as Elsie's face mirrored what was taking place below. I 
watched her blossom into one orgasm and then another. As though anxious to 
keep me informed, she gasped the outrageous details as to what Fido was 
doing. Elsie was not short on communication, nor was she unwilling to use 
the most graphic terms. "I'd be enjoying this if it wasn't such a shaming 
act." She paused for a few moments to close her eyes and arch her head 
backward as far as it would go. I think it was orgasm number three. I could 
just imagine her trying to arch her body inside it's confinement as the 
strong emotion swept over her nerves. "Look, Celie," she finally gasped out, 
"if you ever draw this punishment, maybe you should decide on the mice or 
the ants. What I mean is, a couple of orgasms is wonderful but when it goes 
on and one I start to curl up inside and there's not a thing I can do about 
it. This is one time I really wish I could close my legs." 

I wondered how much sympathy I should offer. Elsie was probably always in 
trouble. Had I been in her place, I would have chosen Fido against the whip. 
A small, perverted part of my mind whispered that such a punishment might be 
considered no punishment at all! That small part wondered how this helpless 
girl must be feeling and even went so far as to wonder when I might find my 
body held helpless open for Fido's attention. 

When I made a modest query, she retorted in a gasping voice, "This is only 
the second time Fido's had me. I haven't got used to this. Maybe I never 
will. I don't think a girl could ever get used to this. Ohhhh! Maybe you 
should go away, Celie. I'm embarrassed to be doing this in front of you. 
Gosh!" 

The last word marked the beginning of orgasm number four. I was amazed that 
she could be reaching orgasms so fast. And that little, nasty part of my 
mind wondered if I could do that, too! 

A time later she returned to his world. "Stay if you want," she gasped out, 
"but I'll behave shamefully." 

Feeling equally shamed and disloyal, I tiptoed from the room. 

 CHAPTER 3 A Tree, a Beach, and a Chained Girl 

"You're beautifully predictable, Celie. I wondered how long it would take 
you to show up." Marjory wrinkled her nose with amusement. "Come on, girl, 
let's have it. You think Elsie's going to die in that box, or maybe you're 
going to offer to take her place. I've heard it all before, you know, so 
make it good." 

It was a bad beginning. I wiggled my nakedness and blushed in embarrassment. 
"I couldn't bear it," I said as forcible as I could. What you're doing to 
Elsie is indecent and obscene. It's terrible and not to be done to a girl. 
Not the kind of thing I would have expected of you. Please release her, 
she's had enough." 

"How do you know she's had enough?" 

"I've been down there watching. Some of it was horrible. She can't move and 
that dog does what he likes with her." 

"Yes, that's the punishment. I'm sure Elsie will extract some pleasure." 

I knew myself against a brick wall. Once again the whole business of captive 
girls and whips and punishments got the best of me. "You make me hate it 
here," I blurted out in anger. "This island's a beautiful place but you make 
it ugly with girls in cages, and whippings, and horrible punishments like 
that box! Please, Marjory, I don't belong here, let me go!" 

"You're being silly, Celie, you belong here just as much as any other girl. 
If you're really all that unhappy, I can arrange to sell you to a brothel. 
Would you be happier there?" 

"You know I wouldn't. Don't you see that. I've only been here a couple days 
and what I can see of my future scares me. Please release Elsie from that 
box." 

"Would you care to take her place?" If I had wiggled before, I wiggled twice 
as much now. 

Marjory held all the cards and all any of us girls could do was to get used 
to defeat. I wailed, "Of course I don't want to be put in that box. I think 
it's awful and horrible and shouldn't happen to any girl. Please forgive 
poor Elsie." 

Marjory was enjoying herself. I really did think that she had heard all this 
before. With a sweetness that governed most of her speech, she slyly 
suggested, "I expect I could offer you other ways to buy Elsie's release. 
How about another whipping? Or that lovely skin still unmarked. There's you 
back, you know. And that hurts worse than your bottom." 

I was curling up inside in pure fear, my mind a tumult of emotions. With the 
instinct of a child, I threw myself at Marjory's legs and thrust my head 
hard into her lap, trying to get my face out of sight. I had no hands, they 
were safely chained where I could not use them and spent my anger as best I 
could by wetting her dress with tears and offending her ears with sobs I 
could not control. Her fingers began a play with my hair until their tender 
touch brought me back. Her voice was soft and infinitely warm. 

"You silly goose, I should have known better than to let you go down there 
and watch. You're new and take everything so seriously. But I'll let you get 
away with something just this once." 

Marjory pressed a buzzer and when Allie appeared, issued a crisp command, 
"Allie, my pet, go and get that ridiculous girl out of that box, and put the 
dog back where it belongs. And give Elsie the whipping she claims she wants. 
You know Elsie so giver as many strokes as you think she deserves. I really 
don't care if it's six or sixty. Then let her go completely free. That will 
make a nice contrast and show the silly girl we have a heart." 

I had listened and learned. Marjory pushed down my flood of thanks. "You 
should be happy now, Celie. But don't think you can cozen me again. In some 
ways you're a sweet child who easily wiggled herself into my heart. Try to 
keep it that way. Here, I'll release your hands so you'll have a bit of 
freedom, too. But I suggest you don't go down and watch Elsie's whipping. I 
don't want you running up here and complaining about that, too." 

I could have kissed Marjory's feet. I scrambled erect, turned my back, and, 
when my hands were free, I said with a terrible sincerity, "Thanks don't 
seem enough, Marjory. Is there anything I can say or do?" 

"The only thing I want of you, darling, is that you be happy. Never champion 
naughty girls, and never be naughty yourself. I expect Allie will want you 
to sleep with you tonight and you can tell her you don't have to be chained. 
Tomorrow is another day and I'll put you through a series of discomforts and 
restraints until you become like one of my girls. It really does get into 
your blood and you become one of us. It shouldn't take all that long." 

* * * 

After breakfast the following day, it was to Allie who took my arm but 
Gloria who was as naked as me. When we got out of the house she laughed at 
my bewilderment, explaining that the girls are often made to punish each 
other. And that even everyone's favorite, young Allie was not immune. She 
told me Allie often got herself into trouble. We were all one happy family. 

I was happy and suddenly knew I was happy. Elsie had served her sentence, 
breakfast was a delight, and Gloria's hand was not clutching my arm but held 
one of mine in the manner of two girls out for a walk. 

"Am I supposed to do something to you, or are you going to do something to 
me?" I asked doubtfully. "Surely we haven't been given this freedom just to 
have a walk?" 

"I'm going to do something to you, Celie. You probably won't like it much 
because it's shockingly frustrating, but it's in pleasant surrounds and 
could be a lot worse. You'll do what you're told?" 

"Oh, sure, I've been all over and over that. I can't get off this island and 
it isn't worth it to try and hide in the bushes. I'll let you tie me." 

The clearing had two young saplings. From each a rope was hang and at its 
end a noose. My day of discomfort was now predictable. 

"I'll show you how it works," Gloria said reasonably as she grabbed one of 
the ropes, planted her foot against the slender trunk. The tree bend. When 
she let go the rope, the tree straightened back up to send the noose 
dancing. 

I got the drift and gazed at my companion in woeful resignation. 

"It's even worse than you're thinking," she laughed. "Stand in between there 
and give me one of your hands." 

"You mean you're not going to tie my wrist but just leave it in a noose? A 
common old slip knot?" I asked as she raised my arm to the circlet. She had 
to bend the tree over once more. When it sprang back my hand and arm went 
with it. I was then dragged to one side and the process repeated with my 
other hand and the other tree, to leave me in the middle with both saplings 
bent and pulling on my arms. The pull wasn't painful but it was enough to 
keep the slip knot tight. If I pulled the tree the tree came. I could even 
do this both hands at once. But when I let go each tree sprang back. 

"You see, darling, it's always taut so your wrists don't have to be tied. 
You can tug at the noose all you like but you'll never get your hand free. 
These two trees are like springs. Do you want to chat a while or should I 
leave you to it?" 

"Don't leave me like this, Gloria. Gee, I can't do a damned thing. I'm 
expected to stand her with my arms up in the air all day? Jeepers, this is 
no way to spend a day!" 

"Don't fuss, darling, I said you probably wouldn't like it. I've had this 
one done to me and it's frustrating as all get out. Why don't you try and 
get loose? I know you can't but you still have to find that out for 
yourself." 

I needed no encouragement. I twisted and tugged and squirmed, but could 
never achieve enough slack to get the rope off my wrist. Abjectly, I agreed, 
"So, okay, Gloria, I have to stand and put up with it. But won't the tug of 
these trees begin to hurt after a while?" 

"Sure they will, but that's part of your Palm Island day. You can bet 
Marjory's up in the house and laughing. Would you like me to make you come? 
If I go about it slowly, we can kill maybe half an hour of your day." 

I looked into Gloria's eager eyes and knew how easy it would be to say yes. 
In fact, I would have welcomed her playful fingers for the full term of my 
sentence, the whole day. But I was pretty sure I'd feel worse afterwards to 
be thus shamed. Dismally I expressed my thanks and regrets, then watched 
Gloria's lovely bottom wiggled as she walked back to the house. I was alone. 

Whenever I felt like it, I pulled and then the tree pulled back. Try as I 
would I could get no slack and therefore not free myself. Once in a while I 
gave myself the luxury of a scream, which didn't help much beyond relieving 
some frustration. Slowly the hours passed. 

I was overjoyed when Marjory walked into view to make a routine inspection 
of a girl in training to be a slave. Everything was now predictable, and my 
greeting was not very original, "Please untie me, Marjory! There's no way I 
can get out of these ropes. Please set me free." 

Marjory had heard it before. She put her finger on my lips and said, 
"Naughty, naughty! You're not supposed to demand freedom when you know fully 
well your sentence is not yet over. Would you like me to play with your 
pussy and those lovely tits?" 

"No, please don't! I'd only feel worse afterward. I've been standing like 
this for hours, surely you wouldn't be breaking any rules by setting me 
free?" 

"Aren't you enjoying it, darling?" The question hit me like a blow because 
when I came to think of it, I'd been having fun. Every time I pulled, the 
tree pulled back. And every time I jumped around, it achieved nothing more 
than to stoke the fire burning in my loins. The heat was now very much a 
part of me and ceased to be remarkable. But in my silly contest with two 
trees, it made my inevitable defeat bearable in a way that once would not 
have happened. In surly fashion, I retorted, "So I've become infected, I'm 
getting pleasure in this sort of thing, just like your other girls. But I 
still would hate to be whipped. Yes, I had some fun, but I but I still wish 
you'd let me loose." 

"You haven't been with us long enough, dear," Marjory said softly as she 
took possession of the area between my legs and bent here head to reach my 
nipples with her lips. Her free hand amused itself with my other breasts. It 
was a powerful stimulus against which I had no defense other than to kick 
and I knew better than to do that. Soon I was gasping and moaning as girls 
do when granted orgasm. I will admit her fingers and tongue were very good. 
Very good indeed! But whenever my gasping told her I was close to that 
orgasm, she withdrew her palm from my sex and took to kissing my lips 
instead. I'm ashamed to tell of how hungrily I kissed her back. Taking her 
time, Marjory eventually brought me to the promised orgasm into which I 
exploded with all the force she desired. Panting and fighting chaffed 
wrists, I was left alone to serve out the balance of my day. 

The little trees played with me as children might play with dolls. No matter 
how I pulled, they always won the contest because I would tire out but they 
would not. In defeat I simply stood between the slender trunks to hope for 
nothing more than release. I was eager to return to the big house and 
Marjory's tenderness. 

When Allie finally set me free, I could have cried aloud with joy I had 
gotten to where I could now really enjoy our formal dinner. Marjory was a 
fine hostess and Allie could be relied upon for giggles. Casually that 
evening there was inserted into our conversation one more shock. 

"Allie has a favor she wants to ask of you," informed Marjory as she eyed my 
handcuffs with approval. "Allie, go ahead and tell her your good news." 

Allie blushed but managed her standard giggle as she said, demurely, "I've 
been a bad girl and I have to be whipped, Celie. Marjory thinks it would be 
a nice idea if it were you who gives me my punishment. Please say you will, 
I'd like that so much." 

They were laughing at me but I was not certain why. Probably it was the 
expression on my face for I was once more confused. "I couldn't possibly 
whip you, Allie," I said. "I wouldn't know how. And, anyway, I couldn't 
possibly bring myself to be that unkind to you. Tell me you're joking." 

Allie's blush deepened. "Honest, Celie, we're not joking. I called Marjory a 
four letter word and said a few other things I should have kept quiet about. 
I really do deserve to be whipped and you mustn't let it bother you." 

"The other girls have whipped each other at one time or another. I made 
certain of this because it's part of your training," Marjory explained. 
"After your first embarrassment wears off, you'll enjoy whipping the little 
so and so. Allie enjoys being whipped so you don't have to feel guilty about 
that." 

"I absolutely love the first few stripes across where I sit down," Allie 
interrupted. "When you're doing it to me, you can tell. Marjory's being 
awful sweet about it." 

It was crazy. My first instinct was to refuse, but they were both looking at 
me so lovingly that I could not have said no to anything they wanted. 
Absurdly there flashed through my mind the memory of the afternoon spent 
standing between two little trees and my body very much available. In my 
loneliness I had considered the idea of Allie mischievously cutting a few 
switches and using them to whip my pussy. I had dismissed the erotic vision 
as just a fantasy generated by overheated sex. And now, as I envisioned the 
vibrant teenager looking at me with such sparkling eyes, I knew that, for 
better or worse, I was stuck with a job I would have once deemed impossible. 
My sex burned brightly. 

"I am not going to the bedroom because I want you two girls to do the job 
together. You won't need me, Celie, because Allie can tell you anything you 
want to know. It's a lovely idea and she's such a sweetheart. If I didn't 
punish her once in a while, she'd just become too much." 

"Well, if you don't mind me making a fool of myself ... " 

"Before we talk," Marjory sparkled at us, "I want to tell you, Celie, that 
you absolutely must whip Allie between her legs. She doesn't like that so 
it's highly beneficial. Isn't that right, Allie?" 

The teenager sniffed and wrinkled her nose in distaste but said nothing. 
Marjory had evidently touched a nerve and we now switched the conversation 
to fresh subjects with Allie beaming at my embarrassment and me unable to 
think of much else. I wondered if I would be able to go through with it, but 
in the light of Marjory's assurance that if my strokes lacked vigor, I would 
receive the same punishment myself. 

I didn't enjoy the coffee all that much. It was the first time I had seen 
Allie without her pretty handcuffs, but she carried them in her hand as we 
climbed the stairs to Marjory's bedroom. "You have to put them on me the 
first moment it's all over," she explained as she put them on the dresser. 
"I didn't want Marjory to take them off, it feels so funny. Celie, darling, 
I'm so grateful you're not being silly about this." 

I was instructed on using the controls and with a little practice managed 
the up or down movements of the cylinder of memory. Now I was going to strap 
Allie's wrists were mine had once been. It was all beautiful and at the same 
time terribly cruel. The girl I was going to have to whip threw her arms 
around me before sedately standing on the fatal spot and fitting the young, 
slender wrists within the straps. Both of us were breathing heavily. 

While I tugged at the straps we were standing close. I was flooded with 
vibrations while the teenager stuck out her slender wrists. And perhaps she 
felt my own vibes in return. Both of us were smelling strongly of girl scent 
in wave after wave. When I pressed the button to raise the darling's arms, I 
knew I had never seen anything more beautiful. 

"Your courage holding up okay?" my victim inquired. "We mustn't let Marjory 
down so I'll have to have some fairly good marks to show when we go back 
downstairs." 

"Who said anything about going downstairs?" Allie was suddenly afire. 

"Oh, darling, you are catching on! You mean you'll keep me strapped up like 
this and whip me until bedtime!" 

I felt a tingle race over my spine and my sex grew warmer. "Is that what you 
want, you little silly thing?" 

"Of course it is, darling. I'd lover the first half and hate the second. 
It's a beautiful contrast. But I really would like to save that whipping up 
between my legs for the second half, if you don't mind. It belongs there for 
sure. I hate it!" 

There was a fine array of instruments for the marking of a girl's skin. I 
was in a dither of apprehension along with a natural distaste for hurting 
this vibrant young creature I had strapped up. I chose the slenderest of the 
riding crops and, without a pause for thought, slashed it as hard as I could 
across the young bottom. The line of impact was first white, then red, and 
then crimson. I stared in horror at what I had done. The girl I had cropped 
tensed as though thrusting at an invisible barrier. She was suddenly panting 
and emitting small sounds I could not name. But while I stood transfixed, 
she looked back over an arm to show eyes bright with mischief and to 
whisper, "That was gorgeous, darling. Give me another." 

My second blow was less panic stricken than the first but under an impulse I 
could not control, it was every bit as severe. With a gasp of pain, Allie 
accused, "You've done this before, Celie. You're so good at it, this can't 
possibly be your first time." 

I was suddenly very much in charge. I did not have to answer questions. And, 
to tell the truth, I was very much on fire from the two wicked lines I had 
placed on her tender skin. With a force I'm ashamed of, I struck again to 
leave a third imprint. The result was the same, a scarlet line formed. I 
paused to meet this amazing child face to face, to say without thinking, 
"I've used a whip before in my life. There must be something wrong with me. 
I'm terrible ashamed but I loved it! Each of those terrible strokes was 
wonderful!" 

I took the panting girl in my arms to whisper in her ear, "Nobody's told me 
how many strokes I'm suppose to give you. Tell me the number." 

"There isn't any number, Celie, dear, just so long as you put enough marks 
on me to show that I've been properly whipped. Just think of it, I'm all 
yours!" 

I realized the lovely teenager was infected like all the rest. And I must be 
infected because of the joy I felt in punishing this girl. I was almost 
panting as I envisioned how I could make her scream and leap in agony. 
Between us there was a force I could not understand. 

Perhaps to ease my conscious, I demanded, "Do you really want me to go on 
whipping you like this? Tell me the truth." 

"Of course I do!" Allie's tone was enthusiastic. "If this is really your 
first time, you'd better give me a stroke or two with everything in the 
collections. Don't ignore the straps, they give a quite different kind of 
pain. Get going, darling, follow the urge." 

In some sort of carnal orgy I can't explain, I cut at the pretty young 
bottom with one wicked thing after another and found myself intrigued with 
the truly wicked crack with which the leather straps kissed the tender young 
bottom. Allie's tolerance was hard to understand, but her sounds and motions 
were pure beauty. And if I slowed, she always gave me encouragement to 
continue. She assured me she deserved her punishment. Dazed in disbelief, I 
did as I was told while the glow spread hot and heavy in my loins. 

I could tell when Allie wasn't enjoying it anymore. Especially when a sad, 
young voice told me it was time to stop thrashing her bottom and find 
another target. I walked around in front and this time beheld a young woman 
desperately holding on to courage. My judgment was instant. "You've had 
enough, Allie. Why can't we leave it at that?" 

"Because Marjory said you were to put some of the strokes up between my 
legs." 

I shuttered, remembering my own pain. "Does that hurt you?" I asked, 
wondering if it was the same terrible pain for all girls. 

"Oh, yes! It's the most terrible thing in the world! But, Celie, please 
don't quite on me now." 

I stood there with legs wide spread and panting almost as much as poor 
Allie. There was a narrow leather strap in my hand. Something told me that 
it would be a better whip to use on her pussy than one of those thin thongs 
that would cut the flesh. But that narrow strap would hurt, I just knew it. 

"Is this the best whip to use between your legs, Allie?" I asked. 

"Use whatever you think best," was her reply. I saw fear in her eyes, but 
heard not a word of protest or instructions to use some other instrument. 

Taping her thighs with the strap, I ordered, "Open your legs." 

The teenager spread her legs wide as she could, which wasn't too wide 
considering that her wrists were high over her head and wouldn't come down. 
When she reached the maximum width, I took my stance before her and let the 
strap's end fall loosely to the floor. Our eyes met and riveted together. 
There was an exchange of messages, although later I couldn't put into words 
what we said. She knew she was going to suffer pain, pain beyond those 
earlier strokes which had brought her some sort of pleasure. This would be 
real pain and she would hurt. My eyes told her that I understood but would 
never think of holding my hand or easing the strength of my stroke. If a 
girl is to be whipped on her sex, it should be as hard as my arm could make 
it. 

I swung the strap upward. It cracked and Allie screamed. For a few seconds 
she danced on air, feet wildly jerking around with no real purpose, just a 
reaction to incredible pain. I wondered if I had looked like that when my 
pussy was whipped. I just stood there, stunned, as I watched her contort. 

When her dance calmed down, she turned her tear-filled eyes towards me and 
calmly said, "Thank you. I deserved that." 

I gasped as shivers ran along my spine. I had never in my life expected 
there could be such intense emotions and feelings. 

"Are you going to hit me there again," a meek, frightened little voice asked 
me. 

By way of reply the leather strap in my hand ascended and the teenager again 
danced on air, her cry of agony echoing off the bare walls. I sucked in air 
and wanted to throw myself on the floor to grab my own sex with both hands. 
I don't think I had ever been so sexually excited in my life. 

Twice more my strap cracked into her soft flesh, bring agony to the teenage 
nudity, and incredible pleasure to me. Finally, I did throw down the whip 
and went to the floor to lay on my back with legs wide spread and up in the 
air, knees bend. I quickly thrust a finger into my pussy and began a rapid, 
hard thrusting that quickly brought me to a mind-blowing climax. 

Both Allie and I calmed down at the same time, two panting, moaning girls, 
lost in their own worlds of pleasure. At the time I hadn't cared whether the 
whole world was watching, but as I came down from the sexual high, I was 
ashamed to act this way in front of Allie. But if Allie had seen me do that 
shameful act of masturbation, she did not say so, neither than nor later. 
Her eyes were closed and her breathing heavy, whether from the agony of her 
burning sex or some kind of high of her own, I could not say. Perhaps both. 
Probably both. 

I crawled over to the strapped girl and looked closely at her sex. The flesh 
was red and swollen and looked terribly sensitive and painful. It was 
beautiful in its own, strange way. 

I was strangely proud of my work and told myself that Marjory could not 
possibly fault my work. I wrapped my arms around her legs and held the 
sweating girl tight against my own body. We shared something I could to 
words to. Perhaps it was love. 

It felt right to leave her hanging there after I finished hugging her body 
to mine. I backed off to look at her body hanging limply from the straps 
around wrists. She wearily looked up and said casually, "Marjory will be 
pleased. I wasn't enjoying that last bit at all. You can do what you like 
with me this evening. I want you to do whatever pleases you the most. But, 
please, no more of the whip. Right now, I don't care if I never see another 
whip again." 

I reached down and clasp her handful of her mound, hot from the impact of 
leather. When I massaged that part of her, she threw her head back and 
moaned loudly, while thrusting her hips forward to push against my hand. I 
quickly brought this teenage girl to a climax. I suspected she had been very 
close because it had taken only a few seconds to make her cry out with 
ecstasy and arch her body against my hand. I pressed back and squeezed to 
make her pleasure as real and intense as I could. Somehow doing that for her 
made me feel better about having whipped the poor girl. 

I left Allie strapped tight for only long enough to let her loveliness seep 
into my consciousness, feasting my eyes on the youthfulness of her, and the 
strapped wrists on which she tugged from time to time as if to assure 
herself she was still prisoner. My sense of power vanished when I unbuckled 
the straps, and clicked snug the pretty handcuffs on Allie's pretty wrists. 
Everything was now back to normal and the bracelets confining her hands were 
a badge of office. I felt myself humbled and ashamed and in a mood to offer 
my own skin that she might be avenged. But Allie laughed away my silly 
notion and contented herself my using my handcuffs to lock my ankles tight 
together. It was thus we slept. 

Whipping Marjory's young sister affected me far more than it affected her. 
Allie was her usual self the next day despite the purple lines and swollen 
puss. I was facing a face that on Palm Island there was a force, some 
terrible power, which entered a girl's blood to generate the heat which made 
us all long for the bite of the lash, or the opportunity to inflict it on 
another girl. I asked Marjory about it and she simply smiled. 

I felt sorry for Allie at breakfast where she was forced to sit on her 
whipped bottom and do her best to avoid gasps and winces. After the meal, 
Natalie showed up, beautifully naked and totally without restraint. I was 
passed into her care. She was carrying handcuffs and I offered my wrists 
without being told to. Natalie wore a necklace of small gold links including 
a small handcuff key. She squeezed my bare arm in reassurance and led me 
from the house while I wondered what sort of "mild discomfort" I was going 
to have to endure for the day. Natalie was bubbling over with gossip as we 
walked towards the trees. 

"You got the job of whipping young Allie, didn't you?" She chuckled as 
though the subject was amusing. "Did you enjoy it? Was slashing that cane 
across that pretty little bottom a lot of fun?" 

"Yes, I did, and I don't know why," I admitted. "There's some awful 
influence at work on this island which makes girls want to whip or be 
whipped. What in the world is wrong with us?" 

"None of us know but after you've been here for a while, you get grateful we 
get whipped and punished often. What you call "the influence" makes it 
bearable. And I suppose if we're honest about, our sex is constantly warm so 
we're looking forward to the next time. I'm glad it's affected you the same 
way." 

"Why on earth would Marjory have her young sister whipped? Neither of them 
want to talk about it." 

"Because young Allie has hot pants, just the same as the rest of us. She 
doesn't wear any pants but the heat is there just the same. Marjory wasn't 
angry, she was being kind." 

"The poor kid hated being whipped up between her legs, she admitted it." 

"I think that's done for contrast, and it's done to all of us. Otherwise it 
wouldn't really be punishment, would it?" Natalie laughed in rueful 
admission. "If I knew I was going to be whipped when I get back to the house 
after looking after you, I wouldn't feel all that bad. I would probably be 
pleasantly excited. I know that doesn't make sense but let's not worry about 
it." 

It was a twisted old tree that had survived the sea and the wind a long, 
long time. It was only about ten feet high, but had many branches, none of 
them large, escaping its trunk as though searching for a kinder place in 
which to grow. In front of it was the ocean and the pounding surf, behind it 
was the forest. Natalie picked up a rock and used it to demonstrate how hard 
and solid the ancient tree had become. And giving me a suspicion how my day 
would be spent. 

"It's a different beach from where you came ashore, Celie, but it's a pretty 
place, I've always liked it. I suppose you know what comes next." 

"I can guess." My left hand was freed and the empty cuff snapped tight 
around a twisted branches at the level of my head. Natalie stepped back with 
an air of accomplishment. 

"That's all there is to it, darling," she told me simply. "If you can get 
out of that handcuff, you're free to go back to the house." 

"You know that's impossible!" 

"I'd stay and talk, Celie, dear, but I've been told to go right back and 
just leave you alone to enjoy the view." She kissed me and turned away. 

"Natalie, don't go! Don't you realize I can't sit down?" 

"That's the frustration bit, Celie. Sorry!" It seems the lot of captive 
maidens to forever be watching their captor walking away. I longed to once 
more scream outrage as the forest swallowed the girl who had put me here. I 
stamped a bare foot against hot sand and hurt my wrists with a tug against 
cold steel. When I first fury diminished to a wry acceptance of my lot, I 
examined the ancient tree and the handcuff. I found no sympathy or weakness 
in either one. I experimented with sitting down but that was impossible. I 
couldn't even kneel. And, as if to mock my plight, the handcuff with my 
wrist was very much in evidence whichever way I looked. It was a situation 
in which a girl longs to scream. 

The sun and sound of surf was soothing. I leaned back against a couple of 
branches and admitted to myself things could be a lot worse. I had not been 
promised the whip, the dungeon, or anything else in the line of what Palm 
Island described training. In the evening when I was freed, I'd have a 
lovely dinner with Marjory and the girls. And no doubt sometime during the 
day I would be visited by one or more of the girls. I was certain I would be 
brought lunch. Starvation wasn't one of the punishment on Palm Island. 

I felt pretty comfortable and even chuckled at the thought that one hand had 
been left free just in case I felt the need to play with myself. Just to 
help the time pass, you understand. Maybe I had it good! 

In the reverie taking possession of me I felt guilt over how little I 
thought of my previous life in the outer world. Memory of friends and 
relatives and the city where I had worked and lived were somehow fainter 
than they should be. Perhaps that "influence" that changed girls on Palm 
Island also changed their memories, softening the images and making the 
outside world seem less real than this island in the sun. Somehow I knew I 
would never see any of my friends or even my over-priced, small apartment 
again. Palm Island rapidly becomes a girl's home. 

If someone tells you it's impossible to sleep while standing up, tell them 
they're wrong. Leaning against branches and the support of my shackled wrist 
held me up and I dozed. When I came awake it was to fine my first inkling of 
disaster - a faint dot on the ocean's horizon. It grew slowly and I felt 
fear gulch my heart. 

I was wide awake now. I cannot tell why I felt only fear at the steady 
approach of a ship which might, after all, be able to rescue myself and all 
the others. But, prompted by apprehension, I called for help, screaming into 
the trees which absorbed my pitiful cries. 

In pure panic I tugged in a frenzy against the handcuff on my wrist, bracing 
my foot against the tree and pulling with all I had. But the handcuff 
laughed and hurt my wrist until I had to concede defeat. 

The ocean's rim is twenty miles distant. I gave up trying to stand and wait, 
and reverted to a frightened maiden struggling against her bonds in 
emotional rather than logical attempts to escape. But freedom was not 
allowed me. I would not be running back to the house to warn Marjory of this 
approaching ship. 

I even worked a sizable rock free from the sand with my foot and used it to 
try and smash the handcuff from the tree. It was all useless. The rock 
crumbled but the steel did not. At the end I was as firmly attached to the 
ancient tree as when Natalie said goodbye. 

Every time I looked at the ship, it was closer, seemingly directed to the 
place where I stood in frustration. By the time the approaching ship had 
begun to take shape, it seemed an arrow pointed at my heart. 

It was not long before the ship stopped not far off shore, dropping its 
anchor, and launching a small power boat. I could make out three men as the 
small craft bounced over the waves straight at me. No doubt they knew I was 
there. I ceased to struggle. The small craft was pulled high on the beach 
and three amused males walked over. Rankin Teller was as sardonic as ever as 
he removed his cap to tender me a courtly bow. He inquired politely, "Miss 
Celie Collins, I presume?" 

"You know damned well I'm not Doctor Livingston!" I retorted sharply, 
unmindful of the effect. "Please go away, please leave me alone." 

Rankin cocked an amused eyebrow. "You wish to stay attached to that tree? I 
would have thought you would be grateful for a spot of male attention." 

"Yes, I would. But not you. Look, Rankin, you damn near sent me to my death 
in that little dingy. Don't pretend to be concerned about me now." 

"Oh, but I am, dear girl. You were never in danger. That little dingy 
brought you to Palm Island as surely as if it had been Rankin's Pride 
itself. I'm sure you got a kindly welcome. Or did you discover a key and 
attach yourself to this tree?" 

"It's none of your business. Go away." 

"You know I won't." I didn't like the way he was looking at my breasts. "I 
know all about Palm Island. Including all about Marjory Magnus, and her 
pretty little sister, who I'm waiting impatiently to grow up. Would you like 
to be released?" 

"No, go away." It was one of the crewmen who observed jauntily, 

"She's still got those lovely tits and breasts, boss. And I think her pussy 
is half as big again as when she was on the ship." 

"She's been whipped something fierce," said another. "I'll bet you she 
thinks twice before saying no." 

No one was in a hurry to do anything. Rankin seemed content to stare at my 
nudity and I couldn't hide a thing and didn't try. When he told me to turn 
around so he could judge how well I'd been whipped, I shrugged at him and 
did as I was told. I was scared to death. 

"Shall we leave this one as she is while we go and collect the others?" 
Rankin waved the suggestion aside. "We'll take her with us, I want her to 
see what goes. But you can fix her hands, you've got a key." 

My wrist was released from the tree, I was turned around, and both wrists 
locked snug behind my back. For a girl this is agony because everything she 
had is open for view, she can shield nothing. I stood there, naked and 
helpless and humble, awaiting the pleasure of the Male. My new captors were 
evidently familiar with the path. I longed to cry but did not want to show 
the weakness before these men. Remembering the treatment I had received on 
board his ship, I had no desire either to cross this man. He may say that I 
was safe in that dingy but I remembered some pretty large sharks for whom I 
would have been but a snack. If the boat had been tipped by a wave ... Or by 
one of those huge sharks itself ... 

My worst fears were confirmed. Rankin was familiar with everything. We found 
Marjory in her office without hindrance from either staff or the girls. She 
looked up from what she was doing to stare in dismay. "Haven't I given you 
enough, Rankin? What do you want now?" 

"You've got four girls and this one here. By the way, her name's Celie, in 
case you don't know. I've got a sale for all five. You can kiss them 
goodbye." 

It was all slow motion. Marjory was breathing heavily and marshaling her 
thoughts. Bitterly, she said, "I'll give you one girl as a gift. Isn't that 
enough?" 

"You know damned well it isn't enough. The market's booming and you've got a 
quality product. I'll cut you in for half of whatever I get but I want the 
girls." 

I was very much just an observer, my main function seeming to be standing 
with my arms behind my back so the two crewmen could enjoy my nudity. But my 
concern was with what Marjory would do. 

"You've been sensible before, Rankin," she said. "But you're being 
unreasonable now. I don't have to agree to what you offer. I refuse." 

"Then I'll use force. Those two middle aged old assholes you use as a butler 
and gardener will be no problem. If they resist, I'll kill them. Smarten up 
girl, the deal I'm offering isn't all that bad. And I happen to know you've 
got another consignment on the way." 

"I'm entitled to more than half." 

"You've got no choice, woman. I'll just take what I want. Including that 
young sister of yours. Your little sister would be worth a fortune, she's 
probably still virgin." 

Rankin was hitting Marjory with one broadside after another. I saw her 
flinch when Allie was mentioned and I'm sure Rankin saw it, too. Marjory 
still tried to reason. "If you do this to me now, it's the end of our 
relationship. You can't be expecting any more girls from me." 

"I won't. I'll quit while I'm winning. You've been useful but you get 
yourself too emotionally involved with your girls. Are you going to be 
reasonable?" 

"Not if you steal my sister and Celie. You steal them and I'll fight you 
with everything I've got." 

"Don't be a horse's ass, Marjory. You don't have a hope. We can tie you and 
gag you right now, here in this office, then go about the job of rounding up 
all the girls. I'm sure I'll find most of them firmly and securely bound or 
chained in some manner. That is your custom, isn't it? You really laid on 
our welcome with little trixie here with one hand to that tree. You couldn't 
have been expecting visitors." 

Marjory's breasts were heaving and I could see defeat in her eyes. One of 
the crew took handcuffs from his pocket and dangled them before her. I 
cursed my impotence and those male eyes which constantly every female 
feature I possessed. It was Marjory who broke the silence, "I'll buy Celie 
and Allie from you. We both have an idea of what they'll fetch on your 
market. I'll write you a check." 

"No go, but keep trying." 

"There's only one other thing I have to offer, myself. Is it me you want?" 

"You're offering to spread your legs for these two pretty broads." Rankin 
laughed delightedly. "There's more to you than I ever figured, Marjory." 

"Do you accept?" 

"Hell, no. You're forgetting I'm not the least bit short of tail. But you 
give me an idea." 

"What is it?" Marjory voice was toneless. 

"Do a strip for us then ask me to give you a good thrashing. I expect you've 
still got that gimmick up in your bedroom?" 

I could tell Marjory hadn't been expecting the demand but she evidently knew 
Rankin better than I. Her reply was instant, "I could say yes, but how can I 
trust you?" 

"A deal's a deal, girlie. There's no way I've going to leave this little 
girl behind. You can keep your little sister, but I'll take Celie. After 
I've given you the thrashing of your life." 

"I've never been thrashed." 

"Then it will be a real novelty for you." 

"Why do you insist upon taking Celie?" 

"Hell, the girl was mine in the first place. I put her in that dingy to 
teach her a lesson. I'm taking her back to the ship to see how well she 
learned it." Rankin leered pleasurably at Marjory's tight, thin lips and 
stony eyes. "It makes the deal simple, you bitch. You keep little sister and 
I get to whip your ass. I figure you get the best of the deal." 

Three men stared at two females until Marjory stood up behind her desk to 
say, without a tremor, "Very well, I accept your terms." She turned to me to 
say, "I'm sorry, Celie, I did the best I could." 

My mind was a turmoil of emotions as we went up the stairs from the office 
to her bedroom. Rankin evidently knew his way around. But his men were so 
preoccupied with my breasts and bottom that, had I gone off in another 
direction, they would have followed. But I could have cared less. My mind 
was filled with disbelief as we mounted the stairs to meet with a frightful 
fate. 

Miss Marjory was going to be whipped. 

 CHAPTER 4 Damsels in Despair 

It was not my first time in the ship's brig. Rankin had chained me here 
before casting me adrift. I knew the heavy irons were a sort of window 
dressing, an infliction by which virtuous young ladies were shown the error 
in their insistence upon remaining virtuous. My wrists were joined, my 
ankles were joined, and an iron collar around my neck was attached to the 
hull by a heavy length of chain which actually permitted a good deal of 
freedom. But the weight of the heavy irons made that unattractive. Rankin 
made quite certain that any girl he put in the brig would not forget she was 
a prisoner. 

I was not alone in that prison. The girl with me was one I remembered coming 
on board with a handsome blonde Swede. She was, however, a direct contrast 
to the tall blonde man, being of only medium height, with dark features, 
black hair, and flashing dark eyes. Her name was Margot, and she was a 
heavily chained as I. And as naked. 

"Right after they put you in that dingy and cast you adrift," she told me 
heatedly, "I was informed that I would be expected to spread my legs that 
any man on board might 'enjoy me' anytime he wished." She sounded disgusted. 
"I refused, of course. That's when Rankin threw me in here. I'll stay 
chained up like this until I agree to spread my legs, they told me. But it's 
horrible in here." 

"Well, at least you can get out by saying the word," I ventured. 

"Well, that might have been but there was also a deadline. It passed 
yesterday. Rankin has hinted that I would be whipped before the whole crew. 
Perhaps I should have given in." 

I thought about the fact that the crew could have just tied her down and 
taken her all they wanted, but didn't say a thing. Perhaps Margot was 
thinking the same. 

"When I came on board, I was prepared to go to bed with Eric. And I was even 
looking forward to it. But when they ordered that Kathy girl to strip and 
then made her dance around as they whipped at her behind, I knew this wasn't 
the kind of crowd I would like. And Eric was just as bad as the rest. When 
they handcuffed you and cast you adrift in that boat, I told Eric I didn't 
want him touching me again. That's when they picked on me to be the next one 
to strip and become everyone's plaything. I Refused and here I am." She 
still sounded defiant. 

I sighed and rested as best I could in the heavy chains and hard bench. My 
mind flashed back to earlier that very morning when Rankin has forced 
Marjory into a deal she didn't want. I could still remember the steps going 
up to her bedroom, hard against my bare feet. And the way she stripped to 
reveal a very good body. Rankin even made comments, crude, to be sure, but 
there was admiration behind his tone. 

I had to stand by as an observer, unable to flee or to do a thing to stop 
the coming whipping of the woman who held all of us on Palm Island 
enthralled. When she casually tossed aside the panties, she turned 
expectantly to the three men crowding around. 

"Beg for it," Rankin said with a hiss, enjoying his domination over this 
woman. Marjory swallowed hard and tried to keep the hate and anger out of 
her voice. 

"Please, Mr. Teller, I wish you to thrash me. I want you to fasten me so I 
can't get away, then whip or cane my bare skin in whatever way may give you 
pleasure." Her voice fell silent until she added, for good measure, "Please 
whip me as hard as you can." 

It was Rankin's day! I watched the naked Marjory step to the spot where I 
once stood and I watched Rankin use the controls with an expert hand. Very 
soon the beautiful Marjory stood with wrists tight strapped and raised above 
her head. She looked so beautiful and so brave, I longed to cry. 

I have told of other whippings but the wounding of Marjory's skin is 
something too scared to recount. Rankin was a real bastard throughout, 
testing this instrument or that, or concentrating on one portion of the 
lovely curves and then another. Strangely he refrained from thrashing 
Marjory up between her legs. It was Marjory herself who won the show. I 
simply do not know what force or power she possessed that enabled her to 
stand throughout multiple cuts and slashes of canes and crops with her cheek 
pressed hard against one raised arm, accepting agony with only the trembling 
of muscles beneath her skin. Never once did she scream. Again and again the 
leather etched its marks against her flesh. 

When it was over, Rankin kept his word. Marjory was released and escorted 
back to her office. That was all. 

Rankin's hobby is the punishment of girls. He adores whipping us and feeds 
hungrily upon our nakedness. I cannot explain Rankin, but he is probably 
right in his assertion that, if other men had the money, they would do the 
same. Rankin loves to tell the only gauge of anything is the bottom line. If 
that is so, a girl should stay away from any man who has more than a hundred 
dollars in the bank. 

The following day I was released from the hateful brig and allowed to step 
out in the sunshine without handcuffs or rope. I would once have gloried in 
the freedom but a girl on Rankin's yacht has no thought of glory but only of 
what comes next. The man who released me told me to go to Rankin's office. I 
kissed the still defiant Margot and did as I was told. 

"Did you enjoy walking up here, Celie?" Rankin asked by way of greeting. 
"It's a lovely day. And it's better than the brig." 

"Yes." 

"I suppose you realize you could walk right back down again? And this time 
find a couple more chains to keep you amused. That is, if you don't come up 
with some more answers?" 

"I suspected that." 

"Well, sweetheart, there's only so many girls a man can screw. We rounded up 
those four little pretties Marjory hated to part with. I don't give them any 
choice, I tie them down. The only reason they didn't get in the brig was 
that they seem pretty well resigned. Marjory did a good job of breaking them 
in." 

"You really are a bastard, Rankin! What have you got saved up for me?" 

"I'm going to have one of the boys print the word 'AVAILABLE' across your 
belly and then you can mingle with the guests and enjoy yourself. There's 
only one simple little thing by which you'll pay for your room and board, 
whenever I or one of my crew or guests wants you to lay down and spread your 
legs, you'll do it. And you'll do it as though you're getting a real good 
deal, no sobs or pouts. What do you say to that, Celie?" 

"If I say no, do I get put in another dingy?" 

"Worse than that, honey, you get to walk the plank. But before that happens 
you'll get tied down to a hatch cover and get yourself pierced by every man 
on the ship. I'm offering you a pretty good deal, considering." 

"Considering what?" 

"Considering you can't escape. Considering I own every bit of you. And 
considering I'm going to sell you to the highest bidder, along with the 
other four. When I get around to it, sweetheart. Now, honey, call me a 
bastard again and I'll hang you up by your thumbs." 

I wanted to cry. So much for my virginity! But out of pure helplessness I 
had come a long way since that first time when my refusals had put me in a 
dingy. Now the awful choice Rankin gave me didn't seem as bad as it would 
have before my little visit to Palm Island. If a girl is pierced once, she 
might as well get pierced twice. Or for that matter, twenty times. And if 
this reasoning was prompted by the lingering influence of Palm Island, there 
was nothing I could do about it anyway. I looked Rankin in the eye and said, 
tonelessly, "Very well, Mr. Teller, I'll accept your terms. Do you wish me 
to lay down for you?" 

Rankin's yacht was magnificent, and the guests were enjoying themselves. I 
was gathered into the group and promptly raped by several of the men, and 
then as I was plied with drinks and conversation, I learned that ever girl 
present was expected to make herself available to all in the same manner as 
I. A small ceremony was enacted with me as the leading lady. My hands were 
handcuffed behind my back while a member of the crew painted the word Rankin 
had promised across my belly. If ever a girl knew herself available, I did 
then. 

There were about ten couples and because half the girls had already 
capitulated there was no pressure on the other half to join the shameful 
sisters of which I was one. But I could tell they were scared. All knew 
about Margot in the brig, and about me. They had witnessed Marjory's girls, 
all tied up and naked, as they were escorted aboard the ship. I was told 
they were imprisoned in a lower cabin where they were kept tightly bound all 
the time and could consider their future. While the females were not 
enjoying themselves all that much, every male on the yacht was having the 
time of his life. They not only had the girls they had brought aboard, but 
every other female on the ship. After my tummy was labeled, my wrists were 
left handcuffed behind my back in a way to evoke lust in the loins of ever 
male. The result was that male arms were constantly helping me to the deck 
where I spread my legs and pretended to enjoy their favors and admire their 
prowess. I abandoned sarcasm alone with pouting and sulking. I felt so 
damned ashamed of my actions that I actually considered jumping into the 
ocean with the sharks. But I can't profess that such action appealed enough 
to me to be serious about it. One look over the rail and I backed away. In 
any case, the handcuffs had been such a success they left them on my wrists 
until the novelty wore off and I was voted the most popular girl on the 
ship. If I had been a nymphomaniac, it would have been wonderful. 

There was fun and games. The games mostly involved a female having to draw a 
number from a hat and whichever of us got the lucky number was then 
sentenced to be bound in some disgusting fashion and whipped throughout the 
day. These whippings were never what you would think. There was nothing 
ritualistic, no formal ceremony to mark the infliction of pain upon an 
innocent girl, no drum roll. But, having gotten the unfortunate girl 
secured, a whip was hung on her somewhere and every passing male was allowed 
to use it. Of necessity these male attentions were rationed to each. Each 
guest or member of the crew was allowed to strip the unfortunate girl twice 
a day, enough to keep the immobilized maiden in constant pain and a dither 
of anxiety. On my first time I did not draw the fatal number and was 
privileged to watch the girl who did. She was one of the number who had not 
accepted ravishment but in this matter of fun and games there were no 
alternative, m this case her name was Lucy. She was seized in good-natured 
humor on the part of the males, and planted erect in the middle of a clear 
space on the deck, and told to take off her clothes while we all watched. 
When she refused to strip, the job was done for her by two members of the 
crew, while other males present cheered and came out with disgusting 
comments. Lucy was then placed on a hatch cover equipped with metal rings no 
doubt designed for this purpose. Her ankles were bound well apart, as were 
her knees. She was then forced to crouch while her wrists and forearms were 
tied between her thighs which left her forehead on the deck and her bottom 
pointed prettily pointed upward. It was a cruel posture and when a thin cane 
was dropped before Lucy's anguished eyes, we all knew what was about to 
happen. Rankin made a delightful speech. He let all men know the limits but 
also insisted that all should give the girl up to that full limit. He also 
made it clear that if any man wished to screw her while her bottom was 
marked with scarlet lines and sticking up in the air, he was welcome. 

Lucy was tugging at the bonds but could hardly move. When Rankin went on to 
point out that her large breasts could be striped on their sides, she 
started to cry. Rankin picked up the cane and promised a demonstration to 
illustrate the true functions of the curves on which a girl sat down. 

It was almost as though I, too, was bound upon the deck. I could feel Lucy's 
horror and was well aware of how wickedly stretched and tight was that 
bottom. It would hurt twice as bad as if Lucy took her punishment standing 
up. Rankin made a big deal of selecting his stance, making some trial 
swishes to make the cane whine in evil promise, and then cut squarely across 
the maiden curves. Lucy was too shocked by the pain to do more than gasp and 
stare with wide eyes straight ahead. Finally a pathetic whine came from her 
tight mouth. 

The thin line across her bottom slowly turned red. Rankin bowed to the 
assembly, dropped the can beside the girl, and stalked away to his office. 
The crowd slowly dispersed to let Lucy await stroke number two. 

But she was not left alone for long. Throughout the day there were males 
visiting her often enough so that she always had a fresh scarlet mark 
forming on her skin. And often the man would take his two strokes, sometimes 
fiercely savage in their intensity, then avail himself of the up turned 
bottom to implant his phallus within her sheath. As her bottom grew more and 
more sore, her cries grew in intensity whenever a male body was thrusting 
into her sheath and banging his body against her bruised bottom. 

After witnessing this display, the other girls who had been holding out gave 
in and became a part of the ship-wide orgy. Kindly males held glasses to my 
lips or fed me sandwiches, and always admired my handcuffed wrists, which 
several admitted shamefully gave them the most rigid erections of their 
life. I worked hard at being polite and receptive of male humor. And I never 
failed to lower myself to the deck whenever any male indicated it was his 
wish. This latter function was helped by the fact that several other girls 
were always available. The voyage of the Rankin's Pride was a real fun thing 
... So long as you were a man. 

I wanted to stay away from Lucy, but there was a fascination about her 
predicament which drew me in her direction throughout the day. Often Lucy 
screamed but all the girls pretended not to hear. And when we looked with 
shamed eyes upon her punished bottom, we discovered and every increasing 
crisscross of stripes. Many of the lash marks extended down to her thighs, 
and there was some marks on each breast. When she broken-heartedly rejoined 
the party after her time was up, she became the belle of the ball and found 
herself the object of much male attention. Some of the men seemed to get 
very excited when she had to lay on her tortured bottom on the hard deck for 
their carnal attentions. And she made no attempt to contain her cries of 
pain when a male was thrusting inside her and pushing her bottom hard 
against the wood. 

I was grateful for the attention she was getting because it made the males a 
little less interested in my, my handcuffs, and my pussy. 

Lucy was a shy little girl and the luck of the draw had proven traumatic to 
her. Other girls of larger size and stamina endured ill fortunate with 
whatever grace they could muster. A girl named Nancy was a case in point. 
There was no whip for Nancy, but instead a prettily executed tying up job 
which left her sitting prominently on the deck with one ankle bound to the 
opposite knee and her wrists tightly bound in front, then tied down in the 
knee hollow of her leg. She was left in the total frustration of being a 
constant witness to the manner in which she was tied but not being able to 
reach a single knot. She spent most of the time trying to employ her teeth 
against the tight and neatly tied cords which held her wrists. Nancy's 
punishment was simply embarrassment, and a blush from shame she felt at the 
male remarks directed against her. Some playful tried to encourage her to 
untie herself, hinting that since all the ropes and knots were in plain 
sight, she should be able to get her teeth on something. 

She took the comments with wry good humor, returning quip for quip, and 
sometimes in disgust rolling on to her back to display a tangle of arms and 
legs, along with a more intimate view of her sex. 

Megan was an auburn haired beauty some said was Rankin's ex-mistress. She 
was somewhat older than the rest of us and enjoyed the distinction of 
wearing a minimum of clothes. It was understood she occupied the role of 
house mother or matron, and was empowered to either inflict or alleviate 
punishment. She provided a willing shoulder on which a girl might cry, and a 
lot of sage advice which was mostly to the effect we might just as well make 
the best of a bad job because there was no way we were going to escape. No 
one seemed certain whether Megan was to be sold at auction like all the 
rest. 

Like all the rest I was forced to sleep as best I could with the party going 
on around. If I found the noise too much, I could go out on the deck and 
curl up on anything I found. I have forgotten how many days passed before 
one evening when Megan handcuffed my wrists once more behind my back and 
told me, with a forceful hand on my bare arm, that she wanted me to spend 
the night in the brig with Margot, who was still clutching at virtue. She 
was becoming increasingly morbid over her solitary confinement and the 
weight of irons on her. Megan confided in me that if Margot continued her 
rebellion against the system, she was going to get a flogging, naked and 
secured to the rigging in the fashion of ancient days. Megan thrust me 
inside the brig and clanked the iron door behind me. 

I found Margot as heavily ironed as before, and with firmly set jaw in a 
determination not to give in. I was thankful I had not been promised a 
flogging should my errand fail. Miserably I said, "Hi, Margot, it's me 
again. They've taken away my hands so I can't play with you. I'm terribly 
sorry." 

"I take it you've given in to them?" The tone was far from friendly. 

I felt a bitch and could feel a blush. "I'm doing everything they tell me 
to," I admitted. "I'm here to tell you a girl survives. In its way, it's not 
so bad." 

"So you're playing Judas Goat? I'm ashamed of you, Celie, I thought you had 
more guts." 

Standing on one foot, I raised the other to the bench so as to provide my 
companion with a clear inspection of my vagina. "Look at it, Margot, you 
know how it's been used since they took me out of here. I've lost count of 
how many times I've been screwed, but it doesn't look any different. Does 
it?" 

"Only proves nature's been kind to you. I'm surprised it's not swollen and 
red." 

I returned my foot to the floor. If I had had hands, I would have thrown my 
arms around her neck and comforted us both. But now I simply wiggled my 
shoulders and said, "You can call me a Judas Goat if you want, Margot, but I 
don't see any sense in your remaining in this iron cage with all those 
beastly irons fastened on you everywhere. I hate those irons and I know you 
do. Why don't you accept the inevitable and walk back into life?" 

"It isn't inevitable, not if I hold out long enough." 

"I'm suppose to tell you that if you refuse to obey, you're going to be 
flogged with everyone watching and getting a good look at your nakedness. A 
flogging is terrible and you won't heal from it for weeks." I tried not to 
make it sound too awful but I did want to make her think about what she was 
really facing. 

I saw her wince and sensed what an awful time she'd had locked inside this 
metal box. I knew that the heavy irons on her body wore down more than just 
her body, they were hard on the mind, too. 

"Flogged? Isn't that when they strip the skin from your back with some 
horrible kind of whip until you become unconscious?" Margot looked nervous. 
"If I'm going to be flogged anyway, there's no point in surrendering." 

"I think if you'd be obedient, Margot, they'd forget the flogging. I haven't 
been flogged so I don't know what they mean by it. Perhaps it's just another 
word for being whipped." 

I watched Margot set her jaw even more firmly, as if the threat simply made 
her more resolved to fight them. Her voice was bitter, "Very well, Celie, 
you can tell them they can flog me. I will not allow myself to be violated 
by all sorts of men I don't even know. If you would have held out the way 
I'm doing, we would win out. But you're all such cowards." 

"We want to live." 

"Well, I don't. Not on their terms. I'll stay like this until doomsday if 
that's what they want." 

I gazed at the poor, chained girl, wondering what made her so different from 
me. I saw myself fighting for survival and a bleeding back was not a part of 
it. I was wondering what to say next when Margot gave me some hint of why 
she felt the way she did. 

"Sex is beastly," she said with heat. "Men pushing that horrible object 
inside what a girl has. It is obscene. Celie, can't you see that?" 

"But a girl's pussy is made for that purpose!" I cried. After all, sex could 
be fun, too, if it was with a man you really loved. 

Margot snorted. "The whole thing is disgusting." 

"But don't you expect to fall in love some day and want your man inside you? 
Margot, dear, when it's done properly it's wonderful." 

The poor girl was busy fighting her irons. Her tone now was that of a 
speaker on a platform, "Don't you silly creatures realize this so called 
falling in love is nothing more than natural urges. All that romantic crap 
about meeting your dream man is just that, crap! Moonlight and roses are 
nothing more than tricks men use to get passed a girl's defenses." 

"But ... " 

"No buts! The act is terrible! Celie, do try and have some sense." 

I sighed. But I honestly did not want to see this girl hung up in some 
horrible fashion to have her skin striped with some cat-o-nine-tails. I 
tried again, "But, darling, what about love? People do fall in love, don't 
they? And then they do this thing you're so set against." 

"Love is a trap!" Margot was running ahead at full steam. "It's nothing but 
a reaction of our glands! Men are terrible." 

"Honest, Margot, it isn't as bad as you think." 

"Never." The word was spoken quietly for a change but that made it all the 
more absolute. 

"Margot, it's not that bad. There's a party going on up there. If you just 
forget that some girls would call it rape, and try to enjoy it. Some of the 
men aren't too rough." 

It was no use. Margot won the encounter hands down. In the morning I was 
taken from the brig and given back my hands while she remained in the iron 
prison with an even shorter tether from her collar to the wall. It was on 
that day I was given permission to visit Marjory's four slave girls. 

Elsie, Gloria, Janet and Natalie were far better off than Margot. The wrists 
of each girl had been crossed behind her back and tightly bound, not because 
Rankin was short of handcuffs, but simply to give them hope and something to 
do. It appeared they were for Rankin's use only until we reached that part 
of the world were girls could be sold at auction without problems. Enough of 
Palm Island's influence remained, just as with myself, to make their plight 
bearable and to endure Rankin's carnal thrusts. I was the only one with arms 
and was the one to embrace each before telling of the on-going party and of 
the selection from the hat for daily public whipping. 

The poor girls had been prisoners for so long that being bound and locked in 
a cabin on a ship was not bothering them as much as it would have some other 
girls. They laughed in saying that they knew they could never get their 
hands free but in trying to untie each other kept them constantly amused. 
And, since Rankin managed to violate all four of them each day, they had 
nothing to complain about. All of us longed to return to Palm Island but all 
of us now knew this was no more than a dream. 

They did speculate about being sold and what the man who bought them would 
do to them. But with a philosophy born from not knowing what punishment you 
would suffer each day on Palm Island, they shrugged it off and something 
they would just have to wait and see. 

The next day it was me who drew the dreaded number from the hat. 

My ordeal was obscene but relatively painless. My hands were tied behind my 
back. I was then laid on my back on the deck to get my ankles noosed to 
spread my legs outrageously far apart and raised high. My bottom was 
actually raised off the wood deck so that I was laying on my shoulders and 
bound arms. My pussy was wide open for all to see, including me, who got a 
better view of my own pussy than most girls do. Any man or woman who wished 
could play with that wide-open pussy and, if he were clever, screw me while 
I lay there. 

I suppose my punishment could have been worse, but after an hour or two of 
that exposure and some rough treatment from male fingers, I wasn't all that 
sure. It was a terrible way to be tied but my principal problem was the 
seemingly endless parade of male hands and finger exploring my private 
place. This constant interest in my sex kept me constantly aroused, a 
condition which occasionally resulted in a most unsatisfactory orgasm. 
Rankin added to the fun by coming to visit and doing the same things to me. 
Thoughtfully, he produced a candle, the butt end of which he inserted within 
my sex. With a smile he put a match to the wick, explaining that it would be 
a long time before the flame burned down to my flesh. In the meantime I 
would enjoy the benefit of a trickle of hot wax on my skin. It was a 
refinement admired by all. 

I went through agonies watching that damned flame. At first I fought the 
ropes that held me but that only caused more hot wax to run down the candle 
and scold my tender flesh. I squealed more than once. And that candle 
stopped no one from teasing my sensitive parts, some people even tapping the 
candle so they could see wax running down the side and onto my sensitive 
flesh. Before long there was a layer of cooling wax firmly embedded in my 
pubic hair and covering my clit. 

I watched the flame burn closer to my pussy with considerable fear. I was 
sure when the flame began to burn I would scream myself hoarse. And the 
thought flashed through my mind that serious damage would be done to my sex, 
so much so that I might never be able to use it for sex again. I was scared. 

At the last moment Megan came to inspect our master's work. She deemed the 
burning candle had given enough mental agony, and withdrew it from my lips 
and tossed it overboard. 

If I had ever loved anyone, I loved her then. The flogging of Margot was a 
Tour de Force, an even to quicken every pulse aboard the Rankin's Pride. One 
of the crew even had a drum by which to mark the steps of the doomed girl as 
she walked to her fate. Margot was minus restraints for the first time in 
days. She gazed in horror at the sea of male and female faces as she was led 
to where she would be punished. She fought valiantly as her arms were raised 
for the wrists to be tight tied to leave her almost on her toes and 
beautifully for the sentenced Rankin read aloud in somber tones. It 
announced-that the naked prisoner had committed this crime and that, 
refusing to be friendly with guest and crew, etc. She was thus condemned to 
receive twenty strokes with a cat-o-nine-tails. Should she chose to faint 
she would be revived with water. Rankin added his hope that she would 
benefit from the correction. 

Margot defeated them all, enduring the first terrible stroke across her 
back, a stroke which left its wound and shed blood. Instead of the expected 
scream, she raised herself from the deck by bound wrists and managed to turn 
and look back at the master to whom she now belonged. In a loud, clear voice 
she proclaimed surrender and promised to be the most obedient slave girl 
ever. Recognizing sincerity, Rankin cut her down and told her curtly she 
would get the awful word painted on her belly the same as me, and she'd 
better make it good. Poor Margot knelt and kissed his foot. 

Later Margot threw her arms around my neck and whispered, "You were right, 
dear, I should have listened. And now I'm so terribly ashamed." There was a 
pause before she added, "Is my back terribly cut?" 

I have to admit that Margot became like all the rest of us. She had been for 
all of us a symbol of what was right and proper. Now she was no longer 
ironed and placing her smarting back on the deck to appease the lust of men 
the same as the lesser girls who lacked her courage. But I asked myself 
about the benefit of courage when it led only to Rankin's irons and Rankin's 
whip. Poor Margot ceased to be a symbol and was now just a girl. 

I think it was the next day when I was called to Rankin's office to stand 
submissively before his desk, while his dour inspection stripped me ten 
times naked. He didn't offer a seat and his tone was crisp as he conceded, 
"You're a good girl, Celie, a good fuck and you do what you're told. It 
won't be too long now before we put our surplus females on the auction 
block. You're scheduled to go with the rest. But I'm wondering if you might 
not prefer to stay on the ship as my personal property." His eyes roved up 
and down my nakedness. "I can't promise you anything, Celie, girl. I'd be 
keeping you for my own amusement so obviously you'll get your ass whipped 
now and then. Along with some other things pretty much like we've been doing 
here. Anyway, I'm offering you a choice: the auction block to be sold as a 
slave girl, or staying here with me. It's pretty much between the devil you 
know and the devil you don't. What do you say, kid?" 

"You've got Megan, why would you want me?" 

"Don't ask no questions, honey, and you won't get no lies." 

"You've been mean to all of us girls, Mr. Teller. I'm still remembering that 
dingy. I'd like to take my chance on the auction block. Please don't be 
offended." 

"I figured you'd chose the block, and I'm not offended, girlie. Old Rankin 
don't get offended easily. Anyway, there's a little time yet before some old 
boy gets to buy you." His dismal was a curt, "Have a nice day." 

My day was ruined. I now felt certain I had made a wrong choice. When I 
thought of the kind of men who would buy a slave girl, a shiver ran down my 
spine. I could have kicked myself. Rankin had been mean enough to all of us 
so that being a permanent prisoner here wasn't too attractive, either. I 
comforted myself with the thought that a fresh and different captivity might 
be an improvement. I longed for Palm Island with all my heart. 

Rankin had a thing for rituals. We all knew some girl was going to get it 
when guests and crew were lined up on a far rail while a plank was thrust 
over the side and made secure to the deck. Rankin took the opportunity to 
make a speech. "This here voyage has been a fun thing for all of us," he 
proclaimed. "Most of our little gals have played alone and behaved the way 
little gals should. But four of my old friends have brought aboard four of 
the most damned fool females I ever did see. They got their legs clamped 
together tight and think they're too good to let us have fun with them." 
Rankin beamed on us all. "But we ain't got no more time to fool with four 
females who think their pussy is their private property. These four gals is 
pure waste." Again he paused dramatically before adding, "And all of us know 
what we do with waste aboard a ship." 

There were stirrings and whispering among the guests. The crew couldn't have 
cared less, but I noticed four young women clutching the arms of four male 
escorts as though reassuring themselves of the protection. My heart bled for 
each. 

"We all know what the old time pirates did with gals who wouldn't try to 
please," Rankin continued zestfully. "They made them walk the plank, that's 
what they did with them. And that's we're going to do here, aboard the 
Rankin's Pride today. As far as I know we've only got four examples of 
females who don't know how females should act. Since we all know the names 
of these dumb broads, I'm now asking their escorts to tie his gal's hands 
behind her back, and shove them forward for us all to see. I know you've all 
got a bit of rope, so go to it." 

Four young women leaped like startled rabbits from the audience and fled 
swiftly out of sight. But Rankin had that figured. "Go to it, boys. Track 
the little fillies down and drag them back her by the hair." Rankin laughed. 
"Don't imagine we'll have long to wait." 

There was nowhere the girls could hide. We heard their squeals and screams 
as each girl was caught and dragged back to the awaiting plank. Each of the 
virtuous maidens fought like fury but were soon conquered and quickly 
standing before, naked and with bound hands behind their backs. I thought 
they were foolish not to have done as the rest of us. Surrender isn't all 
that bad. Especially when compared to what awaited these girls. 

But they had made their choice and would not pay the price. Horror showed in 
the face of each girl as she stared at the plank. Next to it stood a crewman 
with a long pike at ready. 

Rankin now practiced some more of his sardonic humor. Waving to one of the 
four girls, he said in amused tones, "Come on over, and walk out on that 
there plank just to show the folks it will hold a girl's weight. Go out as 
far as you like. And if you fall in, we'll put you out ... This first time. 
All we want is a demonstration." 

The poor girl was almost shaking with fear. She was also frantically tugging 
at tied wrists in a way I knew all too well. Since she lacked the will to do 
it herself, Rankin picked her up and placed her on the plank with the 
Pacific Ocean below. She immediately stepped back on the back but was 
instantly replaced and this time found herself a couple of feet further out. 
And this time the man with the spiked pole thrust the pointed end hard into 
her back. When her timid young feet reached the final limit of wood, the 
pole made a single brutal thrust and, with a loud scream, she fell to 
whatever was waiting for her down below. 

Rankin was as good as his word. Almost in the same moment the bound and 
naked girl stepped off the plank, a crewman armed with ropes jumped off 
after her. In a minute the poor girl was pulled back on deck, spitting out 
sea water and coughing. She was soon judged to be in good condition and was 
told to stand beside her three companions, all of whom seemed to me wanted 
to change their minds. But whenever they opened their mouths were told to 
keep quiet if they didn't want to be gagged. The wicked game no got properly 
underway. 

This time Rankin's pointing to another girl, who instantly turned and ran 
for her life in a useless escape attempt. She was dragged back, screaming 
and struggling. Two crew members held her arms as she was placed on the 
plank, and one continued to hold her tight while the other tied a bandage 
over her eyes. Another man performed the same task for the three girls 
awaiting the same fate. The spiked pole did its work and, step by faltering 
step, the maiden soon to die made her way steadily toward empty space. As 
she fell, she screamed again and again until all present heard the fateful 
splash of a girl's naked body meeting its end among the sharks. The 
remaining three could not stand the stress. They had heard the encouragement 
of the man with the spiked pole and her screams. Blindfolded they could not 
see to run, and with hands bound behind their backs there was little they 
could do but follow the awful course of Rankin's sentence. But now each in 
her own way, speaking into darkness, they promised to renounce their 
principles and offered their bodies to any man who wanted them. They turned 
distraught features from side to side in search of pity but the audience of 
standing spellbound by the execution it had just witness and the ones about 
to be performed. The poor girl moaning her promises was carried and placed 
on the plank where the spike instantly found the flesh between the bottom 
cheeks and pressed hard there. Fear of impalement within drove the 
unfortunately girl to make step after step until she, too, joined her 
companion in the sea. 

"Two down and two to go," proclaimed Rankin. Number three was pushed forward 
after refusing to answer her name. She fell to her knees, trembling with 
fear, and refused to walk even against the spike. But she, too, was only 
human, and under the thrust of steel was pushed to the end of the wooden 
plank. Her scream was the loudest of all. 

Number four was the one who had first taken the walk off the end and was 
still dripping wet. She became a wild thing, carrying neither for blindfold 
or bonds, kicking and lunging in blind despair. It did no good, the crewmen 
picked her up bodily and placed her on the plank of doom. With the splash as 
her body hit the water and her choked off final scream, Rankin Teller's 
entertainment was at an end. 

Marjory's four maiden's had been brought from their cabin to witness the 
price of virginity, and were now taken back. The rest of us, in a state of 
pure horror, were getting ready to disperse, probably to resume the 
continual party. Each girl's face reflected her horror at what had happened 
and the thought that it might happen to her. 

It was then that Rankin played his final card. Crewmen went to the rail and 
there was an exchange of shouts and laughing as each of the naked girls who 
had walked the plank were hauled back to the deck to stand there dripping 
wet and shivering with fright. 

It had been a simple deception, a boat had been out of sight and waited 
below to drag each girl to safety. Along with everyone else I felt better 
and would have embraced the poor creatures had they not been the center of 
Rankin's attention. Their blindfolds were removed. What the owner had to say 
was predictable. Each addressed each girl by name and asked the same 
question, "Do you feel like using your pussy now?" 

Each girl said yes, and, after all, why not! For each had suffered death and 
been brought back to life. How could a girl equate the sanctity of her 
vagina against a miracle. As the last girl made her shameful surrender, a 
crewman appeared with a brush and some paint. 

 CHAPTER 5 Sold into Slavery 

With every girl on the Rankin's Pride available to male erections, the 
pressure on each of us became less. Some girls, and I was one of them, were 
much favored for this male sport. But generally speaking, the impaling were 
less frequent. The topical sun made the Rankin's Pride in golden light and 
warmth, the brig was empty and the men who fed upon our nakedness were 
increasingly satiated and less inclined to try new things. Thus we came to 
the port of Benakar. 

I have never known exactly where Benakar is. It was neither wholly ancient 
nor completely modern. And only a few old ships were tied up to the mooring 
docks. There was the inevitable pipeline and the maze of metal by which 
tankers could take on cargo. The auction by which we would be sold was 
scheduled for the following day, and in the meantime we were to be held as 
wards of the local government which closed one eye to the flourishing slave 
trade of girls of any color. The import of girls was legal enough but was by 
no means free of duty and there were tax collectors. 

Rankin explained all this along with the bad news that he was forced to turn 
us over to the locals who would keep us safely jailed over night, and 
deliver us to the action block in prime condition. The explained also that, 
while our number has started out with Marjory's four plus myself, this 
figure of five was now augmented by the inclusion of three of the prior 
guests maidens in whom their original escorts had lost interest and 
preferred whatever they would fetch on the market to taking them back home. 
I wondered who Rankin's guests would find to screw on the way back. But this 
was none of my business and I felt positive they would not go short. We 
white girls would fetch a lot of money, but no doubt some dusky maidens 
could be picked up to fill the gap. I knew the time was close and I was 
scared. 

There were eight girls to be sold, including myself, and we all stood in 
line while Megan tied our wrists behind our backs and explained that the 
local law would not tolerate nudity in public. We were draped with a sheet 
fastened at our necks. Having been rendered both helpless and respectable, 
we were joined together by a chain after collars were locked upon our necks. 
The chain was padlocked to rings on our collars at intervals of about three 
feet. We were controlled and could not dispute. I was told that in earlier 
slaving days this chain connecting female flesh had been called a coffle. 
Whatever it may have been called, it was certainly damned effective. 

I never got to say goodbye to Rankin. We eight were taken in charge by a 
uniformed corporal who obviously relished his duty. He carried a swag stick 
in the manner of the British of another age, and thus none of us were ever 
in doubt as to where to go. A van was waiting at the dock and we were 
propelled within and the door slammed shut and locked. We disposed ourselves 
as best we could while exchanging dire predictions of our fate. 

But the ride was short and the corporal took charge to usher us into a dusty 
building and down corridors until we came to a huge, barred cage expressly 
designed for what we had become. Uniformed guards and a wardress now stood 
by while the corporal took up his position at the incitingly opened door. 
The wardress removed our sheets and thrust us, with hands still bound, into 
the awaiting cage. The bars were heavy and the door slammed shut with a 
frightful clang, to leave eight helpless young women wondering what came 
next. 

Nothing happened. After a while we simply sat down against the bars with our 
necks still encircled by a collar and all of us joined by that chain. We 
talked but there was no optimism in what we had to say even though there was 
a general excitement at the prospect of being legally owned by a man. One of 
the girls summed it up simply, "We all know what he wants us for." It was 
thus that eight maiden's who were once free now contemplated slavery. 

There was a workaday atmosphere about the prison. Uniformed men and women 
went about their affairs and found little interest in the affairs of eight 
naked and chained women inside a cage. After a couple of hours our wardress 
arrived with a pail of warm water, soap and a brush. We were told to stay in 
line and keep still while the offensive word painted on our bellies was 
scrubbed off. The paint didn't remove easily and we had rather tender skin 
on our tummies before the task was done. Our hands were then untied so we 
could feed ourselves. Later in the day we were inspected by a number of men 
who made remarks about us in the local tongue and did a lot of laughing. It 
was a real fun day. 

I felt sorry for the girls who's escorts had dumped them. They suffered more 
than the rest of us. I, at least, had a friendship with the girls from Palm 
Island with whom I again and again bemoaned our removal from that tropical 
paradise. From that lovely island to this dingy cage somewhere in Arabia was 
a great contrast. Every girl did a lot of walking up and down and tugging at 
the bars. We longed to rid ourselves of the collars and chain. I was between 
Elsie and Gloria, but Natalie and Janet were at each end of the coffle. 

We slept in a row upon the hard floor, waking each other constantly by 
jerking at the links which joined us all as one happy family. Our dreams 
were somber and it was only in our waking hours we envisioned the handsome 
prince who would buy us in the morning. 

The new day was suddenly busy, and it was easy to see why we had been left 
chained from collar to collar. It made us easy to handle and kept us under 
control. We were taken to a bare concrete room where we were told to use our 
free hands to gather our hair above our heads while we were hosed down with 
cold water from scalp to the soles of our feet. Needless to say our soft 
parts got the most attentions. The corporal, aided by one of his staff and 
his wardress, then rubbed us vigorously with course towels until our skin 
glowed. Then, with men still in attendance to make sure we behaved 
ourselves, the wardress marshaled us to some tables where there were 
cosmetics and perfumes. We were left on the chain and taken one at a time 
for her attentions. We stood or sat as directed and got a facial fully up to 
western standards. And, in addition, our nipples were painted the brightest 
scarlet. We even got a quick rouge job on each cheek of our bottom. By the 
time the eighth girl had been attended to, it was time for the grand entry 
into the auction room where girls were sold. This time the sheet draped over 
our nudity was intended more for the one dramatic moment when it would be 
pulled away to reveal what lay beneath. As we walked in single file, I 
realized once again how convenient our collar and chain was for those who 
tended us. 

It was a large, bare room with a few steps up to a platform, the purpose of 
which was well understood. Us girls were backed against one wall, and 
admonished by the corporal to behave ourselves if we didn't want to be 
flogged. He then opened a door to give entry to a collection of clients. 
Their appearance was a letdown. 

We couldn't help being influenced by the movies and I expect we'd expected 
flashing-eyed sheiks. But poker-faced collection that scattered itself 
around the room was rather nondescript. Most wear western business suits 
while a few were attired in open necked shirts and pants. Since the 
attractive portions of our anatomy were still covered, and there was a rule 
against touching the merchandise, we eight girls got less attention than we 
expected. It's true, me did drift over in our direction, walked up and down 
the line without saying a word or asking questions, then rejoined their 
fellows. A hush fell when the corporal mounted the platform and the wardress 
unlocked the padlock which held Natalie captive of the chain. Still wearing 
the iron collar, she was pushed up the steps to stand beside the uniformed 
corporal. He made his preliminary remarks in the local language which none 
of us understood. No doubt we were described as thoroughly trained in 
obedience and submission. He then asked for bids. 

The first responses were mostly in course humor, easy to recognize. But 
having gotten the wheels in motion, the corporal then performed the act to 
improve the bidding. He whisked Natalie's sheet from around her neck and 
tossed it aside with a fine, dramatic gesture. He then told Natalie to place 
her hands on the top of her head and slowly rotate to display her assets. He 
also told her to keep her legs well apart. With not the faintest hope of 
escape, the poor girl did as she was told which prompted a rash of bids and 
much comment. The corporal then had his merchandise posture herself in a 
dozen different ways until Marjory's prize was knocked down for a sum of 
money staggering in size. Natalie's wrists were handcuffed behind her back, 
the sheet replaced, and she was led away by a man who didn't seem to care 
much. 

I had been watching the crowd and, as the first disappointment-wore away, I 
realized there were a lot of damned expensive business suits in evidence. In 
this group of ordinary looking men there was Money. 

When it came my turn, I was frightened half out of my wits but the hand of 
authority was on my arm. Instantly I sensed a difference. 

My corporal made a brief announcement, after which there was a pregnant hush 
as though the message was dramatic. There was a stirring among the group and 
a space cleared for one of those with an open shirt. I noticed him for the 
first time, a man of at least thirty but not over forty. He was a man who 
carried with easy grace the presence of authority. Without hurry he passed a 
few words with those standing by before facing the corporal to bark 
something I didn't understand. Certainly it was well understood by the 
corporal, who passed me back down the stairs to the wardress who lead me to 
the exit door and turned me around to propel me back into the prison. I 
ended up in a cell no more dismal than the rest, but nonetheless forbidding. 
At this point my sheet was stripped away and the wardress checked to make 
sure my hair was perfect. She simply said, "You wait," and slammed the door 
on me. In a return of the familiar bewilderment, I paced up and down against 
the bars a couple of times before planting my nakedness on the hard bench. 

He was handsome, he was Arab. He had either purchased me or put a stop to 
the proceedings. His authority had been impressive. When the wardress next 
passed my cell, I asked why I was different from the rest and if I had 
actually been sold. All I got in reply was a burst of laughter and the 
admonition to wait and see. I pondered the possibilities and waited. A small 
cell is a bad place to those who must wait. 

Time passed slowly then suddenly he was looking at me through the bars. 
"Miss Celie Collins, I believe," he said in perfect English. "You may call 
me Hamid, expect when company is present. At such time you will address me 
respectfully as 'Master'." The laugher now took control as he added, "Isn't 
that a gas!" 

I couldn't think of a thing to say. So far as looks went, I'd drawn a 
winning number. But so far as handsome men went, they can be as cruel as any 
of the rest. All I could get out was a polite, "Thank you for buying me, 
Sir. I'm very grateful." 

The wardress unlocked the cell door and was suddenly gone. Hamid left it 
open as he sauntered in to demand, "Go through your paces, Celie. I want to 
know what now possess." 

"You mean the things the girls had to do on the auction block?" 

"Of course. But I understand your problem. Just a moment while I free your 
hands." Hamid used the key and his first act was to kiss the back of my 
hand. Then he seated himself on the bench and told me to stand in the light 
from the barred window and demonstrate my goods. Immediately before Hamid's 
intent regard, I delivered all the humiliating acts of submission to reveal 
everything female I possessed. I was rewarded. "You are very beautiful, Miss 
Celie Collins. You appear obedient. You also come with the highest 
references." 

I had been standing with legs far apart to display my private area, but 
Hamid's words were a surprise so I discarded the pose to politely inquire, 
"I don't understand. Who in this place would give me praise?" 

"You are forgetting Rankin Teller, who I have known for years, and who gave 
me the recommendation. He tells me you accept punishment very well." 

"I hate being punished, Hamid. There's no kind of punishment I enjoy." 

My outburst earned only a smile. "Rankin did not say you enjoyed everything 
he did to you, or that you would enjoy everything I might do. He simply said 
you were obedient and accepted your pain in a manner I would find pleasing." 
Again the charming smile. "I will find this out myself, Celie. Come, I want 
these handcuffs on you again, this time in front. It takes a special kind of 
girl to wear handcuffs gracefully." 

I knelt before him and raised my arms. He fitted each cuff carefully before 
clicking it shut. I wondered if, should I use my hand clumsily, he would 
return me to the auction block? Handcuffs are difficult for a girl to wear 
since most of the time you appear to be striving to get them off, and the 
rest of the time simply don't know what to do with them. Fortunately I had 
been handcuffed so much I was at ease with them. Hamid seemed pleased. 

"You met that test admirably," Hamid said without flattery. "Rankin told me 
truth, you are a remarkable young women. We will sit on the bench and ask 
yourselves questions while there is still time to dispose of you in the 
auction room." He studied me as I sat down. "You have an exquisite body and 
use it with a natural grace. How many times have you been whipped?" 

Anxiously I said, "I am feeling silly, sitting before you like this. I am 
not sure of the proper address, but I would wish to call you by your name. 
But I believe myself a slave girl and slave girls do not enjoy that 
familiarity." 

"This is an unusual association which I will make understandable to you as 
we progress. If you feel easier in your mind calling me 'Master', then do 
so. I asked you a question." 

"Yes, I have been whipped. It seemed to me a terrible whipping." 

"I will whip you often but it is good you've had the experience." 

"Thank you, Master." I was suddenly disgusted with being submissive, but 
since I was this man's property, it seemed natural. 

"I am a product of two worlds," Hamid said evenly, "Harvard in the United 
States, and the London School of Economics. I speak English perfectly but I 
am still an Arab. By the way, Rankin told me you will submit to any man, 
anywhere upon demand. Submit to me now." 

I had become used to the hateful pose. With only a tiny shrug I slithered 
down to the floor and arranged myself for my new owner. The floor was cold 
against my back. I placed my linked hands above my head and looked up 
expectantly, while adding a bit of icing to the cake, "I am yours, Master. 
Take me." 

Hamid simply laughed and, grasping my handcuffs, pulled me back upon the 
seat. "One more test," he said lightly. "You submit as perfectly as you do 
all ease. I will keep you prisoner on my country estate for the time being." 
Hamid resumed his story before I had a chance to speak. "How long you remain 
a prison depends entirely upon my whim and your ability to charm me out of 
the chains and iron bars which are now your lot in life." He gestured almost 
wearily, "As you may have guessed from the way they treat me here, I am a 
very wealthy man. You are an expensive plaything but one I can well afford. 
In between your cries of anguish I will try to make you happy." 

What the hell was there for me to say! I could sense there was more to come 
and invited it with an adoring smile. Hamid continued reflectively, "My 
parents were both of this land but I was sent aboard to be half English and 
half American. Your customs come easier to me than my own. And with the 
death of my father I inherited not only his wealth but the administration of 
his empire. What I'm trying to say is that I haven't had much time for fun 
and games. In some ways you will find me naive. My decision to acquire you 
is recent." 

"I could think of worse masters," I said with some sincerity. 

Hamid nodded at my tribute. "You may also know that I purchased the four 
girls who came from Palm Island along with yourself. Their function will be 
purely decorative, other than to receive occasional whippings purely for my 
enjoyment." Hamid's eyes searched deeply into mine. "I hope you have some 
insight as to why a man finds great pleasure in this marking of the skin of 
girls. Do you?" 

"I have presumed it simulates and prolongs the joy of orgasm, Master." 

"Continue." 

"That's it, Master. Some people may see a kind of beauty in the act. And I 
think some girls can reach a kind of transcendental state under the 
infliction of so much pain. But for me it's just hurt." 

I could not be sure if Hamid was not quietly laughing at me. Nor could I be 
sure if he agreed with my reasoning. Doubtfully I wanted for my master to 
reply. Instead he nodded in agreement. "You have saved me the trouble of 
explaining it myself, Celie. I have whipped many girls and always found 
their loveliness increased many times over by the lash." With raised eyebrow 
Hamid looked at me in a sort of sly sharing discovery. "You forgot to 
mention that a whipped girl is almost always much more obedient. But this is 
so, is it not?" 

"It is so, Master." My owner nodded. 

"There is one more thing which intrigues me. It was not so long ago that you 
were snatched from a world and a life in which you were totally free. How 
well can you cope with memories of that world?" 

I managed a shrug. "I have been kept so closely a prisoner, Master, that I 
no longer think of the way it used to be. There is a million miles between 
my enslavement and the place I used to live." I held up my steel-clad wrists 
to add with a touch of bitterness, "It has been like this always, with chain 
or rope or iron bars. My other life has gone, Master, it will not-intrude 
upon your pleasure." 

"You are almost too good to be true, Celie." Hamid's eyes were deep and 
dark, and most of the time had been drinking in the contours of my breasts. 
He got to his feet and looked down at me with what I hoped was pride of 
possession. "I will not send you back to the auctioneer," he said with real 
sincerity. "I am indebted to Ranking Teller for much of what I know of you. 
Grant me time to make a few arrangements and then I'll take you from this 
disgusting cell and place you in a prison more to my taste." Hamid took my 
joined hands and kissed each of them before he went away. 

I tried the door but it had locked when he closed it. I looked at the 
handcuffs on my wrists and sighed. The bench was hard but it was all I had 
to sit on. I tried to sort out the multitude of impressions crowding in my 
mind. Foremost among them was the persistent yearning for Palm Island. But 
Palm Island was gone as was my former life. Now a man named Hamid dominated 
my life. Whether a girl was slave or free, this man seemed every girl's 
ideal, coming close to the bejeweled prince of girlish fantasy. His suave 
command of English was hard to relate to his promise of whipping me when he 
was in the mood. Most of what he said was kind but none of it disguised the 
fact of my being a plaything, a pretty, painted and scented doll, programmed 
to submit to his desires. 

I figured I had come off a lot better than I might have. 

But I wished Hamid had not mentioned whips. It was the wardress who brought 
a sheet to hide my nakedness from public view. Before draping it, she moved 
my handcuffs from front to back. Then, in a manner to make me wince, she 
bound my elbows tight together with thin cord. It hurt outrageously but all 
my complaints fell upon deaf ears. 

As she arranged the sheet to clasp it around my neck, she volunteered 
something that sounded sincere, "You are very lucky, girl. Your master will 
be kind and also cruel and every maiden in the land will long to fill your 
shoes." 

"Not with the way you've got my elbows fixed they wouldn't." 

"What is a little pain when the rewards will be so great," she chuckled. 
"Hamid will keep you in a silver cage and lock you in golden chains. Come, 
he's waiting in the car." 

I was thankful for the sheet. With elbows screaming we walked what seemed 
like a very long distance to the car. It was a Rolls Royce which Hamid drove 
himself. With amazing strength he picked me up to seat me beside the wheel, 
handed the wardress some funny looking money, then turned the key. "Welcome 
to your new life," he said softly. "I know you are afraid, but where I take 
you now is a place of happiness." 

"That woman tied a cord so tight around my elbows it's cutting them in two. 
I'd be grateful if you'd take it off." 

"You should treasure the pain, dear child, it comes from me." Hamid smiled 
at me sideways. "Regard it as lesson number one. And you would be wise not 
to mention it again." 

I had been put in my place and I tried to bear with lesson number one by 
wiggling my bound arms into the corner of seat to hopefully reduce the cut 
of the cords. Timidly, I ventured, "Please instruct me, Master, I have never 
before been purchased by a man. I know myself fortunate in your choice. I 
want very much to please. I expect you know how much of a surprise you are 
to a girl who expected something quite different. I am terribly confused." 

"I will be every bit as cruel as any other man, I already told you that. And 
the cord you bear on your elbows will be a remainder on our journey. I, in 
turn, am amazed that Rankin parted with you." 

"Mr. Teller is a slave trader. There was no shortage of girls on the 
Rinkin's Pride, and he did with us as he pleased. Somehow he talks his male 
friends into bring on board pretty young women for extended cruises. The man 
who escorted me made it sound quite glamorous and exciting. After we're out 
to sea the girls discover the cruise is not quite as expected." 

"The Victorian "fate worse than death" was something you all adapted to?" 

"Yes. Rankin's amusements were something to make us obey. No girl needed 
more than one or two treatments before she laid down and spread her legs. We 
girls cling to life and it wasn't long before we found submission tolerable 
or even desirable. I am soiled and second hand." 

I got another shrew, sideways glance. "That is your evaluation, my dear. It 
is not mine. At Shalima, the place to which we go, you will be renewed, you 
will dwell in beauty and paradise. I have maidens to attend to you, even 
though they keep you chained." 

It was always there, the knowledge that escape would never happen. I now 
headed into another direction and deliberately used his name. "Hamid, I am 
confused. You treat me as an honored guest and a slave girl at the same 
time." 

"You are a prisoner, dear child, I do not care much for the word 'slave'. It 
hints too much of domestic chores. What I desire is to create at Shalima a 
tapestry of beauty in which every female I possess will play her part. You 
profess to be confused but that is the way a prisoner should be." 

I dared not argue. Visions of being dragged out onto the sand and given a 
thrashing right there and then flashed through my mind. "Master, it seems to 
me I speak too easily of things perhaps forbidden. But I don't think you 
want a 'yes, Master' and 'no, Master' as my limit of response. Is there a 
danger of my saying things that will earn me punishment?" 

"You are seeing dragons where none be. There are no dragons. Don't you 
realize I am as formal as you in this discussion. Familiarity will come if 
we give it half a chance. When I have whipped you for the first time, most 
barriers will dissolve." 

"Can't this be achieved without whipping me ... Master?" 

Hamid laughed at my innocence. "So you don't want to be whipped, Miss Celie 
Collins. Well, dear girl, I don't suppose you do. But the results of leather 
across your bare skin may bring you more wisdom than all I could tell you. 
Forget everything except that you belong to me." 

Hamid had left me little to say. I would probably kept silence had it not 
been for the unrelenting pain in my elbows. I cursed that prison wardress 
for putting it on me. But I dared not speak of it. Instead I spoke of 
something else. "Do you not have wives Master? I thought in your country a 
man might have several and the youngest served the older?" 

"I have no wives. There are girls at Shalima who keep me amused but I have 
not had time for wives. I have purchased girls from to time and some have 
pleased me well enough to let them stay at Shalima. Some of them will amuse 
themselves with you, sometimes painfully. But you will acquire wisdom and 
some may become your friends." 

"Will they whip me?" I got my nipple pinched for that one. But Hamid was 
amused. "If that all you think of, Celie? Of course, they'll whip you. But 
no more than you can bear. If it would amuse you, I'll give permission for 
you to whip one of them. But forget the whip. Will you enjoy being 
imprisoned in a cage?" 

"If it pleases you, Master." 

"Oh, come of it!" The western expression fell easily from his lips. "Good 
gosh, girl, you've got the quaintest ideas about or customs." 

We were closer, I sensed it. "You know about Marjory," I said timidly. "And 
you've purchased her four girls. Will you not impose on them the duties of a 
wife?" 

"What you mean is will I fuck them? That what you're getting at, Celie? Of 
course I will, just as I will fuck you. That's a beautifully descriptive 
word, isn't it? I'll try and not use it too often." Again he laughed at me. 
"Those four maidens will become a part of my tapestry. I will arrange them 
and do things to them as an artist would use a brush. If you walk in the 
gardens and find one hanging from a tree, you must not be surprised. And, 
above all, you must not let her loose. Savvy?" 

Shalima arose for us out of the desert's mist of heat, a wall of yellowed, 
ancient stone encircling at great length the home within. I saw some trees 
that probably told of an oasis. When the guard opened the gate, I saw lush 
greenery abounding around the huge house. The Moorish style of the main 
house might have been ancient or modern, I could not tell, but I instantly 
glimpsed Hamid's tapestry. There were many gardens and trees and paths 
creating a paradise in the heat of the desert. There was no main door, just 
a patio where one entered the cool shadows of the protected walls. Here I 
was taken from the car by three ardent young woman attired mostly in bangles 
to accent their nudity. Their eyes were curious about their master's new 
possession. I was whisked away to a lush bathroom where the tub was huge 
enough for more than one. The girls not only divested me of my sheet, but 
also the skimpy clothing that adorned their fine bodies. Then they joined me 
in the perfumed water. They laughed and chatted in their native tongue until 
a voice that could only come from the Bronx said, "I bet you'd like to get 
rid of that cord, wouldn't you, kid?" 

"You're American," I said in surprise. 

"So what! It don't make no difference here, dearie. We all have the right 
parts to please a man. Welcome to Shalima." 

Surprisingly, the other two girl also spoke English although with an accent. 
I turned to the American and said, "You're right about the cord. It hurts 
something fierce. Please untie it." 

"Shit, girl, what I asked was if you would like it gone. No one said a thing 
about actually untying it. We don't have no authority to untie them elbows 
or unlock them handcuffs. You wear them, girlie, and be thankful it ain't 
nothing worse." 

I was scrubbed and dried and perfumed. The girls fingered and inspected by 
the three girls who treated me with a mixture of mockery and respect. 
"You're the sultan's favorite, sweetheart," the Bronx informed me with a 
touch of envy. "Probably the first thing he'll do is whip your ass." 

"You also get screwed a lot around here," said another maiden. 

"Or maybe he tie you down on an ant hill." This third voice made the 
suggestion with obvious relish. 

It was a lovely room with a balcony above the lush greenery of the 
courtyard. It also had a door with lock and key, with the key on the 
outside. My three now giggling companions stood me in the center of the huge 
floor and set my bare feet upon a costly rug and used a shackle one ankle to 
insure I stayed within a yard of where I stood. They kicked my legs apart 
and each in turn made her hand familiar with perfumed pussy before departing 
in a gust of merriment to leave me standing with wrists still handcuffed and 
elbows cut by cord. Clearly I heard the click of the lock followed by 
silence. 

I was the new girls at school and realized how little I knew of the rules of 
this school. But I had little time to ponder that because the lock clicked 
once again to admit the male figure of an Arab clad in a white burnouse and 
that strange headgear. When he turned to survey his prize, I saw the smiling 
face of Hamid, who carefully locked the door and asked sardonically, "Do I 
please thee better thus?" 

He pleased me mightily. He was the acme of everything I had every read or 
ever fantasy I ever dreamed. I knew myself owned by and looking at a Man. I 
spoke simple truth, "You please me very much, Master." 

Hamid grasp my bare shoulders and kissed first my forehead and then my eyes 
and then my lips. I kissed him back with a fierceness ill befitting a slave 
girl. 

"I give you now my first command," he whispered. His eyes roved up and down 
my frontal exposure before he barked, "Submit!" 

I was well trained. In a second I was on the rug struggling to lay back on 
bound arms. I paused hopefully but Hamid shot down my hope in flames. "Your 
arms stay bound, beloved. Your wrists remain ironed. Lay down and offer 
thanks." 

Hamid watched as I did as I was told, realizing that with my arms thus 
secured my loins rose up. As I separated raised knees to provide a good view 
of what my master had purchased, the momentary agony of the cord vanished at 
the sight of Hamid casting aside his robe and headdress to stand naked. My 
heart beat fast. I was both thrilled and scared at the sight of a massive 
tool designed to please any woman. Here was a man indeed. A man who owned me 
more totally than anyone in all my life. 

I cannot explain these things. The agony of my elbows should have made 
sexual excitement difficult and pleasure impossible. But when Hamid slipped 
easily into my sheath and pressed his nakedness down on my own, I knew only 
an intensity of sensation far beyond anything given me by any other man. 
With ease Hamid took me to the stars and back, gave me an incessant hunger 
to match his own. I was tossed upon a sea of agony and ecstasy on which I 
screamed and screamed, until my lips were sealed by his. Again and again he 
brought me to orgasm after orgasm. 

When Hamid withdrew, he knelt at my side to gaze down affectionately at my 
return to his world. By another instinct I could not explain, I beheld his 
glistening phallus and took it greedily within my mouth that it be cleansed. 

We moved in slow motion in deep content. When Hamid stood, I imprinted on 
each of his bare feet a single kiss, which we both understood as a symbol of 
submission. Hamid lifted me to hold me tight and close. "We will adjourn to 
the balcony for a long, cool drink." Then he laughingly added, "I know what 
you want to say, precious girl, you want to tell me you cannot lift a 
glass." He turned me around and quickly cut the wicked cord and unlocked the 
handcuffs. Dazed with happiness I helped him massage the deep indentations 
in the flesh of my arms. It is not easy for a girl to think up endless 
endearments so I said quite simply, "Hamid, you are wonderful." 

At the balcony I turned in alarm. "But, Master, I am naked! I should not be 
seen." 

"There are none to see," Hamid said carelessly. "In any case, none would 
complain. Come, watch me mix the drinks so that next time you can serve me 
on your knees." 

As we sat and sipped and allowed the desert air to caress our nakedness, I 
thought back to the Rankin's Pride and marveled at my fortune. When a girl 
knows she is to be sold on the auction block, her thoughts always tend 
toward a pretty dream. For me this dream had become a reality, and I knew 
myself not only physically but emotionally enslaved by this man. 

"Did I not tell you, beloved girl, Shalima is a happy place?" 

I tried not to go overboard in telling Hamid of my content, aware of his 
quiet laughing at my earnestness. I was a pleased child. When I was sent to 
mix our second drink, I was aware of being slightly tipsy. Aware, also, of 
the return of the lovely smoldering heat on Palm Island. I was also acutely 
conscious of total freedom, no chain was on me anywhere. As I knelt at his 
feet and quietly sipped, he shattered my complacency, "I'd be surprised if 
you haven't already guess, Celie. We'll take our time with these drinks but 
when they're over, I'll whip you." 

Hamid's voice hung in the air. I like to think I took it well. For several 
moments I tensed in shock before realizing how right he was saying I should 
have guessed it. In this lovely world of Shalima a girl and a whip are never 
far apart. I took a big drink and did my best to hide the fear. "Thank you, 
Master, you told me it would happen. I will try to make you proud of owning 
me." I felt a fool at the speech but could think of nothing else to say. 

I did not prolong the drink. I was determined not to give offense and to 
please this man for whom I felt a warmth quite separate from the smoldering 
embers within my loins. I took our empty glasses to the sink then stood 
before Hamid to make an utterance not far short of the insane. "I am ready, 
Master. Please whip me." 

"And why would I do that, beloved girl?" 

"Because it gives you pleasure. And in that I am content." I allowed a pause 
before adding, "Please whip me." 

I had evidently said the right thing. Hamid took me by the hand to leave me 
to a divan. It was beautifully made and had two levels I did not understand. 
But I understood when Hamid had me kneel on the bottom level and lean 
forward to stretch out my hands and lay bare breasts upon the bench. Some 
sort of clasps the hollows behind my knees and two more doing the same for 
my ankles. There was now a belt to buckle around my waist. When Hamid pulled 
that tight, it cinched my tummy hard down with the leather around the 
narrowest part of my waist, making certain I could not move my hips. "You 
hands and arms are yours, dear girl," Hamid said softly. "I am curious to 
see what you do with them." 

I didn't do anything worthwhile. I could not reach back and touch any of the 
binding by which I was secured. I could raise my head, or even rest upon my 
forearms to gaze around or back in a relative freedom. I began to sense 
embarrassment. 

Hamid's fingers lovingly played with the curves I could not move. He seemed 
to find a fascination in fingering my curves and testing the flesh. For 
Hamid it was an enjoyable prelude but one I did not share. I was soon to 
suffer pain and much concern as to how I would handle it. I was concerned 
how I hold in my screams. I was certain when Hamid whipped a girl it would 
be an anguish to remember. I was trembling but kept assuring myself I was 
not afraid. 

"You're are ready?" Hamid's voice was almost a whisper. 

"I am ready, Master, please whip me." 

My owner had chosen a cane from a collection of such instruments. It was 
long and it was thin. It cut the air with a whine, and impacted across my 
flesh to leave me silent in the most vivid shock of my life. The pain was 
bad enough but it grew and spread. And it was then I made the ugly little 
noises in lieu of actual screams. I could move nothing below my waist but 
raised my breasts and shoulders as though in mute protest. Or perhaps to 
make sure they were not forgotten. In my distress I looked back into Hamid's 
gaze and then slumped back upon the bench to clasp my face in my free hands. 
When the cane found my flesh again, the agony told me I had found the master 
every girl desires. 

I did not scream. I have been whipped often since this one first time. 

Now I scream. It is much easier to scream than to keep quite. But the effect 
of Hamid's magnetism upon me made one thing vital in my wish to please. The 
man who owned me should not be offended by the screech and scream of maiden 
torment. Somehow I sold myself on the idea that it would hurt no less if I 
made disgraceful sounds and thus Hamid extracted from me only gasps and 
moans. My master's use of the cane was steady and hard. I failed to count 
the number of strokes but when he had appeased his appetite for pleasure, 
there came a long suspenseful pause until I raised myself to meet his 
laughing eyes. 

"I will take you to a mirror," he said, "that you may judge the quality of 
my work." 

That my ordeal was over was something I found trouble believing. "Thank you 
for caning me, Master," I said before I realized what I was doing. My master 
made no move to free me from the bench. Instead he sat beside me and lightly 
fingered the pained flesh which tomorrow would be very color of the rainbow. 
And which now responded to his touch with quivers I could not control. In 
fact, the sensations became pleasurable as he progressed and even though my 
scolded bottom burned with fire, I had no wish for him to stop. 

"Do you realize what a miracle you are, child?" 

"I am not a miracle, Master, I am simply a girl who had given pleasure to 
the man by whom she is owned." 

"Come, come, Celie, you know there is more than that. I have never whipped a 
girl who did not scream. You did not scream." 

"I had no wish to offend your ears, Hamid. Screams are obscene." I paused 
before adding, "But this is the only time I have not uttered them." 

"I find it pleasurable to leave you fastened as you are. It is a nice pose 
that we may not repeat for some time. You will stay fastened as we enjoy 
another drink." 

I looked back to behold his gorgeous nakedness walking for the bar. When he 
returned to place the drink in my hand, I found that I could thrust up hard 
enough to lift the cocktail to my lips and share Hamid's toast, "To the most 
beautiful and whippable girl this side of Suez." I drank with him. I was 
happy. 

Before I was released from the bench I was once more handcuffed. I was so 
accustomed to these things on my wrists it did not matter. I realized that 
half the time they were only a symbol of someone's authority. I said nothing 
as the steel bands were snapped upon my wrist. An odd thought crossed my 
mind - I wondered who's wrists Marjory was chaining now. 

My master's voice cut into my thoughts. "I will free you from the couch, 
beloved. I have things to do. You may wander as you please. You cannot 
possibly escape." 

I lay upon the bench a long time. I knew it would be painful to sit and, in 
any case, I was possessed of a lassitude which was no doubt partly due to 
the refreshments. I wanted to explore and was willing to believe there was 
no possibility of escape. In fact, at that moment I had no wish to escape. 
No thoughts of leaving this lovely place crossed my mind. The fact that I 
had received a severe whipping played no part in my reflections. 

I knew myself submissive to a man far stronger than I. I wondered if the 
whip had changed me. Hamid had sparked in me an entirely fresh assessment of 
who and what I was. 

It was pleasant in the huge, cool room. It was as though the bench on which 
I lay had shared the pain Hamid had inflicted. I was comfortable and allowed 
my fancies to wander where they would. They took me immediately to the 
question of why Hamid had purchased me and why we had conversed in the 
manner of a couple or "normal people". Why was he kind to me? Why did I not 
resent being whipped? How could he express genuine affection for a girl he 
had bought and paid for only hours ago? When he called me beloved it was as 
though I had been his slave girl all my life. 

I constantly reached back to play my fingers across the welted skin I had 
been unable to touch when bound. The handcuffs were a handicap but I could 
stretch enough to explore my bottom with one hand. The wounds were sore and 
tender and somehow special. I knew that if Hamid should appear at that 
moment to demand I submit, I would be in the age old posture in seconds with 
knees apart and holding up bare arms in supplication. 

My dreams were interrupted by a sloe-eyed maiden who brought me what I 
suppose was dinner. I attacked it with vigor but since the serving girl 
spoke only her local tongue, I asked no questions. She was obviously 
curious, examining my nakedness with envious eyes, then pointing to my 
bottom and making such motions that left me no doubt that she wished to see 
how injured it was. I rose and left her have a good look at which she 
clapped her hands and made sounds of envy. She also fingered my handcuffs as 
though never having seen such pretty bracelets before. By the time I had 
finished my feast, the day was well advanced and I set out on my tour of 
exploration with an anxiety to be done with it by the time Hamid demanded my 
use at bedtime. 

Shalima was huge. And here and there impressive in its display of wealth. It 
was almost a museum but was adequately staffed, mostly by females who 
accepted me without surprise and those with enough English ask to see the 
evidence of the master's cane, and all expressed approval. Some told me to 
be a very good girl. I encountered no hostility, even in the men. But no one 
would tell me were Marjory's four girls were held. All I got was a stony 
stare, or a repetition of the advise to be a good girl. It was almost like 
exploring a museum and in the end I was glad to find an open door and an 
entrance to one of the lovely gardens. The hot air hung breathless at the 
end of day. I walked up and down the paths but soon felt terribly alone and 
was actually glad when a servant took on hand and said, matter of factly, it 
was time she chained for the night. I was puzzled and far from pleased but 
allowed myself to be led back to the big, cool room where Hamid had made 
love to me. 

During my absence there had been a change. In the center of the floor was a 
pile of shinning bronze links on the top of which was a metal collar far too 
small for any girl to wear. But when I obediently knelt to have it slipped 
around my neck, it fitted perfectly and closed with a decisive snap. From it 
ran one end of the long chain while the other was clearly padlocked to a 
massive ring in the floor. Once more I got the advice to be a good girl and 
then was left alone. 

I was piqued. I had expected Hamid's bed instead of kneeling on a costly rug 
with a collar and chain on my neck which I felt was a lowering of status as 
well as a loss of freedom. I got to my feet and walked as far as the limit 
of my chain, which took me almost to the balcony in one direction and the 
door in the other. The links followed me around but snubbed me short of 
anything worthwhile. I was standing and looking longingly at the balcony 
when the opening of the door announced I had company. I swiftly turned to 
meet one more disappointment. 

She was of the west and her clothing probably came from some big and 
expensive American department store. When she spoke her voice betrayed an 
English origin. It was an educated voice and went immediately to the point. 
"My name is Emily Parsons. I am a school teacher and here at Shalima my 
duties are to teach the staff and their children whatever English they can 
absorb. You are Miss Celie Collins, the Master's latest acquisition." 

She advanced with outstretched hands to clasp one of my handcuffed hands and 
say, "It really is a pleasure, Miss Collins. How d'you do?" 

She was neither pretty or plain and was possible thirty-five. I liked her 
instantly and got good vibes from her. I asked, "Do you live here all the 
time?" 

"Of course, I have a very full day with all I have to teach. And I am not 
chained at bed time or kept in a cage. I am not as fortunate as you." 

"You mean you're free!" 

"I'm sure that seems strange to you, Miss Collins, but, yes, I am simply 
under contract to provide scholastic services. Otherwise I come and go as I 
please." She chuckled. "In case you're interested, the salary is more than 
generous." 

I stood there, breathing heavily, and viewing the inevitable. "Then perhaps 
you can do something about getting me released and sent back home. This 
morning I was sold by auction, and before that I was a prisoner of several 
people for a long time." I stopped to catch my breath. "You will do that for 
me, won't you?" 

"I'm afraid not, dear. You are by no means the first to ask. But these 
matters are internal to Hamid's household and I dare not interfere. No one 
would thank me for intruding." She patted my cheek gently. "I'm afraid you 
truly are the slave girl you believe. And I doubt very much you'll ever been 
given opportunity to escape." 

"But I don't understand this refusal to help." 

"My dear girl, if I did what you ask, I'd be immediately deported in 
disgrace and find myself on everyone's black list." She paused for a second 
before adding, "If not worse." 

"You're telling me I'm a slave for life?" 

"Quite probably. Most certainly for as long as you have youth and beauty. 
You've got looks in an abundance to make me jealous. Since that chain on 
your neck isn't long enough to reach the furniture, would you like me to 
drag over a couple of chairs or shall we sit on the floor?" 

I chose the chairs even though the chain would hang more heavily upon my 
neck. The atmosphere this western woman evoked made squatting on the floor 
something I did not want to do. 

"Look, I see a bar over there," she said, "shall I make us both a couple of 
drinks?" 

Miss Parsons had either been informed or glimpsed my discolored skin. 
Casually she remarked, "His Nibs thrashed your bottom, didn't he? It's 
always referred to as 'Shalima's Welcome'. Most of the servants have had it 
too. Would you mind showing me how badly the Lord and Master has marked your 
skin?" 

Again I displayed my wounds and wondered if Miss Parsons had a Shalima 
Welcome herself, or might be subject to whippings herself but I kept the 
thought to myself. Even though I winced as I sat down, I wryly proposed a 
toast, "Here's to slave girls, long may they be in pain." 

"You're taking it very well, dear. The nakedness thing would drive me up the 
wall, to say nothing of all the rest. But, of course, you did say you had 
previous experience." 

"There were four other girls purchased with me ... ?" 

"Oh, those poor creatures." Miss Parsons was still dealing in obvious 
affairs. "They're sort of being conditioned tonight. He's got them heavily 
chained in a dungeon. They're quite sure they've come to the end of their 
young lives. But tomorrow they'll be introduced to a sort of Persian 
Paradise. They won't know what's happening. It's a cute little trick his 
Nibs loves to play on girls. Don't worry, they won't be tortured." 

"But why did he buy them?" 

"So far as I know, it's to provide a pool of unmarked skin." Miss Parsons 
eyed me doubtfully. "You see, dear, your owner is a man of vast enterprise. 
There comes to Shalima a good many men from whom he can extract a favor by 
making a gift of a lovely girl with unmarked skin, all ready and waiting for 
a man's whip." My companion laughed disgusted. "As far as I can tell, Celie, 
every man, especially if he's got any money, wants to whip a naked girl more 
than he wants anything else in the world. The fact is those four maidens are 
going to lead a really wonderful existence until one of these male monsters 
comes to call. Fortunately, it's not all that often." 

"But they'll always be marked." 

"So will you, dear. Forget it, it's a fact of life." I was feeling much more 
secure. Emila Parsons was a rock on the shifting sands of my enslavement. I 
felt free to ask, "I was told to call the owner of this place by the 
Christian name of Hamid, and to call him 'Master' only on formal occasions. 
I don't understand this familiarity. What do you call him?" 

"Well, that's easy, dear. I simply call him Sir. His full name is Hamid Bed 
Shardela, and his power and authority is almost frightening. He inherited 
most of it and actually isn't a bad chap in his own way. He wants to be 
liked but has a passion for white female skin, which he marked according to 
his mood. I've seen him whip half a dozen naked girls in one day. But, on 
the other hand, I've seen him make them very happy with gifts and money and 
privileges." Miss Parsons looked at me critically. "At the moment, it's you 
who are the Sultan's favorite. But you'll have a lot of hard and painful 
work to keep the title ... That is, if you want it." 

"What if I don't?" 

"You won't get your head chopped off, you'll simply be demoted and have to 
do some work. If you look carefully among the staff, you'll see quite a few 
pretty girls who failed the test and are kept around as a matter of 
convenience. And to make certain they don't go back to where ever they came 
from with stories about what goes on. Don't let any of this alarm you. You 
can have a full, rich life. And there will be times when Hamid makes you 
very happy." 

"I don't like this chain and collar on my neck, it doesn't make me the least 
bit happy." 

"It isn't hurting. You'd be foolish to complain." Emily laughed and made a 
gesture of frustration. "I'm afraid that is what is going to have to govern 
your actions from now on. Believe me, Celie, Shalima contained more devices 
for making young ladies uncomfortable than you could dream of. But there is 
always the possibility Hamid could give you back your freedom, along with a 
check that would take your breath away. I've known it to happen. What you 
have to do is bend with the wind, don't ever be rebellious." 

I held up my joined hands to inquire, "Why do I have to wear these 
handcuffs? They don't do the least bit of good." 

"For the same reason that brides wear a wedding ring, Celie, dear. That's 
all it is, a symbol. Do you want another drink?" 

I had to marvel at Emily Parson's free and easy use of privilege, but I was 
glad of her company. "I'll have another of these," I said. "But too many and 
I'm not going to care about chains and whips and being the property of a 
man." 

"I understand Hamid is more than adequate in his ravishment of girls," Miss 
Parsons interrupted caustically. "It's a disgusting human function I've 
always deplored. But I suppose some of the girls like it." 

"I'm surprised Hamid pays you a salary. He could have easily had you 
kidnapped and have you without cost." My comment prompted the beginning of a 
blush. "Is there something I ought to know?" I ventured. 

This time the caustic was heavy in her retort. "I'm neither young nor 
attractive. Hamid would be silly to bother with the kidnapping of a female 
he had no wise to either to sleep with or to rape. He and I have an 
understanding that works well. I won't leave Shalima until I've acquired 
financial independence." 

Looking over the rim of my glass, I assessed my companion and wondered what 
traumatic incident in the past had convinced her she was without 
attractiveness. Feature-wise she was by no means a raving beauty. But her 
figure was excellent and the way she carried herself spoke of grace. But I 
said nothing. All I wanted was that she be my friend. 

"Will you come and see me often, or will I be allowed to visit you?" 

"Of course we'll see a good deal of each other, girl. As long as you don't 
get in trouble." She chuckled at some thought. "It's not impossible I can 
get permission for you to attend one of my classes. Wouldn't it be fun if 
you became a junior teacher." 

Emily Parsons and I liked each other but the hour had grown late and I was 
becoming tired. Emily sensed this and returned the chairs to their proper 
place. She took the glasses back to the bar, kissed me lightly on both 
cheeks, and promised to try and spend time with me tomorrow. Then she was 
gone. Suddenly I was terribly alone. 

With the compulsion of a caged animal, I once more tested my tether. Nothing 
had changed, I was still snubbed short of both the bar and the door. For 
some moments I stood reflectively, fingering my whipped skin as well as 
chained hands would allow. I ended up doing one cheek at a time. 

I laid down on the rug and went to sleep. I cannot tell the hour in the 
night when the wet wad was thrust inside my mouth by firm, strong fingers 
while I was flipped face down and held there by a couple of painful knees 
upon my back. My iron collar was released by be replaced by a strap between 
my teeth which buckled to the nape of my neck. It was tugged brutally tight 
and followed up by an equally brutal blindfold. 

"You do not fight." The command was feminine as sharp steel was pressed 
against my throat. They were both women, but both were strong. It was easy 
for them to free one wrist then lock my hands behind my back. I could do 
nothing for fear of being hurt. 

I allowed myself to be raised up and propelled to the door. I tried to 
scream but the gag laughed at my effort. It is terrible to be robbed of 
slight and, even with firm hands holding my arms, I was fearful of the fast 
pace they made me walk. 

I could not see but I heard the sound of a car trunk being opened and 
suddenly I was thrust within. My ankles were bound with painful cord which 
then was lifted to my handcuffs and fastened tight to leave me in what I 
knew was called a "hog-tie." I could not move. 

The vehicle instantly got underway but was stopped at the main gate where I 
heard an exchange in a tongue I did not understand. But the tone was 
friendly. My abductors then trod on the gas to speed us off into the night, 
a night for me was double black. My terror was total. Perhaps it was just as 
well I was unable to move. 

I knew little of what was going on except that I was captive to two women 
and being transported far from Shalima. The only encouraging fact was that I 
was laid upon a couple of soft rugs. Evidently someone did not want me hurt. 

I could sense the car speeding across the desert as time passed. It might 
have been anything up to an hour before the lid was raised and I was lifted 
from the tiny prison of the trunk. I sensed urgency in the hands upon my 
flesh but no words were utters as the cords around my feet were freed as was 
one cuff around my wrist. My back was thrust hard against what seemed to be 
a post. Behind that post my wrists were once more locked with the cuffs. 
Swiftly my elbows were bound back, one on each side of the post to which I 
was being fastened. Next there were ropes above my breasts, then my knees 
and finally my ankles. By that time I had become very helpless and unmoving. 
I heard the motor start and then the motor disappear into the distance. I 
was alone and without the faintest inkling of where I was or what my fate 
would be. I struggled furiously but could scarcely move. 

Once more I knew nothing of time but spent a lot of it chaffing my wrists 
against the hard steel. I also tried to influence the strap which held me 
mute, then the blindfold. But I achieved nothing. Naked and completely 
helpless, I had to await in the darkness whatever my fate would be. 

My bandaged eyes could tell me nothing, and as I waited for something to 
happen I struggled again and again. Try as I might, I could not think of a 
reasonable reason to be snatched from Shalima to be fastened as I was now. I 
was scared that for some reason it was someone's intent to leave me here 
until I died. 

The sound of the approaching car was music to my ears. When the motor died 
and fresh hands tore away my bonds, I was tense with hope until I stood with 
hands still cuffed behind the post and the gag still cruel within my mouth. 
But the other ropes were gone and now a knife cut the blindfold to leave me 
staring at as unlikely a pair as I have ever seen. A man and a woman dressed 
for the desert, he middle-aged, the woman younger. It was she who spoke. 

"My name is Fayella. And this is my husband, Lobo. You are now our property 
and will do as you are told." 

I recognized his face as one of the men present at the auction. I made some 
sad little sounds to indicate that I wished the gag taken off. 

"You will remain silent until we get home," Fayella said tersely. "We do not 
want you in a state of hysterics so we'll tell you a rough idea of what 
we're doing." 

I shifted myself against the post. The female voice continued. "We intended 
to purchase you. My husband desires a pretty slave, and I wish to own a 
pretty white serving girl who I can whip." There was a brief pause as 
Fayella tested the weight of my breasts. Her voice became curt with anger, 
"The auction was a fraud. As always Hamid got his way and stole you from our 
grasp. He's too rich and far too powerful, he gets everything he wants. We 
have reason to believe he bought and paid for others beside you, but that is 
of no account. We have corrected this dishonesty and now possess you. You 
would be wise not to make a fuss." 

Fayella's English was almost perfect. She might very well be American or 
Canadian or English. What but did it matter? I labeled her a bitter and 
frustrated female from whom I could expect little mercy. Lobo was not 
similarly educated, his English was blunt and simple, concerned mostly with 
my physical attributes and that I should behave if I didn't want additional 
marks on my rump. My hands were taken from the post and once more joined 
behind my back. My elbows were bound but not with the harsh cruelty of the 
auction wardress. I was pushed into the back seat of a battered Buick, and 
one of my ankles secured to a waiting ring on the floor. I was helpless and 
angry and could not utter a single word. 

The couple who now held title to my body were a rough pair without evidence 
of wealth. There was feminine quality about Fayella, but Lobo frankly smelt 
of sweat and goodness knows what else. But in spite of his firm admonitions, 
I got a favorable impression. Still I dreaded the thought that Lobo's 
masculinity would soon penetrate my sheath. 

It would have been nice to talk but the wad filled my cheeks and the strap 
was as tight as ever. I shook my head time and time again but it held me 
silence. Like a well behaved child I sat there, swinging my one free foot. 
Quite uselessly I tried to find comfort for bound elbows but I don't think 
this is every possible. My captors talked constantly but I did not 
understand a word. 

It was a dusty, small oasis with only a few palms. The dwellings were as 
sparse as the tree, and few. To one of these Lobo steered the car. I saw no 
noisy neighbors and was sniffed at by only one mangy dog. I was hustled into 
my new prison down some steps in the basement. I could hardly believe what I 
saw when I was pulled into the small room. It was a small cage amidst a room 
full of junk. The iron bars were not too thick but too strong for a girl to 
bend. The cage was short enough so that I would be able to barely stand, and 
just long enough for a girl to lay down on a threadbare rug. 

"We don't need this anymore," Fayella said as she unstrapped the gag. "Step 
inside so I can close the door, and then I'll get you something to eat. If 
Lobo comes, you'd best do as he says." 

The door clanged swiftly behind me. Fayella departed quickly to leave me 
looking at iron bars. I tried the door but it would open. It was good to get 
rid of that gag, but that was the only good thing. Before I could decide 
whether to stand, sit or lay down, Lobo burst into the storage room with 
about the same urgency in which Fayella had gone upstairs. He was either a 
man of quick decision or a man in urgent need. He unlocked the cage, pulled 
me out to a space of open floor where he explained his mission in few words. 
"You lay on floor. You raise your knees. You stretch wide open. I fuck." It 
was as matter of fact as a man giving the time of day. 

I don't much want to tell of my first ravishment in that new prison but 
there is still vivid in my mind of Lobo tossing aside garments to emerge as 
a sturdy, fleshy, pot-bellied son of the desert, with his genital cannon 
aimed directly between my thighs. If he had smelt before, his scent was 
doubly strong as he lowered himself onto my nakedness and thrust into my 
sheath with a rather brutally hard move. I had already learned how to 
dispose myself with arms chained behind my back. It was nothing now. But 
Lobo was a heavy man and his thrusts were vigorous beyond his carnal need. 

I sighed and closed my eyes. I can't say I enjoyed Lobo's brand of love. His 
equipment was enormous and he used it hard enough to hurt in contrast to 
Hamid's gentle way within my flesh. What I was getting now was exactly what 
I would have supposed if I had seen this rough man walking down the street. 
I suppose Lobo felt I should feel honored at his attention. To be on the 
safe side, I did say "Thank you, Master" when the job was done. Strangely I 
longed to laugh instead of cry but once more had no time for anything before 
I was thrust back into the cage, the door locked with me on the wrong side, 
to stand unhappily and watch my new master depart. It looked like another 
busy day. 

My captors maintained a staff, none of whom spoke English but found no 
difficulty communicating their simple needs to a naked girl locked inside a 
cage. A teenage girl brought me food and drink, which she passed through a 
slot in the bars close down to the floor. She surveyed me with a grave but 
eager curiosity before displaying domestic wisdom by creating a circle with 
finger and thumb, and pushing her opposite forefinger in and out in a motion 
none could mistake. She accompanied this by suggesting, "You and our Master, 
you jig-a-jig." Then, laughing, she turned and ran. I had not the faintest 
idea what I ate or drank, but it tasted good enough that I left no trace. 
When the same girl came to collect the plate, she told me wisely, "Is good. 
Make you most strong for fuck." Once more she ran away. 

Being locked alone in a cage is not much fun. Servants came and went, both 
male and female, on the pretense of looking for an object they could not 
find. Instead it was I would was examined from every angle the cage 
permitted. I gave them a careless wave of the hand and sometimes got a shy 
acknowledgment. But I think the women simply felt sorry for me, and the men 
knew damned well my loins were not for them. I was mostly left in the 
boredom of solitude. 

I fell into a much needed sleep from which I was awakened by the unlocking 
of the cage. This time it was Fayella who stood, looking down at my 
nakedness to helpfully explain, "I forgot to tell you, girl, you should 
address Lobo as 'Master', and me as 'Mistress.' I'll instruct you in other 
things as we go along. Now I want to whip you. Please don't complain. I want 
you to remember that girls are made to cry out beneath the lash. It is the 
female destiny." 

I struggled to stand and looked unhappily at what Fayella carried in her 
hand. It was a whip and a cane and quite a lot of rope. Defensively, I tried 
to be helpful. "My bottom was caned yesterday, as you can see. I was caned 
terribly and is still sore. It is not ready to be caned again." I looked at 
my mistress hopefully. 

"I was told your name is Celie," my mistress said. "I will whip you how and 
whenever I please. Surely you don't suppose me so blind as to not see those 
colored strips on your rump? This time I will punish you in other places." 
As though adding vital information, she remarked, "A girl has a great many 
places well designed for pleasurable pain." 

"Pleasurable?" 

"Pleasurable for me, dear girl. I have yet to discover if you, too, find 
pleasure in the scoring of your skin." There came a lengthy pause before she 
added, "Do you?" 

I remembered what I now thought of as the Palm Island heat. But I felt I'd 
best play it safe. "Being caned or whipped hurts me terribly," I confessed. 
"If there is anything I can say or do to avoid the lash, you will find me 
most obedient. Please, Mistress?" 

I had struck a favorable cord. My nipples and breasts were played with 
reflectively, and my wet pussy tested. Fayella made an unexpected admission, 
"I like you, child. You are exactly what I hoped when Lobo and I went to the 
auction to buy a white-skinned girl. I wish possessing you could be more 
legal, but be assured my whip will hurt none the less. I expect you would 
like to be fastened to avoid the shame of struggles." 

"You mean you're willing to whip me without being tied?" The words escaped 
my lips before I could bring them back. 

"Of course I am willing. There is a thrill in an obedient girl like no 
other. But I am kind enough to give you warning. If you struggle or complain 
or run around this room while I mark your skin, you will receive a double 
dose. I am thinking now in terms of twenty strokes up and down your back. 
Should you so desire, you can easily raise the number up to forty." There 
came a pause that didn't last long enough for me to say yes or no. "Do you 
wish me to tie you, dear child?" 

I said yes, I would much prefer to be bound, figuring I would be tied up 
anyway. So what the hell! To get into the spirit, I added, "Please show me 
where to stand." 

I lost my handcuffs and was thus able to assist Fayella in pushing back 
enough junk to create an adequate open space in which I could be suspended 
and whipped with the full vigor of the woman's arm. Escape was far from my 
mind even though all my limbs were beautifully free. Instead I asked 
politely what position she wished me in. 

"Feet in the air and wide apart," Fayella said casually. "On your back. You 
don't need handcuffs." 

I dared not tell her I had been punished thus before. Instead I scrambled 
down and thrust my feet apart as though in invitation to a man. I was told 
to raise up on one elbow to watch my ankles noosed, and raised aloft to 
hooks already hanging from the ceiling. I lay back and hoped my mistress 
would be kind. 

It took only the first few strokes to tell me I was a lucky girl indeed. 
Fayella was an artist. Sure the first few strokes within the softness of my 
thighs hurt enough. But I had become knowledgeable in this vocation of being 
whipped. The stinging cuts were hard to bear and I did, indeed, struggle and 
weave my hips around as well as beat the floor with small, clenched fists. 
But I knew these blows were only half as severe as Hamid's. Or Rankin's, or 
even Marjory's. I could not be sure if Fayella's charity was exactly that or 
a desire to spread out the punishing strips for as long as a girl could 
stand the pain. I knew it would only spell trouble if I feigned 
unconsciousness. 

It was not long before we were joined by members of the staff who were 
evidently curious as to how the new, imported girl would receive her initial 
acquaintance with the whip, and just how hard their mistress intended to 
punish this girl. They came and went but I was hurting too much now to even 
notice. Fayella was cutting into the tenderest part of me. When she had 
worked her way up one thigh and down the other, she spatted the whip 
squarely across my vagina to make me scream and heave and buck. Even when 
charity holds the whip, it is hard for a girl to keep both silent and still 
as she is cut and cut again. 

About half way through, Fayella dropped the whip to fetch a bottle and sit 
beside me on the floor. Playfully she tilted the bottle to my lips and I 
drank greedily. Then she poured a small amount within my slit as she held it 
wide apart with the other hand. I dared not interfere but said again my 
humble, "Thank you, Mistress," as the fire of alcohol burned itself out 
within my loins. 

"You have done well, child. I am pleased with you. Let us drink enough to 
make us happy." 

I drank as much as I could get, which wasn't all that much. I could tell 
Fayella was not going to allow me to escape my pain by getting tipsy. As she 
sat beside my nude and terribly bound body, she told me of her house, her 
husband, and the ways in which I would be used. So far as Lobo was 
concerned, his only need was for me to jig-a-jig, but my mistress wanted 
something more. She told me she knew I was not a lesbian but would on 
occasion punish me until I agreed to perform the lesbian service long enough 
to satisfy her. The rest of the time she would find pleasure in giving me 
whippings such as now, and inflicting humiliations and binding about which 
she refused to talk. The time was short before she sat aside the bottle and 
glass and picked up not the whip but the slender cane I had come to dread. 
She stroked my bottom with a gentle hand before standing back and swinging 
the wicked cane to add fresh pain and even more vivid markings to the curves 
I could not protect. My hips weaved to the limits of my tethers as the flesh 
between my legs was once more set on fire. Without prompting I made 
appropriate sounds and motions as the thin and wicked instrument rose and 
fell as if meaning to cut my bottom to shreds. 

 CHAPTER 6 Teenage Torture 

Fayella did not release me immediately, but once more sat beside my 
nakedness to assure me earnestly of her deepest wish to thrash me forever. 
But she was a practical woman who knew when it was time to stop. And that 
time was now, a fact with which I heartily agreed. If she had toasted my 
pussy with a blow torch, I doubt it would have hurt more. I was sure my 
tender flesh was cut and bleeding. But it was her choice of place and 
posture which left me weeping. She cradled my head in her lap, stroked my 
hair, and allowed me to sob out my defeat. 

When the tears dried, she helped me up and guided my back into the cage. I 
sank gratefully to the floor and fell asleep without hearing the closing of 
the door. It was not until I woke up the following morning that I discovered 
the handcuffs snug upon my wrists. 

There are worse things than being locked naked in a cage, and there are 
worse things than wearing handcuffs. My cage was none too large but not tiny 
enough to complain about. My needs were looked after by the same teenage 
girl of yesterday, who I was certain had no keys, and was thus of little 
help. She was, however, intensely curious, especially about the swollen skin 
which Fayella had punished so brutally. I was sufficiently bored to twist 
and turn and separate my legs to satisfy maiden interest in my condition. 
The girl seemed to think I should be pleased and proud of my new 
discolorations, and clapped her hands in delight, a delight she seemed 
disappointed I did not share. I felt ashamed over wondering how I could use 
her to effect release. 

I had deemed release from Shalima impossible, but I was not that certain 
about Fayella and Lobo. I stood as prisoners often do, clutching a couple of 
bars and gazing out into the room where I had been violated by Lobo and 
whipped by Fayella. I didn't relish being left alone in the cage all day and 
was looking hopefully at the door when it opened to admit the master of the 
house. He wasted no time, but waved to me cheerfully. As he approached my 
cage, he said, with humor, "We do a jig-a-jig. I jig-a-jig with you many 
times today." He paused to survey the tortured flesh within my thighs. 
"Fayella, she whip you. She should have whipped your ass, not the place 
where I go inside." But the torture of my private place did not deter him 
from his purpose, and he opened the cage door. I was pulled out for 
jig-a-jig. 

It took all my courage to leave the cage. Lobo had tossed aside his garments 
to reveal a weapon more rampant than the day before, a weapon pointing 
straight at me. I don't need to say more. I approached my ravishment with 
shame, and endured it without comment. Lobo left me handcuffed, they did not 
interfere with anything he wished to do. But they kept me aware of 
punishments and penalties and the stupidity of trying to run away. I took 
everything Lobo had to give and was more than filled with that weapon. The 
rough shoving in and out of his tool was a strange combination of pain and 
pleasure for me. His body pounding against my tender flesh hurt but that 
huge tool filling my sheath was something no girl could ignore. And it felt 
good in its own way. What a strange thing it is that pain and pleasure can 
be so mixed. 

When, after giving me a number of orgasms, my master found himself spent 
with a weapon fully discharged, he got off me and allowed me to regain my 
feet. He did not lock me back inside the cage, but led me by my handcuffs to 
find his wife and formally deliver me into her possession for the balance of 
the day. About the only interest I now had in those who owned me was to hope 
that Fayella would not whip me for a second time. But this fear was 
groundless. I was welcomed with open arms, told how disgusting husbands 
were, and invited to share Fayella's lunch. She seemed to take it for 
granted mat I had been well and truly dealt with sexually, and informed me 
she had something else in mind. She seemed so pleased I felt certain I 
wasn't going to like it. 

My fear was supported by the shifting of my hands from front to back. Lobo 
seemed to enjoy the increased view of my front but took no other interest in 
me. I was apparently Fayella's for the afternoon. She made sure my handcuffs 
were properly tight. She said I would no doubt enjoy some fresh air and 
sunlight, along with cheerful company. She took a firm grip on my arm and 
led me from the house. 

Some children stood waiting, their ages from about four to fourteen. The 
eldest was a teenage girl standing there with a riding crop, which the 
others eyed in awe. She waved it as a badge of office, while Fayella 
explained, "They are such sweet children. She who holds the whip is called 
Inza. But she had been warned to use it only if you are disobedient." 
Fayella gave me a grin. "But, of course, you will be a very obedient girl, 
won't you?" She patted me on the wounded skin of my bottom and walked back 
into the house to leave me feeling wickedly exposed. 

As though by mutual consent, we moved a little way out into the sand until 
Inza halted the march with an abrupt command. "You name is Celie. Spread 
wide your legs." 

Pushing my luck, I asked politely, "What do you want me to do that for? You 
can look at me well enough now." 

"It is so the little boys can see your pussy cat." She waved the riding 
crop. "Do it or Inza whip." 

I recognized authority. I spread my legs and was rewarded by several male 
children coming as close as Inza would permit. The most eager member lay 
between my legs to look up at my most interesting part. When the boys had 
inspected my pussy cat to Inza's satisfaction, their place was taken by the 
girls, who's interest was far less avid and appeared centered on the fact 
that mine was larger than theirs. Curiosity satisfied, Inza progressed my 
degradation one more step in the wrong direction. "You stand like that while 
I fix the rope," she said. "Then we take nice walk." 

I held the disgusting pose and watched in apprehension as the group leader 
extracted a length of well-used cord and a pair of those spring clips used 
in offices to hold loose sheets of paper. I suppose there is nothing 
remarkable in finding such objects in such a distant place. I moaned 
inwardly as Inza knelt and fingered the sexual lips that were still very 
sore. A moment later I squealed in pain as a clip bit hard and deep on one 
side of my innocent labia, and squealed again as its upon my other lip, 
still free. It was no longer easy to clamp my thighs but I did my best while 
telling Inza, "They hurt too much. Take them off ... Take them off!" 

"Pretty lady want clips on tits?" I shook my head, clenching my teeth 
against the pain as the girl thrust my feet apart to thread her cord through 
the center of each clip, made a slip knot, and drew it tight to make me 
squeal again. She stood in triumph, holding aloft the tether to my pussy. 
She tugged it gently to make me yelp before announcing in the manner of a 
Sergeant Major, "Now we walk." 

I was thankful it was Inza who led me on my shameful exercise. The first few 
steps were murder but she informed me that she had once been punished thus 
herself and ignored my protests and pleas for mercy. But she was careful not 
to impose too great a stress upon feminine flesh so punished. The entire 
group was very happy as I walked with legs as far apart as possible. I guess 
I got used to the pain and become mostly concerned that the girl who held 
the leash should not tug needlessly hard. It was a slow march indeed, and it 
was painful. In fact, even with all the indignities I had suffered in 
captivity, I was never more controlled than ever before. I longed for 
Fayella so I might make known the full horror of the clips hard and fast 
where no such things should be. I had a strong suspicion that Inza, although 
she might pay no attention, knew what I was feeling. Without pause, and in a 
frantic need of hands, I tugged and twisted against the handcuffs on my 
wrists. 

Inza skirted the cluster of buildings which was the village. No one paid 
much attention to this strange party. After we had circled the village a 
couple of time, the children had gotten bored. She then led me to where an 
ancient tree clawed its way out of the hard, baked earth. She passed the 
tether between my thighs from front to back, pulled me close against the 
tree, then fastened the soiled old cord where my hands could not reach. Thus 
I stood facing the hungry young eyes without defense. Inza had not drawn the 
cord tight enough to hurt any more than just the clips did, but enough to 
keep my bottom brushing the trunk and me from moving even an inch away. She 
barked something and the two oldest male children took possession of my 
breasts to eat my nipples. They did about everything except bite my rosebuds 
off. Then they fell to a steady sucking. These activities were watched with 
wide-eyed interest by those who's turn was yet to come. Then Inza spoke to 
the boys sharply and motioned a couple of girls to take their place. The 
girls did not bite as much as the boys had, but they worked harder with 
tongue and lips to make my breasts tingle and feel so wonderful, an odd 
feeling when you consider my pussy was in constant pain. Inza watched with 
curiosity until she finally asked, "Is making you hot inside? You want I 
fetch Lobo?" 

She was right about the hots. The smoldering fire generated on Palm Island 
had never really gone away, it was very much a part of me still. And with 
the increasing stimulation of youthful lips and tongues, I had to wonder if 
I was getting glassy-eyed. I told Inza not to bother about Lobo and, yes, 
indeed, she was making me hot and bothered, and would she please stop. I 
could just as well saved my breath. It was an unending rotation in which 
Inza herself took part to bring to bear not only a more crafty attention to 
my breasts, but also a gently manipulation of the clips which bit my pussy 
lips. Because of some strange feminine response, the soft pain stoked my 
fire more furiously than the mouths feeding on my breasts. Despite myself, I 
blossomed into an explosive orgasm in which I cried aloud and twisted 
furiously against the tree. The children backed away and watched in awe. 

A few minutes later the mouths were back at my breasts and the agony in my 
pussy compelled me to keep still and lean back against the trunk to 
passively provide Inza and her small tribe with continuing amusement. I was 
forced to gasp my way through that period where a girl's pussy tells her 
she's had enough and wants no more, and then beyond that until I knew my 
forces rebuilding themselves for a repeat. I looked down wearily at the 
young heads busily engaged my at nipples, then looked appealingly to the 
girl with the riding crop. But Inza knew she was on safe ground and laughed 
away my pleadings for the game to stop. All I got out of that youthful 
authority was a sly question if I might sooner have the children whip my 
breasts. And then the earnest assurance the lips and tongues I now endured 
would continue for the rest of the afternoon, and all of them hoped I would 
climax at least fifteen times. Within my traitorous flesh I could feel the 
first stirrings of another disgraceful spasm. I kept quiet and let it 
happen. The children seemed to like this game. 

I cannot tell how long my system might have withstood the assault upon my 
sexuality, but suddenly it stopped with the children scattering in all 
directions to leave me alone but still securely fastened by the clips. At 
first I paid little attention, for I was totally engrossed in a longing to 
escape. But finally I paused long enough to behold the reason for my 
childish tormentors departure. There were now military figures surrounding 
the tiny village, one of which was striding my direction. And with a cry of 
gladness I recognized Hamid! I had never been more thankful to see anyone in 
all my life. Without thinking, I started towards him but was halted by the 
most intense pain of the whole afternoon. It sent me cowering back against 
the tree. 

To this man who owned me, I must have seemed free of all restraints so that 
a frown of puzzlement took the place of his welcoming smile, and I was 
forced to compound my embarrassment as best I could by saying, "Master, I am 
fastened! I am fastened by ... I mean, by ... Oh, shit, my pussy's clamped!" 

I need not have blushed or felt shame. My master was instantly on his knees 
before my nakedness. He laughed at what he saw, a laughter I did not share. 
He hand went towards me and suddenly I was fighting back a scream as the 
jaws of the clamp opened. The momentary pain was worse than the steady ache 
they had been. I fell against the tree trunk. Now the cuff from my right 
wrist was set free so I could joyously throw my arms around my rescuer's 
neck to be kissed and kissed again while I whispered vows of thankfulness 
and eternal obedience. Our greeting took quite a little time, and at the end 
of it my right wrists was once more captured by the handcuff, but this time 
with my hands in front. 

I was guided to the Rolls Royce. Anxiously I tried to babble out the story 
of my kidnapping and those who had snatched me from Shalima, but Hamid put a 
finger to my lips. "We know who is responsible, dear girl. And justice will 
be meted out. Come, let's go to the house where you were held prisoner." 

The front door of Lobo's house burst open to reveal Fayella and her husband 
in the grip of soldiers who stilled the couples struggles with handcuffs 
against which no prisoner prevails. I was not witness to a horror I'll 
remember all my life. 

The uniformed men who were in charge of Fayella walked her toward the 
waiting van and, despite her strength and anger, thrust her within and 
closed the door. I could imagine her frustration for I felt certain she had 
experienced restraint in all her life. But what happened next drove Fayella 
from my mind. Lobo had never ceased to fight. He was a powerful man and in a 
surge of strength broke free and ran with surprising speed out across the 
sand. Casually and without haste, a waiting soldier sighted his rifle 
carefully and pulled the trigger. Lobo threw his arms up and fell face down 
upon the sand. One of the men who had held him retrieved the handcuffs. To 
make double certain, he also administered the coup de grace to leave me 
looking in horror at the lifeless hulk of a man who only that morning had 
impaled my sheath to perform the jig-a-jig, which for him was a simple 
pleasure not to be denied. I shuttered and tried to shut out the vision. 

Hamid made no further comment on what we had just witnessed, merely turning 
to me to shrug. It left me scared but in a few miles the thrill of rescue 
returned in full force to leave me longing for Emily Parsons and Shalima. If 
there was a cloud in the sunshine it was because of the handcuffs on my 
wrists. Evidently, in Hamid's book, I was still not to be trusted. A 
prisoner to be treated with love, but still a prisoner. 

Perhaps I was born and raised in a different culture because I simply could 
not get rid of the vision of a man dying. Yet those around me seemed 
unaffected by it. Perhaps it was a daily occurrence in this land of sand 
dunes. Considering Lobo had raped me many times in our brief acquaintance, I 
should have felt he got his just dessert. Yet was the price he paid with the 
little pleasure he gained? I had no feeling he deserved to die. 

"What are you going to do with Fayella?" I asked suddenly. 

"She will be properly dealt with, Celie. For the time being I will not 
discuss Fayella." 

"Are you going to kill her?" 

Hamid's lips curled in amusement. "No, she will not be killed." The same 
amusement now colored his voice. "Do you wish to disobey me with more 
questions?" 

I had forgotten my status. I was a girl who had stood on the slave block and 
purchased. I was Hamid's property and he owned me utterly. If he wished to 
punish me cruelly, that was his right. The fact that we had each felt a 
strange affection for each other altered nothing. I was his to command. I 
had best watch my tongue. 

Timidly I offered, "Fayella was kind to me, but I won't speak of her again, 
if that is your wish." 

"Tell me, beloved girl, do you still dream of Palm Island and the woman 
called Marjory?" 

Hamid had changed the subject with a vengeance to leave me once more trying 
to gather my wits. He had not asked the question ideally, somewhere there 
was an intent. 

My words were cautious, "Of course I dream about Marjory's island. It's a 
beautiful place with a beautiful house and a beautiful woman who's 
punishments weren't all that hard to take." I stole a sideways glance at 
Hamid. "Why do you ask?" 

"What you and Rankin have told me of the place and the woman who owns it 
intrigues me." Hamid's tone was thoughtful. "That island is a remarkable 
concept, but it should be owned by a man, not a woman. Certainly no woman 
who is little more than a girl. I take it you'd like to see your Marjory 
again?" 

"Yes, I would. I became fond of her." 

"Suppose you and I visit Palm Island? We could use my personal jet. It's a 
long journey but might be worth it." 

"But, Hamid, why? I don't understand." 

"You know something about men, Celie. You know of the strange desires rich 
men indulge." Once more I saw his amused eyes. "I find myself with a selfish 
compulsion to strip this Marjory naked, tie her in some demeaning pose, and 
then give her the whipping of her life. I'm sure you would wish to be 
present." 

Hamid said it so easily, as though speaking of something we would do when we 
got back to Shalima. I suspected he was testing my loyalty, so I held up my 
handcuffed wrists and made my voice as demure as I could, "I am your 
property, Hamid, I must obey. My will is not mine but yours." This time my 
master laughed outright to my confusion. 

"You said that prettily, dear child." He patted my bare knee. "But we are 
still a world apart. Perhaps it is you I should whip when we get back to 
Shalima." 

Suddenly my heart was thudding painfully in this sudden reminder of how I 
was at the mercy of Hamid's caprice. In this ancient land, a whip was never 
far from a man's hand. Hamid had shown me both love and cruelty and I 
realized I could be the subject of both at anytime. I had to understand that 
for a woman like Marjory and a man such as Hamid the simple pleasure of 
watching me struggle and cry out in pain was justification enough. True, I 
might learn to charm my master out of such inflictions upon my skin. And it 
would be best for me to learn whatever turned him on. I sighed. It was a 
task I did not relish. 

On our return to Shalima, I was placed in the care of one of the women I 
thought of privately as "wardress." My master's brief instruction to this 
woman once more covered me with shame. "You will chain Celie in the largest 
of the cages. But first, since she has been possessed by another man, you 
will cleanse her. Very well." Hamid kissed me and was gone. The wardress 
grasp my bare arm and led me to a bathroom and a cleansing of my body. 

The cage was nowhere near as bad as I had feared. One side of it was open to 
the sunlight and the courtyard below. It was half as big as the room it 
occupied. Its bars were heavy and gilded as with gold. The shackled now 
locked on wrist and ankle matched the tone. Another chain connected my 
wrists and ankles to a ring in the wall just above my knees, an arrangement 
which prevented me from raising questing fingers above my navel. The 
wardress explained, "This chain, it keep you safe. You sit down and draw up 
your feet so then you reach your lips to feed yourself and do your hair. You 
very lucky girl." 

Alone, I took stock of my new prison, standing chained and helpless to tug 
in resentment against the restriction of my freedom. In any case it was 
useless, and I forced myself to relax. I was suitably confined for a slave 
girl. 

The cage was luxury and perhaps a trifle tongue in cheek. There were large 
cushions everywhere and the floor was covered by a rug I was sure cost a 
fortune. Exploring the cage, I found a huge chest which held other 
restraints and instruments of punishment. I closed it quickly. Finally I 
returned to the bars, clutching one in each hand and gazed down at the 
beauty of the courtyard. I longed for Hamid. I longed for anyone who would 
talk to me. I wondered if I could persuade my master to allow Fayella in my 
cage. In frustration I simply sat on a cushion and wept. 

Bitterly I longed for freedom and inconsistently longed for Hamid. But I 
wanted him out beyond the bars and the walls of Shalima an improbable 
fantasy I knew was not to happen. 

I fingered my chains and sighed a lot. Despite my warmth for Hamid, I had to 
ask if a man who truly loved a girl would chain her as I was shackled. Sure, 
it might be no more than a tongue in cheek reminder to keep me in my place, 
but, on the other hand, it made freedom a distant possibility. I asked 
myself if this infatuation for a man who actually owned me by right of 
purchase was not simply a girlish impulse. Hamid was handsome. He was rich 
and powerful. And even in this pleasant imprisonment behind golden bars, my 
internal heat called out for his attention. Shamed, I thrust the thought 
from my mind to dwell on the only thing that really mattered - freedom. Some 
way I must find my way back to the natural world of girls and pick up a 
normal life away from chains and cages and whips. I seemed silly to dream of 
liberty but I was thus engaged when Miss Emily Parsons entered the outer 
room. 

"Gosh, how on earth has that man got you fastened now?" She laughed at the 
sight of the chains I was forced to wear. "You mustn't take all that metal 
so seriously. I suspect your Lord and Master is having fun with you. But, 
for goodness sake, don't tell him I said so." Miss Parsons positioned 
herself against the bars of my cage. "I've heard all about your kidnapping 
and the rest. So don't let's talk about it, I don't want to hear. Are you 
all right, Celie?" 

Producing a key without waiting for reply, she enhanced my moral by opening 
the door of my cage. I was soon enveloped in two maternal arms and hugged 
reassuringly. She kissed me. I longed to throw my arms about her but 
standing upright this was not possible. Once more Emily laughed at my 
discomfort. "Don't worry about not being able to do the usual things," she 
told me cheerfully. "I'm accustomed to what we can politely refer to as 
'restraints.' You might be interested to know that my school has gained a 
young woman by the name of Inza. At the moment the poor child is chained the 
same as yourself but in far less pleasant surroundings. I expect Hamid will 
have her whipped before I get to take her tomorrow. Really, the manners and 
habits of this place are truly appalling." She snorted in disapproval. "I 
suppose someone has told you of the possibility Hamid may have you whipped 
as well? It's his way of telling you not to get ideas above your station." 

Have it not been for Emily's acceptance of the status quo, I would probably 
have produced a flood of tears. But the school mistress had a gift for 
making the impossible and outrageous appear normal and expected. I had no 
reason to hold affection for Inza, who probably deserved what she was going 
to get. My tears, had I shed them, would have been solely in grief over the 
marking of my own skin. Unhappily I looked at the open door to ask, "Miss 
Parsons, I have to escape. I absolutely must escape. Can you help me?" 

"It seems to me we've dealt with this subject before," she said primly. "If 
I could set you free, I would. But I have no desire to taste the lash myself 
because of some nonsense. And I have not been here long enough for Hamid to 
really trust me. For instance, the key by which I opened the door was given 
to me. But I do not have the key to those chains you are wearing. I'm truly 
sorry, dear girl, but any kind of freedom or privilege is Shalima is 
strictly limited. Even supposing you got beyond the walls, I don't suppose 
you'd be anxious to walk out into the desert in your present condition. Like 
I said, being a female in the country has its disadvantages." 

We kissed and I sank to the floor and thus could use my arms against the 
music of the links. Miss Parsons, herself, knelt to make possible the things 
we could not do while standing. But our efforts ended in wry laughter at the 
victory of Hamid's chains. There really wasn't much worthwhile I could do 
and after a while I stopped trying. The two of us sat on a cushion to 
discuss my fate. 

"One of the reasons you've been chained inside this cage, Celie, is because 
you have here a fine view of the patio, the courtyard, and some of the 
garden. Tomorrow you'll be able to witness the punishment of the two women 
who kidnapped you and took you from Shalima. I suspect the woman called 
Fayella will also have to endure a bad time before she is sold into slavery. 
I am not sure what's going to be done to any of them, but I thought I would 
warn you." 

"And I get whipped, too?" 

"It's a possibility, too, dear. One can never tell about these silly men." 

Once more I fought back tears and to bridge an awkward gap told Miss Parsons 
of my master's casual suggestion of taking me to Palm Island to witness the 
whipping of a woman he had never seen, and who certainly had never done him 
harm. "If you believe Hamid may do this," I suggested, "might there not be 
opportunities in such a journey? For me to escape, I mean?" 

Emily shrugged. "Who knows! Certainly your chances would be better than 
being chained in this cage. But I don't think Hamid will ever give you such 
a chance. He'll always have you chained or bound in some way so escape is 
impossible." She paused a moment before added, "A thought does strike me 
that perhaps if this Marjory is as beautiful as you say, and if her skin 
accepts Hamid's strips well, his infatuation may transfer itself from you to 
her, and he'll leave you on Palm Island and bring her here to take your 
place. It's just a notion, but with foolish men anything is possible." 

I looked at her notion and found it far less a fantasy than I would have 
wished. It was something that could happen. But, if it actually became 
reality, I could only see myself exchanging one master for another. It would 
not be long before Rankin picked me up again. Of the two men, I 
unquestioningly prefer Hamid. His chains and his cage were better than 
Rankin's pleasure yacht with women forced into being whores. 

"I feel affection for Hamid," I said, "nothing he does to me changes this. 
Am I being only a silly girl who needs her bottom spanked or a jet of cold 
water to cool my heat?" 

"Stop worrying about such feelings, you're a perfectly normal woman with 
perfectly normal reactions. You're doing fine. If you can cozen Hamid to 
fall in love with you, I think you should. Right now it's your closest path 
to freedom." 

"You think if he came to love me, he would not keep me chained?" 

"How would I know, child! It is something you're certainly more likely to 
find out than I. When my contract expires, I will not renew it and will 
return to England and sanity." Emily Parsons sighed. "I had best go now. Is 
there anything you would like me to have the servants bring you? I expect 
you could ask for anything and get it. Except your freedom." 

I watched Miss Parsons departure, sharing her grin as she locked the door of 
my cage and pocketed the key. When she had gone, I chose a cushion and 
quietly sat until the wardress thrust in a frightened and naked Inza. I 
suspected Hamid was having fun. 

The wrists of the poor child were corded tight behind her back. Other cords 
clamped her arms elbow to elbow to bind them cruelly. The cord dug into her 
flesh in an obviously painful manner. She looked at me uncertainly, no doubt 
remembering our previous encounter. Shakily she said, tears in every word, 
"Missy, please to tell, am I to be punished." She gazed wide-eyed as though 
I had the power to set her free. 

"I'd say you're being punished right now, Inza," I suggested. "Come and sit 
down so we can talk." 

"You are not angry because of the things I had the children do?" 

"I am not angry. It is over and done with. I would spare you the punish I 
expect you'll soon receive. But I have no power. Our Master will punish you 
as he sees fit. Come close so we can share our warmth." 

Inza's steps were hesitant. I expect she saw me as the sultan's favorite, 
even in my chains. As she drew close, she bemoaned the same thing I would 
have complained about myself. "Please, Missy, the ropes on my arms hurt so 
bad and there is nothing I can do with them. Please to untie me." 

"I clinked my chains as thought to express a similar impotency. "I am not 
allowed to untie you, Inza," I said. "I am a prisoner the same as you. And 
if our Master finds you in this cage with your limbs free and the ropes on 
the floor, we will both be punished terribly. I'm sorry but that's the way 
of it." 

Inza nodded in complete understanding. She had fastened me to the tree and 
punished me in her own fashion. To her it was understandable that I should 
find pleasure in her suffering and would give no aid. 

"Come and sit down and don't think about the pain." 

"I am going to be whipped." It was not a question but a statement. 

The poor child understood that the way of this country much better than I 
did. With a shrug she dismiss her painfully bound arms, accepting that I 
would not or could not untie them. But now, in the loneliness of bound 
captivity, Inza sat beside me to slyly thrust her bare skin against mine. We 
were both totally naked in a sisterhood of shame. 

I should have been angry at Inza for what she had done to me but could only 
feel pity for the poor child who probably faced a terrible punishment such 
as she had never experienced in her young life. I longed to free her limbs 
of the biting ropes but instead snuggled close against the frightened girl. 
Strangely enough, the two of us slept. 

In the morning, when the wardress brought my food, she took Inza away to a 
fate I could not foresee. I learned from the servant that Hamid was absent 
on business. She also told me briefly that punishments would be made that 
day and if I wished to watch, I could do so through the bars at the far side 
of the cage. When I had finished a small breakfast, I clanked my chained way 
to where I could see the garden down below and its patio and wall. With a 
gasp of disgust I realized I was already late. 

The two women who had kidnapped me for Fayella and Lobo were naked and 
suspended upside down, their hands tied behind their back, and their feet so 
far apart that they seemed to be mostly pussy. A pair of young female 
servants were busily and happily engaged in whipping the two exposed clefts. 
Each blow evoked jerkings and thrashing of the naked bodies, giving 
testimony to the high degree of pain inflicted by the leather whips. But the 
girls could do nothing to protect their tenderest parts from the two 
teenagers who were obviously enjoying themselves. The two victims could 
neither scream nor complain - they both were gagged most cruelly with very 
tight tape wrapped around their heads. From the line of their jaws, I 
guessed that something been stuffed into their mouths before the tape was 
wrapped around. 

I had not long to wait to behold Inza's punishment. The girl had been 
completely freed of ropes but was firmly in the grip of one of my jailers, 
who lost no time in padlocking a leather belt far too tight to constrict the 
teenage waist in a cruel grip which emphasized hips and rib cage. With an 
unnaturally slender waist, the girl was led to the awaiting wall and the 
grim hook. The hook was six feet above the ground. It was all very simple, 
the jailer lifted Inza and with practiced motions anchored the poor girl 
against the wall by hooking a ring at the back of her belt. Quiet suddenly 
the poor girl's weight was totally on the hook and her belt. A few words 
were exchanged and, in response, Inza's arms were spread wide as were her 
feet. The girl was in no way bound, but to prevent herself from turning 
upside down, must exert a constant pressure with her hands and feet against 
the stone. The jailer backed away, satisfied with her work and went to watch 
the whipping of female loins, leaving Inza shocked and wildly clutching at 
nothing. Around her middle the leather belt cut in cruelly. 

I should not have watched but was held by a terrible fascination. The scene 
before my cage was so horrible as to leave me wondering if it could happen 
to me. I thought, that Hamid and I had something going between us. But this 
was Shalima in a strange land I did not even know the name of. And I had to 
please my master for it would be very easy for him to consign me to a fate 
not unlike that of the unfortunate girls below. Or he could see my naked 
body to some other Arab where I might be treated much worse. Hamid could, 
after all, purchase as many girls as he desired. And the sultan's favorite 
is often a difficult place to hold on to. I promised myself to please my 
master. 

After a while the two teenage girls ceased to whip the frightfully 
discolored crotches at which they had been cutting steadily with leather 
thongs. The unfortunate females hanging upside had ceased their efforts at 
screaming and were moaning and crying into their gags. Inza remained 
suspended against the wall with arms and legs spread wide to keep herself 
from turning over. 

 CHAPTER 7 The Pains of Love 

My horrible fascination was terminated by my jailer opening the door of my 
prison. Without delay she unlocked the chains, allowing them to fall to the 
rug, and making me totally free. I followed her as I was told to in complete 
obedience to the gorgeous bathroom which she said could be all mine for as 
long as I desired. Following her down the passage, I had to wonder if the 
contrast between my present freedom and the way I had been shackled for so 
long meant anything. But I had no intent of trying to run away. Such 
foolishness would be wasted and probably dangerous. But this current freedom 
also told me that the chains I had been wearing were only so much window 
dressing. 

At midday my master returned. If I had been his wife, I would have had no 
cause for suspicion of him exhausting his energies elsewhere. We made love 
together in his bed with an ardor and vigor which went on and on. And which 
I hoped would never end. When we lay together, exhausted in the aftermath, 
Hamid mused, "You witness to the justice dispensed in the garden this 
morning. It continued long after you had ceased to watch. I now possess two 
women and a girl so properly repentant they are not likely to try their 
tricks again." Hamid paused thoughtfully. "There remains a woman still to 
receive her punishment. I will let you name it. What would you wish done 
with Fayella?" 

"Nothing. She lost her husband, that's punishment enough." 

"Nothing?" Hamid looked at me in wry amusement. "That is not the way of 
Shalima. Try again." 

I knew Hamid was enjoying my distaste for the subject. But I also guessed 
that if I held out long enough, I might end up sharing whatever Fayella had 
to endure. And I knew perfectly well that by the standards of this land, 
Fayella had earned herself a penalty. 

"You could have her whipped," I agreed without enthusiasm. "But why not make 
her one of your servants? I would think that a would be a bitter punishment 
indeed." 

"I have no need of a servant I cannot trust. I will have her well whipped 
and then sold to a dealer. If you wish to talk to her, she is below in a 
dungeon, heavily chained and very sorry for what she did." 

I wanted to say no thanks, but I female and wanted to see her, so instead I 
said, "Yes, Master. Thank you." 

He told me laughingly to go and make my visit after I had bathed. He then 
clicked the handcuffs back on my wrists and playfully swatted my bottom as I 
left the bedroom. 

Later I asked directions from a servant and worked my way down to the gloomy 
dungeon where Fayella awaited her fate. 

My guide was not the least bit curious, a chained and naked woman meant 
little to her. Fayella cried out in gladness at sight of me, and, forgetting 
the limitations her chains imposed, stumbled in my direction only to be 
snubbed and tripped by the heavy links attached to her on every possible 
place. The crudest was an iron collar tight around her neck. The weight of 
its chain was such that had to hold it in her hand. I hurried forward to 
clutch her in my arms and found myself with as much metal as girl. I was 
obliged to rearrange her iron and steel restraints as best I could and we 
laughed together over my own handcuffed condition. 

"What is my punishment to be?" she asked anxiously. I pretended I did not 
know. I could not be sure if she would regard the whipping of her flesh and 
her sale to a slave dealer as moderate or severe. Looking at her nakedness 
so weighed down with irons made me long to cry and made a resolve to plead 
on Fayella's behalf. 

"I must be terribly punished," she mourned as we clutched. "You are Hamid's 
favorite so he will spare me nothing. When will his justice be done to me?" 

It was a strange situation which would have lent itself to an artist. Two 
naked woman, one simply handcuffed, one held from neck to ankles by heavy 
chains. What a painting it would have made. 

My heart reached out to this poor woman. Enslavement would be hard on her 
because she would go to it most wickedly marked by Hamid's whip. I had never 
felt more helpless to offer aid. 

I told her she was already forgiven for any sin she might have committed 
against me. I think this might have cheered her up but she vowed her 
conviction that she would be terribly flogged and her flesh branded with an 
inscription proclaiming her a whore. She would then be even more cruelly 
chained and left in the rat-hole of a dungeon the rest of her life. 
Fayella's vision of her own punishment was so terrible that I broke down and 
told her the truth. It would not be nice but certainly less than her vision. 
I think it eased her misery and when I went away it was with the feeling I 
had done some good. I little guessed the shock awaiting Hamid and myself. 

Hamid listened tolerantly to my pleas and request that Fayella be forgiven 
the whip before she was sold. To this suggestion he made his customary 
sardonic retort that if I wished to bear part of her punishment, her pains 
would be thus reduced. But I did not wish to take him up on this bit of 
humor and we retired to one of the lovely patios in the courtyard for our 
drink before dinner. It was there it happened. 

Hamid and I heard a noise but thought little of it at first. It was not 
until an invited guests intruded themselves. We both jumped to our feet and 
I gaspingly beheld Marjory! And with her a formidable female who I instantly 
thought of as "The Dragon." The servants fell back in awe while the visitors 
strode forcefully to where we stood. Unconcerned and undaunted by Hamid's 
eagle eye, Marjory introduced her companion as Mrs. Reba Rigby from the 
United States Consulate. She added sweetly that they had come to take Celie 
Collins home. 

Marjory and I were vibrating signals in wave after wave of remembered joy. 
But her concern and mine was primarily elsewhere. Beneath the disapproving 
gaze of the Dragon, my nakedness wilted to leave me shamed and wanting 
enough hands to cover portions of myself from disapproving eyes. And I 
wished the hands I had were not joined in steel. 

Our party was then joined by a pompous little man in a business suit, who 
was introduced as J.P. Jeffers, another member of the consulate staff, 
apparently anxious to take Miss Celie Collins back where she belonged. 

Unless he called in his private army, Hamid was outnumbered. 

My master impressively acknowledged introductions and suavely suggested the 
newcomers sit down and enjoy a cocktail. He clapped his hands and cushions 
and drinks appeared. It was only a few seconds before all were comfortably 
sitting with glasses in hand. But I saw quite well that their eyes still 
held firm intent. The Dragon was fired the first volley by offering that she 
would feel more comfortable if Miss Celie Collins wore some clothes. 

"Miss Collins is my guest. She dresses or undresses as she pleases." Hamid 
was still very much master in his own house. 

"And the handcuffs? Must I assume that all your guests were them?" The 
dragon's tone was icy. 

"It is an understanding between Miss Collins and myself. It need not concern 
you." 

J.P. Jeffers uttered a disapproving cough, eyeing my nakedness with complete 
approval while forcefully stating the obvious, "Miss Collins handcuffed 
condition reinforces our belief that you are holding her prisoner." 

"Miss Collins and I have a complete understanding." Hamid clapped his hands 
once more. "I am sure you will all enjoy a refill." 

With her fresh drink, the dragon fixed me with her gaze. "You are a prisoner 
here, aren't you, Miss Collins?" 

It was the question I dreaded. I would cheerfully lie to the dragon and her 
male friend but Marjory would detect a lie. I was between a rock and a hard 
place. I gazed appealingly at Hamid for help. He gave it in a measure to 
make me gasp. "Miss Collins and I are going to be married." 

The two consular people gazed at each other in a manner to indicate they 
just considered this one more obstacle. "May we presume, Sir, that you 
always keep your brides-to-be stark naked and handcuffed?" 

"It is a small pleasantry between the two of us. None of your business." 

"And how do you explain away the whip marks so clearly visible on the poor 
girl's skin?" 

That was a bad one. The whip marks Lobo and Fayella had placed upon my flesh 
were still visible. "It's a long story," I said quickly. "I received this 
elsewhere than at Shalima." My explanation was waved away by the dragon. But 
it was Marjory who asked the sixty-four dollar question, "You will come home 
with us, won't you, darling? At least for a visit?" 

"Of course I will." I gave Hamid my sweetest smile. "You can spare me for a 
visit, can't you, darling?" 

I have never used that term of endearment on Hamid before. But he took it 
bravely and went one better. "I'm supposing you came here by plane, Miss 
Magnus? May I offer my personal jet to take both you and Miss Collins to 
Palm Island? That is the place you call home, is it not?" 

My heart skipped a beat. Hamid was keeping ahead of a difficult situation 
with skill. I could image he wanted no trouble with the US Consulate, but I 
was also sure that if Marjory and I left on his private plane, we would both 
soon be prisoners as I was now. Hamid was still pretty much an unknown 
quantity. And as much as I had fallen in love with him, I was constantly 
aware of the darker side of his temperament. I remembered, too, his ambition 
to whip Marjory until she screamed. If Miss Rigby hadn't been such a dragon 
and Mr. Jeffers somewhat less pompous, I might have gone with them to take 
me away and to make sure that Marjory and I returned on a commercial flight. 

The dragon came to my rescue. "Miss Magnus and Miss Collins will discuss 
their plans when they are safely back in our consulate. It is kind of you to 
offer but that would be a long flight and expensive. Perhaps if you would be 
kind enough to provide Miss Collins with clothes and remove those handcuffs, 
we will be on our way." 

Hamid shrugged. I knew he was displeased and I was quite sure his mind was 
busy with thoughts of Marjory in naked suspension while he worked her body 
over with a whip. For all I know, he might be including me in those 
thoughts. But he simply smiled in agreement and clapped his hands. "Let us 
drink a toast to the success of this mission," he said without a trace of 
sarcasm. He nodded at the servant and added, "I am quite certain all of us 
understand the situation and each other. It will be a pleasant change for 
Miss Collins to be with you at the Consulate." 

I should have known my master would not give up that easily. I felt certain 
he was mentally consigning the dragon to a lingering demise over hot coals. 
But with all of us now holding another tall, cool drink, I could find no 
flaw in Hamid's acceptance of the inevitable. I was a bit miffed over being 
so easily returned to freedom. All of us raised our glasses and drank. And 
it was not until I beheld Mr. Jeffers slump to the patio tile and found the 
dragon becoming blurry that I realized we had all been drugged. Hamid was 
going to have the last word after all. 

Except for the drone of the jet, everything was normal. I was in my 
customary nakedness with handcuffs clasping my wrists, this time behind my 
back. The interior of Hamid's costly was furnished in the manner of a 
lounge. In an armchair opposite mine, I beheld Marjory blinking slowly back 
to life. I was surprised to find that she wore the same clothing as at the 
interview at Shalima. She was not handcuffed nor bound. Hamid was 
unconcernedly looking over papers at a desk when Marjory and I first move. 
He came instantly to attention and the clapping of his hands produced the 
usual magic, in this case two cups of steaming coffee. Hamid held mine to my 
willing lips as he explained the change in plans. At Marjory's insistence, 
he ever put down my coffee cup and released my hands, leaning down to plant 
a kiss upon my forehead. 

"I thought it best," his said simply. "Our visitors from the Consulate 
received a different potion from that of your two girls. They'll be a bit 
bewildered for a day or two, and won't be too sure of what happened. I don't 
suppose either of you girls are the least bit surprised?" 

I was not surprised. Nothing about Hamid surprised me anymore. "Hamid, 
darling," I said sweetly, "you handled the whole thing beautifully. I 
suppose we're on our way to Palm Island, as you promised. It's a wonderful 
place and you'll enjoy being Marjory's guest." 

Marjory asked for another cup of coffee and said that she would be pleased 
if Hamid chose to honor her island with a prolonged visit. I knew she was 
being cautious. While she quietly sipped and watched, Hamid did something 
that told her more than words. Taking my hand, he raised me to my feet, 
turned me around and crossed my wrists in a manner all too familiar. I made 
myself stand limp in obedience as the cord bit and twisted and tugged and 
was finally knotted with a tight viciousness bespeaking helplessness and my 
return to the status of a pretty prisoner for Hamid's pleasure. By this time 
I knew what pleased him most so twisted and tugged and weaved my shoulders 
becomingly as I said my submissive little, "Thank you, Master." He turned me 
around and kissed my willing lips as hard as he had bound my wrists. At that 
moment I was a strangely happy girl. 

"I prefer the dear girl safely restrained," Hamid said to Marjory, who had 
reviewed the whole proceeding with a slight frown. "Celie is a perfect 
subject for a length of rope. Behold how prettily she struggles while 
knowing she cannot free herself." 

Marjory made a noncommittal sound and finished her coffee at which point 
Hamid returned to his seat while I remained standing. I realized I was 
gazing upon two opposing forces, each one powerful in their own way. I knew 
it unlikely that Marjory possessed more money than the man who had purchased 
me on the slave block. But, at the same time, her wealth and influence was 
something for Hamid to reckon with. She was not a pretty slave girl to be 
stripped and whipped. 

"If it pleases Celie to have you tie her up, I suppose I should not 
complain. She came to me naked and handcuffed. On Palm Island I held her 
captive because, as you have just said, she is perfectly designed for 
restraints. Celie was completely mine - I hope you do not contest my 
ownership." 

I ceased struggling and stood tense, a bound and naked girl who's flesh was 
up for grabs. I wished this confrontation had ever happened. We were in 
Hamid's plane over goodness knows what ocean. What came next was no surprise 
to me but I knew it had to shock my mistress half out of her skin. Hamid's 
voice was calm. "We don't need to call a spade a spade, Miss Magnus. You and 
Celie and I understand each other." He laughed. "Quite possibly you 
understand me more than I would wish. But, anyway, Marjory Magnus, the 
request I am about to make will answer every question you might wish to ask. 
Please be kind enough to uncover your left breast." 

I saw my mistress wince, but she was still the woman who lay claim to me and 
who owned Palm Island. In a tone of make-believe boredom, she replied, 
"Could we change the subject?" 

"I asked you a question." 

"I am assuming it was a joke in very poor taste. Why not tell me something 
of the kingdom you own?" 

Marjory was magnificent. In a tone of quiet distaste, she looked Hamid in 
the eye, "If you are thinking of reducing me to the status of a dancing 
girl, you had best think again. I was not born to expose my nakedness to any 
man, or to wear his chains. Forget me, and let's have some pleasant 
conversation." 

"Have you ever been whipped, Miss Magnus?" My mistress sighed and my heart 
bled for her. 

"You are being needless offensive," she complained. "My breasts are my own 
property. I have never in my life bared them for any man." 

"You will do so now." My mistress made no motion to obey. Instead, she spoke 
charmingly of Shalima, the American Consulate, and the current price of oil. 
She spoke of Palm Island and the estate the family owned in England. Hamid 
listened, I believe genuinely interested by his victim's poise. But when the 
poor girl paused for breath, he repeated, "Uncover your tits, Miss Magnus." 

Marjory sneered. "I notice you've advanced to wanting both?" 

"That's correct. In the matter of undressing you, we have to go. But first I 
wish to enjoy the delights of your twin mounds. Between your formal attire 
and the breasts you are about to bare for my inspection, it's a piquant 
situation, don't you agree?" 

"I am in your plane and subject with your mercy. Why don't we dispense with 
these polite thrusts and parries, and be honest about your intentions. I am 
still willing to believe you are a gentleman." 

I found the heat rising in my loins as I realized what must now happen. I 
had no opportunity to talk to my mistress to warn her of Hamid's desires. 
And, in any case, it would have done no good since we had been drugged. For 
me it made no change, I was Hamid's slave girl and the bit of cord I had 
been fighting on my wrists represented no change. Every since the auction he 
had been able to do whatever he pleased with me. But for Marjory this was a 
whole new scene and I listened breathlessly. 

Hamid was, in a sense, playing a role in which he had cast himself. Still 
outrageously polite, he inquired, "Perhaps a double scotch or a brandy might 
make this moment easier to bear?" 

"You're determined to shame me. I don't understand why." 

Hamid shrugged. "I am simply a man who believes in the subjection of women. 
Women are made to obey and to give her owner pleasure. Look at darling 
Celie, she is the ideal prototype." 

Marjory Magnus sniffed. "I expect darling Celie needs a good whipping. She's 
actually enjoying having her hands tied behind her. If you care to leave us 
alone together, and loan me a whip ... " 

"We are not talking about Celie, Miss Magnus, we are talking about you. 
Celie's price is beyond rubies. But I fear you have far to go to merit male 
approval. As I said, I wish you to bare your breasts, both of them. Do so 
now!" 

"And if I refuse?" 

"I have only to clap my hands to have servants come and strip you naked. Is 
that what you prefer? I can understand you might find it preferable." 

With a gesture of impatience, Marjory reached for the fastenings of her 
dress and a moment later her glorious breasts were revealed in all their 
glory. Even Hamid gasped in their beauty. His thank you was very quiet. I 
stood in the humility of helplessness while Hamid gazed his fill. Marjory 
hid nothing of her twin orbs but in the end impatiently demanded, 'Isn't 
that enough? Don't tell me you have a childish wish to fondling them?" 

"I have the wish, dear lady, but as you said, I am a gentleman. What I next 
require of you is a full view of the rest of you. Please stand up and remove 
the remainder of your clothing. We understand each other, don't act coy." 

I felt my darling's agony as she slowly stood. Taking her time she slithered 
her panties down to where she could step out of them and thus be free to 
toss them into Hamid's lap. "I believe you want to sniff these, don't you? 
In order to excite yourself. Be my guest." Without word she slipped off the 
skirt to reveal the feminine treasure of her lovely body. I longed to do or 
say something desperate but there was nothing I could do. 

Marjory's contempt had struck. I felt certain my master had added strips 
beyond his original intent, but he wasted no time and proceeded to enjoy the 
humiliation of this woman. She turned this way and that to provide Hamid his 
full satisfaction. He fingered nothing but I knew his eyes burned holes in 
Marjory's loins and I would not have been surprised to behold her pubic hair 
go up in smoke. 

Frostily, she said, "You have the indecent curiosity of puberty. I would 
have thought you would have exhausted it on poor Celie. May I now put my 
skirt back on?" 

Hamid's sigh told me he was a quite happy man. "You are quite delightful," 
he conceded. "And I can only hope you understand how greatly your private 
and most intimate possessions are enhanced by your reluctance to show them. 

Marjory was almost panting. "You should write a novel," she said acidly, "it 
would undoubtedly be a best seller. But then you don't need the money, do 
you?" 

"I would advise you to avoid sarcasms," he offered politely. 

This was getting near the bottom line. She was nude but there are worse 
things than being nude. Marjory frowned at Hamid but made no move to cover 
her private parts with her hands. Instead she put them on her hips. 

Poor Marjory! She was not used to this kind of treatment. I knew Hamid was 
enjoying this show very much. Once more there was a breathless silence until 
Marjory said, in a voice heavy in disgust, "I suppose now you want me on my 
back on the floor?" 

"You do not know me well," Hamid rejoined. "There is something else I must 
do to you before entering the into that area of last delight. In any case, I 
expect I would enjoy myself more with Celie. I doubt your ability to match 
her artistry. Do you notice the rings fastened above your head?" 

I looked up and there they were, the wicked rings with which I was all too 
familiar, the rings meant to hold a girl's hands above her head and make her 
totally available. Marjory looked, too, and both of us were aware of Hamid's 
smile. I suppose he had intended to wait for Palm Island and then to whip 
its owner in the midst of all her possessions. Quite evidently the plan was 
changed and Hamid's voice took us one step further into his mastery, "Give 
me your hands, Marjory, I am sure you know what comes next." 

"You intend to whip me?" 

"Of course I do. Let it comfort you that I will never have whipped a more 
beautiful subject." 

"And your men wait outside the door?" 

"Of course. It would be much more pleasant if you simply yield." 

Marjory looked at me and shrugged hopelessly, then extended her hands for 
whatever Hamid chose to do. 

My master's choice was, as always, neat and tidy. A leather band snapped 
tightly around each wrist, and from the band a ring. It was but the matter 
of moment to rise bare feminine arms to snap the joining links to leave 
poor, darling Marjory standing with arms held high and out to either side in 
the total exposure I knew too well. Marjory knew it, too, and must have felt 
some sort of poetic justice in suffering the raw nakedness she had so often 
imposed upon her other slave girls and I. She looked up at her pinioned 
hands and made the futile motions that girls do to assure themselves that 
they are helpless. Then she said to the man who owned us both, "I'm sure 
this has to be a most satisfying moment to us both." 

Hamid wasted no words. His hands became busy in a tracing of her curves, 
lingering lovingly over her large breasts and taut nipples. Marjory got a 
good going over, and when her lord and master stood back to admire her 
helplessness she was panting. She spoke no word, there was nothing to say. 
What would happen to her now would be done in spite of any words. I held my 
breath and I'm sure Marjory held hers, too, as Hamid produced a wicked whip 
with a single tong which I recognized as imparting agony with ever stroke. 
He dangled it in front of her gaze. "I am sure you approve, Miss Magnus? You 
understand such matter, no?" 

None of us said a word. By some strange magic the whipping of my adored 
mistress had become a part of the plane, my master, and our visit to Palm 
Island. Completely detached and completely helpless, I realized Hamid could 
achieve his heart's desire without ever landing the plane on Palm Island. He 
had Marjory totally at his mercy and was cheerfully fingering those parts of 
her which held male interest. And in his other hand he had the cruel thong 
by which he would bring her to submission. I could not imagine my mistress 
showing submission to anyone, but Hamid had a magic all his own. I simply 
waited and watched, no longer tugging at bound hands. I knew now I belonged 
to Hamid, and that was the end of it as far as I was concerned. 

The first slash across her back evoked a horrified gasp of anguish beyond 
belief. But Marjory did not scream, she simply pressed one cheek against a 
bare arm and gasped in disbelief at such an intensity of pain. Hamid's voice 
was mocking, "You enjoyed that, Miss Magnus?" 

"Please ... It is too awful, I cannot bare it. I will say yes to anything 
you wish." 

"I possess everything I wish, dear lady. I have Celie, I have you. I am like 
the Victorian villain who wishes to bring the haughty lady low. We still 
have far to go." 

Marjory said nothing. What else was there for her to say other than to plead 
for mercy? And this she would not do. I watched the second and third strokes 
of the leather thong bite hard to leave their scarlet imprint on bottom 
cheeks and ivory back. I longed to cry aloud for Hamid to show mercy and to 
whip me instead of the loveliness of my mistress. But all of us were too 
deeply immersed in what was taking place to speak. Marjory's heaving gasps 
and moans of shock were the only sounds as Hamid once more drew back his 
arm. 

When the leather had sung its wicked song six times, Hamid paused to extract 
from my tightly strapped mistress the ultimate in mockery. "You bear this 
well," he said in genuine tribute. "You have not yet screamed. Am I correct 
in assuming you find this punishment double painful because of your 
awareness of innocence? I am whipping you simply for my own pleasure and to 
make real a fantasy which took root some time ago." 

Marjory stopped her agonized motions long enough to stare her tormentor in 
the eye. "There's nothing to say, is there?" she retorted in a small, choked 
voice. "We have already agreed you are not a gentleman. Every time you lash 
my skin, you come closer to being a beast." 

My master sighed and said, "I had hoped for a nice conversation. Both of us 
might have benefited from your reactions to this undeserved punishment." 

"Why don't you shut up! You're just a bastard who likes to whip naked girls. 
It's just that simple. You can't ennoble it by analysis." Marjory allowed 
her head to sink forward once more as if dismissing Hamid. And once more the 
whip sang its terrible song to implant another red weal across innocent 
skin. This time the man who owned us both did not pause again until the 
tenth strip sent my mistress into a frenzied dance of pain where both her 
feet left the floor. She cried a strangled gasp that was just short of a 
scream. 

Hamid watched with bright eyes and a slight smile. When she had calmed down, 
he calmly asked, "Perhaps you would like to put an end to this punishment? 
Simply address me as 'Master'. You might as well add a vow of obedience, 
assuring me of your wish to be a good slave and please her master. Word it 
anyway you like." 

"Drop dead!" 

"Spoken like a Trojan! Spread your legs far apart." Marjory said nothing. 
She was deep into the pain and perhaps did not care what happened anymore. I 
could have kicked Hamid for forcing such humiliation but his voice was 
relentless, "If you do not spread your legs, Miss Magnus, I will tie them 
spread far apart, stretched wider than you would wish." 

It was as though Marjory heard his voice from some far distant place. I knew 
how she must hate every motion she now made as her legs slowly inched out to 
either side until she displayed the most humiliating exposure a girl can 
know. She was instantly rewarded by a quick upward slash squarely on her 
vagina. She screamed and went insane with kicking and random jerking 
movements of her body. It was a long time before she again stood exhausted 
and sweating, with head bowed. Hamid's voice held the knell of doom. "Open 
wide once more, Miss Magnus. Your performance deserves a repeat." 

A total of five times pain and shame was repeated with Marjory screaming 
lustily upon each impact. The tong cut with deadly accuracy against the most 
tender part of her being. After the fifth deadly slash Hamid once more 
paused to contemplate the droplets of sweat forming on her body. He even 
made Marjory spread her legs once more so he could kneel for a closer 
inspection of the havoc he had created. When he got ready to wield the whip 
again, I could stand no more, but flung myself to my knees at his feet to 
beg, "Stop, Master, please stop! You have punished her enough. She doesn't 
deserve it. Please, please, please!" 

"Dear Celie," he said as he raised me up to plant a passionate kiss upon my 
lips, which I shamefully returned. "I suppose you are getting ready to offer 
your skin in place of our dear Miss Magnus?" 

"Yes, oh, yes! Please unbuckle those straps." I was kissed again and again, 
my master's hand clasping the plump orifice of my sex. It came away wet and 
he thoughtfully wiped it dry upon my hip while I strained fruitlessly 
against my cords. "There is something I must tell you, darling child," Hamid 
said softly, "when I am finished with this charming creature, it will be 
your turn. You can absolve Miss Magnus from nothing because she has no sin 
but yours is grave indeed. Do you understand?" 

"But what have I done? My hands are tied and I haven't said a word." 

"You said a word too many to that couple from the Consulate. When they asked 
if you were held a prisoner, you should have laughed the thought away and 
assured them you were only a guest who was sharing a few erotic notions. You 
failed to do this but gave them a total affirmative that you were indeed my 
prisoner." Hamid paused to kiss lovingly not only my lips but my eyes and 
the hollow of my neck. "For this betrayal you must pay a painful price. When 
I am finished with your whipping, you will not betray me again." 

"Yes, Master." Hamid nodded curtly and was about to thrust me aside when I 
clamped my nakedness against him to kiss and kiss again before whispering in 
outrageous humility for his ear alone, "Thank you for the punishment, 
Master. You are right, I deserve it." 

"You have trained her well," said Marjory bitterly. "But remember, I owned 
her first, and the way you keep her chained or tied renders anything she way 
without validity. If you were close enough, I'd spit in your face." 

We were back at the beginning with me tugging at corded wrists and my 
beloved mistress standing naked and bound. Once more the whip sang its 
message of male dominance and Hamid smiled. 

In a dither of misery for Marjory and apprehension over the punishment I had 
earned, I lost count of the slashes across Marjory's skin and those 
delivered upward in her crotch, until suddenly she sagged and hung 
unconscious in her bonds. Hamid stood back in unconcern, pleasurably 
fingering the whip. He was gazing at every curve and contour of a helpless 
nakedness that could endure no more. In the same thoughtful manner, he found 
brandy and held it to my loved one's lips. After a few seconds she revived 
and returned to a world of pain. 

Marjory's eyes were dull as she looked at her tormentor, a creature with no 
interest in what was happening. But little by little the brandy found its 
way between her lips until her feet once more sustained her weight and Hamid 
set aside the glass. "You are ready for me to start whipping you again?" he 
inquired. 

The bowed head raised wearily as her lips whispered, "I will call you 
Master." 

I knew Hamid was pleased but still spared her nothing. "You took a long 
while to think about it," he said curtly. "For that and your promise to spit 
in my face you have ten more still to go." 

"Please no, I beg of you, not any more. I will do whatever you wish!" 

"I wish to continue whipping you so we appear in agreement. But it would be 
a nice touch, don't you think, for you to ask nicely for what you are about 
to receive?" 

Marjory tossed her hair to one side in a gesture I knew spelt defeat. Her 
voice was a dull monotone. "Please continue whipping me, Master. I am your 
property." 

The whine of Hamid's tong was a peal of triumph. Once more a servant brought 
coffee and I was made to recline at my Master's feet as he drank in the 
liquid and the sight of a whipped woman's wicked marked flesh. Marjory's 
head was once more bowed in motionless defeat except for an occasional 
slight tremor of her strained muscles. I could not take my eyes from her 
punished body but mechanically sipped from the cup my master held to my 
lips. My hands were still bound behind my back so Hamid was forced to rise 
to offer the same service of hot coffee to the woman who had suffered so 
much simply to appease his caprice. We sat thus for a long, long time. My 
mind was chaotic in its sympathy for the loveliness of whipped flesh and a 
growing horror at the punishment I must now endure. I shed a few tears of 
self pity and was a very sorry slave girl indeed. 

Marjory's punishment was not ended. Hamid unstrapped her wrists and gave 
support as he produced the handcuffs I had previously worn and locked 
Marjory's wrists behind her back. Then he led her to kneel as I knelt in 
humility beside his chair. When he sat he was thus flanked by a pair of 
slave girls, robbed of their hands and awaiting his commands. He dried my 
eyes and patted my head to make me wish for the comfort of his arms instead 
of the cut of his whip. I don't suppose any man in any age had ever known 
such a completely mastery of chosen female flesh as Hamid did right then. 

Keeping me in suspense was too obvious a ploy for a man of Hamid's 
experience in the punishment of girls. He did not immediately fasten me with 
hands over my head as I expected. Instead he drew my attention to a massive 
coffee table and explained its merits for the purpose of holding maiden's 
for punishment. It appeared my punishment was not to be in any way mundane. 
When he untied my hands, I instantly clasp his knees in a weird mixture of 
asking him forgiveness while, at the same time, thanking my master for the 
trouble he was taking to set me back on the straight and narrow path. I 
dared not look at Marjory. 

It was probably the most versatile coffee table in the world. It was made to 
change its shape and craftily hid a draw which contained all sorts of little 
treasures I could not name but which made me shutter. I agreed devoutly that 
it would be a long time before I betrayed my master again. 

Under his direction, I placed my nudity face down upon the table's shinning 
surface. A thoughtful innovation was the two circles of wood which Hamid 
lifted out to make way for my breasts, assuring they would not be flattened 
on the hard, cold wood. My head overlapped the table so I found myself 
staring at the rug. And to insure I would not look back in alarm, a rounded 
metal clamp was thrust down on each side of my neck to click safely home and 
leave me powerless to rise. A similar hoop now bit my waist and was thrust 
hard down to compress my spine and make me thankful that my breasts were not 
flattened out as was my belly. I was quite helpless but Hamid was by no 
means done. 

The coffee table was of an ordinary size and thus my legs and feet protruded 
beyond the end. But each foot was instantly bent back at the knee as one 
more of the adaptable clamps welded it hard down upon my thigh. When this 
was done with both feet I knew myself very helpless indeed. My legs were 
doubled painfully tight and could not move at all. My tummy was squashed 
against the wood and my neck held tightly down. Just being bound in this 
position was a punishment. When Hamid made adjustment by which my hips were 
raised against the metal holding down my waist and legs, I realized how 
cruelly my bottom had been made available for whatever he wished to do with 
it. 

To keep me horribly informed, he now placed on the rug before my anguished 
eyes a length of yellow cane, limber and flexible enough to wrap itself 
around the contours of my bottom. 

What had been done to me already should have been enough, but it was not! 
Hamid now placed beside the yellow cane a pair of yellow plastic cups and a 
glass jar of small, living objects which made me moan. "They are a breed of 
ants you will not enjoy," my master explained patiently. "You see, I empty 
the ants into this cup then put the cup on your breast, sealing it so our 
little friends will not escape. They will not eat your flesh but you will 
find them entertaining." 

I could not move and fought back screams with difficulty. Each of my breasts 
was fixed so it was contained within a plastic sphere along with far more 
ants than the cup could comfortably contain. The result was that, finding 
their plastic prison uncomfortable, they turned their attention upon my 
breasts and nipples. I was getting ready to emit the howl of a life time 
when Marjory's discarded panties were thrust hard into my mouth and pressed 
deeply home to fill my cheeks by a strap buckled between my teeth and behind 
my neck. I could make sounds but they were sad little gasps and moans which 
communicated nothing expect distress. The ants bit at me happily as the 
first stroke of the cane cut hard upon the tight stretched cheeks I could 
not move. 

My hands and arms were still free and pathetically I used them to try and 
reach the first of the wounds upon my flesh. But I could reach nothing while 
Hamid's voice cheerfully explained, "You may enjoy your hands and arms, dear 
child. Use them as you wish. Consider them my gift to you in this ordeal." 

My master was right. I could touch nothing of importance. I could reach my 
gag and the globes containing my breasts with fingertips but could not 
remove either. I could feel the contours of the clamps at neck and waist and 
judged them to be no more than half an inch of steel. When Hamid slashed me 
once again, I used my arms to flail at nothing. When Hamid's cane cut hard 
at the soles of my clamped back feet, the pain was so awful I knew for sure 
I was going to die. Sensing my fear, my master's voice came quietly again. 
"You did not even know you sinned, child. And you think that one wrong word 
should not warrant what you suffer now. But remember I am an Arab who lives 
by a code of honor which takes this punishment for you to understand. Your 
denial hurt me bitterly. So now I teach you an Islamic lesson. You think you 
will die but you will not!" 

I did not die, a girl never does. And between the various afflictions of my 
flesh I count of the impacts of the cane. But I think it was only six or 
seven strokes before the hateful thing was cast aside and Hamid began the 
task of setting me free. When the clamp was taken from my neck and the cups 
released my breasts, I was the happiest girl in the world. And, when totally 
free, I was raised and clasped in two male arms, I could think of nothing 
but thankfulness in a master I knew had shown mercy in his punishment of a 
thoughtless girl. Once more I evaded Marjory's scornful gaze. My breasts 
were tender and red from ant bites, and I feared to touch them. But I was 
happy the ordeal was over. 

It was then that everything happened at once. The chatter of discordant 
sounds from both engines sent my master forward to consult the crew. When he 
came back he was tight-lipped and angry. "We have been sabotaged," he said. 
"And I am going to lose this plane. We are in the middle of an ocean but 
fortunately down below there is a ship beside which my pilot will land us in 
the water so that we may swim to safety." 

Quickly he unlocked Marjory's handcuffs before returning to the cockpit. Our 
pilot was highly skilled and two frightened young women peering from the 
window beheld ahead of us the solid bulk of a ship towards which we sank. 
When our plane first touched the water, it was not with a solid blow but a 
glancing one. The plane fairly skipped off the water like a flat rock tossed 
sideways by a child. Several bounces later the plane settled down to the 
water very close to the boat which had come to a stop. Marjory and I, both 
free and both naked, leaped through the open door through which the crew had 
already abandoned ship. Beside us was the huge hulk of an ocean vessel, 
while behind us was the tragic, shocking vision of the plane sinking slowly 
beneath the waves. Without much thought, Marjory and I swam hard toward 
where we heard a small boat and the shouts of sailors. 

When male arms grasped beneath my armpits and lifted me beyond the reach of 
sharks, I looked up in gratitude at the grinning face of Rankin Teller. 

 CHAPTER 8 Branded 

Marjory and I stood before the desk like a pair of teenagers who have 
incurred the wrath of our high school principal. The Grand Inquisitor who is 
Rankin Teller surveyed us across the oak and was running true to form in 
what he said. "You can't accuse me of arranging this whole affair," he said 
sarcastically. "Nobody seems to know what went wrong with it, but the pilot 
and that Arab chap, Hamid, both went down with the ship so maybe we'll never 
know." He laughed. "But I'm grateful for the two of you being dropped into 
my lap, so to speak. Welcome home!" 

I don't know where Rankin gets his ideas but Marjory's neck was encircled by 
a collar to which her wrists were fastened so that she must hold her elbows 
out to either side and provide anyone interested in her anatomy with a 
perfect view. For me, he got a beastly sort of yoke which clamped my neck 
and held my wrists out to either side by means of metal circlets I knew I'd 
never get out of. Both us girls had total freedom except for our hands which 
were safely disposed of. 

"You really are a gift from the skies," he chuckled. "We were all getting a 
bit bored. But now, by way of a diversion, I'm going to have you sort of 
mingle with my guests and let them have a good look at everything you've 
got. Particularly those whip marks which you can tell me about some other 
time. Gosh, Marjory, you're all the colors of the rainbow, and you, Celie, 
my gal, have got the best caned rump I've ever seen. Do you get the idea?" 

"Don't be a bastard," said Marjory angrily. "Surely you can't send two naked 
girls out among your guests in this condition. We're so helpless we couldn't 
swap a fly." 

"But you do look good, sweetheart. Look at Celie now, isn't she sweet with 
her arms out to either side and those pretty little wrists safely locked at 
each end of the yoke. And at how her fingers keep reaching for something 
that isn't there." 

"I said you were a bastard and I'll say it again." 

"Okay, I'm a bastard. But just the same I think the way I've got you fixed, 
Marjory, is just as cute. I like the effect, it's as though you're offering 
yourself to anyone who wants to look. And that collar sets off your neck a 
real treat. Would you like to be whipped again?" 

"No, I wouldn't. Don't be such a beast." 

Rankin then turned his attention to me. "Celie, girl, you're a sight for 
sore eyes. You wear that there yoke like you was born with it. I'd say that 
you two will give my guests four of the best tits they've ever seen. And two 
pretty good cunts, too." Rankin's voice hardened, "But look, kids, you won't 
insult the guests and you won't demand that they affect your release. You'll 
be good little girls and display yourselves nicely. If a guy wants to cop a 
feel, you won't kick him in the nuts. Break any rules and you're pelts will 
get marked up damned sight worse than now. Get with it, girls, and earn your 
keep." 

Maybe a girl never gets used to nakedness. I knew it was twice as bad for 
Marjory as for me. We were like a pair of shy virgins as we obeyed the 
command we could not contest and stepped out into the sunlight. My hands 
instinctive went to work to try and cover myself but could not reach either 
my breasts or pussy. Rankin's yoke thing made me feel like a pretty little 
girl wantonly displaying herself. I said a hearty, "Oh, shit!" beneath my 
breath as I stepped bravely forward to become a plaything for a bunch of 
strange men. Marjory was still cursing Rankin Teller with bitter venom. 

It had all happened too quickly to properly comprehend. Rankin had yanked us 
out of the sea only an hour ago and here we were already put to work on his 
ship. If we hadn't already had experience with his erotic notions, the 
experience would have been traumatic. As it was we knew it simply as the 
luck of the draw, certainly a lot better than drowning along with poor Hamid 
and his airplane. When I thought of Hamid, I wanted to cry but forced back 
the tears rather than parade around with wet cheeks my fingers could not 
reach. 

The guests hailed us with joy. I think they were genuinely bored and 
remembered me from the time I'd been Rankin's prisoner previously. Marjory 
and I got felt and fingered, and turned this way and that with exclamations 
of delight as our wounds were examined with awe, while several of the 
females expressed the hope that Rankin would have us whipped again for their 
enjoyment. Many expressed the idea that we should be lashed to the riggings, 
tied to the mast, or dunking us in the water at the end of a rope. It was 
all great fun. 

One of the female guests, a young woman named Lenore, was unexpectedly frank 
in confiding to us her pleasure in seeing us in our present fix. She had 
refused Rankin the favors he demanded and had been told to think it over 
unless she wanted to be hung by her thumbs and given an exhibition whipping 
to amuse the guests. This ordeal had been scheduled for the following day 
and she now hoped our appearance would alter her fate. I knew all about 
this, for I remembered my own case. I would have liked to throw my arms 
around the poor dear and give comfort but I couldn't throw my arms around 
anything. 

There was no time in which to mourn Shalima, or the regal presence of the 
man who had bought me at auction. I was pushed and pulled and taken to one 
side to listen to confidences of sympathy or envy, and asked to explain what 
it was like to be a slave girl and be thus nakedly exposed and made 
helpless. I did my best with my answers for goodness knows I needed all the 
friends I could get. But it was noticeable that none offered me help, or 
freedom. 

Rankin was pretty much a man of his word. Marjory and I spent the night, 
each with one ankle encircled by a metal band and by a length of chain 
attached to the mast. We pointed out that there was no need to fasten us 
because we would go to sleep where ever we could, and there was no way we 
could possibly escape this ship. But he happily laughed away our protests 
and happily snapped on padlocks to the chains around our ankles. We were 
told the only good girls were ones who were under restraint. 

It pleased our owner to share a festive breakfast with him in his cabin. 
Marjory and I were safely clothed in handcuffs which Rankin had locked in 
front so we could feed ourselves. After that damned yoke and collar, it was 
pretty much like being absolutely free. The trouble with Rankin is that, 
when he wants to, he can be so damned charming that he melts a girl's 
inhibitions and makes it that much more of a shock when he gets back to 
normal. When breakfast was over and done with and we could drink no more 
coffee, we were given an inkling of our day. "The boys and girls have seen 
those handcuffs aplenty," Rankin informed, "so what I'm going to do is tie 
them pretty hands behind your back." 

"You mean we don't have to wear those horrible things you locked us in 
yesterday?" 

"That's right, love. Stick out your hands. When I got them unlocked, you 
cross them behind your back and stand that way until I get around to fixing 
you real proper." He chuckled, "You don't have to thank me, I'm just happy 
to be of service." 

We could cheerfully have murdered him but were too dispirited to make a 
messy. As the rings of steel fell away from our wrists, we rubbed and 
massaged briefly before crossing them behind our back. The first bit of cord 
told us all too clearly we weren't going to be doing much with our hands. 
"That's one thing I dearly love to do," Rankin told us as though confiding a 
secret, "and that's tie a girl's arms behind her back. It not only looks 
real cute but it fixes her so there ain't no way she's going to cause you 
trouble." There were more laughs at our expense. "Wouldn't be surprised if 
the day comes when girls is born with hands tied behind their backs. It's 
the most natural and beautiful thing in the world. And don't you forget it. 
When you walk out today among the boys and gals, I want you to look real 
proud." 

We kept a discrete silence while we stood nakedly hating the man who was 
cleverly twisting and looping his cord around our wrists. I knew it was no 
use complaining so I put up with the unkind bit of the ropes. 

"I'm a sporting guy," Rankin told us. "You gals are welcome to try and get 
your hands loose from this here tie. And if you manage it, I'm gonna give 
you a prize, and that prize is credit for ten strokes anytime you earn 
yourself a whipping. But get this straight, girlies, there ain't no one of 
the guests is gonna untie those hands of yours, and if I hear of you asking 
anyone to do it, you're gonna wish you kept your mouth shut." Rankin paused 
dramatically. "How'd it be I gag you both so you don't get into trouble?" 

I might have known the simple binding of my hands behind my back would not 
be enough to satisfy Rankin eroticism. "You don't need to gag us, we'll 
won't ask anyone about getting free," I told him. "Please don't gag us, it's 
horrible to be gagged." 

I could just as well kept quiet, and Marjory's pleas also fell upon deaf 
ears. Rankin, like a small boy with a new toy, fumbled around in a draw to 
produce the objects we were going to wear. I expect they cost a lot of money 
because they certainly looked expensive and were beautifully fashioned, 
except what went into our mouths was an imitation phallus of soft rubber. 
There was a leather band that went over our lips, buckled tight behind our 
necks and held the copy of the male organ tight within our mouths. It would 
evidently be a silent day. 

"Damn it, you look prettier than ever," Rankin said with feeling. "I've a 
good mind to keep you like that with your mouth filled all the time. Like I 
told you, girls are made to tie up. I've got a quite a collection of gags 
and I'll try them out on you from time to time. But these here will do you 
fine for today. Run along and do your mingling and give them all a real 
charge the same as I'm getting." 

Rankin caught my head in his hands and planted a brotherly sort of kiss 
squarely on my forehead before pushing me out into the sunlight. He did the 
same for Marjory. Then he patted our bare bottoms before leaving us to 
wander where we pleased. I turned to consult darling Marjory and discovered 
I couldn't say a word. I tugged at my wrists but that wasn't any help. My 
onetime mistress and I looked at each other in desolation as we stepped down 
the stairway to the deck. 

We were an instant success. With the additional attraction of the leather 
band across our lips, it became a really big deal to ask us questions we 
couldn't answer. "Each has got a mouthful of rubber cock," informed one of 
the boys. "Should be real good training for them. Come here, sweetie, and 
let me feel you up." 

It was hateful to be so damned obedient. Everyone wanted to have a good look 
at our bodies, bound hands and gag. But I think it was the gag that 
attracted them the most. There is something psychological about knowing that 
a girl's mouth is filled with a replica of a penis and she can't push it 
out. Something for both the girl wearing it and the man looking at her. 
Symbolic oral sex, I guess. 

As we were fingered and passed around with our nipples getting plenty of 
attention, and one fellow even plucking a few pubic hairs, it was generally 
agreed that once again Rankin had come up with delightful entertainment. 
Marjory and I were wondering if we would ever be allowed to sit quietly in a 
deck chair to enjoy the waves. But our group was joined by a couple of 
giggling women who had picked up the news of a quite different 
entertainment. It appeared the Lenore Watson was to be suspended naked by 
her thumbs. 

I have said Rankin kept his word. Quite evidently his promise of punishment 
to the charming blonde was actually going to happen. Guests crowded the 
center deck, lining up along the rails or mounting the stairs for a better 
view. It was not long before the girl about to be punished was escorted into 
view by a pair of seamen who controlled her struggled by simply lifting her 
off the deck to plant her dead center on the stage. She was left to stand 
alone, gazing around without hope of help. After a minute she was joined by 
the ship's master who quite obviously wanted to make a speech. 

Rankin was a quite happy man. The first thing he did was to take possession 
of Lenore's lovely hair and shake to tell her clearly who was boss. Lenore 
was not bound and was clothed in a light summer dress. Rankin soon dispelled 
any notions she might have had about mercy. "Lenore here," he said loudly, 
"has been a real foolish girl." He looked around with pride. "All I asked 
her to do was lay down and spread her legs and the silly bitch slapped my 
face. And told me to get lost." He paused dramatically. "Now there ain't no 
one slaps Rankin Teller and gets away with it. I'm a reasonable man but 
after she tried to kick me where it hurts, I explained that I'd give her 
overnight to change her mind. If she didn't give an apology and come around 
with a good performance, I'd have her hung up by her thumbs. And that's 
where we are right now, ladies and gentlemen." 

From the beginning it was obvious Lenore was resigned to the inevitable. No 
doubt she had witnessed many such horrors on this ship. All she did was look 
Rankin Teller in the eye and, in a clear voice, say very simply, "Please 
don't do this to me." 

Rankin appeared not to hear. He stepped back a few paces from the frightened 
girl, who in this moment of her travail was displaying unexpected courage. 
His tone was cheerful, "Now, sweetheart, what we all want from you is to get 
out of them there clothes. You look a lot better without them than with 
them. And when we hang you up the way we're going to, you don't want to be 
bothered with no clothes, you'll be glad you got rid of them." Rankin 
chuckled at his fatherly advice. "And, of course, kiddo, there's the little 
matter of marking up your pretty sun-tanned skin. Clothes wouldn't be no 
help there at all." 

Lenore was standing straight and tense. But now she swiveled slowly around 
the circle of those who watched and once again the simplicity of her words 
touched my heart. "Won't any of you help me? Won't you stop Mr. Teller 
punishing me like this ... Please!" 

There was no response, only a stony silence. I longed to offer comfort and 
aid but was totally helpless. As I saw Lenore droop in defeat and watched 
breathlessly as she reached for the fastening of her dress, Rankin turned 
and left for the steps to his cabin. He sat on the steps to watch the 
cruelty to come. 

Lenore now stood alone on what I could only think of as center stage. And 
when the dress she wore fell away and was kicked aside to reveal her lovely 
slenderness in panties and bra, she paused once more to gaze around the 
circle of avid eyes before shrugging hopelessly and rendering herself 
totally nude. She was very beautiful. 

A pair of women guests had been briefed in the function they must now 
perform. Once carried the only instrument they would need, a two foot length 
of hardwood with metal rings at each end and below each a small leather 
noose. Each grasped a pathetically slender wrist and inserted the thumb 
within the prepared noose of soft leather by which Rankin hoped to avoid 
permanent injury. They positioned the yellow bands below the knuckle of the 
thumb and drew it tight, which at the same time a male crewman lowered ropes 
from the rigging above, each with a hook to fit the rings. With a slowness 
that was cruel, the ropes tightened to rise the imprisoned thumbs until she 
was compelled to stand on tip toes and left that way as the women walked 
away. But they quickly returned, one with a long yellow cane, the other with 
a single thonged whip, which was of a quality somewhere between cruelty and 
kindness. It would hurt more than the youthful slenderness seemed designed 
to bear. The stage was set. 

Lenore was now completely helpless. The yellow cane sliced the air with a 
vicious whine to place a scarlet imprint across the curved contours of a 
feminine bottom not yet marked. The shock was obvious but the girl did no 
scream. Lenore jerked and did a small dance on tip toes that told of the 
pain. But the dance was quickly over as the punished thumbs took weight 
abandoned by the toes. Quickly she sought to place her toes firmly on the 
deck again. 

When the woman with the whip drew back her arm to deliver a cruel cut around 
a youthful waist, it drew a scream from lips which had wished to be silent. 
When the cane cut the second time, Lenore leaped and kicked in disbelief 
that so much pain could be delivered by a slender cane. 

I suppose the whipping and canning of Lenore followed pretty much the 
pattern of all other such inflictions upon female flesh. She jumped and 
jerked and tugged in a way which I am sure was all too pleasing to those who 
watched, and certainly to Rankin Teller. The poor girl, here and there, 
repeated over and over her plea, "Stop! Oh, please stop! Please, not so 
hard!" But the cuts continued and even harder if anything. I could well 
believe the two of those girls had been whipped and knew what they were 
doing from sad experience. I hoped they would be whipped again for what they 
were doing to this innocent girl. 

I suppose Lenore's whipping was not all that cruel, or too long. It was not 
the main event and we all knew it but a prelude to the real punishment to 
come. The whip mistresses tucked their cane and whip beneath their arm 
regretfully and retreated to leave behind a sobbing girl who forgot her 
nakedness in her absorption in pain. She stood in taut constriction with 
hands that could not dry her tears. 

The ropes then tightened and quite suddenly Lenore's reaching toes could no 
longer touch the deck. She gasped, her eyes widened, and a wail of disbelief 
escaped her lips. The ropes were snubbed and there she hung, gently swaying 
against the motion of the ship. 

It was wickedly simple and in its way a thing of beauty. The punished thumbs 
could not move but the fingers betrayed what the thumbs could not. Lenore 
possessed delightful breasts but these were no partly flattened because of 
the stress on her suspended body. Her belly had become concave while her rib 
cage was accentuated in a manner to change the whole contour of her 
nakedness. From time to time she looked up at the noosed thumbs which 
delivered an agony she could scarcely bear, and I felt certain she was 
doubting the reality of all this. The scorch still burning her skin where 
the whip and cane had kissed lingered on, adding to her suffering. I wanted 
to help but if I do so, I would be the only one prompted by mercy and 
undoubtedly punished for it. Rankin and the guests were absorbed with the 
scene, silent and watching as if they couldn't tear themselves away from 
such beauty. 

I, too, stood there and watched. Eventually the crowd became fluid, coming 
and going as the mood took them, and to counter boredom, Rankin had directed 
that from time to time the suspended girl would be raised or lower, from the 
top of the spar or hovering with her toes just an inch from the wooden deck. 
From her wails of anguish, it was easy to tell that the higher the 
suspension, the more terrifying it was to this tortured girl. I am sure the 
poor dear often believed she faced a fall in addition to permanent damage to 
her thumbs. These variations kept the passengers amused throughout the day, 
a day in which Marjory and I eventually delivered ourselves for their 
attentions. I suppose both Marjory and I were wondering if the fate Lenore 
suffered now would be ours in days to come. It was hard to believe the 
suspended loveliness was simply entertainment. 

Just before dinner Lenore was lowered and released. She sank to the floor 
with arms outstretched. Lenore's nakedness had not imposed upon those thumbs 
the stress of someone weighing more pounds. In that, she should thank her 
stars that she was a slender, slight girl. Rankin insisted that she join us 
all in the dinning lounge and delegated the two whip mistresses to attend 
her needs at the table. The girl was dazed and grateful for attention. She 
made no protests to those who chose to lift an arm and examine the thumbs by 
which she had been punished. When dinner was over, the same two whip 
mistresses took charge of Marjory and I, unstrapping our gags and pulling 
the hated phallus from our mouth, before sitting us down and feeding us like 
a couple of babies. Our hands were not released from behind our backs. I 
suppose it could be considered a successful day on the Rankin's Pride. 

It was another uncomfortable night. I was curious as to why we were not 
heavily ironed and locked in the brig but I asked no questions. The brig was 
not a pleasant place. Marjory and I got dumped on the floor of an empty 
store room with our necks encircled with a brutal iron collar and chain 
running to a ringbolt in the wall. We actually had quite a lot of freedom 
since the tether was lengthy. Yet we could do nothing with it since the door 
was stoutly locked. We sat together and mourned our fate until we fell 
asleep. 

Breakfast was another state affair in the captain's cabin, and I'm ashamed 
to say we enjoyed it considerably even though I was certain Rankin was 
chuckling deep inside over things he knew and we did not. We were not even 
handcuffed and I was pretty sure we were being tested to see if we actually 
would run or jump over board. We did neither of these things but ate and 
drank our coffee like good little girls. We even got ourselves a kind word. 

"You're becoming properly trained little girls. All today you'll have to 
wear is handcuffs behind your back. And a beautiful clip on each of your 
pretty tits." He laughed at the flash of alarm on our faces. "Don't worry 
none, gals, I wouldn't have you lose them tits for anything in the world. 
The main attraction today is going to be little smart ass who got hung up 
yesterday. I'll think up something to make it interesting." 

Marjory and I were actually grateful for our handcuffs. Girls in our 
situation become thankful for anything that doesn't hurt too much. And I 
will say this about handcuffs, if you don't struggle, they won't bit. 

When Rankin had adjusted the steel bands around our wrists satisfactory 
around our wrists, we stood still remembering the promised butterflies. 
"I'll bet you gals can't hardly wait," Rankin mused. "You're going to fall 
in love with these pretty little things that clip your tits. But not hard 
enough to do you no real harm. Take a look." 

They were truly butterflies and, unless you turned them over, seemed pretty 
and innocent and almost to be desired. Marjory and I had not enjoyed having 
our nipples pinched and would actually been grateful for the butterflies had 
we believed them innocent. Then Rankin turned on over and we saw the brutal 
spring and serrated jaws which opened when the two wings were compressed by 
thumb and finger. We shivered in dismay at the thought of that cold metal 
biting into our tender nipples. 

"Honey, you're going a real proud of these," he told us. "And there ain't 
nobody going to take them off. You'll make all the other gals jealous. Now, 
stand quite still while I show you how they work." 

We stood quite still while Rankin had his fun. He grabbed a breast, 
compressed the butterfly wings and positioned the open jaws around my left 
nipple. Every so slowly he allowed the two wings to close and the metal 
spikes to bit my flesh. By this time I was panting in apprehension and pain. 
Once more Rankin admonished me to hold still my anguished flesh. Once more I 
gasped and Rankin stood back, pleased as punch, and beaming proudly of his 
work. And I have to admit that when I looked in a mirror the butterfly wings 
were as pleasing a bit of costume jewelry as I had ever worn. They burned. I 
watched the same thing done to Marjory and despite the shame and pain of 
wearing the pretty things were indeed attractive. Once more we got our 
bottom slapped and were sent upon our way. 

Flogging, and brandings, and being stretched upon the rack are horrors so 
dramatic the one may speak of them over and over. And I suppose they carry 
for days the marks they inflict. But there was nothing dramatic about the 
butterflies. They might well been the real thing that just happened to 
alight upon our breasts. Their wings even fluttered as we walked and our 
breasts bounced. Everyone admired them but no one took them off or ever 
asked us if they hurt. It was taken as only right and proper that we should 
be in pain. 

I suppose we would have felt very sorry for ourselves if it had not been for 
Lenore. Lenore wore a leather collar so wide as to tilt her chin and so 
tight as to seem to constrict her neck. At the back was the usual ring. The 
poor girl's wrists had been crossed and tightly bound, and the end of the 
rope used through the ring of her collar to pull her tied hands up and up 
and her neck back and back in a stress which carefully avoided anything 
fatal but which made her far more helpless than the usual strictures. If 
this was not enough, an iron anklet was locked fast around her right ankle 
and from it a three foot length of heavy chain attached her to an iron ball 
of frighten size and weight enough to compel any girl to stick around. 
Moving would be slow and very hard. I suppose even this might not have been 
too bad until she told us, her words distorted by the tight collar, that she 
had to walk three times around the deck during the day or receive other 
strips to add to the collection on back and bottom. Telling us of this, her 
voice became a wail, "I can't move the damned thing, it's so heavy. I 
certainly can't walk with it. All I can do is pull it a couple of inches at 
a time. What am I going to do!" 

Marjory and I had no answer. I didn't know what I would do in her plight. It 
seemed no girl on the Rankin's Pride was ever free of the threat of leather 
thongs biting at her skin. 

If he had possessed hands, we could have helped tug the ball and maybe 
completed the assignment. But we had no hands, all we had were rings of 
steel around our wrists and butterflies upon our breasts. We kept the poor 
girl company until a group of passengers crowded around and one of the men 
laughingly picked up the ball and told poor Lenore to follow where he led. 
We watched as they went on round number one of the ship, and wondering if 
what we saw might not earn the poor girl another punishment. But such 
thoughts were soon distracted by girls who insisted on flicking our 
butterflies to see how much they hurt. We longed to kick at them but a 
vision of our nakedness hanging by our thumbs acted as a deterrent. We 
suffered as we must. 

That night was the worst yet. The ship's carpenter provided a couple of 
stout planks which extended out beyond the rail, each one well secured to 
the deck but protruded above the seething water to a length of at least 
twelve feet. At the far end of each was a single handcuff. In demonstration 
of the safety of the plank, Rankin stood straddling us on either side as we 
obeyed his order to crawl out far enough for him to lock the waiting steel 
cuff around extended wrist. The plank bend alarmingly under the double 
weight but resumed its normal condition when Rankin left. Marjory was locked 
on the other plank as I was. The watcher all made comments on how long it 
would be before we fell and either hung agonizingly from one wrist or fell 
into the waves below. Since we were not ready to try to sleep, Marjory and I 
found it easier to sit astride our plank with our one shackled hand 
stretched behind and our other clutching the wood. When everyone left and we 
were quite alone, Marjory told me, "We can survive, Celie dear, if we just 
keep our head. Don't get excited, don't get to feeling you're going to fall. 
We don't have to fall. Remember that and hold on." 

It would have been wonderful to hold her in my arms or to have her hold me 
as a terrible loneliness descended with the night. Many hours later I 
abandoned the sitting posture and inched myself to lay on my belly and 
clutch the wood with free hand. I had no idea if that handcuff would hold my 
weight and made up my mind never to put it to the test. 

Sleep did not come easily. I was quivering with a terrible fear as I gazed 
below at the dark depths. I had no doubt of frightful monsters and watching 
eyes. No doubt of huge sharks waiting for us to fall, no doubt of anything 
except survival. Should I fall, I was certain, and hung suspended by one 
wrist, I would not be able to work my way back onto the plank and would hang 
over the water like shark bait. I was positive I could never sleep. 

We both slept in tiny catnaps interspersed by the horror that awaited us. I 
got little comfort from the thought of falling and being rescued by the 
cruel cut of metal around my wrist. But here and there, between nightmares, 
I fell asleep and when I awoke was surprised to find myself still on the 
plank. It seemed an eternity before we were freed, handcuffed and ushered to 
Rankin's office. 

Ours had become a world in which we lived from hour to hour and were 
convinced we would never be free. 

The guests were a sensation-loving lot who had to be constantly entertained 
with something painful to a girl. The old of them was little more than 
thirty and most of the girls were a lot younger. Playing the perfect host, 
Rankin decided not to allow them to become bored with Marjory and me, but to 
alter the punishment of our bodies with the punishment of others. Apparently 
everyone understood that on these occasions, every female would pull a 
number from a hat and the unfortunate maiden who pulled the wrong number was 
suppose to gracefully accept her fate. 

Marjory and I learned the details of this pleasant game while eating 
breakfast with our master. It appeared we were to have a peaceful, if 
handcuffed, day, with the choice of watching some tearful maiden get her 
bottom caned, or simply catching up on the sleep we missed. Rankin told us 
that the plank with its handcuff drove a good many females into hysterics or 
a state of shock. He complimented us on our performance and suggested that 
we would like to try the same thing at another time. Marjory and I kept a 
discrete silence. It was wonderful to know that nothing would be done to us 
today. We wore our handcuffs jauntily as though proud of them, mingling 
happily with the boys and girls who were discussing the fortunate of the 
draw. A portion of the deck had been cleared and a smirking crew member was 
busy positioning the props of Rankin's latest notion. So far there was an 
office desk and a black board. There was a swivel chair behind the desk but 
the other seat was a hardwood kitchen chair and a wooden stool. That it was 
suppose to be a school room was obvious. 

Even Marjory and I, used as we were to punishment upon punishment, could 
feel the rustle of sensation, the breathless hush of hazard, as the hat made 
its way around the circle and every female present knew her pretty skin at 
risk. One of them was going to have a bad, bad day. And about half way 
through the draw there was a squeal of excited horror as a youthful female 
displayed the fateful number. I doubt if the poor girl, who wasn't a day 
over eighteen, found much comfort from her boyfriend's kiss of fond 
farewell. Her name was Juno Stanley, and she marched bravely out to meet her 
fate in the person of Rankin Teller. 

In his chosen role, Rankin then produced an academic gown of black with a 
bit of red trim. Motioning to his victim, he said, "Might as well get them 
clothes off, honey. They'll just get in the way." 

The girl had been wearing a very brief string bikini, one of the only girls 
to be wearing anything. She untied the strings with trembling fingers and 
let the two tiny scraps of cloth fall to the deck. Rankin pushed a pair of 
black high heels across the desk to her and she slowly put them on. The 
heels made a tapping sound as she walked on the hardwood deck. 

Juno was a scared girl, all could see that clearly, but she bravely faced 
her fate. She was quite beautiful, with the loveliest long legs made all the 
more lovely by the shape of the muscles induced by the very high heels. Juno 
stood there, blushing furiously, with one forearm shielding her breasts and 
the other hand cupping her pubic bush. At that moment Juno Stanley was the 
perfect picture of innocent. 

"I guess you get the idea, honey. You're the pupil and I'm the teacher. Let 
your arms fall limp at your sides. I am going to touch one single part of 
you with this pointer, which ain't gonna hurt none, and then I want you to 
go to the blackboard and write down all the names you can think of, 
including the crude ones. By the way, sweetheart, you'll call me 'Sir'. 
Ready?" 

"Yes, Sir." Juno looked very sweet and very frightened. The gowned master 
extended his yellow cane to lightly touch the left nipple of a quivering 
nudity. "There you are, honey, this is your first taste. Get busy with that 
there chalk." 

Juno was almost one complete blush. And when her fingers found the chalk, 
they were trembling so hard that the word "Nipple" which she tried to write 
was hardly readable. Before she could use the duster to erase it and try 
again, Rankin issued stern reproof, "That ain't good, honey. You ain't gonna 
tell us you ain't ever learned to write?" 

"I'm sorry, Sir, I'm nervous. May I try again?" 

"After you've been punished for making that damned awful mess. Come here and 
hold out your left hand. Palm up." 

Horrified, the poor girl who stood there naked holding the bit of chalk 
shivered and dropped the chalk to shatter upon the deck. Her voice was a 
quiver of disbelief, "But we just started, Sir. You're going to use that 
cane upon the palm of my hand, aren't you? And that will get me so upset I 
won't be able to write anything properly." 

"That's just a bridge you can cross when you come to it. Right now just 
extend your arm." 

Juno shrugged and slowly held out her left arm with its taut palm open and 
turned up. Rankin was in his element and went through all the damned fool 
motions of measuring distance and tapping the small, young hand waiting to 
be hurt. Then, quite suddenly, the cane cut the air to impact hard upon the 
palm. 

The audience was silent in awe. For a second Juno stood perfectly still in 
shock before tucking her wounded hand in her armpit. "Ohhhhhh!" she cried as 
she steadied herself with her uninjured hand against the desk. Obviously the 
pain was far worse than she had anticipated or ever dreamed. Juno was 
strangely beautiful as she remained her motionless in the center of a 
breathless silence. Rankin had no doubt used this punishment before and 
stood as a naked girl slowly sobbed her way back into awareness. "You done 
fine, honey," he said cheerfully. "Don't hurt all that bad, does it?" 

"It's terrible!" 

"Whatever you say, sweetheart. Now get up to that blackboard. Here's a fresh 
piece of chalk. You write down all them names ... " 

Juno took the chalk in her uninjured hand and slowly managed a descent 
"NIPPLE." She stood unhappily looking at the make-believe headmaster, but, 
finding no mercy in his eyes, turned back to the blackboard and wrote down 
the word "TIT." 

"I told you you could do it, honey. Write them all down and that way you 
won't get the cane." 

"I don't know any more." The young voice faltered. "If you want to be 
polite, you call it a nipple. And if you want to be vulgar, you call it a 
tit." 

"Honey, you sure is a disappointment. I ain't gonna be hard on you so give 
me the names of this pretty thing." The cane lightly tapped Juno's breast. 

The poor girl obediently wrote "BREAST." Then she added "BOOB." Once more 
she turned to admit she had exhausted her knowledge of descriptive words. 

The headmaster took her statement bravely, visible bracing himself against 
such innocence. "I gave you a break once, sweetheart, but I can't give you a 
break twice running. This time hold out your right arm." 

"But then I won't be able to write at all!" If I can't write with either 
hand, I know you'll be real mad at me. Give me a break." 

"How many breaks do you want?" Juno shifted from one foot to the other, her 
young eyes riveted on the yellow cane. "You'll have to forgive me," she 
explained, "but I just don't know all these names people use. Couldn't you 
let me have one more try?" 

"Okay. You don't seem to know nothing about your tits and boobs, so let's go 
down to something everybody has an interest in. It's got more names than you 
can shake a stick at. Clean off that blackboard and get ready to write." 
This time the cane prodded the young lips beneath the pubic hair. "Give this 
one all you've got, honey," he encouraged. '"Cause if you don't, you're 
going to be hurting." 

Poor Juno had evidently been well brought up. Her vocabulary of four letter 
words was decidedly limited. She started off with "VAGINA", and, after a 
good deal of foot shuffling, "CUNT." She was obviously shamed and was close 
to exhausting her stock of blushes. 

"I want to be real helpful, honey," Rankin said. "How about 'TWAT', and 
'SNATCH.' Try them out for size." 

The poor girl obediently wrote down the two words with distaste. She then 
searched the intent ring of faces for inspiration. But after a lengthy 
silence, Rankin said with regret, "There ain't no way out of this, honey, 
you'd best hold out that hand and let's go back to business." 

I expect by this time the agony of the first stroke had reduced to enough so 
Juno could find the courage to extend her uninjured hand. It was a swift and 
wicked slash to make her squeal in anguish and fall to her knees, holding 
each hand beneath an armpit. Her lovely head was bowed and her shinning 
yellow hair fell forward to the floor. Once more I saw her as an artist's 
dream of innocence in agony. 

If the silence had been tense before, it was doubly so now. I could see no 
where for Rankin or his victim to go. It was pretty certain Juno could not 
hold out her hand again. Rankin's use of the cane had been hard. At his 
brisk command, poor Juno struggled to her feet and held her injured hands 
before her face in a sort of wonder that they were still there. But she 
faced the headmaster and said quite simply, "Sorry, I can't hold the chalk. 
And I can't possibly hold out my hands again." She shrugged her shoulders 
and returned her hands to her armpits. "I expect I'm a terrible 
disappointment." 

"I should have explained to you right at the start, honey, that if you back 
out of this little game we're playing, the alternative is to be strung up by 
your thumbs like Lenore yesterday. Would you prefer that?" 

Juno was wiser that she knew. Instinctively she threw her arms around a 
startled headmaster and sobbed her heart out on his gown. There was a choked 
admission uttered into a black gown that she had never known there would be 
such things like this or she wouldn't have signed on for the trip. 

I am sure the poor dear girl was totally innocent of guile. She had just run 
into something that was too much for her. And after expending about a half 
pint of tears on Rankin's gown, she suddenly turned and fled back to her 
boyfriend who accepted her back into his arms but who's features displayed 
extreme embarrassment. I don't know what would have come of the scene had 
not a single woman stepped out of the audience to come face to face with 
Rankin Teller, who was far from pleased. This woman was close to thirty, and 
I don't recall her having any boyfriend among the guests. Her voice matched 
Rankin's own, "Look, Mr. Teller, that poor kid can't take it. We got an 
unlucky draw. What say we leave her where she is and I take her place? I've 
already got my clothes off." 

Rankin eyed her with interest in the sense of accepting an challenge. He 
came up with a lame, "You think you can take it?" 

"What do you think?" The tone was flippant. The girl was laughing without 
dismay at the agonies that await. I had to wonder about her. I have heard of 
girls who enjoy being hurt by men but I'd never really believed it. But 
there was something about Rita that matched the mood of the pretty play 
Rankin had designed. Rita pushed her advantage with the curt demand, "Well, 
do you want a girl who can take it or another pretty little pussy who 
doesn't want to play?" 

Rankin grinned and ordered her to pick up the chalk. "You can bet your ass 
I'm going to make you a very sorry girl," he growled. 

I watched as Rita stepped forward, a muscular and mature female body of good 
proportions and nice firm breasts. "Do you want me to go on writing or do 
you want to cane me first?" she inquired. "Please don't be bashful, we all 
know you're an asshole. Might as well behave like one." 

Rankin was breathing heavily. This girl was a fresh experience. Gruffly he 
told her to go ahead and write down every dirty word she knew for her sexual 
organs between her legs. With a shrug of amusement, Rita picked up the 
discarded chalk and turned to the blackboard where she wrote down more 
descriptive names than I had ever heard of. I think she was ahead of Rankin 
when she turned and asked flippantly, "How's that for starters?" 

In this sort of erotic play, Rankin was often a good sport, secure in love 
of female flesh. He clapped and offered, "You did good kid. You got some in 
there I never heard of. Now let's see how you do with your pretty little 
ass." His yellow cane tapped a firm curved cheek suggestively. 

Rita was well aware of playing a game she could not win but it pleased her 
to make things as difficult for Rankin Teller as she could. Once more she 
came up with more four letter words than I had ever heard of. There was 
admiration in Rankin's voice. "You're really something," he told Rita. "I 
expect you've got just as many answers for any part of your body. But I can 
always get the best of you in the matter of attitude. You're a real smart 
ass. And that's something I don't tolerate in a pupil in this here school. 
Let's start out with your hands. What do you say to six cuts on each as a 
reward for insolence?" 

I gasped in a sort of fascination and disbelief. A girl might very well be 
caned six times on each open palm by a female or some man not striking as 
hard as he could. But certainly not Rankin hitting as hard as he could. 
Beside his strength, a girl melted into helplessness. My heart went out to 
Rita as she laughed in Rankin's face and held out not her left hand but her 
right. "Go ahead," she invited politely. "Do you want to cut the whole six 
all at once or shall we alternate hands?" 

It seemed to me like a death wise. I might have endured one or two on each 
palm but most certainly not six. But here was this lovely creature 
positively asking for it. Her palm held out made me cringe. 

Rankin did not bother to answer but abruptly swung his cane to impact it in 
a swift and sure stroke across the flesh of a girl who dared look him in the 
eye. Rita's arm remained outstretched and only the slightest flinch of her 
eyes told of the pain. The palm even remained wide open. 

When number two cut hard and fast it was just the same. Rita's eyes were 
glowing with a supernatural light, her lovely breasts rose and fell a little 
faster, but her hand was still there as was the smile upon her face. Rankin 
struck again. 

I realized we were not simply watching the caning of a girl's hand, what we 
beheld was a matching of wills under the stimulus of an eroticism greater 
than I had ever known. I remembered often becoming horny under the first 
lash of a whip or cut of a cane. But that heat quickly dissolved under 
continued blows. Rita had now received her sixth stroke across the open palm 
but did not lower her arm. Instead she asked, in the sweetest tones, "May I 
now drop my hand, Sir?" 

"Of course you can, you silly bitch, that's the deal, ain't it?" 

I could sense the agony and guess the pain. Rita's control was perfect but I 
sensed in her a force most girls do not have. Smiling, she extended her 
uninjured hand to invite the venom of Rankin's cane. Everyone present was 
breathless in admiration and poor Juno was staring bug-eyed at what she must 
have thought was a miracle. Perhaps it was. 

Rankin should have been pleased to possess so marvelous a subject but I 
could sense his anger at being deprived of the spotlight. No doubt he would 
break the spirit of this beautiful woman if he could. 

He was going through the measuring of the distance with the cane while 
Rita's smile continued to mock him. Breathing heavily, he cut her swift and 
hard. 

There was agony in the girl's eyes but her control remained perfect and, 
even thought that blow had driven her arm down several inches, she returned 
it to level instantly. I saw Rankin purse his lips and slash again. His gown 
flapped about him. For his next blow he put all his strength of his arm into 
the downswing. She displayed only the slightest wince before once more 
sweetly inquiring if she could lower her arm. Rita openly stared at Rankin 
Teller, as if waiting to hear whatever words of wisdom he would care to 
impart. 

The school room charade had run its course to resume it now, after Rita's 
superb performance would be anti-climactic. A couple of crewmen took away 
all trace of it to leave the two stars of this drama facing each other 
across a small open space. Rita was really beautiful as she stood in both 
agony and defiance to try and stare down the man who had hurt her. But 
Rankin Teller returned stare for stare, his angry eyes matching those of the 
girl he had punished. 

"You're a smart assed bitch," he said heavily. "And you're not going to get 
away with it. You're the most insolent female I've ever come across." 

"Thank you," she replied sweetly. "How'd it be I tie you across a stool and 
see if your ass is as tough as your hands?" 

"As you wish, Sir." 

"Don't try getting ahead of me. I'm going to tie you so you can't even 
twitch. And then I'll lay a good, hard hundred across your rump. How's that 
grab you, girlie?" 

A cane in the hands of a strong man can wound a girl's bottom terribly. I 
think if Rankin had been satisfied to name a more reasonable number, say 
twenty or even thirty, everything might have gone as he wished. But everyone 
present knew that a hundred such strokes across the bottom curves Rita 
displayed meant an injury far beyond the fun and games the guests enjoyed. A 
hundred slashes with the cane was cruel indeed. 

It began with the golden haired Juno who broke from her boyfriend's arms to 
enter the arena. Even though they had suffered only one stroke each, her 
hands were limb against her hips as were those of the other caned beauty. 
Rita turned at the interruption of Rankin's sadism. 

"You mustn't do that," Juno cried. "You mustn't punish her anymore, she's 
had enough. And, anyway, it's my fault for running away. I draw the piece of 
paper and have to pay the price. Tie me over your stool and cane my bottom 
instead of Rita's." She paused, breathless and panting, before adding, "Do 
you want me to drape myself over the stool?" 

"Well, I'll be damned," Rankin exclaimed. "Sure, honey, if that's the way 
you want it. Your pretty little ass is every bit as good as Rita's for 
marking up." 

"You shouldn't do this, Juno," Rita said softly. "A hundred strokes the way 
this guy gives them is too much for any girl. You'll be seriously hurt. 
Leave this to me. I'll probably live through it." 

Rankin was enjoying all this noble sacrificing of female flesh. But his 
pleasure was interrupted now by Juno's boyfriend who had been silent up to 
now. "Look, Captain, couldn't we call this quits? I don't want Juno caned 
any more than she's already been, and I don't think any of us want to see 
Rita slashed with a hundred. Can't you think up something entertaining that 
doesn't leave us all feeling guilty?" 

"Maybe you got a point, Wilbur," Rankin conceded reluctantly. "Okay, I'll 
cut that hundred down to fifty. This gal Rita will probably enjoy every 
strip." 

"I can agree to twenty-five, but that's the limit," said Wilbur with 
surprising fortitude. "I'm sure Juno will offer to take half of those if you 
would be willing to spread the caning around a bit. But for Pete's sake 
don't hit the poor girl so damned hard." 

Rankin stood his ground. "Look, fellow, you telling me how to run my ship?" 

"I'm telling you how to avoid killing a guest." Rita did for Wilbur what she 
had done for Juno. "Look," she said reasonably, "I expect I'm half to blame 
for this whole damned thing. I was just too willing. I don't mind being 
whipped a little, it's stimulating and makes me as horny as all get out. But 
I was scared of that hundred. Thanks for cutting it down to fifty. I expect 
that's bad enough but I'll probably live." 

"I'll be damned if this don't beat anything I ever did see." Rankin regained 
his good humor and probably realized Wilbur had gotten him out of a bad 
situation. By way of making his contribution to the general good will, he 
added, "I'll go you one better and cut it down to forty. And instead of that 
there cane, I've got a lighter one the gal probably won't like much but it 
won't do her no harm." Rankin's eyes swept the assembly as his voice boomed, 
"That okay by you folk?" 

Rankin made a swift trip to his cabin and returned with rope and a new cane. 
True the cane was lighter as he had promised, but I had to wonder if it 
would hurt more or less. My experience was that every cane hurt more than a 
girl could bare. We all watched Rankin select some lengths of cord then knee 
beside lowered head of shinning hair he had to thrust aside in order to find 
the willing wrists. He bound those wrists with his usual expertise. There 
were four legs to the stool, and two of them would get girlish wrists while 
the other pair were to hold feet. Poor Rita's hands were limp but he was no 
longer concerned with them. The fingertips touched the deck but the cord was 
wound and twisted again and again to secure the slender wrists hard and fast 
against the leg of the stool. When the bindings were complete on both 
wrists, he patted the upturned bottom, then turned his attention to the 
ankles at the end of those long, muscular and very shapely legs. Each ankle 
was lashed to a stool leg tightly. Rita was left with her bottom sticking up 
in the air and no means of moving or protecting it. 

Standing back, Rankin studied the effect for a moment then took two lengths 
of rope and bound each elbow to the stool leg. Rita could wiggled her 
bottom, but that was an action she wisely did not practice. It would have 
been too inviting. 

Knees were also bound to the legs with tight ropes cutting into the flesh. 
Rankin's promise of immobility was now true. I feared that the only possible 
movement on Rita's part might be to throw her body sideways and tip the 
stool over. I've never been tied over a stool like that, but I was sure she 
would not want to endanger herself with such an action. 

I saw Rita's muscles strive against the ropes but there was no response. She 
was beautifully secured for the punishment to come. She could not even look 
up at us because her hair again hid her face. 

Rankin resumed his command with gusto. Lovingly his hands caressed the sweet 
curves of Rita's bottom. As was to be expected, his finger penetrated deep 
with her asshole to bring a gasp from the bound girl. Lovingly he picked up 
the slender cane. 

The new instrument sang its own song as it cut through the air to seek the 
feminine flesh which could not move. It's impact was different from the 
first one, but whether it hurt more or less was something Rita would have to 
tell us later. Even though it had left a rapidly reddening mark, Rita did 
not scream. At that moment Rankin was probably as happy as any man could 
ever be. And his circle of guests were too intent upon the bound girl to 
give voice to descent or make a protest on her behalf. Rita had had all the 
help she was going to get. I stole a glance at the lovely Juno but her eyes 
were as bright in anticipation as anyone in the circle. Rankin rose his arm 
once more to deliver the stroke which would etch one more scarlet line 
across the soft curves. I suspected he was giving the strokes everything he 
had. 

Rankin probably thought forty lashes with the cane was mere child's play but 
when he reached the count of six, he paused dramatically and, as though 
there was a strange communion between the two, Rita's voice came from 
beneath the fall of lovely hair with bell-like clarity. 

"Thank you, Mr. Teller. I am sure I deserve this. Please don't stop." 

Rita was incredible. I wished we could see her face but after all this was 
as much a punishment as entertainment for bored people. In restored good 
humor, Rankin leaned across the upturned bottom and turned the stool partly 
so that all could enjoy visual pleasure from his work. He stepped back and 
began the awful motions of the second half dozen cuttings of this girl. I 
longed to go away and scream but remained in pure fascination at what was 
taking place. Marjory was just the same. Later we might be ashamed but for 
now the eroticism of the punished flesh held us enthralled. 

Six more strokes! And once again from beneath the long hair the clear 
feminine voice assailed us all. "Thank you, Mr. Teller. You are whipping me 
beautifully. Please don't stop." 

Rita could not move. I knew from personal knowledge how she was straining at 
the cords which held her tight. She was not trying to get loose so much as 
she was finding an outlet for agonized skin by thus simulation her efforts 
to escape. I was not sure she even wanted to escape. This girl was 
incredible! 

I envied her with all my heart for I knew she was not gagged and I knew also 
in her condition I'd be screaming my head off and promising everything in 
return for a halt to the pain. 

Rankin said casually, "Well, sweetheart, that's a dozen you've had and I do 
appreciate what you've had to say. Try the next six and see what you have to 
say about them." Once more he turned the stool and the cane flashed yellow 
in the sunlight. 

Once more it was the same and Rita did not break. With the end of each half 
dozen she came up with some glowing tribute to the man who had given her 
such pain. I knew now that she was mocking Rankin Teller as though daring 
him to do his worse. I was pretty sure that had not the guests expressed 
their sympathy the poor girl might have found herself hung up by her thumbs 
at the end of forty strokes. Or perhaps strung up by her heels to display 
her beauty in a painful exposure. But Rankin didn't want to anger his guests 
too much and cast the cane aside at the end of forty. He began the task of 
untying the maiden who had offered him nothing but thanks and gratitude for 
punishment she did not deserve. Rita's bottom was scarlet and purple. She 
had been well and truly caned and I wondered how she was ever going to sit 
down. 

Rankin knew about women, none of us could deceive him. And none of us were 
entirely immune to his charm, cruel as it might be. Having removed all the 
ropes, he tenderly raised the girl, holding her head against his shoulder 
with one hand while he used the other to explore the surface of the flesh he 
had just thrashed. Rita took that, too, and spoke loud enough for all of us 
to hear. "You're a wonderful Master. Thank you for caning me. Is there 
anything else I can do to give you pleasure?" 

If Rankin had been the ordinary horny male, he would have laid her on the 
deck and taken her. But Rankin could get all the sex he might desire in the 
privacy of his quarters where a girl could be spread-eagle on his bed or 
hung by her wrists in the two postures I had discovered he preferred. What 
he did now raised a question mark in all our minds. He took a pair of 
handcuffs from his pocket, turned Rita around and locked her wrists in steel 
behind her back. Then he patted a wounded bottom and sent her to find 
companionship where ever it might be. 

Before the crowd dissolved he made an announcement involving Marjory and me. 
We were called up to stand beside him while he explained. "Folks, there here 
girls don't mean nothing to any of you. They're the prisoners of the 
Rankin's Pride and we do what we please with them. They're having a rest 
today and they've been watching Rita get marked up the same as the rest of 
you. But tomorrow each of them is going to be branded with the letters of my 
initials. You're all invited to the party." He slapped Marjory playfully on 
her bottom and pinched my nipple so hard I cried out. Then he sent us to 
find Rita. 

Our minds were in turmoil. To be branded on bare skin with the initials of a 
man we had come to loath was a fate we would rather not have to face. But on 
the Rankin's Pride there was no escape for any girl. I feared by this time 
the next day I would carry "Rankin Teller" somewhere on my body, and would 
carry it for the rest of my life. I trembled and had trouble standing. 

"The son of a bitch, I didn't think he'd do it!" Marjory muttered. "If he 
wants us branded, it means he's going to keep us around and there'll be no 
rescue. It's going to happen and we might as well get used to the idea. 
Let's go to the bar and get drunk. After all, it is our day to howl." 

The guest always welcomed us at the bar. If our hands were cuffed behind our 
backs, there were many who would feed drinks to these naked girls. Today our 
hands were joined in front and we could lift our own glasses. Rita was 
already there and even though she had no hands, her needs were being 
attended to with admiration by all. She was willing to display her wounds, 
both the hands and the very discolored and sore bottom she dared not sit 
down upon. She laughed at the exclamations they evoked. "I'm a natural born 
submissive," she explained. "I know I don't look and act like one but I've 
gone through three husbands who simply couldn't believe I was the way I am. 
They couldn't whip me, they couldn't buy a pair of handcuffs, and they all 
refused to turn our basement into a dungeon in which I would be imprisoned 
when I was naughty." She sighed. "Maybe one of these days I'll find a guy 
who's really into it. I wonder if I could marry Rankin Teller?" 

Marjory and I both knew of the wonderful eroticism of being punished by The 
Male. But neither of us were in Rita's class. Marjory could control herself 
far better than I, but in the end both of us could be broken under the male 
rod, whether it was one to penetrate our sheaths or one to beat our bodies. 
Marjory suggested that Rita go ahead and propose marriage to Rankin because 
some girl had to marry him sometime. We were certain he would not bestow 
such a favor on either of us. 

It would have been a pleasant afternoon had it not been for our sentence. 
Marjory and I tried to be casual about the branding to those who asked about 
it. The promise of such agony was obvious to all and need not be spoken 
aloud. When it gave guests pleasure, we discussed our feelings. Many seemed 
avidly interested in how we were approaching such an ordeal. 

It was probably the pleasantest day since we had been hauled to safety from 
the sea. That night there was something new. At the appropriate time we were 
taken to the ship's brig and ironed with ever chain or bit of metal the 
damned place possessed. The weight of the shackles and chains was a 
punishment. But for me the brig has always been a place of pure terror in 
the incredible degree of helplessness it overwhelms a girl with. 

Marjory and I slept together as best we could, hugging and touching to the 
limit allowed. The crewman who chained us there and brought us food laughed 
in genuine enjoyment at our sad reactions to this imprisonment. Most girls 
never discover what it's like to be the slave girl of a man and I don't 
suggest they ever try it. 

I could understand the guests becoming bored with the handful of girls on 
board who would drop to the floor and spread their legs at a command. The 
little diversions Rankin provided were welcome changes from plain and simple 
screwing. After breakfast the next day, we were to become the next diversion 
presented by the Rankin's Pride. 

Marjory and I found ourselves upon the same stage that yesterday had 
provided a school room. But now the props were horrible in their simplicity. 
There was a pile of ropes and cords, a heavy timber structure obviously 
designed to hold two girls, and a smoking brazier of glowing coals with two 
wicked irons by which our skin would soon be marked. Each had a wooden 
handle. Knowing the uselessness of struggling, we stood erect as our arms 
were gathered behind our back, the hands placed palm to palm, and the wrists 
bound with tight ropes. Immediately our elbows were pushed together and 
bound with thin cord that cut in incredibly and would have been a punishment 
all by itself. But today it was merely part of the restriction to hold us 
for the real punishment. I was then positioned astride one of the strange 
timbers. Rankin gasp my hair in one hand and my tied wrists with the other 
to pull my head hard down and raise my bound arms so high I had to bend more 
than double. I was then pushed forward until the back of my neck came up 
against a vertical beam. My arms were then tied to that beam forcing my head 
against the beam on which I sat and holding my head and arms solidly 
immobile. It was horrible, I could not move. My limited vision beheld 
everything upside down. 

This would have been enough but Rankin used more rope to bind my knees 
together then my ankles. Then he lashed my lower legs from the knees to 
ankles to the beam. I found myself in a position somewhat like that of Rita 
the previous day, my bottom sticking up in the air and all I could do was 
wiggle that bottom. Marjory was treated in the same way. We were both 
panting hard from the unnatural position when Rankin loving caressed our 
bottom and told us we could rest a while before feeling the burn of red-hot 
irons. 

I will never know if the awful binding by which we were secured might not 
have given us something else to think about beside the coming brands. The 
guests used the rest period to feel and finger our tightly bound bodies. 
With gasping breaths we tried to answer their questions as to what it felt 
like and were we scared. They scattered when Rankin returned. The first 
thing he did was take an iron from the fire and hold it for our inspection. 

I could easily feel the heat from that glowing metal as he explained that we 
were being marked with the same crude instruments as were used on cattle on 
ranches. "These irons are crafted to give the simulation of a script rather 
than the heavy imprint of headlines." He tone was that of a person being 
extremely kind. Marjory and I said nothing. What the hell was there to say! 

We soon knew where our flesh would feel the iron, as if the position did not 
so inform. Surprisingly it was not to be directly upon our bottoms as I had 
supposed. Instead we were to get the letters branded upon our thighs just 
below our hips on the outside of our legs. Rankin drew a circle upon our 
hips, one on each side. It was then we learned we would get the letter "R" 
upon one side, and the letter "T" upon the other. In short, we would be 
branded twice. I was trying hard not to think about it, or the fear racing 
through my mind, when the first brand was pressed hard upon my skin. I could 
not move but I could certainly scream and that I did, loud and long. Even 
after the hot iron was withdrawn the agony continued in unbelievable pain. 
Someone put a cold cloth against the burned skin and immediately the pain 
abated. Perhaps Rankin had a touch of kindness someplace. 

I was still crying when I heard Marjory scream and knew that the first 
letter had been branded into her flesh. 

My second brand came unexpectedly soon and I screamed myself into 
unconsciousness. I must have been left bound while Marjory received her 
second brand, and a while after that too. Marjory told me that guests were 
allowed to come up and examine the freshly branded flesh while our bodies 
were still held immobile and in perfect position for viewing. 

I had never felt so helpless in my life. The exclamations from viewers told 
us a good job had been done and the irons had left their imprint exactly as 
they should. I did not care. I longed only to be untied. 

The ropes were taken off only when everyone who wanted to had been satisfied 
with their look. The cords and ropes so deeply embedded were cut away. I 
almost collapsed but Rankin's strong hands supported me. I recall his voice 
telling me I was a wonderful girl and now I had permission to go to the bar 
where a few drinks would help me cope with the pain. 

Almost as an afterthought, Rankin locked our handcuffs back upon our wrists. 

The summons to the Captain's stateroom came just as we were starting to feel 
better under the influence of a cocktail and friendly voices. The crew 
member urged us to actually run so that we were panting when we stood in 
humble nudity before Rankin's desk to behold an troubled and angry man. 

"Look," he said, "I'm going to leave with you. That Arab chap and his 
servants didn't die. We fished them out of the water while you were too busy 
worrying about yourselves. We had them in the brig all the time until his 
nibs, you call him Hamid, don't you, arranged a pretty fair ransom. In the 
middle of the night we gave him the long boat and sent him on his way. But 
I'll be damned if that asshole didn't get the wires humming all over the 
world. My radio man is picking up enough message to tell me this ship is 
going to be boarded and searched. Damn! I have to get rid of the two best 
girls I ever had. Shit!" 

I could swear it was the same dingy. And the same handcuffs tight on my 
wrists behind my back. When we protested before being lowered to the 
awaiting ocean, Rankin cheerfully told that by a freak of fortune we were at 
the same position as when he had cast me adrift that first time where the 
story started. There was no time to argue. Our tiny craft was lowered and 
cast loose beside the huge ship. We looked up at the faces leaning over the 
rail as our hands tugged at the steel cuffs. With frightening speed the huge 
bulk of Rankin's ship slipped by. In our tiny boat we watched Rankin's Pride 
recede until it was a tiny dot on the horizon. 

"If he's right in his calculations, we'll come adrift on Palm Island," 
Marjory consoled doubtfully. "It doesn't seem possible now but that's what 
happened to you, darling." 

We slumped on our seats to thankfully take stock of the food and water 
provided. We examined each other's bonds and brands. We gazed overboard for 
the inevitable sharks and discussed the possibility of survival. 

"He didn't need to handcuffs us this way," I complained bitterly. 

"What's the difference?" Marjory offered. "If we had our hands there's 
nothing we could do with them. Except to hold each other. We're going to 
miss that when night time comes." 

"Hamid is sure to find us," I said with a confidence I did not feel. "He'll 
have ships searching everywhere. He could find us in an hour." 

"You can have your beloved Hamid," Marjory said disgustedly. "I'm still 
wearing the marks that son of a bitch put on me. Let's make ourselves as 
comfortable as we can and pray Palm Island really lies ahead. Cheer up, 
Celie, we're going to make it. I know we'll make it." 

Marjory was wonderful but I was thinking more and more of Hamid and his 
search. I don't know why but I could almost feel his arms in a growing 
confidence which kept the menace of the ocean at bay. I looked at my 
mistress and loved her longingly. I am such a silly girl with my divided 
loyalties. 

I wondered how long it would take a brand to heal. 


The End
