Love & Pain
by F. E. Campbell


CHAPTER ONE - ADDICTIVE AGONY 

Two naked girls in a tiny boat, insignificant in the immensity of the ocean. 
Beside the dingy we could see the huge gray shapes slide by in the quite 
green waters. Perhaps the sharks sensed where their next meal was coming 
from. Marjory and I were still handcuffed with wrists behind our backs. 
Naked girls have no keys or tools or anything else except hope. And hope is 
hard to sustain without sight of a plane or ship or land. It was the second 
day. 

We were accustomed to the handcuffs, at least I was, I have been handcuffed 
for longer than I can remember. And if it isn't handcuffs, it's something 
else. I suppose being in a boat drifting on an endless sea comes closer to 
freedom than I have known for a long time. Marjory, who owned me once, 
admitted the steel circlets on her wrists are getting her down. She had been 
forced to wear them only a matter of days aboard the Rankin's Pride, the 
ship of bitter memories. But since there are two of us, it was easy to 
handle the food and water Rankin provided before he set us adrift. While one 
of us fumbled, the other could watch and direct. So far we hadn't spilt any 
of our precious cargo. 

We had another passenger in our boat -- pain. For each of us there was a 
nagging bum below each hip and several times a day we check each other's 
brands. The "R" on the right and the "T" on the left by which we are forever 
marked as Rankin Teller's property. The brands were freshly burned upon our 
skin. But as Rankin had promised, the sun and fresh air kept the bums from 
getting infected. 

It was hard to be bored in our situation. We might have been scared, anxious 
and frustrated, and almost entirely helpless, but we still, from time to 
time, took an interest in the metal panic canister in which our food was 
kept. We decided we would open its lid and take whatever comes to hand. Even 
this wasn't easy for a handcuffed girl. We started out by placing our food 
on the seat and then turning around to bend and eat it like a dog. However, 
we soon improved on this by one of us sitting backward on the seat and 
holding the sandwich or whatever it was in chained hands, which at least 
offered it and held it firm for hungry teeth. 

Marjory was searching the canister when her expression changed to one of 
puzzlement then a smile. "The son of a bitch!" she exclaimed. "He's put a 
handcuff key in with the sandwiches. I'll give it to you and you can get me 
loose." 

It was in keeping with Rankin's sense of humor. I eagerly took the tiny key 
and with Marjory backward on the seat, managed to get it into one of the 
holes and open one of the steel jaws. I was about to go fishing for the 
other hand but she told me not to bother but to hand over the key and turn 
around. Waggling steel clad wrists, I turned and waited in happy 
anticipation. 

It did not happen all at once but I did not complain, handcuff keys are tiny 
and the key holes are small. I thought nothing of it when I heard the click 
of the ratchet which accompanies the closing of a handcuff. Marjory was 
probably playing with the thing just for the fun of it. But all too soon, 
with laughter in ever word, she said, "You can turn around, darling. There's 
been a change in plans. I'm going to keep you just the way you are. Or have 
you forgotten I'm your mistress? You're my property." 

I hadn't forgotten anything and I suppose I wasn't too much surprised. I 
adore Marjory and her breasts and whip marks and ropes had kept me lustily 
in a way to counter the menace of the sea and its lousy sharks. I turned 
around and said the obvious, "Don't be a tease, Marjory. You don't need to 
keep me a prisoner. And with those sharks I'm not going to jump overboard." 

It was a waste of words. I beheld mischief on Marjory's face and an old, 
familiar sparkle in her eye. Right then I knew I was entering one more of a 
series of captivities, which her words now confirmed. "Don't be silly, 
Celie, darling, you know you belong to me. And I'm going to keep you 
handcuffed because that's the way a slavegirl should be. Rankin is one for 
the book and I never would have believed this could happen. Look, dear, I've 
clasp both cuffs of the handcuffs around my left wrists, just in case I need 
them for your ankles. And, since neither of us have a pocket, I'm going to 
thread the key into my hair just for emergencies. Gosh, Celie, isn't this 
wonderful!" 

"It's wonderful for you," I said pouting. "But it isn't wonderful for me. 
Gosh, Marjory, it wouldn't hurt you to let me have my hands." 

"Look, sweetheart, wipe that pout off your lips or I'll pinch your nipples 
until you howl. Gosh, it's wonderful to be a mistress once again." 

Well, that was that! I was no worse off than I had been before, and, anyway, 
Marjory was truly my mistress. Before my time at Shalima, I'd obeyed her 
completely. After the first few times she had to whip me into obedience, I'd 
become a very good slavegirl indeed. 

Marjory was remembering things just the same as I, and said, with firm 
decision, "You need a woman's authority, Celie, I've been positively ashamed 
of you the way you moon over that Arab fellow, Hamid. You've behaved like a 
silly child, telling me over and over how he's going to rescue us and how 
wonderful he is." 

"Hamid is a good man," I offered weakly. "And you wouldn't be so scornful of 
him if he were here. He's a wonderful Master." 

"I can see I'm going to have to whip you back into a proper state of mind," 
Marjory said severely. "The guy must be remarkable in some Islamic sort of 
way for you to go overboard for him like this. You just wait until I get you 
somewhere I can whip you... Or have you become accustomed to Hamid's cane?" 

I kept a discrete silence. Marjory couldn't whip me now but she had a long 
memory. And if we ever did drift onto Palm Island, she would do her utmost 
to erase Hamid from my mind. I don't like being whipped any more than the 
next girl. And I knew for sure I'd already earned myself a sore seat. 
Marjory was very competent with the cane as I well knew. I was trying to 
think of something to say when we heard the sound of the helicopter in the 
distance. My heart leapt and I felt certain it was Hamid, who was more 
certain to whip Marjory herself than to allow her to whip me. But my 
mistress and I, in an equal longing for rescue, watched joyously as the tiny 
speck took shape. 

Quickly Marjory unlocked my right wrist, locking the freed cuff on my other 
wrist so I wore both on the same wrist as did Marjory. She admitted with a 
touch of disgust, "If this really is a rescue, darling, it's better if they 
don't find you chained. We have enough explanations without that. But don't 
you ever forget who you belong to. You're mind." 

It was not Hamid and I'll admit to a terrible disappointment when the face 
peering down at us through the window was a boyish grin and a lot of 
tasseled blonde hair. The pilot was pretty much the same, they could have 
been twins. Instinctively I guessed they were Austrians. When their floats 
came to rest beside our little craft, their accent confirmed my guess. 

"There's one for each of us, Joe," one said to the other. "What a pair of 
Sheilas!" 

Marjory and I had to be grateful but I swallowed my disappointment about 
Hamid to join my thanks to hers while eyeing our rescuers carefully. Both 
were too damned handsome and happy. But it was only fair to reserve judgment 
until we had something to complain about. Strong arms lifted us out of our 
tiny craft and into the helicopter. One of them climbed down to retrieve our 
items in the dingy. While that was being done, and while Marjory and I were 
still thanking these two men over and over, the one called Charlie grabbed 
the wrist with my handcuffs to exclaim, "Look what we got here, Joe. Them 
wireless messages didn't say a thing about handcuffs." 

"It's costume jewelry," Marjory told them. "Don't worry about it. Do you 
have anything we could use to cover ourselves?" 

"Wouldn't give it to you if we had, luv," Joe said cheerfully. "We ain't 
crazy enough to spoil a good thing." 

Joe was the pilot and it was Charlie who turned to lean back and get a good 
look so that once again I felt very naked beneath his male regard. 

"Nice tits," he said. "Rest ain't too bad. You really got to have a look at 
these two, Joe, when you're not so busy." 

It was not the rescue we would have chosen. But we had to presume it better 
than drifting in the dingy. And, anyway, Austrians are noted for their 
cheerful lack of inhibitions. 

When Charlie reached for Marjory's nipples and got his hand slapped, he said 
accusingly, "You two aren't properly trained. You'll have a key to those 
handcuffs somewhere, where is it?" 

"There isn't any. We're simply wearing the things for fun. Leave them 
alone." 

It was a good try but ineffective. Laughing at us, Charlie pointed out, 
"Sweetheart, there's only two places that key could be. It's hidden in your 
hair or it's up your cunt. Want me to search?" Marjory fumbled and found the 
key. But as she handed it over, she gave a warning, "Neither of us is 
without influence. And half the world is looking for us, as I'm sure you 
know. I'd suggest you behave sensibly." 

"She wants us to behave sensibly, Joe," Charlie said aggrieved. "From the 
tone of her voice I'd say she needs her ass whipped. But it looks like 
someone done that so we'll have to try sweet reason. Hold out them their 
handcuffs, luv. It ain't hard to figure out why you're wearing them." 

I shrugged and offer a wrist. The key unlocked one cuff and I was told to 
turn and offer my hands. I managed to obey in the cramped and noisy space of 
the helicopter, and suddenly I was as helpless as I had been in the dingy. 
How short was my freedom! Marjory argued like a school mistress with a pair 
of overly active male students. But her acid words could not prevail against 
Austrian ebullience, and she ended up with her hands behind her back, locked 
just as tight as mine. It was not a good beginning. 

The atoll was tiny but very beautiful as it nestled on the sea in the sun. 
Its cluster of palms was dense enough to hide the small shack which appeared 
was constructed from drift wood, some corrugated iron, and odds and ends. In 
a fringe around one side there was some grass struggling in soil not fitted 
for grass. 

But at least a nice touch of someone thought of home. The helicopter landed 
on it and Charlie lifted me out in a possessiveness I didn't much enjoy. 
"You can take the other Sheila with you to the other island, Joe. He talked 
as thought this sort of thing was a daily occurrence and naked maidens could 
be played with at will. "We got ourselves a honeymoon apiece. Come back for 
me in about four days. That ought to give us time to get ourselves screwed 
to a frazzle." 

We stood and watched Joe and Marjory disappear towards an unknown horizon. 
Scared and in a terrible disappointment, I asked, "I hope you have a key to 
these handcuffs." 

"Actually, I don't, luv. But don't you worry. Old Charlie is pretty good 
with his hands and I got a few tools. And, anyway, I sort of like you the 
way you are. Would be a damned shame to take them handcuffs off. Wouldn't 
hurt you to wear them until Joe comes back." 

It had all happened too fast. Charlie was actually a nice looking young man. 
In other circumstances I would have been attracted to his boyish good looks 
and masculinity. But his conversation together with the handcuffs on my 
wrists left me wondering if I'd exchanged one captor for another. I had lost 
Hamid, or maybe Hamid had lost me. And now Marjory was gone and I was 
standing stark naked to provide a young man I'd never seen before with a 
full frontal view. I was half scared to death but managed to demand, "Am I 
rescued or kidnapped?" 

"That shouldn't be hard to figure, luv. Joe and me is going to enjoy you two 
gals and we'll all have ourselves a good time. It don't matter much what you 
call it." Charlie's eyes were scorching my breasts as he added, "I should 
have told you right off, you're a damned beautiful girl." 

"What are you going to do with me?" 

"Come off it, kid. You ain't that innocent. You know damned well what I'm 
going to do with you. But right now we'll go to the shack and I'll see what 
I can do 'bout them handcuffs. Don't look so damned unhappy, I ain't likely 
to do anything more than whip your ass." 

I almost wished I was back on board the Rankin's Pride. Charlie seemed to me 
a great big puppy dog who could hurt a girl without ever realizing what he 
was doing. But I stood and watched his search within the shambles of the sad 
little hut. Suddenly he found what he was looking for and turned me around. 
A few moments later one of my hands was free. While I was still saying 
sincere thank you's, I was turned around and the steel cuff locked back on 
my wrist. 

"Sorry to disappoint you, luv, but I had to find out if I had found 
something that would work. 

"I don't see why you can't let me have my hands. I can't run away." 

Charlie didn't answer, but carrying an arm load of stuff I didn't like the. 
look of he took my arm and led me across the thin grass to the first palm 
tree which threw a patch of shade. He had a sizable coil of rope, one end 
of, which now fastened around, the palm then secured it wire tightened with 
a pair of pliers. Without a word of explanation he took the other end and 
looped it around my left ankle fast and very tight with a couple of bands of 
rope which he which was wired. He used pliers in the cinching of the wire to 
tell me plainly there was no way I would get loose. 

"Come along sweetheart." he said encouraging, "let's take a little walk. 

We took the little walk. The rope was long enough to give me quite a range 
although what I might do with this freedom could not guess. When my foot was 
snubbed and I came close to falling. Charlie simply picked me up and laid me 
on my back on the grass. He then undressed revealing a truly magnificent 
male figure and a huge, rigid phallus which both fascinated and repelled me. 
I kicked at the roped ankle and tugged at the handcuffs on my wrists. Both 
told me I had no hope for resistance. 

Charlie's voice was eager, "You know what you're going to get, sweetheart, 
and you can love it or hate it according to how you behave." He pointed 
pridefully at his weapon, "You see what I got for you, and you're a damned 
lucky girl. Spread them legs and I'll try and cheer you up a bit. And look, 
sweetheart, I don't want any arguments." 

I spread my legs. And arranged one shackled arm under my back as best I 
could. It was one of those times a girl is thankful not to be a virgin. And 
while I hated surrendering as meekly as I was, I couldn't for the life of me 
think of anything else. I couldn't fight or kick or run away. I took the 
easy way out. 

I was bathed in shame and blushing furiously. Charlie was good and I am 
shamed when I think of my responses. He had me going from the start as he 
thoughtfully pointed out how much better it was when the girl was robbed of 
hands. He seemed to like the way my hips were thrust up a bit because of my 
arms being under me. Certainly it detracted nothing from the ecstasy I could 
not hide and which pleased Charlie tremendously. When the first time ended 
in a mutual explosion, he didn't role to one side but rested on his forearms 
for a quiet chat, which didn't last long because it was only a minute or two 
before he started pumping at me once more. Once more I disgraced myself and 
I've forgotten how many times that afternoon Charlie impaled me with that 
tremendous rod. Whenever he needed a rest, we talked. Girls are not suppose 
to need a rest so he never bothered to ask if I was ready for another round. 
He simply entered me at will to demonstrate in our many couplings an amazing 
versatility that always left me breathless and panting. And wondering if the 
same thing was happening to Marjory. 

"Who branded you?" Charlie asked during one of the brief pauses. I told him 
as much as I could but he soon became impatient to plow my again, so my 
story about the Rankin's Pride came out in short installments. By the time 
it was done, I knew myself conquered. Charlie could do what he liked with me 
and I would not protest. It is a terrible thing to think how a girl can be 
controlled by a male phallus. True, he had me fastened, but I would not have 
run from him even had I been free. And, anyway, on that little island there 
was nowhere to run. 

It was not until we rested contentedly that Charlie brought up the subject 
of whipping my bottom. By that time I wasn't caring much about anything and 
sleepily asked why he felt it was something he had to do. "Just comes 
naturally, sweetheart. A gal thinks her ass is just to sit on but a man 
knows better." 

"But it hurts horribly, and what do you get out of it anyway?" 

"The first thing I get is the damnedest hard on. I'll make sure you see when 
we do it. But apart from it being a fun thing, whipping your ass will keep 
you well behaved and showing proper respect. If I don't whip your ass, 
you'll start nagging me about letting you loose or taking you back home. Or 
not screwing you so much. Know what I mean, luv?" 

"But if I promise not to nag...?" 

"You'd nag anyway, sweetheart, women always do. 

Besides, for all I know, you may be one of the gals what gets a big bang out 
of it. There was a gal in Brisbane who came to get her ass whipped every 
Saturday afternoon. Until the silly bitch went and got married. You ain't 
married, are you?" 

"No." The last thing that I wanted was to be whipped but I found myself 
asking when the event was likely to take place. "Hell, there's no hurry 
about it," my handsome captor assured me cheerfully. "But I got to mark you 
up a few times before old Joe comes back with your girlfriend. That's four 
days away, which gives me time to mark you up a bit on four different 
occasions. I'll start tonight after we've had something to eat. I guess 
you're ready for it. I mean, getting your ass whipped, not dinner." 

"I'm exhausted." 

"You're getting a good rest while we talk. And I got a bottle of brandy 
somewhere if I can find it. You'll be okay. You're the most okay girl I've 
ever run into." 

"May I please have my hands? I'm awful tired of them being behind my back." 

"You can have them when we eat. Meanwhile, what do you say we do it again?" 

"Do we really have to?" Charlie didn't answer. Instead he just pushed me 
back down and climbed on top. Ready he was to give me the thrusts to make me 
once again ashamed. By the time Charlie was ready for dinner, we'd talked 
enough for him to have a pretty good idea about me and Marjory, and Rankin 
Teller. I didn't mention Hamid and Shalima because they were none of his 
business. For me those memories were something special which Marjory 
intended to whip out of me if she ever got the chance. Besides, tales of 
Hamid would only make Charlie jealous. Men are so silly if they think a girl 
loves another man. And I still knew I loved Hamid very much. 

My rope tether wouldn't stretch as far as the shack so Charlie left me alone 
while he got our food. The crafty little bit of metal he used to free my 
hands worked their magic. I positively reveled in using them for our supper, 
even though it was only a can of corned beef, a hunk of bread, and a bit of 
fruit. He said the fruit was grown on the island. We talked a lot. He was 
simply a lusty young man who had come into the unexpected possession of a 
young, naked girl. He intended to make the most of this good luck. And he 
was serious about whipping me. But I remembered that Hamid had whipped 
Marjory for no reason other than he felt like it. 

I spoke my thoughts aloud, "If women were as strong as men, you'd have to 
forget this whipping business. It's only because you can handle us so easily 
and tie us up that you can get away with it. Don't you feel ashamed?" 

"Not a bit, luv, it's the luck of the draw." It is true I was so accustomed 
to being used by men that I didn't complain much about Charlie's intention 
to whip me almost right away. The sexual afternoon, the food, and now the 
brandy had left me in a state of mind in which I wasn't worrying about 
anything. My hands were still free but my roped ankle made certain I would 
give no trouble. And it seemed the most natural thing in the world when 
Charlie said, "I'm going to fix you now, luv, so I can warm your ass and see 
if you like it. I'll bet you love it but just don't let on." 

I let that pass. I allowed myself to be led back to the palm tree to which I 
was already tethered. Then Charlie drew my hands to either side of it and 
locked the handcuffs once more on my wrists. This left me nakedly standing 
to fact and to embrace the tree. And it left my back and bottom exposed 
beautifully for his purpose. He patted my bottom with good-natured 
reassurance before telling me he had to go back to the shack for the whip. 

While Charlie was gone, I went through my usual girlish struggles to make 
sure I couldn't get loose. I couldn't. It was a damned funny sensation to 
stand there sort of making love to a palm tree and well able to do quite a 
lot of wiggling. it is strangely comforting to be able to move while being 
punished. Anxiously I watched for Charlie's return and what sort of whip he 
was going to use. I almost loved the guy when I saw he was carrying only a 
leather strap. 

I know I wouldn't enjoy the strap but it was better than a whip. Or a riding 
crop. With his likes I was surprised he didn't have a cane. The leather 
wasn't very long and he dangled it before my eyes to give me a good look at 
what was going to mark my flesh. 

"This is going to do you a world of good, honey. And if you make noise, if 
you can duplicate the sounds you made while being rogered, I'll be real 
pleased. Here comes number one." 

It slapped hard and Charlie was right about the burn and spreading heat. In 
spite of my being almost sexually exhausted, I felt the stirring of desire, 
and found myself making pretty much the sounds Charlie wanted. In addition, 
I found myself raising and lowering my legs and kicking back. Anyway I 
looked at it, Charlie's strap hurt. I pressed my forehead hard against the 
trunk and waited for number two. The pain almost seemed worthwhile if it 
gave so much pleasure. 

Number two made me squeal. The strap had a venom of its own, quite different 
from any other instrument yet used on me. I couldn't say I enjoyed it but it 
certainly lit a fire in my loins. I wondered how many strokes I was going to 
get. Numbers three and four made me do a little danced and emit sounds I 
hoped Charlie enjoyed. After number five the boy who was slashing me with 
the strap paused in a way to make me hope this was the half way mark, then 
paid me the best tribute he knew. "You're quite wonderful, Celie. You 
respond to each stroke with such motions and such sounds as I've always 
dreamed about. Look at what I'm going to use on you after a while." 

It was immense, far bigger and more rigid than before. I shivered at sight 
of it, wondering if my sheath could accommodate such a weapon. The gasp I 
emitted at the sight pleased Charlie every bit as much as anything else I 
had done this far. But I hastily turned back to my palm tree and wondered if 
I didn't look silly standing there all naked and with a pink bottom. The way 
Charlie had me fixed must have made it seem I had my arms around the trunk 
of the palm in simple affection while I got my bottom strapped at the same 
time. But the handcuffs told me I'd never get loose and this strapping of my 
skin could go on and on. In an instinctive revolt I tugged angrily at my 
chained hands but all I achieved was to make Charlie laugh and tell me I was 
doing every thing just right. I felt like shedding tears of frustration but 
didn't want him to see me cry. 

"Let's try another five, shall we, luv?" he inquired as his arm swept back 
once more. 

The second five hurt more than the first. Charlie had either gotten the 
range or was simply hitting harder now that he had seen no real damage done 
by the first five. Each slap of the leather now planted its pain with a 
resounding crack. And with each one I did my little dance and kicked and 
tugged to vent my outrage and let this Austrian extrovert know he was being 
mean and cruel. I didn't enjoy this at all even though there was that heat 
in my loins growing and growing. In my struggles, I stole quick glances at 
the rigid tool pointing at me. 

At number ten there was another pause and gasping to catch my breath, I 
pleaded, "Charlie, please don't whip me any more. That strap is something 
awful. I don't deserve this." 

"No Sheila tells me when to stop whipping her ass," Charlie told me in the 
manner of a man standing by his principles. "I'll decide when to stop, not 
you." 

I kept quiet. There was enough room between me and the tree for Charlie to 
reach around and clasp my breasts which he described as a nice handful and 
which he said he was glad they were not a pair of floppers. "I can't abide 
floppers," he told me confidentially. "And I've forgotten how many times 
I've paid for boobs which sometimes turn out pretty good except that you're 
not suppose to whip them anymore. Aren't you glad we don't have to worry 
about things like that anymore?" 

I sniffed dismally. "Please let me loose, I keep hurting myself with these 
handcuffs." 

Charlie's response was the most venomous slap yet. I discovered a few more 
motions by which to fight the resultant scorch. This third group of five 
drove me to fight the palm as thought it were my enemy. I almost wished I 
was more tightly fastened so I couldn't hurt myself. When Charlie had 
delivered the fifteenth slap of my punishment he stood by and observed, 
"You're sweating, luv. From now on this strap is going to crack across your 
skin like a gun going off." 

I braced myself for the demonstration but Charlie was unpredictable. Instead 
of giving me the sixteenth, he fiddled with his bit of metal and set me 
free. A moment later I was on the grass with my feet kicked wide as my 
conqueror inserted his weapon with gentle authority and the first thing I 
knew I was making those sounds all over again. With my hands free I used 
them to the full. 

Naked, the two of us lay upon the grass in the heat of evening, me with my 
bottom burning mercilessly and feeling very mellow. 

"I'd like to keep you, Celie," he said reflectively. "There ain't really no 
reason why Joe and me can't take you two girls back with us. All this fuss 
and commotion about searching for you won't last more than a few days. And 
nobody's going to look for you in a helicopter. How'd you like the idea of 
being all mine?" 

"I wouldn't live long enough to find out," I told him. "You've just finished 
whipping me for the first time, and you've promised to whip me every day. If 
you keep on using that strap on me, I'll die." 

"Don't be silly. Right now you've got the lovelies little rump I've ever 
seen. Honest, luv, I mean it when I say a girl needs her ass whipped 
regular. And that strap don't do you no harm. Hell, we've just had the 
finest piece of tail ever. And that's the reason why." 

I sniffed without conviction. "And I suppose I'd always have to wear a rope 
around my ankle?" 

"Gosh, no, kid! There's your neck, your wrist, and there's your waist. Gosh, 
a man can keep a girl safely fastened in enough ways to keep her interested. 
You'd never bored." 

"You'd go to prison for life if they ever catch you and find all the marks 
you're going to put on me. Why don't you kidnap an Austrian girl, maybe they 
like it." 

"How'd you feel about me taking you to the parson and making an honest girl 
out of you? I would, you know, I like you that much." 

I positively winced. "I suppose in Australia it's legal for a husband to 
beat his wife, but I'd not." 

Charlie sighed regretfully. "You're proving everything I said, Celie. I've 
just finished your first whipping and here you're just a uppity and demand 
as though all I'd done was stroke your pussy. How'd it be we try another 
five on you and see if it doesn't help you to see what a lucky girl you 
are?" 

"Please don't. I'm sorry." My alarm was genuine as I realized that maybe I 
had been a bit more forthright than a girl in my position should be. "Don't 
whip me any more," I wailed. "I'll watch my tongue and be very polite from 
now on." 

"That sounds better. But we'd best make quite sure, sweetheart." 

Charlie was so damned strong he handled me like a child. He snapped a cuff 
on one of my wrists and tucked me under his arm while he searched for the 
kind of tree that had a branch sticking out at the proper height. I was 
hoisted up and my other wrist clicked tight and firm so that when he let me 
go my feet could not reach the ground. I was suspended at least a foot above 
the grass and striving desperately to clutch at something to ease the 
sudden, shocking pain the handcuffs now imposed. I kicked and fought and 
bitterly complained until I realized that everything I was doing made the 
steel bands around my wrists hurt all the more. Finally I let myself go limb 
and hang in passive defeat. 

"Five," said Charlie crisply. "Feel free to kick." As the leather found me 
once again, I forgot the agony of my wrists and my flesh exploded in a 
different and more intense anguish down below. I heaved and jerked while my 
sweaty hands could grip nothing. Charlie deliberately strapped me slowly and 
methodically and with terrible precision. In between gasps and hells, I 
pointed out the injustice of this punishment and pleaded most earnestly for 
it to stop. I shamed myself by promising never to be uppity again and to 
obey his orders. Hanging there with pain flooding me in two different 
places, I promised everything I could think of if only the pain would stop. 
But the snap and crack of the leather across my rump continued until the 
final stroke had done what Charlie described as "bum my butt." But I'll say 
this for Charlie, he had me down in short order and even removed the 
handcuffs so he could soothe and massage the wounds they had left behind. 
Stupidly I stood there in naked surrender and, along with scorched skin, 
feeling a tremendous gratitude that Charlie had stopped at five. I fully 
expected more. I was laid back down on the grass, and you know what happened 
then. When it was over both of us slept. 

I awoke early and realized I didn't have all that much to look forward to 
except being constantly ravished by a magnificent male animal. Sometime 
during the day Charlie would whip me again. For all I knew he might whip me 
two or three times and in whatever humiliating postures might please him. I 
debated slipping away from my still sleeping captor and trying my luck 
against the rope tether. But even if I were free, it would do me no good, I 
couldn't get off the island. And I was sure Charlie would use the attempt as 
an excuse to whip me some more. I sighed and went back to sleep. 

The second time I awoke, I sat and played with the rope around my ankle and 
soon proved I couldn't get it off. I then wondered if Charlie had slept 
beside me through the night out of male protectiveness for the girl he 
owned. Or whether he had just gotten tired as I had. 

In the quiet of the morning I had time to review my adventures. It seemed 
hard to believe it was only a couple of months ago that I had been carefree 
and innocently looking forward to a lengthy and fun ocean voyage on the 
Rankin's Pride. But once away from the dock, things changed. I refused 
Rankin's advances and got him mad enough for him to cast me adrift in a tiny 
boat with no motor, no food, and with my wrists handcuffed behind my back. I 
drifted onto Palm Island only to become a slavegirl to Marjory Magnus. I had 
fallen in love with Marjory even though I was often punished by way of being 
trained. I loved her still and knew full well that if she should ever gain 
ownership of me again, I would obey her implicitly and accept punishes as 
she imposed. From Marjory my thoughts flitted to Hamid who had purchased me 
on the slave block and who I should have hated but chose to love instead, 
even though he kept me naked and chained and never left me in doubt as to 
what I was. There was also poor, dead Lobo, the exotic Fayela, who's fate I 
did not know. I could see how my emotions followed a recognizable pattern. 
If someone made me prisoner and punished me up to a point, and then forgave 
my sins, if sins there truly were, I always felt such gratitude for the 
cessation of the whip that I bestowed upon them a truly slavish affection 
that wasn't really justified. And that held me as surely as their chains and 
ropes. The brands on my hips told me I should hate Rankin Teller, and the 
continuing burn of my strapped bottom should make me hate Charlie but right 
there was were my own judgment fell apart. I simply couldn't hate any of 
them any more than I could hate Marjory. Their punishments made a truly a 
slave and instilled in me an obedience to leave me always shamed. It was all 
a puzzle I might never solve. 

For breakfast we had some more corned beef and drank coconut milk. I had 
mine kneeling and sitting back on my heels because sitting on the scanty 
grass was too much of a reminder of yesterday. I enjoyed the use of my hands 
throughout but lost them when Charlie told me we could take a walk around 
the island, and he didn't want me playing the fool. I gather that his idea 
of me playing the fool was for me to do something for which he had not 
granted permission. He was even suspicious when I used the length of my rope 
tether to walk into the palm trees and bushes for a bit of privacy. He 
didn't actually complain but right in the middle of this activity he tugged 
hard at my tethered ankle just to make sure I was still at the end of the 
rope. The act caused me to snap at him when I went back to where he waited. 
But when he looked meaningfully at the strap laying on the grass, I became 
as sweet as honey in a way to make me want to puke. 

I have to admit that the beauty of the island and the gorgeous masculinity 
of the man who walked at my side cheered me up a lot. Both of us avoided the 
subject of the strap even thought we both knew it was hovering somewhere in 
the day and having my hands behind my back didn't bother me a bit. Charlie 
chose to make the circle of the island by walking on the beach where I admit 
I kept an eye out for possible rescue from either sea or air. But Charlie, 
who know very well what I was doing, explained that this cat was too small 
to attract most men and was unworthy of the massive effort being put forth 
to recover Marjory and me. I forgot that, too, in the loveliness around us. 
And I wrote off as boyish fun Charlie's occasional mischief with my breasts 
and nipples, and the delight he took raising me off the sand by a hand 
clutching my venus mound. Every time he did this made me realize how strong 
he was and how foolish it would be to make him angry. Or complain about such 
a trifle as being whipped. In more ways than one we became very close and I 
found myself wishing Charlie was not a kidnapper but a rescuer instead. Like 
I said, I'm easily conquered. 

The little island was mostly sand so our walk around the beach was much 
longer than if we had strolled through the trees. Charlie explained we could 
do that tomorrow. After being fortified with some more corned beef and we 
with a bottom burning twice as much, neither of us mentioned the strap. I 
was cherishing the silly, girlish hope that maybe he had forgotten. I should 
have known better. 

The rope for my ankle was still stretched out, waiting. When Charlie told me 
he could wait no longer and was going to "roger" me until I shouted Uncle, I 
turned and wiggled my joined hands for his attention. But Charlie professed 
not to notice and instead of unlocking the handcuffs, he picked me up an 
laid me in the all too- familiar posture on the grass. Once more I lay upon 
an arm as this young man took me back to paradise again and again and again! 
By the time he decided to give himself a rest, I lay there panting in limp 
ecstasy. In gratitude for his attention, for a few minutes I didn't even 
feel ashamed. While the two of us lay quietly, my head upon his bare chest, 
he said, "I just remembered I wanted to whip your ass again, sweetheart. I 
could roger you again but I'm just too pooped to do it right now. Maybe a 
good whipping of your bottom will get my rod back up to attention. You won't 
mind, will you?" 

It was too ridiculous. I wanted to tell this youthful master that I minded a 
great deal and I actually did suggest that wouldn't it be nice if we rested 
a while before we returned to what he saw as his duty. When I pointed out 
that I was still on fire from yesterday, he said that he was glad to hear it 
and hoped he could get the same results today. There was no way I could get 
the best of him. 

I realized I was in for it for sure, and the best I could do was be a good 
little girl. I let him lift me to my feet and lead me across the grass to 
the hut. The hut was less a place to live than storage for a vast collection 
of junk. There was a table and a couple of chairs. I sat on one of the 
chairs and watched while Charlie busied himself finding something I was sure 
I would not like. It started out with a stout plank supported at each end by 
wooden boxes. Next there was a chunk of wood that somehow fitted and became 
a fixture at the end of the plank. From the shape of it I began to pick up 
clues. There, was also a, wooden log which someone had gone to the trouble 
of trimming down smooth. To me the whole thing looked like a collection of 
drift wood but Charlie told me to lay face down on the plank and insert my 
ankles within prepared holes in the chunk of wood. Another bit of timber 
with similar holes fitted over my limbs to become fastened and thus leave my 
ankles solidly captive. I tried to move my feet but nothing happened. It was 
as though Charlie had made the damned thing to measure. 

I raised myself and looked hack Jo examine my fastening but this prompted 
Charlie to gather my hands and click the handcuffs back on my wrists to 
make-me neatly helpless and beginning to get scared. I absolutely did not 
want to be whipped while being held a medieval set of stocks. I told Charlie 
this as politely as I knew how. He didn't bother to answer. He simply lifted 
my hips up and placed a small log under then which caused my bottom to stick 
up in the air and make me more uncomfortable the before. 

Most of my weight was now on the short log on which my pubic region was 
resting. The rest was on my breasts, something I hate. But try as I would, I 
couldn't change anything. There I was, at Charlie's disposal. He was viewing 
my locked nakedness with approval. I'm sure you'll get to like this after a 
while." he said with -what seemed sincerity "Every girl is made to be 
whipped except most of them don't know it. Joe and me have lost count of all 
the pink bottoms we've turned to red. If the girl hasn't behaved herself she 
often graduates to purple. Isn't this arrangement nice?" 

"It's Horrible and I'll bet it will hurt a lot more. Wouldn't you be willing 
to take me back to the palm tree and the handcuffs?" 

"No, I wouldn't! There's one thing about whipping you girls and that's never 
to get in a rut. You'll get a lot more sexual excitement out of the way 
you're fixed than you did yesterday. Are you ready?" 

"I'll never be ready. But I'm helpless if that's what you mean. My breasts 
hurt." 

"Stop beefing so much. You beefed yesterday and here you are doing it again 
today. You'd think I'm hurting your instead of getting you nicely primed for 
the screwing you're going to get. Damn it, luv, girls sure are ungrateful." 

There was no way I could win. Charlie now had his clothes off and when I 
stole a look, he was as rigid as if he hadn't used the damned thing in a 
month. I pointed out, "But, Charlie, this is going to hurt a lot more. The 
way you've got me fastened down makes my bottom stick right up. And I can't 
move it. That strap will hit me like a baseball bat." 

"You talk too much," said Charlie. "Let's try this out for size." 

I wanted to cry at the explosion across my cheeks. It was terrible pain. I 
could image my poor flesh being pounded into pulp. But Charlie didn't agree. 
"There's a lovely mark spreading on your bottom," he said in a quiet tone. 
"The noise of that strap was positively cock- hardening. To say nothing of 
the noise you make." He paused to watch me panting my way back from agony. 
"See, honey you're loving it. I'll bet the burn goes all the way from front 
to back." 

Charlie was right about the bum going right through to my pussy but I didn't 
let him know. "Don't hit me so hard," I pushed out between the gasps. "If 
you want me to fall in love with being whipped, you'll have to go easy. That 
stroke hurt something terrible." 

I could never win. I was struggling frantically to demonstrate my pain but 
he seemed to be enjoying it very much. I was busy tensing myself when number 
two slapped hard across my curves with a startling sound like a gun and I 
went as wild as I possibly could. I lifted my breasts and shoulders off the 
wood buy couldn't hold the pose. My feet and ankles were firmly secured in 
the stocks and would not move. Once more I did my best, "You'd get a lot 
more interesting motions out of me if you'd fasten me some other way." But 
Charlie was enjoying himself and ignored my protests. Once more he swung the 
leather and I responded with one of my finest screams. I felt sure that if I 
demonstrated hard enough, Charlie might feel pity and ease up on my bottom. 
It didn't work. And once more the limber leather crashed down on my 
defenseless seat to extract from me a truly magnificent scream. My flesh was 
now so hot I was pretty sure Charlie could have fried eggs. 

Charlie was by no means unreceptive to the workings of the feminine mind. I 
was ready to unloose a flood of tears when he set aside the hateful strap 
and laid out where I could see them a collection of weird corporal 
punishments. Several different weights of leather straps, a number of what 
he described as "slappers", and a really beautiful riding crop which I knew 
would hurt worse than the all the rest. I asked, "Please, Charlie, isn't 
there something I can do or promise that will save me from getting my bottom 
whipped?" 

"Sorry, luv, not a thing. What I want you to do is relax and enjoy." 

"That riding crop will cut me to bits." 

"You're exaggerating, luv. It will warm you up. Let's see what sounds I can 
get out of this cute little object." 

The cute little object was some sort of slapper and I have to admit it 
didn't hurt nearly as bad as the original strap. But it made a really 
shocking noise on impact and that pleased Charlie a lot. He used it until he 
grew tired of the new sound, then moved on to one of the other exhibits. For 
the next half hour my poor bottom had to endure the slap and crack of all 
sorts of different instruments, all of them designed to hurt a girl. After a 
while he actually made me cry which was something I didn't want to do. 

When he viewed my tears, it was with a clinical sort of interest. After a 
while, he tenderly dried my cheeks. Thinking my ordeal was over, I muttered 
a pathetic, "Thank you, Charlie," and waited for release, a release that did 
not come. Charlie had saved the best for the last. He picked up the riding 
crop and said that he would be interested in my reactions compared to those 
instruments that made a lot of noise. Giving me no time to plead, he cut 
number one across my already scolded cheeks so that I howled from pent up 
emotions as much as pain. Charlie was right, the riding crop was different. 

loins. And if only Charlie had not used the crop I had become increasingly 
filled with lust. I fought the pain of the leather by thinking of my reward 
with Charlie's Jolly Roger. But that blasted riding crop was purely 
punitive, all it did was hurt as it cut into my skin again and again. I 
struggled and howled and cried. Charlie was certainly getting his money's 
worth. After a while I just gave up and lost interest in the whole affair. 
When Charlie asked if I would like him to crop my back, I didn't bother to 
answer. I simply lay there in my fastenings and moaned. 

After what seemed a long while Charlie freed my feet from the stocks and 
lifted me erect. His male arms felt so good. I laid my head upon his bare 
shoulder and anointed it with tears. He didn't bother to free my hands for, 
after all, what does a girl need with hands when she is owned by a lusty 
male! All I wanted was to quietly cuddle up against this male and allow my 
pain to quietly exhaust itself. Try it sometimes, it's quite a sensation! 

When I got back to what passes for normal on Charlie's island, I got what 
Charlie described as my "reward," and I was once more ashamed that what he 
said was true. I had become a female body with breasts and loins which was 
cleverly made to alternate between agony and ecstasy. It is quite true they 
are not far apart. And by the time Charlie had exhausted himself within my 
sheath, I knew I adored this golden boy, and would obey him totally. I 
didn't think of shame, I didn't think of pain. All I wanted was for Charlie 
to make the decisions and tell me what to do. With his masculine equipment, 
I knew my rewards would be constant. 

I begged never to be cropped again. The blasted limber horror hurt more than 
I could bear. Charlie was noncommittal but told me that tomorrow, which was 
the third day, would be entirely without punishment and we could go 
exploring on his island again. Simply a boy and a girl beneath the sun and 
against the backdrop of the sea. I was so happy I went overboard telling him 
to do anything he wanted with me. All I wanted now was to give him pleasure. 
I was thinking of him as "Master," even though I had not yet used the title. 
He seemed very pleased with me and was continually demonstrating this 
affection by grabbing my breasts or palming my pussy. On the forth day he 
told me that Joe and Marjory would be arriving in the helicopter at any 
minute. I think there was some kind of wireless hidden in the shack with the 
junk. 

The helicopter arrived on time. In a burst of love and a strong need, 
Marjory and I ran together but were defeated by handcuffed wrists behind our 
backs. We did our best by rubbing breasts against breasts and kissing with 
an urgency our captors watched with envy. It was Joe who explained their 
plans. 

"The search is closing in on us," he told us. "And there's no way Charlie 
and I are going to spend the rest of our lives behind bars. We're going to 
drop to the of you off on the beach on Palm Island and then head for the 
hills. You've got half the world looking for you, so you'll be well off and 
can pick up where you left off." He grinned at Charlie and winked. "But 
don't think we're not going to have a bit more fun with you. There is still 
your breasts and between your legs which we haven't marked up yet. We want 
to hear you tell us you'll love every lash." 

"We'll hate the whole thing," said Marjory decisively. "If you've got any 
sense, you'll run for it right now." It was as though she hadn't spoken. 
"Charlie and me have got a good idea what goes on with you two on Palm 
Island," Joe continued easily. "We know Marjory is the head cheese, she owns 
the damned place, and little Celie has to do what she's told. Well, you can 
play that game after we've gone. In the meantime both of you belong to us." 

I knew we would be whipped again, I could feel it coming. But Marjory and I 
remained silent to hear the rest of whatever Joe had to say. It wasn't all 
that reassuring. "We're going to lose you both later today," he said. "That 
is, after we've really whipped up some heat inside those pretty little 
slits. But as far as Palm Island goes, we know there's not another man in 
the picture she's probably lesbian and doesn't want one around. But you'll 
be getting us where you want us or not. We'll be making a social call on 
Palm Island whatever we feel like it. Charlie and I are going to take 
advantage of you girls alone on that island whenever Charlie and I want to 
use you. We'll simply drop by and there's not a damned thing you can do 
except be obedient little girls. And I'm not sure even that will do you any 
good." He grinned at us. 'Tell us how happy I've just made you feel." 

I looked at Marjory, and Marjory looked at me. It was time for the exchange 
of confidences. But when Joe had spoken of he and Charlie being behind bars, 
I knew it was something I absolutely could not let happen. If it came to it, 
I would lie myself silly to prevent it. These two boys who were on only a 
year or two older than I were such golden examples of a sex I once despised 
I wished they would take me away with them to keep me prisoner forever. But 
I had a strong belief now under Marjory's stem eye that this was not what 
she desired, and I was painfully aware that when the helicopter disappeared 
I would once more be Marjory's slavegirl. In response to the promise of 
Austrian virility, I said I'd love to have them come and visit. At that 
point I caught Marjory's eye and shut up like a clam. Even thought all the 
decisions are made for them, the life of a slavegirl isn't that easy. 

In the promise of impending freedom, I had forgotten impending pain. The 
blonde young men and I were not like other boys and girls who might have 
kissed and said goodbye. I knew our farewell was going to leave Marjory and 
me with scorched skin and terrible regrets. It was all crazy but I was 
happily drifting on a current I had no wish to stem. 

"What do you say, Joe," Charlie interposed, 'let's hang them upside down 
with their feet wide apart so we can use the thin riding crop on those 
pretty little pussies? Give them something to remember us by." 

"I'd sooner leave them laughing," Joe said reasonable. "If we aim to visit 
them again, we don't want to have to chase them all over Palm Island. How 
about you screw Marjory right now while I tend to Celie? That way they'll 
look forward to our next visit." 

"You mean we don't get to use the strap on them again?" Charlie managed to 
make it sound like moral reproach. 

"From what I picked up on the wireless, we don't have much time. Get with 
it, Charlie, mite, you'll find this Marjory tight and angry and pretending 
she don't like it. Do your best performance and make her say thank you at 
the end. She's a surly bitch but a wonderful lay." 

Marjory and I stood there with our hands behind our backs awaiting the 
pleasure of these two men who could do as they pleased with us. I could not 
be sure how much of what they said was teasing, but I knew I would think 
less of them if they'd actually gone through with the upside down bit. The 
first thing I knew, Joe had me down on the grass and was using his virility 
with a skill to make me cry out loud and match him thrust for thrust. 
Forgetting my pinioned arm and everything else, I had to wonder what there 
was in the Austrian climate to bred men like these. 

Everything ends. Marjory and I were raised to our feet, kissed and petted, 
and advised to walk around the beach until rescued. In other words, make 
ourselves visible to the searching ships and aircraft. The boys then headed 
for the helicopter in a way to evoke from Marjory and me two wails of 
anguish. 

"You can't leave us handcuffed like this, with our hands handcuffed behind 
our backs! We're helpless!" 

"That's the way we found you, luv, and that's the way we leave you." 

"But whoever finds us may not have a key. Please unlock us or leave us a 
key," pleaded Marjory. 

Joe threaded a handcuff on a piece of thread which he then thoughtfully 
suspended on a bow high above our reach before getting into the helicopter 
and wave goodbye. We watched it take off and disappear above the palms. 

We were just two girls, naked and handcuffed and marooned on a tiny little 
island that wasn't even on a map. 

 CHAPTER TWO - PRISONERS ALWAYS 

It was not Hamid who rescued us. It was something of a let down to be picked 
up by an Austrian helicopter and its crew of middle ages men who I suspect 
thought us odd but who lost no time in covering our nakedness and freeing 
our hands. They gave us the handcuffs and the key without comment. They were 
perfect gentlemen but we found them dull. By the magic of aviation we were 
back on Palm Island within the hour. When we signed a couple of official 
forms, they accepted our thanks and went away. 

"They think we do this sort of thing for fun," said Marjory bitterly. "Look, 
I'm going to put both cuffs on my left wrist. You can do the same. I'll keep 
the key. Let's get out of these silly blankets and get up to the house. 
Gosh, it feels good to be home!" 

She was right, it felt wonderful. Palm Island may have been a prison for me 
in the past but I had grown to love it just as I had grown to love Marjory 
Magnus. I clasp the cuffs around my left wrist as ordered and was grateful 
Marjory had not used them on me in the ordinary' way. We folded the blankets 
and carried them back with us on the familiar path. It would have been nice 
had Hamid welcomed us on the beach but a girl can't have everything and I 
kept the thought to myself. Marjory had no reason to love the man whose 
marks she still bore upon her skin. I knew she was gloriously happy to be 
back in her home. And I suppose I was happy, too, except that my mind was a 
mixture of conflicting desires. I had been possessed by too many men and 
each had etched himself within my awareness to leave me more baffled than 
ever and longing for strong male arms. I wasn't a bit sure about Marjory. 

The big house on Palm Island was unchanged except for the absence of the 
other captive girls who had been sold with me at the Islamic auction. When I 
asked about them, Marjory became tight lipped but said she would send an 
agent to see about them. She was by no means a one girl mistress even though 
it was me she had chosen as her companion each night in bed. We explored the 
house. We had tea on the terrace and arrived at dinner without a word being 
said about the handcuffs on my wrist or my future fate. The life I had led 
before Rankin Teller was no so distant I hardly thought of it. The after 
dinner brandy was on the patio and brought us to the inevitable 
confrontation. 

"I know you're not as happy as you should be, Celie, darling," Marjory said 
for openers. "You're mourning those men who conquered you after Rankin 
Teller stole you from me. Be honest, sweetheart, you're longing for your 
Hamid. Or your Charlie. For all I know, you're longing for Rankin Teller. 
You're pathetically at the mercy of any man with a big cock. I suppose you 
realize I'm going to have to whip that out of you." 

"You liked Joe as much as I liked Charlie," I told her defensively. "Don't 
let's kid ourselves, all girls are the same. Your money gives you power and 
your power makes you my Mistress. Marjory, darling, couldn't you send me 
back to England where I belong?" 

"Don't be ridiculous. You'd be pining away there the same as here. I'll 
never part with you so get that out of your silly head. Did I mention that 
you're in need of a damned good whipping with me holding the whip?" 

"Yes, you mentioned it. I suppose it's all I can expect." I sniffed. "I'd 
refuse to let you handcuff me or tie me up if I didn't now you could just 
call upon your servants for help. Do I have go to back into slavery right 
away? It's so nice to have my hands." 

"Come here and turn around. Put your hands behind you where they belong. 
Stop sounding pathetic and be glad you've got me as your owner." 

I could have fought but I was on an island and there were really servants in 
the big house who would obey Marjory's every order. In any case, part of my 
mental confusion had Marjory dead center. So I did what for Celie Collins 
was the most natural thing in the world. I went to Marjory, turned around 
and put my hands behind my back. I was passive but erect as she used the key 
to unlock a single cuff. That quickly I was again chained in the old, 
familiar way with steel joined wrists. And all of me subject to Marjory's 
will. It didn't feel all that bad. 

"There, that's better," said my owner in a businesslike way. "Now sit or 
kneel in front of me so I can feed you as much brandy as I think you should 
have. Let's get back to normal as quick as possible." 

"When are you going to whip me?" 

"There's no need to harp on it, dear. When I'm ready." 

I shrugged and knelt down in front of Marjory who, for this occasion, had 
shed her clothes and was just as naked as me. I preferred kneeling because 
that way I was that much closer to that part of my mistress I adored. 
Inwardly I told my memory of Charlie to go away. As for Hamid... Well, for 
Hamid I no longer knew where I was at. Hamid had whipped my mistress 
terribly while I watched and then had caned my bottom in casual sort of way 
just to keep me in my place. That was when the plane went down and Rankin 
Teller rescued us from the sea. Once more I sighed and wished the memories 
were not so vivid or filled with male promises that nothing was over or done 
with. I hoped Marjory could erase the memories but doubted it. 

That night I shared my mistress' bed and did my duty as a slavegirl should. 
The silver collar was on my neck with its chain locked to the wall to make 
certain I did not stray. I went to sleep knowing everything was normal but 
wishing it was not. 

It was several days before Marjory whipped me. At first she was busy with 
the wireless, assuring would-be rescuers that we were safe and extending 
thanks to various authorities for their concern. Hearing her speak to people 
I did not know, I realized the power of the Magnus name. I remembered 
Hamid's laughing comment that perhaps she was almost as wealthy as he. I 
doubted Joe and Charlie had any money or were members of the club Hamid and 
Marjory belonged to. I wished I could forget those golden boys and their 
promise to return. Marjory never spoke of them. 

I think it was on the fourth day that my punishment would wait no longer. 
Neither Marjory nor I had spoken a word about it but it had become an unseen 
presence which I knew I would be glad to get rid of. My mistress was going 
to make me very humble and promise to never think of men again. I could 
expect to be whipped very hard and very long. 

The announcement came during breakfast. My hands had been in front instead 
of in back instead of in back. "I think today is the day," Marjory 
announced. "I expect you'll be glad to rid your mind of those memories of 
male organs and male hands making you what you describe as 'all gooey.' I 
want my slavegirl back again. And that male nonsense has been between us 
since our return. Are you looking forward to being whipped?" 

On the fact of it, her question was absurd, no girl wants to be whipped. And 
while I was carrying around a load of guilt, I had little hope the whipping 
I was about to receive would rid me of it. But I knew Marjory was going to 
do her best and knew, also, her best was very good, indeed. Perhaps when she 
was through with me I would see only her instead of a succession of the male 
faces she deplored. I ate my breakfast as though I didn't have care in the 
world. Marjory watched and smiled. 

Although the facilities for hurting girls was far superior to Charge's 
quaint notions, I still wished it was he who would punish me while I was 
immobilized. That business of locking my feet within the wooden stocks and 
with the short log firmly lodged below my hips and made some sort of an 
impression which wouldn't go away it. It had been a very personal between 
experience between Charlie and me. He'd invented the contraption and made me 
captive in it. .And when I compared that to the scientific precision of 
whatever Marjory would fasten me in today, it was like comparing ice and 
fire. I was going to be confined in such a way as to give their instrument 
of my punishment it's most convenient access to my skin. 

Marjory is playing tricks with me. I loose the handcuffs and am a free girl. 
She hands me a coil of rope and tells me we'll take a walk down to the 
beach. It was glorious in the sun, and I privately debated whether I 
couldn't talk her out of fastening me again. During that pleasant walk we 
chatted happily and my anxieties came to disappear. 

When we reached the sand and the ocean and I held the stout timber firmly 
embedded in the sand, my euphoria became sadly diminished. 

The tide was at its lowest ebb. Marjory said brightly and cheerfully, "Your 
back against the post with your hands behind it. I want you looking out to 
sea." 

Freedom was glorious, I was cherishing mine. I said quickly, "Marjory, 
darling, I'm not going to let you tie me to that post like you want. Why 
can't we go and sit in the garden for the afternoon? I'll let you handcuff 
me again, if it pleases you." 

"Against the post dear, stop quibbling." I suppose it was a contest of wills 
although mine was no match for Marjory's. I was seeing a golden haired young 
man with a laughing smile. And for him I would gladly have put my back 
against the post and crossed my wrists behind it. But Charlie wasn't there. 
The authority here was Marjory, and only Marjory. Sweetly, she repeated a 
previous threat, "There's the servants, darling. You can't win. Please be a 
good girl." 

"But when the tide comes in, I'll drown!" 

"I'll make sure you don't, darling." 

"But there'll be horrible things nibbling at my feet." 

"I'll leave your feet free darling, so you can kick away the crabs. Stop 
being silly and get into position." 

I got into position, knowing full well it was proof of the power Marjory had 
over me. I simply could not disobey this wonderful woman who was so much a 
part of my life. If Charlie or Hamid had been there, things would be 
different but they were not. Lacking the will to fight, I crossed my wrists 
and felt the first bite of cord. I was a slave and knew my limitations. 

I suppose it could have been worse, I reflected as Marjory's cord twisted 
and tugged and bit hard into my skin. I knew that immediately she had tied 
the last knot securing my hands I had lost the battle. Come hell or high 
water I would have to stand against the post until she freed me. With the 
last knot tied, she proceeded to belt the nearest part of my waist with 
strand after strand of thicker rope. It cinched me to the timber as if l 
were a part of it. When she was through with that she had a clever trick 
with my shoulders by which they were welded to the timber. I acknowledged 
that if this was a battle, I had certainly lost it. Marjory backed away 
towards the creeping waves to survey her work with satisfaction. 

"You can't get loose darling, this is the beginning of your punishment." 

Marjory had been clever in binding me to face the ocean. The ocean is 
wonderful according to your viewpoint. And as I looked out at the shinning 
waves and swells, I no longer beheld the immensity of it, I only felt fear. 
The tide would come in and rise first above my ankles and then above my 
knees. It would then lap its death sentence as it rose above my pubic hair 
and my breasts. Furiously I fought the ropes while pleading in panic. 
"Marjory please don't do this. Please, no! I could drown when you're not 
looking. And there are horrible sea creatures that come in with the tide. I 
can't bear the thought of being eaten like that." 

"You have your feet, dear. You can kick the little things away. And I won't 
leave you there long enough for sharks." 

I wished she hadn't mentioned sharks. It was then that I realized if the 
water reached my breasts it would be deep enough to attract the sharks. In 
anguish I cried out, "Marjory, Marjory, don't do this to me!" But Marjory 
was gone and I was alone. 

I wondered how much of such a punishment is in the mind. Even without the 
surge of water then covering my toes, my state was dire. Marjory might be 
watching. But supposing she was called away or went to sleep during those 
fatal minutes when the laughing waves possessed me. I would die! 

It was terrible to be alone. I needed the reassurance of human hands and 
human voice. In panic I fought my corded wrists but my mistress had done her 
work too well and I knew defeat. I wept in pure fear. 

I longed to be whipped. The thong cutting my skin seemed almost friendly in 
comparison to this ridiculous fear which endowed ever wave with hostile 
life, so I could believe a Kraken would emerge somewhere out there beyond 
the surf and carry me away. Since I longed for the whip far more than I 
wanted this, I knew I was indeed being punished in a way to make me worship 
Marjory and her return. Since it was Marjory who bound me thus and had the 
power to set me free, my thoughts were all on her. Charlie was forgotten, 
and Hamid somewhere out in the distance, beyond reality. By the time the 
water was half way to my breasts, I was indeed a sad little girl. 

The chopper might as well have been a flying saucer, so deeply was I 
immersed in fear I couldn't believe it real. It scouted around awhile before 
coming to earth on the sand behind me. By cramming my head around the post I 
could see the door open and Charlie exit, wearing a silly grin on his boyish 
features. "We came just in time," he said as if such a rescue was an every 
day occurrence. "Do you want me to cut you free or are you so fateful to 
dear Marjory that you want to die here?" 

"Cut me free! Oh, Charlie, I can't move!" 

"Don't worry, my pet, the sharks are still a few feet away. Where is that 
silly bitch who thinks she owns you?" 

"Marjory I don't know where she is. Please hurry and get me out of this." 
Once more it was glorious to be free. The waves washed the bits and pieces 
of cord and rope away, and I felt like spiting on Marjory's post as Charlie 
picked me up and carried me back to safety. 

I was so grateful for release I wept out relief on Charlie's shirt. 

At this point Joe made his appearance. The two blonde giants seemed 
inseparable. His voice was hard with decision, "Where's this Marjory female 
of yours? We're taking you back with us but I want her, too." 

"If she isn't up in the trees, she must have gone back to the big house. 
Please don't bother with Marjory. Get me out of here." 

"You belong to Charlie, sweetheart, which is okay by me," Joe told me. "But 
I've got a score to settle with that bitch who's got too much money for her 
own good. She needs her ass whipped a few more times and all the rest of the 
treatment." He paused and eyed me shrewdly. "Maybe you'd like to be owned by 
two instead of one?" 

At that moment I didn't much care. If Marjory had been in evidence, I would 
be glad to see her bound and added to the chopper's cargo. All I saw and all 
I could think about was Charlie, and Charlie was holding me in his arms. 
What more could a girl possibly desire? 

At that moment, Marjory came from the trees. It was easy to suppose she had 
been there all the time watching the rising waters lap against my flesh. 
With the assurance of her ownership of Palm Island, she advanced to give 
greeting to a pair of young men from whom she should have fled. 

"What's going on here?" she asked with the voice of authority. "What are you 
doing with Celie she's suppose to be tied to that post?" 

My new captors exchanged chuckles. "How dumb can a broad get," Joe asked. "I 
told you she needed her ass whipped to get some sense into it." He looked 
directly at my mistress, "You want to come home with us, sweetheart?" 

"Of course I don't!" Marjory was still in full bloom of ownership of the 
whole island. "Put Celie down and go about your business. If you don't stop 
fooling around with what is mine, I'll contact someone who will put you in 
your place. Get in that machine of yours and go." 

It was at this point Marjory realized she was in trouble. Her lovely breasts 
were suddenly heaving as she faced the cheerful invaders of her island to 
hear Joe order, without much concern, "Take your clothes off, girl. Females 
don't wear clothes around Charlie and me." 

"Don't be disgusting." 

"You keep Celie naked. Take them off!" 

"Celie's different. Celie's... Well, Celie's different. Celie's my property 
I'm not your property. As owner of this island, I'm ordering you off. Get 
into that chopper and go." 

The boys stood regarding poor, dear Marjory as if she were an exhibit. My 
mistress held her defiance as long as she could but suddenly it broke and 
she turned and ran. A few moments later her hair was gathered in a huge 
Austrian hand. "Take it easy, sweetheart. I don't suppose you happen to have 
a pair of handcuffs?" 

"Of course not!" Marjory was clawing at the arm which held her hair. "Let go 
of me, I'll have you in jail." 

Charlie put me down and while I was wondering what to do he picked up a 
length of cord by which Marjory had bound me to the post. With It he bound 
Marjory's wrists behind her back while she became more and more outraged. 
"Let go of me! Stop that! Don't you dare tie me up!" 

By this time the poor dear was safely tied and the boys stood away to give 
her every opportunity to test her bonds. The struggle she now engaged in 
held up all breathless. And while she was still twisting and tugging, 
Charlie found another piece of cord and tied me the same way. I am ashamed 
to say I stood absolutely still and gave him every help I could. I wanted to 
belong to Charlie, it was that simple. 

Marjory did not want to belong to anybody. She kicked and bit and struggled 
against the tiny length of cord by which she was secured. Joe picked her up 
and tossed her into the helicopter. Then he told her to behave herself if 
she didn't want her ankles tied to her neck. Then with gentleness I was 
safely tied and deposited beside the girl I need no longer address as 
mistress. We were a pair of maidens in distress but the distress was all 
hers. I was so damned happy I could have laughed aloud. 

It was quite a ride. I know little of the geography of the place but towards 
evening we put down against a sad looking shack in some place rather 
desolate. "Well, girls," Charlie said cheerfully, "this is home. Make the 
best of it." 

If Marjory could have snorted fire, she would have done so. She was 
deposited on the arid soil and her wrists cut free of cords. She was told 
curtly to undress. 

I beheld the look on my beloved mistress' face and knew she did not wish to 
obey. I knew that for me to be naked was right and proper considering my 
condition. By my mistress' nakedness was hers alone. She responded with a 
curt, "Drop dead!" 

No one dropped dead. The circle of interest held with Marjory at its center 
and core. She reaffirmed her position by a disdainful sniff to exclaim, "If 
you two peel me naked, I'll make you pay for it with the next twenty years 
of your lives. Don't you realize how crazy this is? I have wealth and 
influence." 

Poor, darling Marjory's wealth and influence carried no weight here and now. 
Our owners picked us up and carried us into the shack. It was as much a mess 
as the little hut in which Charlie had last whipped my bottom. I looked with 
interested and wondered when Charlie would "Roger" me. I didn't even both to 
try and free my hands they were tied so damned tight I knew the effort a 
waste of time. I grinned at the man who now had possession of me, and asked 
sweetly, "What can I do to please you, Master?" 

My shameful declaration was just what the situation needed. Joe burst out 
laughing, while Marjory chided, "Celie, I'm ashamed of you. We have to 
defeat these men the least you can do is help instead of acting like a cat 
in heat." 

Charlie had a protective arm around me in reassurance. With his cutting of 
the cords, I was now free but Marjory's hands were still tied. She flooded 
me with threats and pleadings until Joe simply picked her up and carried her 
to another room where her anger could not disturb Charlie and me. I was well 
and truly rogered and asked for nothing more. I was so happy I found it hard 
to understand why my mistress should be so miserable. From the sounds coming 
from the other room, I had to believe she was being dealt with by a vigorous 
male. Charlie looked down at me in love and both of us laughed. 

The next day we were taken on a tour. My hands were tied behind my back the 
same way as the boys had bound Marjory. In addition they had triced her 
elbows hard and fast to join her forearms as though welded together. She was 
extremely vocal both pain and indignantly, but I was not listening. I was so 
happy to be free of Palm Island, and viewed everything the boys showed us 
with instant approval. It was simply the shanty itself, a dugout, and a bam. 
Along with a sort of corral in good condition of repair. I gathered that 
somewhere in the vast acreage there were sheep. I suppose what came next was 
inevitable. The gate into the corral was opened wide enough for Marjory and 
me to be thrust inside. It was then closed and made secure with chain and 
padlock. 

Marjory and I stood nakedly with hands tight tied, to look through the rails 
into laughing eyes. 'Two little lambs who have lost their way," Joe chanted. 
"Good thing you've both been sheared." 

Left alone in the corral, Marjory become vocal about the shearing. "There's 
absolutely no need to keep me naked," she said bitterly. "I'll emphasis this 
part of our treatment when I get them in 'court. Look at us now, treated 
like animals, locked inside an enclosure for sheep. Sooner or later I'll get 
these fools behind bars." 

"But I'm naked, too, darling," I pointed out. "You're different you're 
suppose to be naked. And nakedness becomes you, Celie. And if the two of us 
ever get back to normal, that's the way I'll keep you all your life." 

"Then why is it so bad for you?" 

"Stop quibbling darling. Don't think I'm not keeping account of your 
outrageous behavior. One of these days you're skin will pay the price. What 
do you suppose these oafs will do with us?" 

"I expect it will be more of what Joe did to you in that other room. You 
sounded like you were getting some enjoyment." 

"Don't be flip Celie. I have never approved of the behavior of a girl's 
glands. You willingness to be impaled is deplorable." 

We walked around and around, a pair of naked girls without hands. Marjory 
continued to sniff disdainfully and I found myself wishing the boys would 
come back and whip her bottom. When Marjory is miserable, she makes a good 
job of it. We were taken back to the ranch house for lunch, and our ankles 
were joined by about fifteen inches of rope. Then our hands were untied that 
we might eat. Since we weren't going anywhere, our ankles weren't important. 
I found it a delightful picnic affair even though corned beef isn't my 
favorite. As expected, Marjory sniffed and said she wasn't hungry. 

A girl could always be sure the boys would have something in mind. After we 
ate, the boys came out with an obvious suggestion, "You two girls can amuse 
yourselves tidying this place up and later on, making supper. How's that hit 
you?" 

It seemed to me reasonable enough but Marjory vowed loudly, "You're not 
going to make a domestic servant out of me! Untie this rope on my feet. I 
refuse to be exploited as slave labor." 

Charlie and Joe wasted no time. I watched with interest, feeling that 
Marjory had indeed overstepped the bounds. They tied her wrists .tight 
together and threw the rest rope over a beam it was an easy task to lift her 
off the floor and secure the rope. Each of the boys then selected an 
instrument of correction before Joe "Sweetly asked, "One more chance, 
sweetheart. Are you going to make yourself useful or do you prefer we heat 
up your rump?" 

"This is an outrage. I'll have you arrested... " The riding crop cut the 
poor darling's bottom from side to side in mid-sentence. She had wonderful 
control but just the same became a puppet on a string as she kicked and 
jerked in tight-lipped disapproval. I found myself pleading, "Marjory, 
darling, don't force the boys to do this, you don't have to be whipped if 
you'd only stop being so snooty. It wouldn't hurt either of us to clean this 
place up. Say you're sorry and let's get on with it." 

I could have saved my breath. In fact I think I made my mistress angrier 
than ever as cane and strap and crop slapped hard upon the skin she could 
not shield. And as she danced to the song of whips, she seemed to be getting 
further from reality instead of closer to common sense. But after her bottom 
had taken on all the colors of the rainbow, she finally came out with, "Very 
well, then, I'll help clean this disgraceful hovel. I accept your 
humiliation. Please let me down." 

The poor dear stood hurting; as her feet were returned to the She tried to 
reach around to her wounds but since her hands were still tied, never really 
made it. When Charlie cut the cords she instantly felt her well- whipped 
bottom as if wondering if it was still there. Several times she started to 
tell the boys what she thought of the whole affair, but, catching my eye and 
observing the painful instruments still upon the floor, she bit back her 
words. With glances of pure venom at our laughing boys, she began her share 
of the clean up job, and even managed to snap at me. 

We had out hands but not our feet. The rope snubbed my ankles at every step. 
We had to take rugs outside to get rid of their dust and whatever had been 
dropped on them. I knew both the boys were enjoying watching us, sometimes I 
tripped and feel and that brought laughter. But I knew it was part of the 
game. I wished poor Marjory could be happier about it but she remained 
tight-lipped in disapproval as she shared the task. The boys continued 
watching until, I suspect, they felt embarrassed, too, and left us to our 
labors. 

About an hour later we were startled by as feminine cry of surprise from the 
doorway, and an amused female voice saying, "Well, I see they've got you 
working. Do you get paid for this or have you been kidnapped?" 

We started in open-mouthed amazement. She was pretty, about my own age, and 
dressed as one would suppose a girl would dress on an Austrian sheep ranch. 
It was Marjory who came up with, "We've been kidnapped. Can you get us to 
the police or a telephone? Who are you?" 

"My name's Sheila. Not the universal one, but that's what I was given." 
There was laughter in ever word. "I'm their sister and I must apologize for 
the way those two boys behave." 

"Somebody certainly ought to apologize," Marjory snapped. "Are those two 
idiots likely to show up at any moment and tie you up, too?" 

"That won't happen. We have an understanding." Sheila looked down at our 
roped ankles to demand, "Why didn't you use a kitchen knife to cut 
yourselves loose?" 

"We're frightened. We're in the middle of nowhere, aren't we? Where would we 
run?" 

For answer, Sheila found a knife and sawed our feet to freedom. "If you've 
got any clothes," she said, "grab then and we'll all run in my car. There's 
a telephone in my place and it's only ten miles away." She was looking at us 
shrewdly. "I wouldn't do this for most of the girls Joe and Charlie pick up. 
But I think you're trouble. Hurry up." 

I didn't have any clothes and Marjory bundled hers under one arm while we 
ran to the land rover. Before turning the key, Sheila demanded, "I'm taking 
it for granted you want to escape?" 

"More than anything else in the world," Marjory affirmed. Then, catching my 
eye, added, "Shut up, Celie, I know what you're going to say." 

I sighed but kept quiet. I knew myself absurdly tom between the girl I loved 
and a boy named Charlie. I knew there should be no hesitation for if I 
stayed with the two boys I could expect to get my bottom caned or strapped 
every day. But of course it was their other attention that formed an 
invisible bond. I sat in the back seat as the rover bumped over a sandy 
desert. I didn't know how we would get back to Palm Island, but felt sure 
that when we did, Marjory was going to make it hard for me to sit down for a 
while. The look in her eye told me I was not in favor. 

Once more it was the Austrian Air Force that came to our rescue. Marjory had 
to sign a very large check to cover costs but I got the impression Austria 
was glad to be rid of us. It was the same two pilots as before and now they 
were looking at us with even more disbelief than before. Sheila had insisted 
we tell a garbled story about being kidnapped and deposited on the Austrian 
Outback by parties unknown. Our pilots didn't believe a word of it and were 
not very polite. I wished Sheila was coming with us, I liked her. 

Palm Island was beautiful in the sun. Our escort once more deposited us on 
the beach, and Marjory once again signed several bits of paper. We watched 
their helicopter disappear into the distance and felt foolish. There was an 
element of anticlimax to the whole scene. We wondered what would have 
happened to us had Sheila not come on the scene. There was also the question 
as to whether Joe and Charlie would take our escape as final or if we could 
expect another visit. I looked for the heavy timber to which I had been 
bound for the sea to lap at my naked body and found it not far from where we 
stood, still dark and threatening. I was almost in the mood to ask Marjory 
to tie me to it again and see what happened. Like I said before, I am often 
a very silly girl. 

"Get those clothes off. Celie. I suppose you've guessed I'm ashamed of you. 
It will take a week to get you back to normal." 

I made myself sultry and sloe-eyed. It is one of my moods Marjory most 
enjoys. I was sure I would soon be whipped and had best try and reduce the 
number of strokes I would get. I divested myself of the garments Sheila had 
provided and then stood naked for my mistress approval "That's a lot 
better," Marjory acknowledged. "I seem to remember we left some bits of cord 
by the post when those impossible men kidnapped us. Go and get me a length 
long enough to tie your hands." 

Actually it was not long ago, but the post was almost a living thing in my 
memory. I was glad I did not have to touch it, and found some cords 
scattered around. I selected the longest and then, being almost indecently 
obedient, I took it to where she stood, turned my back and crossed my 
wrists. 

I had been figuring on fifty strokes, probably with the riding crop. If I 
could reduce that number to twenty- five or less, I was certainly going to 
try. I knew I could not challenge my mistress this was her island, and one 
way or another I would be returned to slavery. I stood in passive acceptance 
of my lot as the cord twisted around and bite my skin. When Marjory had 
tugged and pulled to her satisfaction, I made only one brief experiment 
which showed me it was one of those ties from which no girl would ever 
escape. 

"If I had more cord, I'd tie your elbows to teach you a lesson, you silly 
girl. Consider yourself lucky." 

I could not pick up Sheila's discarded cords so Marjory had to do it. When 
we got to the house she set aside the clothes to clasp me in her arms and 
weld her lips to mine. It felt very good indeed, and my mistress tasted 
wonderful. I knew her whisper was sincere, "I love you, Celie, you know I 
love you. Forgive me if I whip you more than you would like, but somehow 
I've got to make you understand who you belong to. Come along, we can both 
use a cup of tea." 

There is something extraordinarily compelling for a girl with wrists crossed 
and bound behind her back. The feeling is erotic and at the same time 
frightening in the helplessness it imposes. Every time it is done to me, I 
feel mostly breasts and pubic area. I suppose if a girl had hands to cover 
herself she would not feel so naked. 

I walked up the path toward the big house with Marjory's hand firmly on my 
arm. Things were going well and I mentally reduced my maximum punishment 
down to forty strokes, while hoping for only twenty. It's a terribly chancy 
thing and causes shivers up and down the spine. Knowing that your punishment 
might be less than you expect can be a comforting thing. It's a very 
complicated mental process which only slave girls know. 

I remembered the first time I had walked this path from Rankin's dingy on 
the beach. I remembered the girls I had discovered in the cage and the other 
one tied tight to a tree. Marjory remembered, too, and vowed bitterly to get 
them back from whoever had purchased them on the auction block when Hamid 
purchased me. We made our way through the beautiful forest and garden, and 
up the steps and through the open door. Both of us were feeling a tremendous 
excitement in the resumption of our normal life with Marjory the mistress of 
adoring slave. The door to her office was wide open and when we entered we 
discovered a man seated in her chair behind her desk. 

It was Rankin Teller. 

 CHAPTER THREE - THE INEVITABLE IRONS 

I stared in open-mouthed astonishment, but Marjory was instantly vocal, "Get 
out of that chair, you son of a bitch! What are you doing here?" She was 
panting and I think both of us sensed doom. 

Rankin was in his element, taking instant inventory of my nakedness with his 
smirking grin, and cocking a cynical eye at my mistress who no longer held 
my arm. "Told you I'd drop by sometime when the heat was off. I know about 
those two boys having fun with you. And what you're going to do now, Miss 
Marjory Magnus is get busy on the wires, do your normal business, reassure 
all those who might be concerned that you are live and home and well, and 
then tomorrow the Rankin's Pride will send in a boat and I'll take you both 
away." 

"You'll do no such thing!" 

"Try and stop me, honey. I've got your servants eating out of my hand. I've 
doubled their wages, paid them up to date, and a little bit ahead. They'll 
keep your lovely island in good condition until I take over permanently. 
Palm Island is a damned good place to retire... When I'm ready!" 

"You insufferable animal! Get out of my chair and out of my house. I'll have 
my servants toss you in the sea and you can damned well swim out to your 
ship, where ever it may be." 

Marjory's outburst was one of desperation. At that moment a pair of crewmen 
from Rankin's ship walked in with a casual, "Nice to see you again, Miss. 
Collins and you, too, Miss. Magnus. We're glad you're coming back with us." 
One of them dangled a pair of shinning handcuffs for Marjory's inspection. 
"You won't mind if we use these?" 

"Don't cuff her until she's done her strip act." Rankin ordered. I want her 
as naked as young Celie here. Never did see any sense in girls wearing 
clothes." 

The office was filled with vibrations as the crewmen stood back against the 
wall, taking me with them, to leave the two main characters in this drama to 
center stage. I knew how Marjory must hate the man across the desk who had 
stolen her position and perhaps her life. My heart went out to her, knowing 
how she would hate what Rankin would do to her. Behind my back, out of 
sight, I tugged at my bound wrists in useless effort. I could not help her, 
I could not help myself. 

"Take your clothes off. Miss. Magnus," Rankin ordered politely. "I've got 
some real fun things planed for you but a girl can't have fun with her 
clothes off" His voice hardened as he added. "Strip" 

"You know I wont do that. No girl should be asked to do that in front of you 
men. Please be sensible." 

"I am being sensible, honey. I am taking you to where you belong. You aren't 
queen bee on this Island any more." 

Marjory bit her lower lip. "Where are my servants? What have you done to 
them?" 

"I raised their wages and paid them up well ahead of time. I want this place 
well looked after. In case you haven't guessed, it is now my property." 

"It's not your property and never will be. I don't care about your money and 
your ship. I'll have you behind bars for life unless you go away and leave 
Celie and me alone." Marjory's lovely breasts were raising and falling in 
the fury of her emotions. 

"Take your clothes off, and stop the silly protests I can have the boys 
strip you but I sooner you do it yourself. Get with it and take everything 
off." 

Marjory stood facing him like some creature at bay. 

Ineffectually I pleaded "Please Rankin. leave Marjory alone. Take me away if 
you want a girl but this is her island. Please don't mess up her life the 
way you messed up mine." 

Rankin laughed in quite genuine amusement. His voice was heavy with logic, 
"Celie, love, you've had more fun out of life since I took you in hand than 
most girls get out of ten lifetimes. And don't tell me you haven't loved it 
all. Just keep quite while I deal with her majesty." 

I know Rankin was right but I would not confess to being a silly girl and 
finding joy where others would only find pain. But I stopped my pleas and 
watched the drama before me. 

Rankin Teller had Marjory and me at his mercy and was enjoying every moment 
of that mastery. He repeated his outrageous demand, 'Take you clothes off 
and stop quibbling." There was dead silence with everyone in the room tense 
and watchful. But my darling mistress held on to authority to the very last 
as she demanded, "And if I refuse?" 

"Hell, you won't refuse, kid. Think what we can do to young Celie! Do you 
want me to have her steadily whipped until you get some sense?" 

It was senseless and cruel. Marjory stood there tasting defeat. Then 
suddenly her hands flew to the fastening of her dress as if she wished to 
get it over with as fast as she could. I hoped it would not be as bad for 
her as on that first time but I knew it would be bad enough. Soon she stood 
there as naked as myself her cloths and shoes in a pile on the floor. As if 
to punish herself for defeat she turned and crossed her wrists in mute 
acceptance. 

"I want her in front," Rankin ordered. "She's got work to do. When you've 
fixed her hands, you two can run along, I can handle the rest." 

There is a difference for a captive girl with hands in front or in back. The 
frontal position allows her to do things and is pretty much non restrictive. 
Rankin now gave her chair back to her and gave directions. They were crisp 
and knowledgeable and stripped Marjory of everything she had ever been. She 
and I were about to enter a new enslavement. Under Rankin's direction she 
phoned here and there. She tapped out messages on the wireless. All tasks 
designed to strip her of her authority and continuing residence on Palm 
Island. Marjory realized as well as I the hopelessness of resistance. Her 
surrender was total, and tears filled my eyes as I saw my beloved mistress 
reduced until she was little more than a naked girl with handcuffs on her 
wrists. Rankin did a thorough job and at the end of it surveyed us both in 
full pride of possession. To Marjory he was polite, "Thank you, Miss Magnus, 
thank you for Palm Island. Thank you for that lovely body you now display. 
And thank you for that pretty girl who thinks you're wonderful. One way or 
another, I'd say this was a damned good day." 

"What are you going to do with us?" Marjory's voice was almost toneless. 

Rankin affected surprise. "You mean I didn't explain? Or you haven't 
guessed?" His grin once more held affection. "Why I'm going to sell you 
both. I have an agent who will take you off my hands and dispose of you. I'd 
call it the most exciting thing to happen to any girl to stand upon the 
auction block stark naked and watch a bunch of millionaire bid to own her. 
Don't bother to thank me I can take you gratitude for granted." 

"You bastard!" 

"Hard words break no bones, honey. The heats off and you can join my 
passengers and give us a bit of entertainment before we enter port. 
Everything's going to work out fine." 

"You mean you're going to torture us for the benefit of those sadists who 
pay you good money for a ticket." 

"That's a harsh way of putting it, sweetheart." 

"You're despicable." Rankin ignored the bitter word. "First thing is to look 
at my brands you've both got on your skin. Come close and turn around so I 
can see my handiwork. From where I sit it looks like damned professional 
job." 

We exhibited our burnt skin but we didn't like it. Rankin got not only a 
good look at this brand, but also at Marjory's bottom. He laughed. "Those 
Aussie boys sure worked you over, didn't they, sweetheart? Don't worry I'll 
use other parts of you while your back side heals. I can well imagine you 
hated those two." 

I stood and watched Rankin change Marjory's hands from front to back. She 
had obeyed him and now no longer had use for hands. Rankin imparted a piece 
of news, "I forgot to tell you about that Hamid fellow. And why he hasn't 
showed up. The fact is you became a bit of embarrassment with half the world 
running around searching for you. You see, Hamid's a big man in 
international circles. And keeping a couple of white wenches prison would 
not have helped his image. Those messages you've just sent out, Marjory, 
will convince him you're both safe here on Palm Island, and I suspect he'll 
leave it at that. If he shows up at the auction when you're sold, it will 
just be the luck of the draw." 

Marjory blurted out, "Damn it, man, you don't need the money. I can give you 
that much. Why on earth would you consign Celie and I to such an awful 
existence. Surely we can make a deal?" 

"Hell, it isn't going to be that bad, honey. As far as I know Celie loved 
every moment of her time with Hamid." He looked at me. "Hear tell you fell 
in love with the guy, Celie, my pet." 

I know how Marjory felt about Hamid and I, and did not answer Rankin's jibe. 
But for the first time it was born upon me fully that I no longer need call 
Marjory mistress or be concerned over her opinions. In what Rankin did in 
having her make all those telephone calls, he had removed my former mistress 
from the ranks of the super rich and reduced her to the same status as me. 
Miss Marjory Magnus had become a slavegirl subject to the will of others. 
She would join me in chains or any other restraint our master chose to use. 
She would be punished as I was punished, mostly to give others sadistic 
enjoyment. I was unhappy about our predicament but for poor Marjory it was 
going to be ten times worse. Her pride would be trampled under foot. And 
since Rankin had the rest of today to amuse himself with us, I was pretty 
sure he would continue the treatment we had endured on his ship. Our branded 
skin no longer burned but it would tell the world we were Rankin's property. 
I could have wept. 

* * * 

Marjory and I were being punished. Our only sin was being female, and thus a 
source of eroticism to the Male. Since men are stronger than girls, we had 
no choice but to endure whatever they chose to inflict. 

It was worse for Marjory than for me. She was suspended by her wrists with 
her feet well above the floor. Instead of handcuffs, her wrists were neatly 
and tightly encircled by leather bands, a couple of feet apart to a wooden 
bar. She had ceased to struggle and hung in a passive abandonment of hope 
which I understood all too well. We must have been like that an hour and my 
knees were, hurting as I obeyed Rankin's order to kneel and not to move. In 
front of my eyes was Marjory's patch of pubic hair, its shiny curls a 
constant temptation to give in to desire and ease her pain. But that was 
forbidden. I had been told to simply kneel and to contemplate at close range 
the sex of the woman I had once called mistress. I found it beautiful and 
enticing, and from it came wave after wave of girl scent. Marjory laughed 
bitterly as I told her that an she told me of the perfume I exuded as it 
reached her nose as she hangs in helpless pain. I had been positioned 
between Marjory's legs with my wrists in handcuffs, the other cuff of which 
was tight around Marjory's ankle. My hands were linked to her ankles and I 
made an effort to keep my hands from lowering least that would add more 
weight to Marjory's punished wrists. My face was very near my darling's fur 
but I dared not break my pose for fear of being caught and punished. Even 
though chained to Marjory's ankles, there was several ways I could have 
changed position and ease my ache. But I did not want more punishment so I 
knelt as Rankin placed me and stared at a pussy only an inch away, a pussy I 
longed to lick and tongue. Neither of us knew how long we would be left 
alone. 

We had tried to escape but, as usual, there was not the faintest 
possibility. Between the modest gasps and moans of maiden pain, we had 
discussed Rankin Teller and his intention to sell us both the way I was sold 
before. And the way Marjory's girls were sold into slavery. I had become 
used to slavery but for Marjory it was still something too awful to 
consider. She was confident we would be sold to a brothel or something 
worse. She feared we will be beaten daily and made to do horrible things. I 
admitted there is not much to look forward to. 

Our real concern was separation. We knew that what we suffered now was made 
more bearable by being together. But we knew, too, how unlikely it would be 
for us to be sold as a pair. We would probably be taken in opposite 
directions and never see each other again. 

"What we have to do," Marjory offered bitterly, "is persuade the son of a 
bitch to have us chained together and sold together. I can't bear the 
thought of loosing you, darling, or of being alone in slavery. Celie, 
darling, we don't deserve this." 

"You're forgetting about Hamid," I said softly. "I don't believe what Rankin 
said about Hamid. I'm sure Hamid will come searching to repossess me. I'm 
sure of it!" 

"Hamid hates me. He'll take you and leave me on the block." 

"He doesn't hate you, dear. He was under the influence of a male Thing. One 
of those silly urges a male can't resist. It will be different now he won't 
punish you any more than he punishes me. He's easy to fall in love with." 

Poor Marjory snorted in disbelief. There were still upon her skin marks 
placed there with a whip held by Hamid. I couldn't blame her for the way she 
felt about the man I had once called master. I didn't push my argument, it 
was all too hopeless. 

A slavegirl being punished has another enemy beside those who bind her. That 
enemy is time. Time is a terrible thing we can do nothing about. I had gazed 
at Marjory's puss for what seems a very long time before turning my 
attention to the shinning steel that held her feet to my hands. It was a 
bond I could not break. Yet, at the same time, the steel bracelets were 
beautiful. I could not help my darling and had to fight a constant 
compulsion to bury my face and lips within Marjory's sex. I fought it back, 
and was a good thing for Rankin Teller walked in to enjoy this configuration 
of fastened female flesh. Even though we should know better, we gaze at him 
in hope. 

"Cutest picture I ever did see," Rankin told us. "You two like that are a 
sight to stiffen any cock. Are you enjoying your afternoon?" 

The silence lengthened until it became frightening until Marjory snapped, 
"You know we're hating every moment of it. Please set us free." A few second 
of silence followed before she added, "I hope you notice I've just said 
please." 

"You're coming along fine, honey. First thing you know you'll be saying 
thank you, too. It's marvelous what a bit of discomfort does for a girl. 
Would you like to be whipped?" 

"No." 

"Nice of me to ask, don't you think?" 

"You're playing with us. You get pleasure out of seeing us suffer like this. 
It wouldn't hurt you to set up free." 

"Why would I do that?" 

"I'd think you would do it to show you're not a complete asshole! Please, 
Mr. Rankin, give us a break." 

"Gosh, I've been prompted. I'm Mr. Rankin all of a sudden, even if my last 
name is Teller. Okay, I won't whip you right now. You can just go on hanging 
the way you are. The two of you like that make far too pretty a picture for 
a man to break it up. I'll be curious what you have to say next time I drop 
by." 

We were alone with our pain and I with a longing I could no longer control. 
I buried my face into Marjory's curls. 

* * * 

We are released for dinner. Rankin is careful not to upset the staff by 
displaying their beloved mistress naked and in chains. Marjory and I are so 
damned glad to be free, even if only briefly. We actually enjoy ourselves 
and are entertained by Rankin's conversational ability. I wished he didn't 
have his streak of cruelty because in some ways he was an interesting man. 
And much of his vulgar humor was no more than real appreciation of the 
female form and figure. 

Rankin's night cheats us of our wild imaginings of pain and immobility. I 
had expected at least the dungeon with its chains and gloom. But Rankin 
positioned our arms and tied our hands behind our backs. We were then taken 
to Marjory's king sized bed and pushed down, one on each side with one ankle 
chained down somewhere below. Rankin announced his intention of sleeping in 
the middle and told us not to fall off on the floor. 

Our captor had a magnificent physique. He is male, male, male! And proved it 
first within Marjory's sheath and then in mine. For most men they would be 
enough but for Rankin it was but the prelude to a carnal night. We accepted 
his weight upon our bellies and pinioned arms. As usual, I was ashamed of 
the pleasure I derived. I dared not look at Marjory but the sounds she made 
were pretty much the same as mine. I sleep intermittently in unconcern over 
my bound hands or the fetter upon my foot. 

Several times during the long night I was awoken by Rankin's wonderful 
weapon impaling my sex. 

We slept late. Noon brings us the Rankin's Pride anchored out beyond the 
surf. In preparation for our return to marine captive, Rankin inflicted upon 
us a bitter humiliation we could have done without out. It appeared Marjory 
and we were to return aboard the waiting ship wearing a full compliment of 
chains. Unfortunately Marjory's storeroom was abundantly supplied. We had to 
stand in. naked shame while iron collars were locked around our necks, iron 
bands locked tightly around our waists and shackles locked on each ankle. We 
were constantly tripping on that ankle chain or stepping on it. The chains 
made a shocking clatter whenever we moved. Rankin was pleased with the metal 
bands around our wrists which were not only joined to each other by several 
links, but also to the belt As though this, were net enough, there were 
chains from each ankle to a central ring above out knees from that to the 
chains which hold our hands. It appeared the brutal collar on our neck was 
simply for effect, it connected to nothing else. 

I clanged my noise clatter up the stairs and along the hall to the front 
door without mishap. I had been chained like that before and had some 
expertise in avoiding treading on the links. But Marjory is not experienced 
and fell several times only to be caught by Rankin's arm. He used each 
opportunity to fondle some part of her she could not shield or hide. Rankin 
enjoyed himself. We did not. 

We were lifted into the boat on the beach. As the motor drove us through and 
over the waves, Marjory and I suffered the awful heart break of looking back 
at her wonderful island and knowing we would not ever see it again. Her 
hands were clenched fists. We were slave girls on our way to a profitable 
sale. 

Marjory and I do not look up at the faces avid with interest which peer down 
across the rail. We will see enough of them and they will see enough of us. 
But I would sooner bear pain to give them pleasure than to be locked in that 
awful brig. Since we cannot climb the ladder, each of us is slung across the 
shoulder of a crewman who must also bear the weight of our chains. We are 
placed to stand erect in the center of what I always think of as "the 
stage", the largest clear portion of the ship's deck. The clearing afforded 
both crew and guests a perfect view of our humiliation. We cannot avoid the 
laughing eyes for they are everywhere. So we stand in our chains with bowed 
heads as if finding interest in our chained feet. Rankin takes center stage. 

"Ain't they a pretty sight, folks? Chains do a lot for any girl." His eyes 
made a sweep of the guests. "And if any of you young ladies want to 
volunteer, you can wear them right now because I'm taking them off these 
here girls, and we're going to play ourselves a little game. Celie and 
Marjory are trading a hundred pounds of iron for a pair of handcuffs so we 
know they will want to play." Rankin got busy with the keys. I looked out 
over the guests, trying to avoid eyes but curious who he was addressing as 
"young ladies." There were many new female faces in the crowd, almost all of 
them wearing dresses or other clothing. My heart sank for them. He must have 
stopped off in Hawaii for a new batch of fresh feminine flesh. Soon enough 
those innocent young girls would find out just what they had gotten 
themselves in for. As if our naked and chained bodies didn't tell them 
something. 

The terrible part was those innocent young eyes were eager to gaze at our 
naked and whipped bodies, as if they failed to recognize that they might 
soon look like this themselves. 

The irons had fallen from us to the deck and Rankin once more made his cute 
suggestion, "Any of you gals want to wear these a while, just step forward. 
And have your boyfriend get his camera 'cause you'll take a pretty picture." 

There were no volunteers although I noticed several men talking seriously to 
their feminine guest. When the collar was taken from my neck, and I was 
free, I automatically turned and offered my wrists. But Rankin turned me 
around and locked my hands in front. "The boys and gals will want to buy you 
a drink," he explained jovially. "And I wouldn't want to fixed you so you 
couldn't raise a glass." He turned to the expectant crowd. "They had some 
adventures I expect they want to tell you about so take them to the bar. The 
game we're playing is that I want each one of you to write on a slip of 
paper the description of a punishment you'd like these girls to get. I can't 
promise it will happen since there are so many of you, but I'll pick a few 
so you can have your fun." Rankin slapped our bottoms and retired to his 
stateroom. 

The amusement Marjory and I provided the guests lasted most of the 
afternoon. By that time we were slightly tipsy and Rankin's Pride had left 
Palm Island behind. As we sipped our drinks and answered questions, our 
handcuffs became no more than pretty bracelets on our wrists. We told our 
story of Joe and Charlie and the Austrian Navy. I didn't think most of the 
girls believed us. And I did notice that many of the men were repeats from 
the prior voyage. Apparently these men found it easy to recruit pretty young 
girls with the promise of an ocean voyage and constant party. 

Even though we were treated in a friendly manner I knew we would be soon 
enough feeling pain. Some of the men wrote on slips of paper with a smirk 
and I knew whatever they wrote I would not like. Some of the young girls 
declined to write out a punishment but some of them giggled as they wrote, 
apparently thinking this all a big game. I hoped those girls weren't being 
too ridiculous with what they wrote. Marjory and I might soon be enduring 
some horrible punishment written only in jest. 

When night came we expected a repetition but Rankin chose to vary his carnal 
satisfaction by handcuffing Marjory's right wrist high on one of the bottom 
posts of the huge four poster bed which, as he pointed out, had more 
possibilities than a girl could shake a stick at. I didn't get to wear 
handcuffs because Rankin told me I'd have a good use for my hands to 
increase his pleasure. But as always he locked the shackle on my ankle to 
keep me safe. When I gazed in desolation at Marjory standing where she was 
forced to view Rankin taking his pleasure with me, I saw a very sad look on 
her face. I used the bit of freedom I possessed to go to the bottom of the 
bed and clasp her in my arms where we shared a few tears together. Rankin 
allowed this to continue for a minute with an amused smile on his face, then 
a sharp order pulled me back to the middle of the bed where he arranged me 
for his pleasure. When I tried to beg that Marjory be taken from the room, 
he clamped a hand over my mouth and thrust himself inside me with a force to 
take all my attention. I even forgot the lovely nakedness whose hand was 
chained to the post. Once Rankin is inside a girl he is a tender giant who 
knows more tricks by which to enchant a female than most men ever imagine. 
For me it was like swimming in some magic pool. But when I reached its 
opposite shore I beheld only the girl I loved standing against her post and 
crying. I had never realized Marjory hated so much to see a man touch me. 
But every time I started to tell Rankin to set her free he closed my mouth 
and mind by ways I couldn't not counter. It was not until the night was well 
advanced that, for some reason of his own he listened. Before I got it 
properly underway he clasped my nakedness to his in a way he had ever done 
before. His phallus was limp, resting from its labors. But my owner's lips 
found mine with an unusual tenderness. 

"You really love your Marjory, don't you?" he whispered in my ear. "Don't 
you see she's a stuck-up broad with too much money? If that board ever gets 
the chance she'll give me a real bad time." Rankin squeezed me tight as 
though to emphasis what he said next. "But don't worry, girlie, she'll never 
get loose and she'll never get the best of good, old Rankin Teller. I'm not 
fussy about selling you on the block, but I want to see her there being sold 
to some guy who will whip her ass daily. And twice on Sunday. And someone 
she feels is socially inferior. Celie, honey, that's going to be the time of 
her life." 

"Please unchain her from the bed, please let her loose. She's going to be 
terribly tired." 

For some reason of his own, Rankin thrust me gently from him, and did 
exactly as I asked. A moment later my darling mistress was chained only by 
her ankle the same as I, but to the opposite side of the bed. He slipped in 
between us and, for Rankin the night became a sexual feast with naked female 
flesh whichever way he turned. 

In the morning Rankin left us alone, still chained within his bed. It was 
easily possible to clasp each other in our arms. Marjory wet my cheeks with 
her tears, sobbing fiercely her sense of shame that when this man had raped 
her again and again she had discovered joy. She refuted my assurance that it 
did not matter and that a girl's flesh would always betray her. I don't 
think she found comfort in my words but clutched my flesh in a terrible need 
of communion. In this strange mood the two of us were unlocked and told to 
get ourselves ready for breakfast and be in his stateroom on time. Evidently 
we were to have another state breakfast before the ax fell on our necks. 

Rankin wouldn't be Rankin if he didn't constantly think up innovations. At 
breakfast our peace was shattered by sight of a huge rubber phallus 
thrusting upward from our chairs. We still had hands and were able to guide 
the beastly within our sex and to very cautiously sit down upon its huge 
shape. We were then handcuffed and told to keep our hands visible for our 
master's pleasure. 

It was all easy enough to do but was one more shame for me and a tenfold 
humiliation for Marjory. 

I am afraid I enjoyed my breakfast very much. The food was very good. I 
tried very hard not to let the pleasure I was finding at that huge dildo 
inside me show on my face. It was a most strange breakfast. 

At least I was saved the embarrassment of orgasm because of the sexual 
exhaustion from the long night of lovemaking. If Rankin had expected us to 
orgasm from the huge tool, he did not say. But also he did not seem 
disappointed. After the table had been cleared, we stayed in our chairs by 
Rankin's bidding. Then the three of us might share whatever amusement might 
be had from the folded slips of paper. 

It was a cross section of sexuality and sadism to keep any shrink consulting 
his text book for week. And pleasure we got from listening was clinical. 
Rankin read each slip with laughing enjoyment. Sometimes Marjory and I 
laughed, too, but not often. 

The first inspired message was that Marjory and I be strung up on the 
rigging with a whip hanging from a belt around our waist and with an 
invitation for each guest to deliver upon our skin one single stroke as hard 
as they might please. When I thought of the number of guests on that ship, I 
shuddered. But I noted Rankin set the slip to one side as if it possessed 
some merit. 

The next note was from a passenger who apparently had enjoyed the 
make-believe school room charade in which we had to hold out our hands for 
them to be caned. This person requested a repeat. He wanted to see us do it 
all over again. 

Another person much have sensed the terror a girl must feel in being 
suspended above the awful deeps with the sharks plainly visible, awaiting 
the feast just out of their reach. This cheerful soul suggested Marjory and 
I be suspended over the side with our toes only a couple of feet over the 
water while on deck the passengers could dump garbage over us. The garbage 
would have the duel purpose of humiliating us and attracting sharks. 

"Sharks can jump farther out of the water than most people think," Rankin 
muttered and went on to the next note. 

Number three was a wistful appeal from someone who had enjoyed the burning 
of our skin. He or she wanted a repeat, this time with the branding iron 
applied to our breasts- And that we should be somehow suspended so our burnt 
skin could be examined and approved of. "Ain't no way I'm going to spoil 
four lovely tits for a bit of fun," Rankin offered. 

For Marjory and me it was not happy reading. We listened and the object 
within our sex picked up the message and began to exert the influence we had 
wished to avoid. Everything Rankin read from the folded papers might be 
cruel but was usually extremely erotic. And since it was aimed directly at 
us, carried personal venom we could not ignore. I remember one invented type 
who suggested we be spread-eagled on the deck with a mechanical device 
thrusting a-rubber phallus in and out constantly all day in our pussies. 
Marjory heaved a sigh of relief when it joined the discards with Rankin's 
comment, "Shit, there ain't no way I'm going to wear your little holes out. 
The guy's out of his tree." 

It's a strange feeling for a girl to choose her own punishment from a list. 
But by the time each folded note was read, Marjory and I found ourselves in 
agreement on our choice. Most of the suggestions were either horribly 
sadistic or disgustingly sexual. So we chose a middle course, a punishment 
all too familiar, we opted for number one. 

Being bound to the riggings is simple. A girl goes to where a network of 
ropes support the masts above, and hold up her wrist that they might be 
bound far apart to the taut spider web of rope so that she stands looking 
out to sea. A belt is buckled was tight around my waist and from there hung 
a beastly quirt which is a couple of heavy leather thongs falling from a 
braid handle from which we could receive agony from anyone who passes by. 
The first one to venture upon this experiment in girlish suffering was a 
girl herself. Her man stood to one side and watched as she lovingly played 
with our beautifully exposed skin, and cruelly asked if our corded wrists 
gave us pain. And if we were ready for the one terrible stroke she was 
allow, and how we must recount for us afterwards if it hurt. 

It was hateful and obscene. We well understood how we were exposed and hated 
to think at anyone had the power to cut us with a whip. As our first 
customer freed the dangle quirt, we knew for sure it was about to happen. 
When the leather tongs struck our flesh, we squealed and contorted in a way 
to satisfy the most sadistic. It was in this outrageous manner that Marjory 
and I discovered that our real enemy was another girl. There was no 
mistaking the pleasure with which the girl had just slashed our flesh. She 
listened as we told of how it hurt and how we longed for release. 

I wondered if her boyfriend was going to whip us next. We soon discovered 
the men were shy. They had brought with them on this voyage a women who 
expected their whole attention. To Whip Marjory and me would tell their girl 
of their wish to whip her, too. Thus most played it safe, congratulating 
their girl upon the accuracy or strength of her using the quirt. Then they 
took their girls by the arm and walked away. We noticed how the girl, after 
they had whipped us and saw how much, felt ashamed and were glad to go. I 
have forgotten how many strokes we got that afternoon. Almost all were from 
females and all were delivered with all the strength that female possessed. 

Marjory and I jerked, cried out in pain, and gasped in a fine show for the 
passengers of the Rankin's Pride. 

We were rewarded by a deluxe dinner with his majesty himself. Our skin 
burned from the kisses of the quirt, but as every slavegirl knows, things 
can always get worse. And thus we were grateful for a good-natured master 
who was pleased with our pain and seemed to look upon Marjory and I as 
favorite daughters who had done honor to his name... How crazy can you get! 

We basked in his good cheer. At least I did. For I was still remembering the 
Rankin had held me during the night. A few strokes of the quirt during the 
afternoon had taught me that I was still a slave and very much subject to 
the will of others. But between Rankin and I had grown a bond in which I 
longed for Marjory to be included. Marjory bore the same quirt marks as I 
but she had not found favor in our master's eye. I expect it was the wine at 
dinner that gave me the courage to plead, "Please don't sell us on the 
auction block, Master. Please keep us here on the ship for your own 
enjoyment." At the time I really meant it. I wished the whip had imposed 
upon Marjory the same subservience. 

Our night after dinner was just the same with its sexual thrusts and our 
female surrender to the weakness of flesh. It was not until the next morning 
after breakfast that Rankin picked one more slip of paper from the pile on 
the table to ask in a manner of real concern, "How do you feel about this 
one, darlings? Seems to me the guy or gal may have something." 

Breathlessly we listened, knowing we were about to hear the pains and 
punishments of our day. The folded bit of paper revealed a simple message: 
"Have your carpenter build two pairs of stocks and lock your little lovelies 
within so that we may play with them throughout the day and in the knowledge 
that when the afternoon is over you use the riding crop on whatever part of 
them is usefully exposed." 

Rankin cast the bit of paper aside to ask, "What do you think of that, 
sweethearts? It's not all that bad, is it?" 

"It's cruelty to ask a girl how she'd like to be punished," Marjory said. 

Rankin seemed to think it a good idea but Marjory and I saw it as an 
unpleasant day. Sitting in the stocks or standing in the pillory all day 
while strange men and women played with your body isn't my idea of a fun 
afternoon. Then when it comes to an end with a riding crop applied to your 
bare skin... Well, I timidly inquired if we couldn't go on to the next 
paper. 

I knew Marjory was taking this harder than I. And, perhaps in self defense, 
she came out with a suggestion of her own. "Since Celie and I have to be 
abused and humiliated," she said icily, "why don't you hold an auction on 
this ship? Sell us for the whole day to the highest bidder. In the evening 
we revert to your possession." 

Rankin liked it. "You got a business head on your shoulders, honey," he said 
cheerfully. "I'll collect a bit of money, and you two will have an exciting 
day because you won't know what will happen to you. I think you would be 
nervous about that." 

"Why don't you restrict the bidding to your female passengers?" said Marjory 
shrewdly. "Quite a few of the girls on board have got a wicked look in their 
eyes when they touched us or whipped us. You'd be entertained." 

"Supposing the dame who buys you wants to play rough? You might then wish 
you were standing in the pillory with a male hand feeling your twat." 

"It's a chance I'm willing to take. But read some more papers if you want." 

He picked up another folded slip, scanned its message and then burst out 
laughing. "I'll bet it was a woman who wrote this!" he said with great 
amusement. "Listen to this. There's rats on board. Why don't you catch two 
of them, or four if you prefer and tether them to the girl's tits with 
twine. I'll bet those pretty little tricks would squeal whenever a rat 
headed for home.'" My heart sank. There seemed no mercy in the world. I had 
no idea what a rat could or would do to me if I were fastened so I could not 
move. Rankin observed the disgust on our faces and immediately declared this 
submission the winner. 

Marjory and I would each be spread-eagle on a hatch cover so we could not 
dispute the rat's freedom. The audience could watch what the rat chose to do 
to us. I had visions of it eating us alive. But as usual we could not 
protest, It was not long before crewmen laid us on our backs and tied our 
arms and legs spread wide tightly enough to make this a punishment even 
without the rats. By looking to the side Marjory and I could see each other 
better than we could see ourselves. I tugged and twisted but could hardly 
move my body. 

"Have a nice day" one crewman offered cheerfully and they departed. It is 
terrible for a girl to be tied like this with her treasure so exposed by 
legs stretched far apart. From the look in the eyes of the men who examined 
us it would not have surprised me had several of them leaped into the breach 
between our legs and violated us in public. I was sure they would have done 
so had it not been for the watching women. Finally a chattering commotion 
announced the arrival of the rats. 

I would once have gone into hysterics but a slavegirl learns to expect 
anything and endure it as best she can. Needless to say that with Rankin in 
charge four rats had been captured instead of two. Each of our breasts would 
get a rat tethered to the nipple. But in this I understood Rankin's 
ingenuity. The rats had been cleverly harnessed with cord while a woman 
volunteer neatly noosed one of our nipples with bitter twine. When this was 
joined to the thicker stuff on the rats, the beastly animal had a wide range 
over which to prowl. But this same lady had been briefed on a second 
entertainment. This time it was not our nipples but a binding of a selected 
pubic bunch of curls which might or might not hurt more than the twine upon 
our nipples, but which must inevitably attract the rats to a portion of our 
bodies we did not want them to go to. When finished she modestly rejoined 
the audience. 

Rankin himself was grinning from ear to ear. We were not bound so tight that 
it was not possible to raise ourselves to view our own bodies nor the 
rodents tethered upon them. I was shocked to realize that the rat was 
standing between my outstretched legs tethered to my pubic hair. I knew he 
couldn't crawl up inside the way some, girls think but I shuttered to think 
of the other possibilities. Rats had sharp teeth and sharp claws, and I was 
tied too tight to move. 

The rats sensed their tether as an enemy. They ran for cover but achieved 
only a snubbing by the cords. Along 'with frustrating the rats, the action 
caused me to squeal with dismay as the cord tugged hard on my nipple and a 
bunch of my pubic hair. The creature could tug and run and pull all he liked 
but my nipple would hold him secure and my pubic hair the same. It hurt but 
not much compared to the usual punishment a girl found aboard the Rankin's 
Pride. 

Imagine what it's like for a naked girl to lay still while a rat sniffs away 
up the inside of her thighs. My flesh crawled and I longed to scream as the 
busy snout approached what it saw as a meal. Or at least a place to hide I 
had back my screams until I felt whiskers thrusting between my pubic lips. 

Neither of the rats was happy. They wanted to go home and made every effort 
to do so with the result that my nipple and some of my pubic hair was in 
constant protest against the tug and pull of the captured animals. I went a 
little crazy in my revolt against the beastliness which fed the audience's 
hunger for diversions. I was sure each one of them was longing for the rats 
to start feeding on our living flesh, but our little enemies had sniffed and 
sniffed but refrained from nibbling. However the show had just started and 
even rats are shy and cautious. They had a living breathing naked girl at 
their disposal and I had to wonder if they did bite us. If Rankin would stop 
them or simply watch one of my nipples make a tasty lunch. I found myself 
going overboard in fear and arching my back and thumping my bottom against 
the hatch cover as hard as I could to keep the wicked little jaw as far from 
my flesh as possible. The result was to send my two rodents scurrying the 
limit of their tether where they tugged to cause me the pain by which those 
who watched could enjoy the performance. 

The result was compromise. My two rats fearful of my actions and those who 
watched came to huddle together on my belly where their claws and snouts 
kept me in constant agony. I longed to throw them off but had enough control 
to realize that if they wanted to stay in the middle of my tummy, at least 
they caused no pan. The audience was breathless. 

I have no idea how this strange ordeal would have ended I was coming close 
to hysterics which the mere presence of the animals upon my flesh keep me 
close to screams. But Rankin evidently considered that his guests had had a 
good look and Marjory and I had suffered enough so he cut the four rats free 
and tossed them overboard to leave us simply bound tight and hard against 
the hatch covers in an exposure that left nothing to the imagination. 

Rankin's proclamation was in keeping with our condition, "There they are, 
folks, you're all yours for the day. Play with them as much as you like. I 
expect the little darlings will be grateful for a bit of attention." 

It was vintage Teller, and I squirmed unhappily against corded wrists and 
ankles. There is one thing certain about slavery, things can always get 
worse. And I found myself wondering if the rats had been all that bad. I 
closed my eyes in preparation for a disgusting day. 

Nothing much happened. Since the main show was over, the passengers 
disbursed. But before leaving, most came over to have a look at the two 
nudes tightly spread for their pleasure. But it soon became evident that no 
man was really interested in enjoying what Marjory and I so obscenely 
displayed. I wondered if it was because they didn't wish to place their 
bodies upon a girl whose body had been in contact with rats. Or it they had 
been told that screwing us was off limits that day. Either way I became 
thankful for little favors. 

It turned out to be the girls who enjoyed us most. The group of four females 
must have consigned the males to the bar while they appeased their curiosity 
by sitting on the hatch cover and allowing their hands to test my reactions 
to sexual stimulus. Wise fingers teased my nipples while others made 
themselves acquainted with my most private place. I tensed in expectation of 
pain but when pain did not come I realized these females were watching my 
reactions to sexual stimulus. Perhaps they were wondering what they looked 
like when sexually excited and were using me as a mirror to see. 

Almost immediately they got results. I am young and healthy, and goodness 
knows I've been pleasured and pained so often there is nothing new for me to 
find. What I endured now was simply an intensification of a theme. I was 
being played upon as though I were an instrument and the hands and lips 
which worked my body were artists creating music. I clenched my teeth, 
determined to give no satisfaction, but my body soon betrayed me, as if 
always does, and I was soon tossing my head from side to side, tugging at 
the ropes and cords, and gasping and moaning as fingertips took me down an 
all-too familiar. My explosive climax evidently gave pleasure. 

"Gosh, look at the way she heaves and tugs. I wonder if we act like that?" 

"It's because she's tied, silly. Get your guy to tie you down to the bed and 
see how you act." 

"I'll bet this is the reason why men like to whip girls. They get pretty 
much the same response. Gosh, this has made me so horn, I can hardly bare 
it." 

"We shouldn't stop. Let's keep on going and see how long it takes her to 
come around again. One of you suck on that tit." 

It began again and there wasn't a thing I could do except to mutter a 
pathetic, "Please stop." I pleaded for them top stop but they kept right on 
going. And once again I was worked up to an intense orgasm which was, if 
anything, more explosive than the first. Perhaps it was because it came 
almost as a continuation of the first. The girls watched me and commented 
upon my reactions. They tired of me after a while and went away. Or perhaps 
they didn't tire, only went to seek sexual release from the worked up state 
they were in. Either way, I sighed and closed my eyes. And stayed 
spread-eagle for I was still tightly bound. 

The rat show must have been a success. Another group of sparkling eyed 
females showed up with a harnessed rodent provided by the crew. There was a 
great deal of debate as to whether it should be tethered to my tit or pubic 
hair. The majority seemed to want the pubic anchorage. They pointed out that 
having a, rat active between her legs should make any girl turn into jelly. 
As one pointed out, if a mouse could do it, a rat must surely do it better. 
Almost immediately there was a rat yanking on my pubic hair as it tried to 
run away. Everyone waited breathlessly including me. 

It, was worse than I had supposed, and I was ashamed of myself for suffering 
all the wild imaginings and torments that girls have always suffered at 
thoughts of a mouse running up their leg to their private part. The only 
comfort I had was from reasoning that the rat was simply to big to crawl up 
inside. I've never really believed a mouse could do it. But what girl wants 
either a mouse or rat sniffing around her pussy? 

When I felt whiskers tickling the insides of my thighs very near my pussy I 
simply went wild. I screamed a whole bunch and heaved so hard at tied 
wrists, and ankles as to bow my back in arched agony. Then I slammed my hips 
back down in the only motion I could make to discourage the rat. 

I .was saved by one of my tormentors pointing out that Rankin Teller-would 
not be pleased if they returned me to them with my pussy eaten by the sharp 
teeth. The poor damned animal, which was probably as frightened as me. was 
pulled away and since the thought of Rankin Teller's displeasure had spoiled 
the sport, it was set free to run back to where ever it is rats live on 
ships at sea." My breasts were heaving as I moaned in terror. 

My next visitor was a single male. He sat and looked down at my nakedness 
and for openers complimented me on the contours of my breasts. I said an 
automatic thank you and waited while his hand found the triangle below my 
belly. "Would you mind if I stick my finger inside and played with you?" 

"I'd rather you didn't, if you don't mind." 

"Well, you're here and suppose to be available to us. I'd think a finger up 
your snatch would be small potatoes after what the girls have been doing to 
you. Are you sure?" 

"Yes, I'm sure. I've had enough. I'm exhausted. Please don't do anything 
else to me." 

"I'll tell you what," he said as if suddenly inspired. "How'd it be I untie 
you and we can go and play games in my cabin? You'd like that, wouldn't 
you?" 

"Sure I'd like to be untied. But Mr. Teller says I have to be like this for 
the day and that's the way it is." 

My visitor nodded without offense. He also withdrew his finger which he 
wiped dry across my belly. He evidently felt there had to be something to 
interest a girl in my situation so he inquired, "Does this carte blanche 
extent to my whipping between your legs? And the inside of your thighs? I 
understand girl's are very tender inside those places." 

"You'd better go and ask Mr. Teller," I suggested quickly. "I think if he'd 
wanted me whipped he would have left a whip around here someplace. Are you 
sure you wouldn't just like to talk?" 

"Sure, if that's what you want. I'm not much of a sadist, I just like naked 
girls. Look, honey, gossip has it that you were owned by some Arabian prince 
or something. But you escaped and Mr. Teller got a hold of you. Is that 
right?" 

"That's more or less what happened." 

"Well, didn't he whip you? Whipping girls is suppose to be their favorite 
indoor sport." 

"Yes, he whipped me. Everybody whips me. I wish they didn't but when a man 
sees a naked girl with her hands tied behind her back, it appears to come 
naturally." 

My companion laughed. "I have to admit the instinct is strong in me. If you 
don't mind I'll leave you for a few moments while I find the captain and get 
his permission to borrow a whip. Don't go anywhere." He beamed at me. "I 
expect you prefer a whip, or are there other instruments like a riding crop 
or quirt?" 

I moaned in honest depression as I watched him go. It was horrible with legs 
spread out wide like that. I had given up struggling. I couldn't work a 
single rope loose and only hurt my wrists and ankle trying. I looked 
sideways to where Marjory was bound on her hatch cover. There were a couple 
of females doing things to her which I didn't want to see, so turned my 
attention back to the man who had gone to find a whip. Apparently he had 
drawn a blank and been told that I was not to be whipped in private but only 
for the enjoyment of the whole guest list. "Mr. Teller says," He informed, 
"he's bound to get around to whipping you sometime and I'll enjoy it just as 
much then. I don't suppose you'll mind if I go and have a snort at the bar." 

I didn't mind a bit. All I was concerned with was the increasing ache in my 
arms, legs and shoulders. But being one of Rankin's playthings was pretty 
much like a nine to five job. Exactly at five a pretty brunette untied the 
cords and ropes and helped us sit up to massage the sore limbs. In his fine, 
grand manner, Rankin gave us permission to use the private bathroom, and 
suggested that when we had prettied ourselves up, we should come to him 
before going to the bar. I sometimes think he inflicts this vivid contrasts 
of condition just to watch our bafflement. Anyway, when Rankin had locked 
our wrists in chrome bracelets, we did indeed head for the bar with haste. 

On board the Rankin's Pride it was a routine day. 

 CHAPTER FOUR - MARJORY SOLD 

The days sped by. The brands that Marjory and I wore on our hips had healed 
enough to become artistically acceptable. They were much admired and the 
females leaned hard on their boyfriend's suggestions that wouldn't they like 
brands, too. Our pains and penalties varied daily and it was not until 
breakfast one morning that Rankin broke the shattering news that Marjory was 
to be sold at auction that day and would for the remainder of the cruise be 
the personal property of whoever purchased her. "Be nice practice for you, 
honey," he said to the startled Marjory. "Ain't quite the same thing as it's 
going be later on but I already got the boys fixing up a block and I'm going 
to be the auctioneer, so we'll see how much you get on the open market. 
We'll do the thing right and won't cut comers." 

Marjory and I exchanged stricken glances as our owner returned to his 
breakfast in unconcern. Finally I had to blurt out, "Are you going to sell 
me, too, or do we go as a package?" 

Rankin's voice changed as he paused to look at me. "Hell, no, I ain't 
selling you, honey! I wouldn't part with my little Celie for the whole 
world! You're going to stay with me and learn some new tricks. And don't you 
shed no tears over miss high and mighty here. She's only getting what she 
deserves." 

Once more Marjory and I exchanges messages with our eyes but dared not say a 
word. There was about Rankin at that moment an air of decision and 
authority. And since either of us wanted to be whipped we shut up. But we 
sensed that all of a sudden we faced a whole new ball game with different 
rules. Absurdly enough I found myself looking back at the things Rankin had 
done to us and thought that, in his own way, he had been giving us what he 
considered a good deal. Certainly he had rewarded us equally each night. 

The auction block was a huge wooden packing case covered by a white sheet. 
Smaller boxes made the steps by which the girls to be sold mounted to her 
doom. I knew myself privileged for the only thing I wore was a pair of 
handcuffs in front. I had also been given the run of the ship by a master 
suddenly kind. I think every passenger on the ship was there in a circle to 
watch a woman sold. 

Between fact and fiction a tremendous legend has arisen over the sale of 
women at auction. It drives men wild to think of it and even girls get a 
sympathetic shiver when they read of the fate of a less fortunately member 
of their sex. I had to wonder how many females present would willingly have 
changed places with Marjory had they not been burdened with boyfriends. I 
honest wonder why females burden themselves with men. I found myself really 
believing it was a lot easier and more pleasant for a girl to be conquered 
by force. 

Rankin was loving every moment. My poor, dear mistress was nowhere to be 
seen when he mounted the stage to make his pitch. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we 
got something here that you all think about sometime. I'm offering a damned 
lovely piece of female for sale to any one of you who values her enough." He 
paused to leer at the upturned faces. "And what I mean, folks, is it ain't 
just you men who can bid. None of us will think any worse of a woman who 
decides to buy herself a girl." He paused dramatically. "I hope you brought 
your checkbooks." 

Marjory's nakedness was hidden under a draped sheet, no doubt to give credit 
to the male believe he only dresses a woman in order strip her. This legend 
is true. 

I could tell Marjory's hands were tied behind her back. But there was 
visibly a collar around her neck and from it a rope leash which her 
purchaser could use to lead her from the scene. I looked at Rankin up there 
on the block and wished I could feel worse about him than I did. Girls are 
weird. 

Marjory was flanked by crewmen whose hands-assisted her to mount the steps. 
Teller positioned her at his side. She was stony fared faced and I could 
guess the agony within. 

Rankin opened the auction by scorning the first bids, which admittedly did 
no justice to the beauty they sought to buy. But in response to his mockery 
over "chicken feed" the bids became higher and more reasonable for a lovely 
young girl. The bidding leaped from a thousand to five and then to ten. 
Rankin's smile was broad and even Marjory raised her head in interest to see 
who placed this value on her body. To reach the sum of twenty thousand 
dollars took only a couple of remarks from the auctioneer. Judging the time 
right, Rankin reached for the clasp of the white sheet which covered the 
nakedness of a frightened girl, he freed it and cast it aside to reveal 
Marjory in total nakedness with hands fastened behind her back and no 
recourse but to stare hark at those gazed up at her in longing. If I had 
been a man. I would have bid on her myself. 

Marjory was knocked down to a couple. Without embarrassment, they handed 
Rankin his check and, in return, were given the rope by which Marjory could 
be controlled. They led her away amid clapping and cheers. The only ones who 
made negative sounds were those who didn't have thirty-five thousand dollars 
to pay for such a privilege. Slowly the gathering disbursed. When I asked 
Rankin for permission to join the others at the bar, he laughed and said 
there was no way he would part with me until I had received his first 
tuition. We would now go to his stateroom where there would be enough brandy 
and scotch for any slavegirl. 

Standing before his desk with my hands cuffed before me I heard the sentence 
I must now serve. "What I want from you, Celie, sweetheart, is something 
you've been doing right alone, something that comes to you naturally. I want 
you to call my "Master" at all times. In any company when you don't have 
anything else to do, you will kneel before me, at my feet as they say in 
books, and await my pleasure which could be to take you to bed or to whip 
your ass." He paused to bestow his grin. "What you are now, honey, is number 
one. It will give you a few privileges but it won't give you freedom. It 
will prevent you being sold at the end of this voyage the way your Marjory 
is going to be sold. I'm keeping you on board the Rankin's Pride as 
something I've learned to treasure. Honey, if you didn't realize it before, 
you're a natural born slave. When I whip you from now on, it won't be 
because you've misbehaved, it will be simply because I want to. Understand?" 

"Yes, Master." I understood only too well and was once more ashamed of 
myself for not being more concerned. But from the way Rankin had briefed me, 
I figured I wouldn't be punished any more than usual and maybe less. That 
is, if I was as good a slavegirl as he said I was. 

I was more concerned about Marjory's fate. What did that couple plan to do 
to her? 

I didn't see Marjory for a couple of days, and when I asked my master if he 
knew what they were doing to her, he said it wasn't any of his business. 

It was on the third day I was given a mission which, on the face of it, was 
too outrageous to be taken seriously. But over breakfast Rankin told me, 
"There's things I know and you don't, sweetheart. This job is damned simple. 
If you blow it, I'll mark up your pretty pelt for sure." 

Quivering under a threat I knew Rankin meant seriously, I listened as Rankin 
outlined the scenario I had to play. "I expect you've talked to that Simpson 
couple," he said. "I mean that snooty couple with the wife too damned good 
looking for her good. That's the couple you're going to have to work on." 

"I've met them. They're very polite," I timidly offered. 

"Well, this guy Simpson thinks he's a big wizard on the stock market. But I 
happen to know he's made a couple of trades that left him flat broke." 
Ranking grinned at me as a co-conspirator. "So what I want you to do, honey, 
is go visit them and explain how I want to help out and maybe get his money 
back. If he plays dumb, just mention the Magnet Mining Corporation and 
you'll be on the same wavelength." 

"But why would you pick them out for an expensive charity?" I asked. 

"Well, sweetheart, it ain't really a charity. I've taken a fancy to Mrs. 
Simpson. I want her naked and I want to whip her ass. You know these notions 
are with men, so I don't have to explain it to you." 

"But how can I explain it to them!" 

"That's why I'm leaving it to you, Celie, girl. If a little sweetheart like 
you breaks the news, it's not going to be as much a shock as if I did. You 
may have to beat around the bush a bit, but the sum and substance is Mrs. 
Simpson is going to play pretty much the same role as you with me. She's 
going to be naked, she's going to be handcuffed, and she gets whipped 
whenever I feel like it. It's her chance to play the adoring wife who puts 
her husband back in the money after he's been asshole enough to loose what 
he used to have." 

"But they'll throw me out on my ear, Master!" 

"I doubt that, honey. If they do, then simply pick yourself up and go back 
in again. I'm damned sure one or the other of them is going to accept the 
deal. What you've got to remember all the time, Celie, is you draw a blank 
and come back to me with a sob story you'll get the whipping of your life. 
Is that understood?" 

"Yes, Master." 

"Another thing you've got to remember," Rankin said earnestly, "is that 
you're naked and handcuffed and there's marks on your skin to say nothing of 
the brands. This couple enjoyed seeing you get them brands, and they were 
right in there with the rest of them any time I put on a little show. I'll 
bet that Simpson fellow poked you with his finger more than once when you 
were tied to that hatch cover." 

"Well, yes, but so did other men. Some of the women did it, too. If you'd 
tie Mrs. Simpson out that like, she'd die." 

"She's more likely to enjoy the whole damned thing. You run along, 
sweetheart, and pretty yourself up. Then get to work. If the Simpson's don't 
take the bait today, I won't whip you until tomorrow afternoon. We can give 
them time to sleep on it. Run along." 

I ran along, shivering at the thought of the whipping I was sure to get. The 
more I looked at it, the less likely it seemed that a girl like me, naked 
and handcuffed, could do a selling job on a couple like the Simpsons. But I 
tracked them down and asked if we could go to their stateroom and talk. They 
were puzzled but interested. Mr. Simpson had a bottle and some glasses, and 
I was never more grateful for a drink. I made .a play with my handcuffs in 
the hope of planting the notion that all the best people wore them. Then, in 
a torrent of embarrassment, told the Simpsons everything I had to tell. The 
result was real family drama. Mrs. Simpson didn't look at me half as much as 
she glared at her husband in a way that told me all too well that she was 
not aware of their financial disaster. Simpson himself turned pink and red 
in a mixture of resentment and anger. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, girl," he said stiffly. 

"I was told to mention Magnet Mining... " I thought the poor guy was about 
to explode but the company name sort of deflated him. He looked appealing at 
the woman he had reduced to poverty. Mrs. Simpson was a cool one and asked 
simply, "Is this right, Kurt? Are we broke? Why didn't you tell me?" 

I stood as far to the side as I could, and listened to a domestic drama. I 
suppose it was in an effort to retrieve his male assurance that Simpson 
turned on me and snapped, "The Captain's suggestion is an outrage! My wife 
is not for sale." 

I had the feeling that the first gun had been fired but the war was not 
over. I shrugged and looked at Mrs. Simpson while I held my joined hands as 
through they were reaching for my breasts. I've practiced this pose in front 
of a mirror and it's a real honey. Perhaps it did something for the wife for 
she took a step in the wrong direction. "You heard what Kurt has said, 
Celie, I am not for sale. On the other hand, perhaps we should talk about 
this and come to a better understanding." 

"That would be nice. I'll be glad to tell you everything I can. Like what 
it's like to be... Well, like you see me now. And I don't mind telling you 
that if you send me back to Mr. Teller with a rejection, he's promised to 
whip me to bits." 

"You trying to play on our sympathy?" Simpson growled. "No, it's just a fact 
of life. My life, that is." 

"The sort of life I'd lead for the rest of the voyage if I said yes," his 
wife said quietly. 

"Get out of here, bitch, before I throw you out," Simpson blustered. "If I 
had a whip around, I'd... " 

"Hush, Kurt. Celie is just a massager, not an enemy. Look, you idiot, when 
we get back home, will there be a dollar in the bank?" 

"No. I owe them money." 

"Then keep quiet while I'm asking Celie some questions." 

It is a terrible thing to watch a man shrink and shrivel. He gulped and 
tried to look dynamic. I've always known that for men their potency depends 
upon cash. Without money they don't amount to much. Before his wife's 
accusing eyes, Simpson took on the look of a loser. 

"We wondered, Celie dear, how much make believe is there in the act you play 
out with the captain. Do you like being naked? Do you like the handcuffs?" 

It was my turn to look sheepish as I explained, "I've gotten used to being 
the way I am because it doesn't bother me any more. I must be a natural born 
slavegirl because when I get rid of one master or mistress, another just 
picks me up. I'm ashamed to tell you I sort of enjoy it." 

"I can understand that," Mrs. Simpson said softly. "There's a bit of the 
slavegirl in all of us. But what about when you get whipped and have all 
those sort of... Well those tortures you have to put up with to amuse the 
guests? Do you enjoy those?" 

Mrs. Simpson was a nice woman who wanted something and I did not want her to 
despise me. I did my best with a difficult question. "Being whipped just 
hurts. But it has a terribly erotic effect on a girl. But after a few 
strokes the pain overcomes the erotic effect and sends you up the wall. If 
you've heard me scream, those screams are real. Being whipped hurts more 
than you would believe." 

Ellen Simpson nodded as if she knew everything I said, then took one more 
step in the wrong direction. "The captain," she said, "I think you call him 
Rankin, are you really his prisoner? Can you walk ashore with the rest of 
us?" 

"No, I can't. I belong to Rankin and I'll do only what he tells me to." 

"She's some sort of nympho," Simpson said defensively. 

"Shut up!" barked his wife. "Do you realize we're not going to eat unless I 
talk to her? I can't see you working an honest day's work! It is always the 
woman who, in the end, pays all the bills." The three of us stood in a 
strained silence until, with an oath of disgust Simpson turned and left the 
room. Mrs. Simpson looked at me and shrugged. "This is traumatic for both 
Kurt and I," she said. "And please don't feel that because I've listened, 
I'm prepared to do something with the captain that I consider absolutely 
outrageous and which I'd certainly regret." She paused and gave me a look of 
confidence. "But did I understand you to say that Mr. Teller is prepared to 
replace all of poor Kurt's looses on the market? It's a quite large sum. 
Having me walk naked down the deck isn't worth it" 

"What's why Rankin hasn't the nerve to believe you'll accept." 

"The guy must have more money than sense." 

"I'm afraid he's got both, Mrs. Simpson. And he's not the first of those men 
who've owned me. He gets a fixation in his mind about a women and he'll be 
ready to pay vast sums for the privilege of seeing her stripped and whipping 
her bare skin. Sometimes the woman has nothing to say about it, but in your 
case that's different. Look, Mrs. Simpson, I'm not going to even suggest you 
do this, I'm simply doing what I'm told. If I were you, I'd leave it alone. 
Being whipped hurts so terribly you can't imagine." 

"But that's what's going to happen to you if I turn Teller down." It was my 
turn to shrug. "That's what he says, MS, but you can't be sure about these 
things. Men love to scare a girl then make love to her." I paused and found 
myself blushing. "I suppose you understand this package deal includes taking 
you to bed or having you service him?" 

"You're making him sound like a bastard." 

"I didn't mean to. In some ways he's a nice guy." 

"Can I go and talk to him and have him tell me all this incredible stuff 
with his own lips." 

"He doesn't want that. He wants you to make your decision here. If you say 
yes, I'll bring a pair of handcuffs which I'll lock on your wrists after 
you've stripped naked. We'll walk down the deck with everybody looking." 

"Oh, for Pete's sake, I can't do that!" 

"Don't worry about the other passengers, for the most part they're kind. Or 
at least only mischievous. You'll become accustomed to them looking." 

Ellen Simpson still had her hands and she used them to enfold me in her arms 
and kiss my forehead. "You're very sweet, Celie," she whispered in my ear. 
"I want to think about things. So let me talk to Kurt this evening and give 
you our decision tomorrow morning." 

I figured that was the best I would do and said that it was okay. I figured 
Rankin wouldn't whip me today. I got a real big sisterly hug as I left the 
poor woman alone with a major decision. In lot's of ways Rankin really is a 
bastard! 

I went back to give my master my report. I was joined by a brand new nudity. 
She was a mischievous little trick who was a favorite at the bar, and who 
had, from the start, shown little tendency to obey the man she was with. At 
the moment she was simply minus clothes -- no handcuffs, no rope. And she 
was bubbling over with laughter at my astonishment. 

"Mr. Teller," she informed, "wants me to go back to his stateroom with you. 
I think he wants to do something dreadful to me. I'm on my way to finding 
out what it's like to be a girl like you. Seems like the law is waiting for 
Casper at the end of the voyage. Mr. Teller says he can fix things for my 
boyfriend if I behave myself for the rest of the voyage. Casper is a bit of 
a jerk, but Mr. Teller is a He-Man. I can hardly wait." 

Her name was Dulcie and I didn't feel the least bit sorry for her the way I 
did for Mrs. Simpson. What did matter was that I seemed like getting a close 
up view of Dulcie getting her bottom whipped. Rankin drank in Dulcie's nude 
slenderness with approval. He had her twist and turn to fully display her 
assets. "She's cute," he said to me, isn't she? Take her in the bedroom. 
Handcuff her and hang her up to one of the hooks in the ceiling. Then I want 
you back in here for your report." 

I was about to protest that to suspend a girl by handcuffed wrists is really 
rough, but Dulcie looked so pleased that I decided she may as well learn the 
hard way. I guided her to where she would make her first acquaintance with 
pain. Dulcie shivered with excitement when she saw the handcuffs. I let her 
handle examine them before telling her that she had asked for this and that 
she was not going to like it. And gave her a suggestion that she go to 
Rankin and tell him she's changed her mind. 

Dulcie's answer was in her shinning eyes and laugh as she stuck out her 
hands. She gasped and shivered as I locked the first steel band around her 
wrists She tested the handcuffs, holding her joined hands up and down to 
view them. . "Aren't they positively darling Celie? I've always envied you 
and now I get to wear them. Jeepers! What was it Mr. Teller said you have to 
do with me?" 

I told the poor girl to stand on a chair and to snare the handcuff's link 
over the waiting hook above her. Immediately she did so I took away the 
chair. While the suspended Dulcie was still gasping in disbelief as the 
steal dug into her wrists. I made my escape to return to Rankin's office and 
his probably displeasure. Finding myself in a disagreeable state of mind 
over what I had just done to a mischievous imp, I tried to forget her and 
concentrate on Mrs. Ellen Simpson. Ellen had character there was a force in 
her above the average. And I could well imagine she and her husband having a 
really vicious battle over her choice. 

"You got her well and truly hung, sweetheart?" 

"Yes, she's hung up. But she'll be in agony with those handcuffs. Could I 
change it to rope instead?" 

"No, you can't. Let the silly little so and so suffer a while then we'll go 
in and get acquainted. I'm going to use the strap on her this time. You can 
watch. In fact, you can give you a few licks yourself." Rankin dismissed 
Dulcie with a wave of his hand. "Now, give me the low down on the Simpsons." 

I told him. "Well, your ass is safe today," he said with a grin. "You're 
right about there being a quality in that Simpson woman. And her husband's 
just a asshole. They're going to be a really surprised couple when I'm 
through with them." 

"I told them what you wish to do to her, pretty much the same as you do to 
me. I hope that was right." 

"That's right enough, honey. But they won't get the real shock until we hit 
port. I'm going to sell that haughty dame the same as I'm going to sell your 
Marjory. And I've decided to toss in that young Dulcie, too. Those three 
wenches will bring a pretty penny on the block." Rankin paused to look at 
me. "If I had any sense, I'd throw you in to make it a quartet. But I don't 
mind telling you that somewhere you got under my skin, so you don't have an 
thing to worry about." 

"Except for getting whipped from time to time," I muttered. 

"Don't beef about me warming your ass," Rankin admonished. "You know damned 
well you enjoy it. And the way I feel about you, you'll be getting less and 
less. That is, so long as you behave yourself." 

"Ellen Simpson deserves better than being sold in a slave market," I 
offered. "Do you really have to sell her?" 

"You've got the warmest heart on this ship, honey. Of course I have to, it's 
just plain good business. That Ellen Simpson will fetch far more than I've 
offered to give her husband. And young Dulcie will be a damned sight better 
off without that Casper asshole she's sleeping with right now'. It's a good 
deal all the way around." 

I almost laughed out loud. There is something about Rankin's logic. I could 
see how he had gathered wealth unto himself. Everything was profit to this 
man. 

"Shouldn't we go and let Dulcie down?" I suggested. "If you're so damned 
sorry for the kid, why don't I hang you up beside her? You've got to watch 
that-damned bleeding heart of yours, it will get you into trouble." 

Dulcie had not yet given up hope. Her young body was still twisting and her 
feet kicking at the open air. Dulcie was every much alive and seemed to be 
taking what must have been rather painful very well, if not a little 
vocally. 

"Let me down, you asshole!" she told Rankin as soon as we entered the room. 
"I never bargained for anything like this. Hanging from these handcuffs is 
absolute torture! Please, Mr. Teller, let me down! This is killing me." 

The poor child was ignored. Rankin searched for and found the limber leather 
strap I knew all too well. 

"I'm letting you. off easy this first time," he said sweetly. He dangled the 
leather before poor Dulcie's anguished eyes. "But you knew you were getting 
this, didn't you? It is something you've wanted right along. Come on, be 
honest about it." 

"Well, if you didn't hit me too hard. And if my feet were on the ground... 
Gosh, Mr. Teller, give me a break!" 

The break was a resounding thwack across both youthful cheeks of the sweet 
round bottom. The force of the blow caused Dulcie to swing back and forth 
and intensified the pain in her wrists. "That was awful!" she cried. "Please 
don't hit me that hard again." 

I knew the scene, it had happened to me. Blow number two snapped hard across 
young buttocks with the sound of a pistol shot, and this time Dulcie 
screamed. "I think we're getting to her," Rankin said to me in a sort of 
confidential aside. "By the time she's had twenty, we'll have us a real good 
girl." 

"Twenty! You can't possibly hit me twenty times like that!" Dulcie was 
outraged and scared to death. "Please, Mr. Teller, I'll do anything you say 
if only you'll let me down and send me back to Casper... Please!" 

"You ain't never going back to Casper, sweetheart. And twenty with this here 
strap isn't a bit more than you need to get you in a proper state of mind. 
Right now you're simply a mischievous little bitch who needs a guiding 
hand." 

The blows continued in the same cadence. Rankin was loving every moment, but 
I felt terrible and would have gladly slunk out of sight. But slavegirls are 
rarely forgiven anything and I got a broad wink from my master that told me 
clearly he knew what I was thinking. At the same time he delivered several 
cracking impacts in quick succession upon young Dulcie's bottom. She may 
have irritated me once but now I shared her pain. After the tenth blow had 
filled the bedroom with erotic sound, my master inquired pleasantly, "You 
said something about wanting your feet back on the floor, Dulcie. Are you 
sure that's what you want?" 

"Oh, yes! Yes, please!" For Rankin it was simply done by his wrapping an arm 
around the nude hips and lifting up the girl. Dulcie lost no time n pulling 
her hands off the hook. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Teller, oh, thank you!" 

Poor Dulcie, her thank you's were premature. Rankin removed her handcuffs 
and she thought her ordeal over. Instead it had only just begun. Tinker led 
his quivering victim to the multi-purpose four poster bed. Placing her arms 
on each side of a massive post, began Binding her wrists to the post, 
wrapping rope all the way up her arms until they were welded to the post. 
Dulcie said not a word undoubtedly simply grateful to be free from those 
handcuff s. When finished. Dulcie had to stand there her body totally 
available and arms out of the way. It didn't take the poor girl long to 
realize that she was out of the frying pan and into the, fire. "Please, Mr. 
Teller," she cried, "don't whip me again. I don't want to be whipped again. 
That strap hurts terribly. Isn't there something else I could do to please 
you?" 

I could think of several things Dulcie could and would be doing to please 
our master but kept my mouth shut. Dulcie had ten more strokes to endure in 
her introductory whipping. From experience I knew that by the time each had 
made its imprint on her flesh, she would be converted from freedom to 
slavery. It is so beautifully simple I shutter to think of it. 

"Honey, this is going to do you a world of good," Rankin assured the scared 
girl. "You've had things pretty much your own way, but now you're going to 
meet your master. Do exactly as I say. Is that understood?" 

"Let me loose! I want to go back to Casper." 

"She wants to go back to Casper... " Rankin shook his head that any maiden 
would want to do that. In slow deliberation he took a stance then swiftly 
planted the supple leather squarely across her breasts. The fleshy part of 
the breasts took the impact, not her torso. Her eyes opened wide in shock 
and a strangled gasp escaped her mouth. She twisted wildly from side to side 
but the ropes held her arms firmly locked to the wood. I longed to leave. 

The measured blows cracked loudly in the bedroom. He distributed the blows 
equally between the soft flesh of her breasts and the tender skin of her 
thighs and hips. She danced and squeezed her legs tight together in an 
effort to make sure the leather strap didn't find its way between her legs 
-- a brutal act she obviously feared greatly. 

After nine strokes delivered with the strength of a male arm, Rankin paused 
to let her catch her breath. The girl was sobbing and tears flowed down her 
cheeks to fall upon reddened breasts. But it was not kindness that prompted 
his pause. He was only letting her return enough to normal to hear his next 
order and obey it. 

"Spread your legs apart," he said casually. Her eyes grew wide again and she 
bit back a cry of protest. "I can easily go on whipping the rest of you 
until you decide to obey... " I could see the fear in her eyes as she 
envisioned this whipping continuing until her whole front was one throbbing 
mass of injured flesh. She slowly eased her legs apart, her eyes fixed on 
his all the while. Without taking his eyes off hers, he took a small step 
forward and suddenly brought the leather up to impact squarely upon her sex. 
For a long second her face was frozen in shock, eyes wide and mouth hanging 
open. Then she screamed. 

We both watched her clench her legs tightly together as if that would help 
ease the pain, and listened to her sobbing scream echo around the room. 
Knowing Rankin, I was sure the room was soundproof. 

I could see that Dulcie was panting from more than just the pain and bet 
that if I were to palm her sex I would find it wet. She, like myself and 
heaven knows how many other girls, found her body reacting in highly erotic 
ways to the administration of pain. And I could see how she was looking at 
Rankin Teller with the look of a woman lusting after a man. It was probably 
better that she was still bound to the post or she might have thrown herself 
upon the man who held a leather strap in his hand. And yet her struggles 
against the ropes and the whip had been quite real, as was the pain she was 
feeling. Girls are strange! 

Things were different now with Dulcie from when I had first brought her to 
the captain's cabin. She had settled down and given up struggling. She now 
stood sweating and trembling beneath her master's gaze. "How you doing, 
Dulcie, gal? Do you feel a bit more human?" he asked cheerfully. 

"I can't bear it anymore. I'll do anything you say. Oh, please, please, 
please!" 

"You're coming along fine." Rankin knew that what he spoke of had always 
been a forgone conclusion. "If you whip a girl enough, she'll always obey," 
he told her. 

Dulcie was sweating considerably and eyes bright with pain. Both her bottom 
and her front were scarlet from the impacts of the leather. I knew how her 
breasts must have burned for mine have burned from the kiss of leather also. 
I knew for sure her flesh would go on burning for a long time to come. But 
the pain had worked -- I could see it in her eyes. She was a different girl 
now. 

The pain, the outrageous, the agony, and above all the shock are potent in 
those first five strokes to mark the skin of any girl. For Dulcie these five 
strokes were long past and each fresh blow was just in intensification of 
pain which found a few spaces on a girl's body as yet unmarked and subject 
to the will of he who administered the punishment. I could easily tell 
Rankin was seeking out fresh skin. His use of the supple strap on Dulcie's 
tender flesh was cool and calculated and designed to make an impression on 
both her flesh and mind. The poor dear had been well and truly whipped. 

The training continued. "What do you call me, Dulcie?" 

"I call you Master." 

"Did you deserve the punishment just received?" 

"I deserved it, Master. Please punishment me more if you wish." 

It went on and on in a way to make me curl up inside as I witnessed the way 
a girl becomes subject to a male's will. In the end a girl always throws 
herself upon masculine mercy just to survive. Any girl who had been well 
whipped will agree with me. While it is happening to us, we are positive we 
are going to die. Young Dulcie had made her first acquaintance with the 
leather strap and that was that. 

The manner in which Rankin, Dulcie and I spent the night was a shameful bit 
of Rankin humor. Absorbed with Dulcie, Rankin-left me pretty much alone in 
my handcuffs. But I suppose I made a good enough audience for what he was 
doing. When bed time came, he simply spread-eagled Dulcie on the bed and 
tied her down like a butterfly with widespread wings. I then got my usual 
shackle on one ankle and was told to sleep on one side with my head resting 
on Dulcie's outstretched arm while he slept on the other. I noticed he had 
not bound Dulcie in a tight way, she could move a little and I deduced that 
meant she was to remain thus bound for the night. I kicked my ankle chain 
unhappily and wondered if I should tell Rankin I preferred the brig. I was 
just excess baggage in his bed. But prudence held my tongue. 

I turned my back and left him to his busy night with the spread- eagled and 
helpless girl. But that wasn't good enough for Rankin, he told me to turn 
over an watch the show. I meekly obeyed. If Dulcie had any illusions about 
being raped, they vanished when Rankin mounted her spread-eagled form and 
quickly thrust home his huge tool deep into her sheath. I watched as he 
possessed his prize but felt only disgust. Those who rave about the beauty 
of the sexual act have never seen themselves thus engaged. For my money, it 
should be a very private act, but Rankin was an extrovert. Yet I had the 
impression he did not perform the act nearly as well with me. At any rate, I 
comforted myself with the attitude of sour grapes, and I might as well admit 
right now that the more I got ignored, the more piqued I become, as I was 
forced to watch Rankin thrusting home with such vigor as to make Dulcie 
squeal with pleasure. Who ever said a naked man pounding away at a gasping 
girl was beautiful? I guess you have to be the gasping girl. 

We all went to sleep finally from exhaustion. After breakfast Rankin 
reminded me of the mission I must perform and of the area of bare skin which 
would suffer if I failed. But he was in a mischievous mood with most of his 
wisecracks aimed at Dulcie, who I was sure by now was wondering if she'd 
made a good deal. He told me to hang around for a while before going to the 
Simpson because there was a little demonstration he thought would provide me 
amusement. I said my, "Yes, Master," without any interest. 

It was a heavy wooden box that stood in the center stage of the deck, Dulcie 
was told to stick her hands out to be tied and, as my master did his usual 
job on her. I could tell she was getting a thrill from the biting intimacy 
of the cord. Then Without warning, Rankin picked her up, turned her upside 
down, and lowered her into the box, head first. He positioned her so that 
her shoulders took her weight while her master still clasp her hips as he 
thrust shut the lid from either side to tightly encompass her slender waist. 
It was like a stock or "pillory, two half circled cut in the heavy boards 
exactly sized to fit her waist tightly in its jaws. This left poor Dulcie in 
darkness down below while her hips, her bottom her pubic area and slender 
legs were sticking up in the sunshine. Rankin clipped the hasps with 
padlocks and stood Back to proudly survey the outrageous exhibition of young 
female sex and the bare legs which Dulcie was kicking wildly as though 
hoping that might free her. Rankin looked at me and at the guests who had 
gathered to watch, and said with great good humor. 

"That's a damned good way to show of ass. Any other girls who would like to 
try it, just let me know. Can't let young . Dulcie have all the fun." 

I doubted if Dulcie was having any fun. It was easy to picture her in the 
darkness, her hands tied in what was painful bondage, and in the knowledge 
that her bottom and sex were available to anyone who wished to use them. I 
was pretty sure she would feel at least ninety percent pussy. I stood with 
the others and watched for I have to admit that Rankin's unkind creation was 
absolutely laughable as the one half of the girl displayed went through a 
series of struggles which told all too clearly the other half was suffering 
tortures of shame and discomfort. And was probably wondering who was 
watching and what they would do to her upraised bottom and legs. 

I was in a pensive mood as I made my way to the Simpsons cabin. I had little 
doubt that if I failed in this mission, Rankin would, indeed, mark my skin. 
But I wasn't going to push because Ellen Simpson was fare too nice a person 
to deserve any of what was going to happen to her. I knew what agony it 
would be for her to walk naked beside me among the passengers. And worse 
would be the promised whipping, probably in front of all the guests. When I 
entered the cabin, I found her crying softly on the bed. She looked up at me 
pitifully. She gulped and applied her handkerchief as she explained, "I 
didn't mean for you to find me like this, Celie. I'm going to accept Mr. 
Teller's terms of being made naked and whipped and all those other things." 
She paused to gulp again and I felt so damned sorry for her. "You won't have 
to worry about being punished, dear. I'll do whatever Mr. Teller wants and 
won't give you trouble. If you have to use handcuffs or whatever to make me 
prisoner, I'll let you. Oh, Celie, dear, I've just had the most awful 
shock." 

I raised Ellen to her feet put my looped hands over her head to hold her 
tight with all the comfort I could give, while she whispered, "Kurt wants to 
get rid of me. He's gone to see your master and persuade him to have me sold 
at the auction. Kurt says he can't stand to have me around after what's 
happened and he believes he can talk Mr. Teller into giving him more money 
if he has me sold. Oh, Celie, I can't believe it all, it sounds so 
terrible!" 

I had no trouble believing it. But for Ellen Simpson it was all too bizarre 
to think of. Unthinking of the pain, I found myself sentencing myself to 
Rankin's punishment. "Look here," I said earnestly, "don't go through with 
this. Don't give away yourself. If this husband of yours is such a bastard, 
he doesn't deserve that sacrifice. You'll fetch a tremendous price at 
auction if it comes to that, so he won't be of any need of funds. But, 
Ellen, please put up a fight. Tell the other guests about this outrageous 
demand. Get them behind you. Rankin can't possibly stand against the whole 
passenger list." 

"It's no good, Celie. I have to do it, I gave Kurt my promise. We're 
through, of course, I'll divorce him at the very first opportunity." She 
eyed me questioningly. "I really cannot believe Mr. Teller will do as Kurt 
requests. I just don't believe he'll sell me into slavery. So all I have to 
fear is the punishment you've come to lead me to, so let's get on with it. 
Do you want me naked like you?" 

Ellen Simpson was quality. "I'm afraid so," I told her dismally. "And I'm 
suppose to put you in handcuffs but I forgot to bring them. Is there 
anything in the cabin I could use to tie your hands?" 

"There's lots of nylons, will they do?" While I picked some nylons, Rankin's 
new prisoner fixed her face and fussed with her hair in a manner entirely 
feminine. I was wondering if Rankin would be mad about the handcuffs but 
hoped he would find the nylons a pleasant change. It was at this point the 
discarded wife turned from the mirror to ask, "I'd expect you'd like me to 
take my clothes off now?" 

She was very beautiful but that went without saying for Rankin Teller would 
select no other kind of girl. She wasn't shy about showing herself to me. 
Rankin was going to be pleased with her, and I wondered what kind of pain 
and shame she would have to endure to please him. She suggested, "My hands 
have to be behind my back, don't they?" 

I nodded and felt an absolute bitch. Suddenly I was enveloped in two girl 
arms and pressed against hot girl flesh as once more Ellen whispered in my 
ear, "You're being terribly sweet about this whole thing, Celie. I know your 
master doesn't give you too much choice but I really am grateful it's you 
who ties me and leads me to my fate." She laughed. "I know that sounds 
silly, but it's exactly what we're going to do, isn't it?" 

We kissed a long time before she turned around and let me gather her bare 
arms and cross her wrists behind her back. I had to admit that when I 
circled them with the nylons I got the damnedest thrill in a way I would 
have thought only a man could do. She was so beautiful, and so sweet, and so 
willing, I could not help being excited as I bound her hands and made her 
helpless. I knew I would soon lead her to a place where she would be 
painfully bound and horribly whipped to give a lot of male assholes an 
erection inside their pants and a lot of girls a wet pussy. For a moment I 
almost tossed the nylon aside but I'm no real heroine and knew if it wasn't 
me who did it, it would be someone else. And then, as though to deny urge, I 
gave a savage tug around and around the soft girl flesh with the thin nylon. 
Ellen stood erect and gasp with each bite of the bond, which I was 
discovering was in many ways superior to rope. The poor darling's hands were 
going to be tied for sure. When pulled, the nylon shrank down to a think 
cord and knotted very tightly. I added a second nylon around her wrists so 
they were bound up and down as well as sideways. And knotted so tightly I 
doubted I could even undo them. 

"I guess that's it, now you're ready for delivery," I said. "Shall we start 
this wicked walk you're going to hate?" 

Ellen certainly had grit. I heard the deep breath she sucked in and saw the 
tightness of her lips as we stepped from the cabin and began the walk which 
display her naked for the first time in her life before a number of people. 
The first time if awful for a girl and I suffered with her as we met and 
passed inquiring eyes. Sometimes we had to pause while people examined the 
naked and bound woman they had previously only seen clothed. Her body met 
with approval. By the time we reached Rankin's cabin, the poor dear was 
blushing clear down to her breasts, and still vainly striving to use her 
hands to cover herself. 

Rankin was delighted, his eyes devouring this fresh, new nudity. He patted 
me upon my bottom as a mark of approval. He laughed over the nylon-encircled 
wrists and I breathed easier. He fingered the lovely big breasts and ran a 
hand alone the curves of her beautiful bottom. He finally resumed his seat 
in a good mood. 

He lost no time in getting to the point. "I suppose you know I've had a 
visit from that asshole husband of yours, Mrs. Simpson?" 

"Yes. Kurt told me what he intended to ask." 

"You'll fetch a fine price, honey." I saw her flinch. I had been hoping 
you'd be man enough to refuse," she said boldly. "It seems incomprehensible 
that a man like you would sell someone like me into a life of slavery." 

"It's just the luck of the draw, sweetheart. You're quality merchandise, and 
it's not likely you'll be purchased by a truck driver. If you don't mind 
your ass getting whipped once in a while, you can have a good life. And 
don't you keep after me to change my mind. And when you hear the price 
you're knocked down for, you'll understand why. Talk to young Celie, here, 
and she'll tell you how to make the best of things." 

I was aware of an involvement in a strange intimacy. In a way I was sharing 
Ellen's agony of spirit as she stood naked before this man while working 
against the nylon with which I had bound her wrists. I understood how 
betrayed she must feel, and how helpless. I suppose in a way her fate was 
worse than that of a criminal sentenced to life imprisonment. I've always 
wondered how they felt when the judge said those fateful words. Here Ellen 
was being sentenced to lifetime slavery with all its sexual impositions and 
corporal punishments, a worse fate than anything she had ever dreamed of. 
For the moment Rankin's interest was centered entirely upon this woman who 
was only a few years older than I. I was left out of his regard as he 
enjoyed watching Ellen Simpson literally squirm under the visions of what 
future held for her. But I knew I belonged to Rankin utterly and that 
brought a sort of comfort. But it was a comfort only a slavegirl could 
understand. 

My reflections were interrupted by Rankin's jovial voice, "First off, you 
belong to me, Mrs. Simpson. I'm having you whipped this afternoon the way I 
promised. It will be a full dress affair except you won't wear no clothes. 
And you'll be tied up to the rigging to get your first taste of the whip and 
riding crop the way every girl should long before she's you age. How do you 
feel about it?" 

"I think you're terrible, almost as terrible as my husband!" 

Rankin shook his fingers. "Sweetheart, are you forgetting the times you've 
watched Celie here and that fool of a female she thinks she belongs to, and 
quite a few other gals I won't bother to name, get their punishments? I've 
watched you in the audience and you were enjoying it the same as all the 
rest. But now the wheel's turned full circle and you're on the receiving 
end." Once more his crude chuckled filled the cabin. "You're going to love 
every moment of it. And you'll never be the same again." 

Ellen stood there in the splendor of her nakedness and said no word. She 
knew there was nothing to say and so did I. It was as though a machine had 
been set in motion, a machine we could not halt. Rankin now took us one more 
step along the way. "I've got things to do before you get to be marked up, 
Mrs. Simpson, and in the mean time I've got a cute little notion. See what 
you think of these." 

I recognized two collars joined by about three feet of chain. Once again the 
woman to be punished flinched as the jaws opened then closed snugly around 
her neck. Rankin carefully and tenderly smoothed away her hair from under 
the iron grip and clicked it shut. I didn't bother to protest but stuck my 
chin up to aid the. placement of the silver circle around my neck while at 
the same time; he pronounced my orders. "Celie, gal, I want you and Mrs. 
Simpson to sort of mingle with the guests. Go to the bar if you want, or 
back and forth along the deck. But one thing for sure I do want is for you 
to be seen. I don't want to find you hiding in no cabin. You're as pretty a 
pair as any man ever did see." He slapped my bottom affectionately and 
motioned us along our way. 

My fellow captive was understandably nervous, shaking her neck occasionally 
as if to rid herself of the collar. I had to watch no to get snubbed with 
awkward motions. The chain from neck to neck made us a single entity, and 
Ellen's blush was trying hard to be more scarlet than it was. We took the 
steps slowly down to the deck and were confronted once more by people 
interested in our bottoms, breasts, legs, and pussies. 

We also saw Dulcie, still inside her box with legs and hips sticking out of 
the wood, and had to wonder about her frame of mind. But apprehension can 
only go so far and she had evidently reached its limits in the exposure of 
her pretty puss and the curves of her bottom. The girl to whom I was so 
firmly chained took in the pathetic sight and sniffed disdainfully but 
admitted, "There was a time when I would have found this amusing, Celie. I'm 
ashamed of myself for the way I was. Is that girl in the box hurting?" 

"Not yet. It all depends on what Rankin decides to do next. I wouldn't be 
surprised if he uses a riding crop on her bottom." 

"The man's a beast, he's not human!" I couldn't entirely agreed with that 
judgment and kept silent, and felt a glow of pride that I was privileged as 
his chosen slave. I suggested that we begin the process of mingling with the 
guest, as ordered. 

We were, of course, a great success. Everyone loved our collar and our 
chain. Some of the bolder females who looked at us even went so far as to 
compliment Ellen on the quality of her blush, while others went overboard to 
say what a lucky girl she was to have been chosen by such a masculine a hunk 
as Rankin. Everyone on that ship was secretly afraid of the owner, but I had 
long been aware that most of the females cherished a longing to be possessed 
by such a rough, tough hunk of man. We were a strange and diverse shipload 
of humanity. 

With her hands tied behind her back, and meeting now those who had been her 
friend, my linked companion had no opportunity to play coy. After the first 
shy contacts, Mrs. Ellen Simpson now looked everyone in the eye as if daring 
them to comment about her breasts or the curves so soon to make the 
acquaintance of Rankin's crop. By the time we had finished our first time 
around the deck, she had become almost used to her condition and the stares 
of the passengers. 

When we reached the bar we were plied with cocktails on every hand and 
sipped enough to make us slightly numb, Ellen was then able to ask me the 
questions uppermost in her mind. "Celie, dear, this whipping: it's going to 
hurt me terribly, isn't it?" 

"Sure it is, and I'm not going to kid you about it." 

"And this business of being tied up to the rigging is going to expose me 
horribly. I mean, everyone will be able to see everything I've got?" 

"No more than they're seeing right now. The only difference is that you'll 
then have to stand the way you're tied and wait for it to happen." 

"Will I scream?" 

"Do as you like about screams. But it's always possible Rankin will gag you 
so that all you can manage is some small, sad sounds you'll be ashamed of 
afterwards." 

"Do they use the riding crop on my bottom and then the whip across my back?" 

"That ought to be enough to please his highness. Usually a girl's first 
whipping is on her bottom and maybe her back. Your breasts and pussy is 
probably safe." I deliberately failed to tell her that the first whipping I 
ever got from Marjory included many hard strokes directly upon my pussy and 
that it was sore for days afterwards. Ellen, dear, if I were you, I'd try to 
stop thinking about it." 

"But I can't, my mind is so full of it." Fortunately at that moment Ellen's 
attention was diverted by a male hand intruding between her thighs from the 
rear to clutch her pussy. I knew she longed to slap the lustful face but the 
clutch up her sex was far to strong for her to turn around and the forearm 
between her thighs anchored her securely as playful fingers and a playful 
palm did as they pleased with her most private place. 

The girl with the man feeling up Ellen, a girl even younger than I, took the 
opportunity to mischievously tease the nipples so erect upon Ellen's 
breasts. As she played with them she laughed at a woman scarlet-faced with 
embarrassment at being so treated. It was one of many such carnal interludes 
the poor dear had to endure until I knew the time had come to lead her to 
her punishment. 

Dulcie was still inside the box her legs listlessly awaiting whatever would 
fall. We had no need to mount the stairway because Rankin was already 
waiting for us on the deck with a couple of grinning crewmen holding loops 
of cord. We were unlocked and Ellen was turned over to the crewmen. Her head 
was held high but her breasts were raising and falling with apprehension of 
something that was now coming true. As the trembling girl was lead towards 
the span of tight rigging, Rankin took his favorite post on the hatch cover 
to address his passengers and the crewmen. I didn't listen I was too busy 
watching Ellen Simpson being prepared for the whip. 

The girl so soon to be whipped with everyone aboard watching her pain was 
magnificent in her acceptance of the contract she had made with Rankin 
Teller. When her hands were freed from the nylons I had bound around her 
wrists, she followed the instructions of the two crewmen she knew she could 
not fight. Meekly she raised her arms and spread the wide to place her 
wrists firmly against parts of the rigging to be corded tight and hold her 
secure as her skin was scored by the leather thong. She stood very still as 
the cords looped and twisted and knotted tightly. Seeming to ignore what was 
being done to her, she gazed calmly out to sea. I was breathless with the 
beauty being created before my eyes. It was at that point Rankin's voice 
intruded upon my absorption. 

"I've got a little thing which I know you're going to like." He was saying 
easily. What I want you to do now is stay absolutely still and don't make a 
sound and you'll soon see why." He placed a warning finger across his lips. 

The audience's attention followed Rankin's eyes and focused upon Dulcie's 
upturned bottom and legs and where her bottom blushed in silent shame. 
Treading quietly to make no sound, Rankin selected a riding crop from 
several instruments and cautiously he walked around the upturned legs to 
find what he considered the best vantage point from which to strike. 
Suddenly the air was cut by one swift and terrible swish as he planted a 
scarlet mark from hip to hip across the tender young flesh. It drew applause 
from the crowd. Rankin then stepped back to watch the reaction to the shock 
and pain. There was a squeal of agony muffled by the box. Ranking bowed 
grandly in acknowledgment of the applause. And why not? It was he who had 
created this scene. It was he who displayed feminine flesh in agony for the 
pleasure of the watchers. And it was he who Dulcie must thank for the pain 
and apprehension of future pain that she was now enduring. 

Rankin was a master showman who now approached the nude girl standing with 
arms raised and well apart. Ellen continued to stare without apparent 
concern out to sea. But when Rankin made his wicked leather sing as he cut 
empty air, the poor darling turned to look back over her shoulder. Now there 
was fear in her eyes. From my own personal experience of being whipped, I 
knew this was a moment she would remember all her life. 

My master was also enjoying himself to the full and did his usually window 
dressing by running his riding crop up and down the bare back and the sweet 
curves below. Once more he addressed his audience, "We got quality here, 
folks, and this girl ain't ever been whipped in her whole life, so what 
you're going to see is the rape of virgin skin. I ain't gonna hurry none, 
'cause I want you to get your money's worth. Looks real pretty, don't she, 
tied like that!" 

The crop snickered through the air to plant the wicked red mark across the 
round bottom. I watched Ellen stiffen and become erect in shock and 
disbelief that the world held so much pain. Allowing the pretty wound to 
ripen into greater display, Rankin stood playing with his toy and measuring 
the amount of virgin skin available to him. When the second stroke scorched 
across her lovely shoulders, she went wild as girls are apt to do when the 
first realization of incredible pain blots all else out. Her dance of pain 
was beautiful. The female body is very beautiful when thus displayed. 

Rankin was enjoying himself. I knew that when he struck the next time, Ellen 
would scream. He knew it, too, and allowed long moments to pass to let the 
nude innocence finish it's dance and calm down to heavy panting and a 
tension visible in the backs of her legs. Positioning himself for a third 
swift cutting of the air and girl flesh, he appeared to see something I 
could not. For a moment he stood in open-mouthed astonishment before 
uttering an oath and swiveling around to point the riding crop at me. "Get 
up into my office, Celie, girl, and stay there whatever happens. Don't you 
dare stick you head out of the door until I come. Get out of sight." 

There was that in Rankin's voice that made me obey without question. I 
leaped up the stairs as though the devil was at my heels. Inside his office, 
I stood panting at the window to gaze in wide-eyed disbelief at the 
incredible. 

It is very quiet on board the Rankin's Pride. The crew is here, my master is 
here, and I am here. But that is all. The entire passenger list vanished as 
though it had never existed. I will never see my darling Marjory again, nor 
Ellen Simpson, or Dulcie, or any of the others. I would be terribly lonely 
if it were not that Rankin Teller was greatly pleased with one of the most 
outrageous kidnappings the oceans of the world have ever known. 

I had scarcely taken position at the office window when the reason for 
Rankin's reaction came into view. It was a ship, but so strange a ship I 
have no name of it. I suspect it of being a rusty old hulk which some power 
around the Persian Gulf has converted to a warship. Ancient guns appeared 
here and there upon the deck, so that it could have inflicted great damage 
upon an innocent cruise ship like the Rankin's Pride. Its crew wore uniforms 
but one could not tell of what country. The wearer's showed great discipline 
and confidence. They were a swarthy, Islamic bunch who went about the rape 
of the cruise ship in a way to tell they had been well brief and knew their 
way around. The name African Queen painted on the ship may have been pure 
satire, but there it was so I use the name even though it bore no 
resemblance to the small boat of that name and movie fame. Its officers 
seemed a cheerful bunch who evidently enjoyed some huge joke as they 
directed their men in the separation of male and female, with the males 
under the treat of automatic weapons. They were prodded into several small 
boat lowered from divots into the water. There was a lot of shouting and a 
great many threats as the mother ship allowed them to drift away, ignoring 
such protests. The crewmen of Rankin's Pride had disappeared below and the 
deck beneath my window was crowded by ever female passenger as one after 
another was discovered in this place of that and herded into a group. Even 
Dulcie had been released from her box to stand in bewildered confusion with 
the other females. The stripping and binding of the prisoners was 
methodical. An officer with a couple of soldiers and a considerable pile of 
wicked looking twine stood at the ship's rail to secure and make helpless 
two girls at a time while the rest stood in helpless impotence beneath the 
threat of an array of guns. Any girl who protested or tried to flee was 
dealt with roughly, some being sapped so hard they fell to the deck. Among 
the girls was darling Marjory and poor Ellen Simpson, who, like Dulcie, had 
been freed from one bondage to be readied for another. I doubt if there was 
a woman of more than thirty-four years old and some were even younger than 
myself. The rusty ship was going to sail away with an abundant harvest of 
female flesh. I pictured Marjory standing on some auction block somewhere 
far away. But it was for very certain very one of the women now submitting 
to being bound would fetch a good price. I found myself hiding behind a 
curtain and heading Rankin's advice. 

The girls were moving forward to the railing to be stripped bare and bound. 
If they were reluctant, they were slapped into compliance. The shoes and 
clothing were cast into a pile on the deck behind the supervising officer. I 
didn't think that this stripping bare bothered them as much as it might have 
for, by the time they got to the clothes Off, they were, scared to death and 
only too willing to comply. Each of them in docile surrender placed her arms 
behind her back, her hands palm to palm where they were, swiftly and 
skillfully tied with the thin twine. It made me wince to watch. When the 
soldiers used the-same twine bind the elbows, I knew each captive girl would 
he in agony very soon. I did not want to watch but the scene held me 
fascinated and I stared as each female package was lowered to a waiting boat 
and ferried across to the African Queen. I doubt if the entire operations 
took one hour. 

The grand finale of this operation took place when Rankin appeared from 
somewhere to stand at the rail, shaking his fist at the foreign army and 
uttering loud curses. But they only laughed at him. He was still standing 
there when the African Queen blew its horn and turned back upon its course 
under the thrust of powerful engines which belied its rusty exterior. It was 
not long before it disappeared from sight. It was the same with the small 
boat and their male cargo. I had to suppose the unfortunate boyfriends and 
husbands were about to experience the same agony Marjory and I had known in 
a little dingy long ago. 

For me surprises were not yet over. When Rankin turned away from the rail, 
his face was beaming with a grin from ear to ear. Swiftly he mounted the 
steps to join me in his office, where I was picked up bodily and soundly 
kissed, and got my bottom patted. I was left in no doubt of my owner's good 
will and humor. As always I remained handcuffed through it all. 

"That was the niftiest trick I ever pulled," he uttered delightedly as he 
took his chair. "I sold every damned female on this ship, and there's three 
boatloads of fellows out there somewhere who can't testify to anything 
except a raid by some foreign navy they can't name. So far as the 
authorities are concerned, I'm home free!" It was classic Rankin. I wished I 
could hate the guy, but there was something about his massive maleness which 
held me enthralled as surely as the handcuffs upon my wrists. In ancient 
times, Rankin would have made a wonderful pirate. 

As I stood there in my handcuffed nudity, my master recounted for my benefit 
the whole story. I realized the degree to which I was privileged. Rankin was 
telling me details which could have sent him to prison many times over. But 
I was not his one and only girl and his confidences made me feel pretty much 
like either a mistress or a wife. I glowed with the Rankin fire hot within 
my loins. 

"So what happens to us now," I asked timidly. 

"Shit, gal, you don't have nothing to worry about," he said. "I'd sooner 
screw you than any gal I every knew. No way I'm going to sell you. I'm 
keeping you all to myself." 

"But the ship? You're not going to sail around empty, are you?" 

"Oh, that! Well, gal, I had that all figured out long ago. When we make port 
we'll load up a whole new passenger list. There's always plenty of suckers 
what have plenty of money. And when word gets around that there is this ship 
where every cruise is a sex orgy... And plenty of girls to be tied up and 
whipped... Well, they line up for tickets. And they all have girlfriends, or 
sometimes wives, to bring along. If you got money, it ain't hard to pick up 
a pretty girl! Hell, offer her an ocean voyage that's one long party, and 
the girls will line up at your door. Most of them don't find out until it's 
too late that they're gonna be the main attraction themselves." He laughed. 

"I suppose I'll be the first one to be wandering around naked and letting 
all the guys feel me up?" 

"Of course! And what's wrong with it, honey? Them guys don't get to screw 
you. That's the beauty out of having their girl friends alone. Both the 
males and females get all excited out of seeing a girl like you handcuffed 
and naked. And whipped now and then. Ain't nothing like a whipping to get a 
cock good and hard. See what I mean?" 

I saw what he meant and I have to admit to a shameful thrill in realizing 
how I would be the center of attention. Well, at least until some other girl 
suddenly found herself naked and handcuffed. But I could not forget recent 
events and had to ask what was going to happen to Marjory. And poor Ellen 
Simpson. 

"They'll be sold, honey, same as all the rest. My split of the take is going 
to help look after my old age. Stop worrying about them, there isn't a 
damned thing you can do, and a well-whipped ass ain't gonna do any of them 
any harm." 

Out of nowhere my mind envisioned poor Dulcie in her box. "You won't put me 
in that awful box," I found myself asking, "with my pussy and legs sticking 
out of the top and the rest of me tied up in the dark below? Will you, 
Master?" 

"You know better than to ask questions like that." It was indeed a journey 
back to square one. And when my master suggested we retire to the bedroom to 
perform what he coarsely described as "knocking off a piece," I realized the 
circle was complete. I might as well enjoy Rankin's sexual immensity. 
Shamefully I knew myself a very lucky girl. 

But after he had brought us both to climax many, many times, I thought of 
Marjory, and Ellen, and wept. 

One of Rankin's secrets was that the Rankin's Pride often steamed around and 
around in a meaningless circle while the passengers played with me, or any 
other female Rankin could force into slavery on his ship. Port was ever far 
distant and the illusion of traveling vast distances was easily maintained. 
Rankin told me to amuse myself in the quarters we shared while he loaded his 
fresh cargo of innocence. He also had a second request which gave me much 
food for thought. He would have to notify the appropriate authorities about 
the kidnapping of most of his previous passenger list, so we could expect a 
visit from some authorities investigating. Rankin wanted me to dress 
respectably in my clothes which were still in his closet, and to express the 
same indignation as he about the crime committed on the high seas. It was 
not a difficult task, and I performed it with no more than a slight 
discomfort than being forced to wear clothes. I discovered I was much more 
comfortable when happily naked. 

I answered questions with much sincerity and did my best to confirm my 
master's story. I must have been good enough for I did not earn a whipping 
of my bottom at this time. Rankin was indeed proud of me and was lavish in 
his praise. As my reward after the authorities had departed, he took me to 
this bed and performed the carnal act in all it's various positions again 
and again and again. I was a well screwed little girl when I made my way out 
onto the deck to provide the first thrill for those who had purchased 
tickets for the voyage. 

He was not a man from whom I would have purchased a used car. He was oily, 
and slick, and sly, but his message sent my heart to racing as he whispered 
to me in a dark comer of the bar. "If you want to join them girlfriends of 
yours in being sold into slavery, or if you want to try rescue any one of 
them," he told me earnestly, "all you have to do is jump overboard at a 
certain time in the middle of the night and swim like hell and the currents 
will take you to a beach where there is a village where they will tell you 
where to go. And give you clothes." 

I should have laughed at him but I was bitterly remembering the two women 
who so far I had failed to help in any way. Now I found myself tom between 
loyalty to Rankin Teller and a female bond I could never break. But I was 
cautious and it was easy to demand, "What are you getting out of this?" 

"There was a gal in the bunch I got the hots for. I want her free. If you 
can somehow blow the whistle on this whole deal, I'll be well enough 
content. I know you don't trust me, but it's the only deal I've got to 
offer. And, by the way, if you're worrying about the time and place, this 
old tub is going around and around in a circle, and if you don't catch the 
time and place tonight or tomorrow, there's always the next day. You'd best 
take the chance while you can." 

I didn't grasp the opportunity right then. And had Rankin not gotten mad at 
me over my sadness over Marjory and Ellen, I probably never would have. But 
Rankin too easily sensed why I was sad and the next day chose to rid my mind 
of such female fantasies by putting me into Dulcie's box as his first 
offering to his passengers. 

I should have guessed something was up when Rankin changed my handcuffs from 
front to back, and then read me a lecture about the uselessness of clinging 
to the past. But my inner judgment was impaired by the agony of events. It 
was by no means the first time I had done my mingling with a couple of hands 
I couldn't use. My satisfaction with myself was much enhanced by the 
universal approval which my helpless nudity was greeted with. It was not 
until Rankin picked me up and carried me to the fatal box that I realized he 
intended to teach me a lesson. "You got big ideas about your sweetheart," he 
admonished as he carried me to the deck. "A little spell of punishment won't 
do you no harm. You're my own little gal and that's the way I want it. You 
get them notions of them other females out of your head and be a good girl. 
That there box to which I'm carrying you is a wonderful cure for any female 
trouble. Relax and enjoy." 

As is customary for a slavegirl, things happened so fast I was left well 
behind in the matter of protests and pleas. The first thing I knew I was 
upended in Rankin's arms and lowered head first to recline on my shoulders 
and handcuffed arms "as my master slid around my waist the two segments of 
the box's lid which would hold me prisoner. I heard the locks click and felt 
myself, cruelly exposed in a posture no girl could ever envy. I wasn't in 
any real pain but I was in darkness and lying on a couple of bare arms which 
the handcuffs defeated in any attempt to move. Somewhere up there in the 
sunlight people would be looking at my pussy and legs. I pressed my legs 
together but doubted that I could hold that pose for long, and then I would 
be opening them wide to rest them. I was a slave girl who had displeased her 
master. 

I wasn't in any real pain but my mind was alive with that (memory of the 
terrible, unexpected stroke which had cut Dulcie's skin at a moment when she 
believed herself forgotten. I, wiggled around to make myself as comfortable 
as I could and, having seen Dulcie's blatant exposure of her sex, I lay on 
my shoulders and arms in breathless fear, feeling that if had transgressed 
enough to get myself inside this box. I could be pretty sure there would be 
more to follow. But in spite of this punishment my thoughts were still 
overly concerned with Marjory and the gorgeous Ellen Simpson. 

I could guess it was the hands of passengers who were feeling my legs and 
bottom, and occasionally palming my pussy. Some hands were rough in toying 
with my sex, some very expert at teasing a girl's private parts to stimulate 
her body into actions she didn't wish to do. I considered kicking out 
whenever I felt a hand upon my body but discarded the idea for fear of what 
might happen to me were I to connect a kick with some passenger and do 
damage. Half my body was completely exposed for any type of retaliation the 
injured person might wish to inflict, and horrible thoughts crossed my mind 
as to just what that retaliation might be. 

I could hear comments, remarks about the beauty of my legs and pussy, 
statements as to what a man would like to do to that up turned pussy, and 
even wonderment about if it would be possible to perform sexual intercourse 
upon the body so confined. The general consensus was that it would be 
possible if the man were to place himself between my legs, spread them wide, 
and sort of do push-ups right over me. But thankfully no male tried that not 
that some didn't try to stimulate me to climax with teasing fingers. I held 
off as best I could, feeling I would die of embarrassment were people to see 
half of me hit an orgasm. 

But my resolve not to be affected by the touching was severely tested by 
some of the more skillful fingers, and finally broken by what I am sure was 
a woman. Someone had been teasing my pussy with very skillful fingers until 
I was entering a state of sexual excitement despite my efforts to resist. 
Then the fingers went away for a few moments and thought I was home free. 
But there was a sound like someone mounting the top of the box and suddenly 
hands were pushing my legs apart. Before I could even protest a mouth 
descended upon my pussy and a tongue began licking my soft private parts. 
Instead of a protest, my lips uttered a gasp of pleasure, followed by moans 
and little cries as the very experienced and skillful tongue and lips 
brought me up to a crashing climax. As I trembled and shuttered with 
pleasure in the aftermath, my benefactor left me, having never uttered a 
word. But I was sure of one thing - it had been a woman. I felt her long 
hair brushing the insides of my thighs as her head came down upon my sex. I 
was embarrassed but thankful to the unknown women for helping relieve the 
boredom and discomfort of this punishment. 

But the day was long and one hand after the other explored my loins, some 
with crude and rough handling, some tenderly and lovingly. 

Several others tried to give me an orgasm and, after a little while I 
stopped fighting and gave into the incredibly wonderful feelings. I think I 
orgasmed five times that day. It's an incredible feeling to be so helpless 
and so vulnerable. 

And there were those who commented about the availability of this up-turned 
bottom to the crop and whip. I didn't doubt for a second just how much a 
riding crop would hurt against my bare skin. And I constantly feared the 
sudden flash of pain that might or might not ever come. 

For the most part I just lay there my legs bent at the knees so that my feet 
rested on the box lid. I knew it was an obscene and terrible pose, but it 
was the most comfortable position I could find. 

I don't know .how long I lay in that box. I supposed that by Rankin's 
standards I had nothing to complain about. After all, I wasn't in serious 
pain. And what's a few orgasms to a captive girl? Or a few pinches on the 
soft flesh of my ass? 

Finally they tired of me and no new hands roved my body. After that I wished 
I could keep still but was ever conscious of a waiting whip which might at 
any second slash across my bottom. Towards the end I found another position 
to ease the strain on my thighs and waist. I bend my legs double, crossed my 
ankles, and sort of balanced my legs directly over my hips. Surprisingly 
that was more comfortable than trying to rest my feet on the box lid. 

After what seemed like many hours I was willing to admit that just being in 
this box was real punishment, not an inconvenienced After a long period of 
inactivity, Rankin, or someone else, chose to use the riding crop directly 
upon my bottom. I hadn't heard it coming and the fiery pain was a sudden 
shock. When I finished jerking my legs and gasping, I was willing to vow to 
anyone I would not transgress again. I was the sorriest of slave girls and 
knew I should never presume to be anything else. 

Repentance did me no good. Why should it? The repent half of me was buried 
in the box while the other half of my nakedness, that part most suitable for 
punishment, was wildly kicking at nothing in the futile hope of discouraging 
a second stroke. 

Nothing happened. There was no second stroke. Finally my feet ceased kicking 
and fell back to be limp. I lay in quivering apprehension in a psychological 
anguish almost as great as the pain itself. Gradually my mind channeled 
itself into speculation of my future. And to the two women I had seen 
stripped and bound and taken away with all the rest to an unknown fate. If 
being put upside down in this box was a good sample of what I could expect 
from Rankin Teller, then I ached for Marjory's arms with a yearning which 
grew and grew. 

Suddenly my ankles were grabbed and spread wide apart to be held there while 
a cane was used upon my upside down bottom. Three strokes landed on my 
bottom, followed by two across my pussy. I screamed out, not carrying how 
loud it was inside the box. Then the cane was slashing down upon the bottoms 
of my feet, a surprisingly intense pain. First one foot then the other was 
whipped as I cried out in pain below. 

Half a dozen blows on each sole, then my feet were dropped, leaving me in a 
fine state of terror and fear. But all was silent outside my box. All I 
heard was my sobs echoing strangely inside the wooden box. 

That night, after my master had changed my handcuffs from back-to front and 
I serviced him until he fell asleep I silently crept out into the darkness 
and leaped from the nearest rail into the inky blackness below. 

 CHAPTER FIVE - SLAVES BEYOND PRICE 

I am very lonely and the soles of my feet still hurt. I sit glumly upon the 
wooden bench which is my bed and gaze without interest through the iron bars 
which separate me from the world. I am suppose to be given audience with an 
official who will listen to my tail, but I have been in this prison a day 
and a night without being able to speak to anyone who matters. My jailers 
simply laugh and shake their heads and point to my still handcuffed wrists 
to repeat over and over "Bad girl, you must bad girl." 

Over and over I relive my escape from the Rankin's Pride. And, looking back 
at it now, I realize how suicidal it really was. One small naked girl with 
chained hands, struggling to swim as best she could in an infinity of ocean. 
An ocean undoubtedly filled with creatures lusting after human flesh for 
their dinner. 

I had to learn to swim all over again but I'd been pretty good at it before 
and was very soon proud of my new ability. The handcuffs probably compelled 
me to create a two handed stroke, and I was soon making reasonable good 
progress and refusing to look back at the vanishing lights of the Rankin's 
Pride. 

It was not long before I thought of sharks, and before I was wondering about 
that sly young man who had given me information which could be entirely 
false. In that case, I would eventually sink beneath the waves. I soon 
realized that no girl in her right mind would ever have done what I did. But 
the beating of the soles of my feet, together with my longing for the girl I 
loved and once called mistress, had motivated me into an act beyond reason. 
The rod across a girls feet works wonders. 

After what seemed a long time I slowed down to rest then actually kidded 
myself I could feel some sort of current or drift in the water to which I 
had entrusted myself. Without hands I could not lay upon my back and float 
to seek some sort of direction from the stars but I did my best. 

I did not find the solid ground that I sought but the sound of an engine 
that alerted me. By that time I had no concern about who my rescuer might be 
just so long as I would get rescued. As each passing swell gave me elevation 
I as able to glimpse the approach of what seemed a sizable launch, and it 
was not long before masculine arms were there alone with sparkling eyes 
feasting upon my nakedness. The men spoke a language I did not understand. 
Then I noticed the men all wore uniforms. 

The officer spoke English and sat impassively while I sipped steaming coffee 
and blurted out the story I had to tell. It was not until his poker-faced 
disbelief kept silence after I had come to the end of my tale that I thought 
to ask for clothes. 

I might as well have wanted the moon. And when the son of a bitch did speak, 
it was to tell me I was in the hands of police, and to then ask a lot of 
questions to which my answers did no more than confirm his belief that I was 
either insane or a criminal. The handcuffs I wore so easily were my undoing. 

"You cannot tell me, Miss. Collins, you would be handcuffed if you were not 
a criminal. Come on, I am not a fool!" 

I repeated my story of the Rankin's pride and the fifty girls enslaved two 
days ago. I could name the ship which had taken them but that was all. I had 
no knowledge of who would sell them or the actual place where they would be 
sold. I could tell from the look on this man's face how improbable the whole 
story must seem to a stranger. After a couple cups of coffee and a 
continuing disbelief mounting to almost anger, I was locked in a cabin in 
which I gratefully went to sleep, still fairly confident that some authority 
on shore might believe my tale. 

The man who I still thought of as a used car salesman must have told the 
truth for it seemed no time at all before I was awakened by the mooring of 
the ship and being escorted to a waiting police van in which my heathen 
nakedness would be hidden from pious Islamic eyes. In that lousy prison they 
did all things they do to newly arrested prisoners before locking me in a 
cell. 

I was still naked and still handcuffed. Rankin's handcuffs upon my wrists 
seemed to amuse everyone except myself. My repeated pleading for covering 
evoked only scorn. In that place I was only a naughty girl who would get her 
just desserts. 

The Big Cheese also spoke English and examined my nakedness as I stood 
before him in his office. He listened blindly to what I Had to tell then 
issued his verdict. The matter of my disposal is not under his jurisdiction, 
and since my complaint concerns crime on the high seas, it becomes an 
international incident with which he will not deal. I was to be given a 
ticket on a bus to the capital city, my handcuffs would be removed, and I 
would be given the simple coverings of the native girls. 

The bus is ancient and filled with Arabs dressed in a mixture of clothes 
just as ancient and modem. I sat next to a man who smelled of goat while I 
clutched the bit of local currency by which to find my way to some real 
authority who may, hopefully, be of help. I somehow doubted the success of 
my mission. It was good to be out of that prison but I was not much better 
being trapped in a country with no ID papers, little money and no knowledge 
of the tongue. 

The capital was not impressive, like the bus, a combination of ancient and 
modern buildings, none containing an American Consulate, I found out. 
Instead I had to hand the address given me to a taxi driver and hope for the 
best. 

The Chief of Police was the most impressive thing yet. A magnificent uniform 
was greatly enhanced by much gold brad. He had a steely eye but was 
mercifully polite and actually appeared to appear half of what I said. He 
even agreed that he had heard something of the traffic in slave girls of 
which I complained. He said it was the experience of his department that 
most of these young ladies deserved what they got. 

The name of Rankin Teller rang a bell. In his eyes, Rankin Teller was a 
distinguished visitor to his country who made a great contribution of good 
will and tourist dollars. I could consider myself a lucky girl to have 
dealing with such a man. And my objections about the treatment aboard the 
Rankin's Pride were swept under the rug with an airy wave of a 
coffee-colored hand. Then he decided to send me to one more gentleman who 
could speak of these delicate affairs without the handicap of official 
rules. A police car would be placed at my disposal and the journey was not 
long. As I was ushered out, I had the feeling of a brush off, but beggars 
can't be choosers and I got into the waiting car and felt a touch of 
optimism that perhaps I was making progress. 

The phone must have been busy. The local gentleman who was suppose to know 
everything about everything was waiting. I simply transferred myself from 
one car to another and, while my companion spoke knowledgeable about the 
price of farm produce and the costs of borrowed money, he did not give me an 
opportunity to tell my story. We left the capital city behind to pass 
through an area of pleasant fields of farms until we left the river valley 
and the desert claimed us. Once more I felt as vulnerable as when I jumped 
into the ocean. 

In response to my urgent requests, my host gave me the information that he 
hoped he had knowledge of the whereabouts of the two woman I sought. He 
pointed out that to expect connect with the whole group of kidnapped maidens 
was asking too much. But it appeared the couple who were my principle 
interest had aroused the interest of others so that they were now separate 
from the others. I gathered that Marjory's money had something to do with 
this. When I asked if they would be able to return to the city with us, I 
got a truly magnificent shrug of the shoulders which could have meant 
anything. 

The crumbling stone and ancient plaster had been there a long time but 
somehow I felt less uneasy about it then with a modem structure. It was 
authentic and in keeping with my quest an assortment of varying species of 
palm tree surrounded the place to give it the appearance of ancient times. A 
trickle of water from an ancient spring soon lost itself in the sand. 

The gentleman who knew everything lost no time in dumping me into the arms 
of a pair of waiting servants, both male and with hands like iron. My arms 
were clasp firmly and I was ushered within the walls and along a passageway. 
At the far end we found a barred cell pretty much like other prisons I had 
seen. When its door clanged behind my back I realized that everyone must be 
laughing at my innocence. 

This was evidently a prison in which events moved swiftly. I had been 
brooding over my folly less than an hour when I heard approaching sounds. A 
minute later my cell door opened and Marjory was thrust inside. The door 
slammed shut behind her back. The jailer who had delivered her walked away 
to leave Marjory staring in disbelief at me. 

She was stark naked and her ankles were chained together in irons. Her voice 
field wonder. "Celie! Darling!" 

Her arms reached out and, forgetting hobbled feet, my darling stumbled into 
my arms. I held her tight and we kissed until we could kiss no more. She 
told me the rest of the girls were imprisoned in this place in one huge cage 
where they were constantly inspected by prospective buyers and sometimes one 
of them would actually be sold. Those not thus disposed of would be sold at 
auction. Ellen Simpson was among them. 

My darling mistress then got serious in telling of negotiations by which her 
own immense wealth had gained her recognition and the possibility of 
freedom. She kicked at the chain between her feet and told me she was 
hobbled thus to preclude her giving trouble as she was taken from interview 
to interview. The rest of the kidnapped girls were metal restraints so that 
they could pose and show off their bodies for anyone who wished to see all 
parts of them. There was no indecent posture they could not assume. Those 
who refused were immediately tied to the bars of the cage and whipped while 
the buyer watched. 

"I've tried to make myself as inconspicuous as possible," my mistress 
explained. "I don't wish to be bought before I might be able to arrange my 
own freedom. I'm going to cost myself enough as it is without these bastards 
having higher bids," she said in anger. 

"But can't we leave this place together," I asked eagerly. "If you pay your 
ransom, it shouldn't be any trouble." 

I was hugged. "You're forgetting something," said Marjory sorrowfully. 
"They'll simply put you in the cage with the other girls and I'll have to 
rescue you, too. I just hope I can raise enough money on short notice." 

We sat on the bench while I told her what I had done. Marjory would soon be 
free of chained feet and back on Palm Island but I would be subject to sale 
on the auction block. Instead of us walking away together, Marjory would be 
alone. "It's not likely to be tomorrow," she said thoughtfully. "We have a 
lot to arrange." 

"Now I've messed it all up by walking straight into this mess! Oh, Marjory, 
I deserve to be whipped!" 

"Don't be silly. You've risked your life to save me from becoming someone's 
slavegirl. Stop moaning about it, dear. I'll get you out of here if it takes 
every penny I've got." 

I loved her terribly and demonstrated this affection in the way girls do. I 
did not know the extent of Marjory's wealth but from what she said it had to 
be enough to buy two girls. We talked and talked as she showed me the marks 
she now carried from the treatment she had received on board the Rankin's 
Pride from the people who had purchased her there. We both got satisfaction 
from knowing that men might still be adrift someplace. And the female half 
of the team who had bought her was soon to be sold into slavery herself, and 
we both hoped she would be bought by a very unkind master. 

The jailer came to take us away and it appeared I had lost all privileges 
and must now be naked. Without concern I let them take my clothes and shoes 
When they found the handcuffs in my pocket, they seemed to feel it a pity to 
waste them and they were quickly locked upon my wrists. My feet were also 
shackled the same as Marjory. "It. means they'll be taking us both from the 
cage from time to time," Marjory explained. "Don't worry, darling, we'll get 
rid of these chains before too long." 

They were all there except Ellen Simpson. After all the greetings and 
explanation, we were told she had been taken from the cage only minutes 
past. No one knew to where or why. It would have be easy for me to feel sad 
but my joy in Marjory tempered and made all else of no importance. I tucked 
Ellen Simpson in the back of my mind and held on to my mistress as if 
fearful of her escape. Despite the cage and restraints, life was suddenly 
glorious. 

The name of our cage should have been Boredom Plus. A lot of girls sought to 
banish ennui for a little while by playing with each other, unmindful of 
watching eyes. I could not blame them because I might have found myself as 
desperate for distraction as they had I not had my Marjory. There is 
something bitterly humiliating about a cage in which girls are held safe 
behind the bars. You come to expect offerings of stale bits of bread. Every 
once in a while some lucky maiden found favor in the eyes of a man who was 
prepared to pay the price of taking her away. Never once did the girl resist 
or fail to do her damnedest to please. They had seen other girls whipped and 
wanted none of that themselves. I wished each one of them an early escape 
before they were led from the cage to be bound for travel. It was all very 
businesslike but left ever girl in the cage wondering what trick fate had 
played upon her and what horrors lay ahead. 

I soon learned to walk with shackled feet. My mistress and I were frequently 
escorted to where earnest business types dealt with questions and a great 
many bits of paper. It was all Greek to me but Marjory seemed to know what 
she was about. 

On the following day we ran into trouble. This time we stood before only one 
man in the office. The guy was an American and pitifully embarrassed. 

The man spelt rescue but was gazing upon our twin nakedness with sorrow. But 
with false light-heartedness he told us that all the financial terms had 
been arranged and agreed upon. "I must admit, Miss Magnus, that the State 
Department is glad you have handled this whole affair yourself. We would 
have found it a problem to ransom you from government funds. And as to the 
other girls about to be sold into slavery, well our government would rather 
look the other way. After all, slavery is an institution in this part of the 
world and has been for centuries. We do not wish to risk our relations with 
this country. And their oil. I'm sure you understand." Marjory said, yes, we 
did understand and were grateful for our own pending freedom. She then asked 
boldly why he seemed troubled. Was he was worrying about the other fifty 
girls? As usual, she had put her finger squarely upon the problem. 

"What we are up against now, Miss Magnus, is something too bizarre and 
outrageous to contemplate but it has come to me that unless we give in to a 
terrible local custom, we might as well forget the whole matter of your 
release." He paused to looked sternly at us. "Some local big wig has decried 
that before they let you go, you both be whipped." 

We were probably well ahead of the poor man who obviously wished he had been 
given another assignment. I was sure he expected cries of distress and 
pleading for mercy. But both of us had been whipped before and, while we did 
not tell him so, were not scared to death of being whipped again. If this 
was the price of freedom, we would be willing to pay. Marjory said quietly, 
"This business of whipping girls is something more common than you would 
think. We are not surprised and we will not complain. We are grateful for 
all you have done. Please don't worry about it." 

The official was obviously much relieved but still under a feeling of guilt 
and his own personal horror that white girls would be treated thus. "These 
people must be sadists," he said with feeling. "You are not only to be 
whipped but you will be whipped before an audience of local officials and 
myself. They want me present to emphasis their ability to rub the nose of 
the USA in Islamic dirt. I have been told I must not refuse." He coughed and 
added, "When you find me present you must not think I am there for personal 
pleasure for what has been done to you. It has been embarrassment enough to 
see you are now, naked and chained, and subject to the will of men I cannot 
fight." 

The poor guy was genuinely upset. But we reassured him as best we could and 
then were escorted back to the big cage where we explained the conditions of 
our release to receive such comfort as we could from girls who had become 
used to the marking of their flesh with the whip. We were not to be whipped 
inside the cage for, after all, we had not offended an customer nor 
attempted to escape. The whipping of our flesh was simply for the pleasure 
of locals. The only man who might feel shame at what he was forced to 
witness was the American who arranged for our release. And Marjory cynically 
said she could not be too sure of him, either, since most men secretly 
cherished a wish to whip a girl. She said, with a shrug, that it was quite 
probably some sort of mating ritual. And females were expected to love it 
all and open their thighs after the final stroke. Marjory almost had me 
laughing. 

I was not laughing as we were ushered into the big room around whose walls a 
considerable number of men were comfortably seated. There was an atmosphere 
of theater and undoubtedly something was about to happen. A well-braced pole 
ran from wall to wall at just the right height above our heads. Without 
preamble was chosen for the opening act and divested of both handcuffs and 
leg irons in order that my wrists be tightly strapped to the bar above and 
my feet free to kick when the pain so urged. A slender chap stripped to the 
waist and beaming quite widely in what was probably simple happiness took up 
a whip to stand behind me. Marjory was provided with a chair where she could 
sit and get an excellent view of the manner in which I would be whipped and 
thus look forward to being whipped herself. 

At least the American sitting in the front row had the grace to sweat. 

It is always a potent moment when a girl looses, her freedom. I raised my 
arms and allowed the straps to circle my wrists and be tugged tight to hold 
me with raised arms in a bare exposure for all to see. I felt pretty sure 
that the sly discussions among the audience were all comments upon the 
contours of my breasts and bottom, and how I might be expected to perform if 
tied spread eagle on a bed. The whole atmosphere was carnival, and I felt 
the flush filling my cheeks. I have never known why a girl's nipples do it, 
but mine were rigid. Perhaps it has something to do with fear. 

I don't know what happened to me right then but when the executioner walked 
around me a few times, no doubt to see where his whip should cut, I found 
myself smiling back at him as though he was an old and trusted friend. His 
broad grin no longer seemed out of place. I had become victim to a strange 
detachment which left me in neutral while everyone else was in override. 
When the whip was held up before my eyes, I saw it as a single thong of 
supple leather of a type never used on me before so I couldn't be certain if 
it would be cruel or kind. I was made to kiss the ridiculous thing which I 
did as though I loved it, then allowed my eyes to follow the man who would 
wield it as he walked behind me. 

There is something strange about me, or about the whip, or about this place. 
The first slash cut across my shoulders to make me shift from foot to foot 
uneasily and press a cheek against a bare arm. Someone is counting and it 
was the count of one. The first stroke had been across my back but the 
second was suddenly lower down, cutting me from hip to hip to flare where 
the fire which forever bums somewhere in my loins into a joyous flame. The 
counter said two. 

I should have been screaming but I was not. I was gasping but had to come up 
for air whenever the pain permitted. It was as if there was two of me 
beneath the thong. One absorbed the pain while the other made a mental note 
of everything going on. I strove to twist my wrists within the straps but 
they were hulked too tight. The agony was terrible but part of me found the 
whole thing amusing and I managed to smile brightly at anyone who met my 
eye. I have no idea what they thought of me. 

During the all too brief pause between strokes, I saw Marjory sitting in her 
chair and caught her nod of encouragement. There must have been something 
wrong about the whole thing but I couldn't have cared less at that time. The 
count reached five and my fire was burning in furious joy. 

In all the leather kisses me thirty times. Thirty is an awful lot of strokes 
upon a girl's skin but I had developed emotions which pleased me immensely 
and probably stiffened a good many penises in the audience. At times I bent 
forward to hang from my strapped wrists. At other times my head was thrown 
back. Often I flung my hair from side to side as though flaunting a foreign 
flag before the eyes of Islam. 

It took a long, long time. The executioner was a master and paused between 
each cut that all might enjoy my contortions and moans. I found myself most 
anxious to please my audience, and while I had little freedom, I did the 
best I could with hips and legs, and wished I could somehow I could move my 
breasts for I knew they were much admired. I found myself wondering if the 
thong might curve around my body once of twice to impact against the soft 
flesh at the sides of my large breasts. I knew that would please the 
audience. And strangely I did not scream at all. I think I was even smiling 
except when the whip's tip impacted against my flesh. Then I frowned. 

The man who whipped me was something of a showman. After every fifth stroke 
he palmed my pussy to kneed it once or twice then hold up the result for 
inspection and applause. Evidently my pussy was very juicy. 

There was an atmosphere in the room of a business well and truly brought to 
a conclusion. Judging from the comments I could hear, I must have given 
satisfaction by a performance which left me baffled and bewildered. No one 
bothered to unstrap my wrists, but the pole was long and had plenty of room 
for Marjory's hands as well as mine. When the executioner grasped Marjory's 
arms to leas her up, there came a sudden and dramatic interruption. 

He was a fierce-eyed, bony old gentleman who seemed much disturbed but was 
listened to with much respect. His voice crackled in the room and heads 
began to nod in agreement, and when the old boy concluded with one final, 
resounding passage, there was much applause. My first thought was that he 
didn't think I had been whipped enough. But the matter was evidently more 
serious than that for the executioner returned my mistress to her chair and 
came to tell me what it was all about in an urgent whisper only I could 
hear. 

"He say you two girls far too beautiful beneath the whip to be sold outside 
the boarders of our country. He say our government should purchase you and 
keep you safe in prison so that every feast day you make whipped for all to 
see and enjoy." 

The man from the State Department was visibly disturbed. He took the 
opportunity to come and confirm that Marjory and I were indeed to be 
considered property of the nation and to remain imprisoned as a sort of 
national treasure in the way they buy costly paintings for museums. Before 
resuming his seat, he looked at me firmly to say, "You were incredibly 
beautiful while you were being whipped. I don't understand any of this but I 
can understand the old boy's point of view. You were out of this world!" 

Once more the ancient old buzzard got to his feet and made some proclamation 
and the way things were going I could almost see that beastly barred cell in 
which Marjory and I would spend the rest of our life. The horror of it must 
have shocked me into fast thinking for I thought of a possibility. When the 
old boy paused for breath, I said in a loud, clear voice, "We are the slaves 
of Hamid Abed Shamail. He purchased us at a slave auction. We are his 
property." 

I couldn't have created a bigger shock if I had dropped a lighted stick of 
dynamite in the middle to the room. The old buzzard got his ears whispered 
in from a dozen pairs of lips. When he got up and walked majestically from 
the room, everyone followed except Marjory and me and the executioner. 
Marjory couldn't go very far because her ankles were still shackled 
together, and I wasn't going anywhere with my wrists still lashed to the 
pole. The whipper placed a chair between Marjory and myself and sat down to 
await developments. He was cheerfully vocal, "You cause much trouble. And I 
think you get much whipped." He looked at Marjory. "No one has told me not 
to whip you. So now I get you ready to save much time." 

"Please don't bother. 

"It is no bother. Is great honor to whip such pretty girls. You both have 
such pretty breasts." He sighed longingly. 

There wasn't much we could say about it so kept quiet. I think if Marjory's 
feet had not been shackled, she would have run away, or at least tried to. 
But as it was, she took the small steps to allow our cheerful companion to 
position her beneath the pole just as I had done, raised her hands in 
hopeless submission to allow them to be buckled to the metal pole. I saw her 
wince as the straps were jerked tight. Her eyes met mine and were filled 
with despair at the shattering of our plans. Belatedly I realized that for 
Marjory to once more come into Hamid's possession was something to fear. I 
was loved but she was not. And, in any case, wasn't it far more likely we'd 
be buried in a prison cell to be whipped on state occasions. She flexed 
experimentally against the straps which held her. The whipping had been our 
gate to freedom but it seemed now that gate had been closed. 

I loved her so much, but we could not even touch. We could talk but had an 
interested audience, an audience who soon became bored explaining how much 
he enjoyed whipping out bodies. And how honored he was to be whipping the 
possessions of a man of such importance as Hamid. Innocently he explained 
that had we not been the property of a man who was almost king he would be 
pleased to perform sexual intercourse with us. Well, that's not the words he 
used but they convey the technical meaning if lacking somewhat in vulgarity. 

After a while of raping our bodies with his eyes, he said he had an errant 
and left. 

"I've got something to confess," Marjory said earnestly as soon as he was 
gone. "I suppose you're wondering about the way you felt while you were 
being whipped. While that was simply because I paid someone to have you 
drugged. And I got drugged myself. And I do hope these idiot men will get me 
whipped before it wears off." She moaned. "I suppose it's turned out one of 
the worse things I could have done. They're already looking at you as if 
you're some sort of female deity, and now you've told them about Hamid 
there's not much chance to get us released the way I had been working on. 
Gosh, a year ago I wouldn't have believed any of this." 

The Sons of the Desert returned, and with them the poor chap from the State 
Department who was allowed to come and give us the bad news. Marjory and I 
were to be whipped once more to make quite certain of our superhuman 
tolerance of the lash, and then be safely chained to keep us from going 
home. Hamid was not to be informed of our existence. If he ever confronted 
them to demand our return, they would simply hand us over, with apologies. 

The man from Washington looked us over with a mixture of sadness and 
pleasure at being so close to our breasts. I'll admit he did spare some 
attention for our assets lower down but I think he is primarily what is 
called a "tit man." And I knew he longed to possess our bodies with all his 
heart. Urgently he whispered, "When the terrible affair is over and I'm out 
of here, I can contact this Hamid guy of yours and if he is what you 
suppose, he should have no trouble repossessing you. Looks to me like 
getting out of the frying pan and into the fire, but hang on, sweethearts, 
I'll be working for you." 

Our friendly executioner again had possession of his whip, smiling at 
Marjory and I with pure love as he prepared to mark her skin and probably 
mine again. From one side I heard Marjory's urgent command, "Look, Celie, 
pretend its hurting. Leap around and scream a lot like you can't bare it. 
Scream and scream, that's what I'm going to do. If we put on a good enough 
show, these bastards might loose interest." 

It wasn't hard to do. The first stroke landed right over several others 
placed there half an hour before and hurt like the devil. Perhaps the drug 
was wearing off or maybe it was that a second whipping on top of the first 
does hurt much worse. I dance on the air and moaned. A couple strokes later 
I was screaming with little pretense. After the fourth stroke I noticed that 
old buzzard who wanted us a national treasures got up to issue some curt 
command. 

"He thinks you're play acting to fool us," our executioner informed. "He say 
that unless you behave the way you did before, you get much extra whipping 
and then get hang up by your thumbs." He smiled at us. "Is much better you 
don't make all this fuss." 

What the hell could we do! I looked at my mistress but she simply nodded in 
defeat. When the whip bit at her again, she didn't even move but looked back 
over a bare shoulder at our executioner to say how kind he was to be 
whipping us so pleasantly. I almost wanted to laugh. 

We hammed it up and behaved with outrageous docility as the leather snapped 
and bit across our skin. Closing my eyes for a few moment, I drifted back 
into the same abstraction as before. The blasted leather hurt but not more 
than I could handle. And Marjory, who was getting three strokes to my one, 
was a perfect measure of lady- like deportment, moving her nakedness just 
enough to stiffen male rods while expressing undying gratitude for such kind 
attention. In pure submission, she confessed to every crime on the books and 
was deeply thankful for this correction. The State Department was looking at 
us in open-mouthed admiration. 

All things have to end, and I'll admit that by the end of our whipping I was 
damned glad to have it stop. Whatever Marjory had arranged for me was most 
definitely worn off to leave me with a burning back and fiery rump. We 
couldn't move enough to examine each other wounds, and were compelled to 
stand as we were while our gratified audience trooped out to dinner. Finally 
only the executioner was left. He tossed aside the whip and produced 
shackles from somewhere. When my ankles were safely locked, I knew myself as 
helpless as Marjory who had worn her irons throughout her punishment. 

"My name is Benakar. You may call me Ben." The man who had now become our 
jailer now announced, "I take you now and chain you so you do not run away." 

I suppose we could have been in worse hands. Ben may have been an idiot but 
he was most clever with his whip and far too large for us to try any stuff, 
even though our hands were free. We were ready to be taken down into the 
darkness of the dungeon we were kept but instead led into the open sunlight 
and a bare courtyard with a high stone wall. When we gave this wall a second 
look, we knew why we were there. Chains hung from it everywhere like a 
festooned Christmas tree. 

"Is very nice place for two pretty girls," Ben said as if he owned it all. 
"Now I fasten you to keep you safe." 

We minced our tiny steps under his direction. Summoned by his clap, we were 
now , joined by a couple of his grinning colleagues, one with a collection 
of tools and a small anvil, the other with a brazier of hot coals. 

"We don't have to be branded." Marjory snapped angrily "Not for burning 
skin." Ben assured us much concerned. "It is for hot rivets so that none may 
set you free please to place pretty neck on anvil that we may give you nice 
collar." 

I shrugged and knew there was, not nothing we could do except what we were 
told. Uncomfortably I crouched down and positioned my neck in pretty much 
the manner of Anne Boleyn when she lost her head. Surprisingly gentle 
fingers disposed of my hair and fitted the metal circlet around my throat. 
It was snug but not to tight. I could not see the details of what was then 
done to me behind my back, but a hot rivet was inserted through the holes of 
the collar's flange and pounded out flat by blows with a hammer expertly 
wielded. The heat of the rivet spread through the metal until I could feel 
it on my neck. Then it cooled and I was allowed to rise. When I was told to 
kneel and present my hands, I discovered the brute weight of the iron I now 
wore around my neck. I was placed so that my wrists rested on the anvil and 
I could see the hammer flatten the rivets to hold me prisoner forever. 

I would have thought that would be enough but we were close beside the wall 
and from the wall there hung a couple of lengths of chain which it now 
appeared were for my special benefit. I stood next to the wall while my neck 
collar's ring was connected to a chain dangling from the wall. They used 
rivets to secure the chain to my collar, a more frightening method that if 
they had simply used a padlock. Padlocks open so easily when you have the 
key. Another short chain was riveted to my neck collar ring and that came 
down to join the chain between my wrists. 

"You here to stay." Ben informed me brightly as though I couldn't figure it 
out for myself. "We leave chain on pretty feet to be opened with key. That 
way we don't need blacksmith to spread your legs and screw!" 

I stood against the wall and watched it happen all again, this time to 
Marjory. When the task was done, my mistress demanded, "What happens to us 
when it rains?" 

"You get much wet," Ben informed as though bestowing benefits. "It is good 
for young ladies to sometimes get wet. And if it does not rain, I bring a 
pail of water to wash you. I will let you wash. Am I not kind?" 

We assured him he was kind, then watched the three of them walk back to the 
big house to leave Marjory and me in about as difficult a fix as any girl 
could ever be in. The hell of it was we gathered we had been chained against 
the wall as a great favor rather than be kept behind iron bars. Since we had 
nothing to say about it either way, it didn't much matter. We spent the next 
half hour tugging and twisting and experimenting with our chains. They were 
solid. 

When we tried to comfort each other with hands and lips, we discovered the 
closest we could come still left a foot of spaced between us. So we sat in 
misery as close as our hardware allowed, to talk about our future and when 
we could expect to be whipped again. Out bottoms and backs hurt. Soon we 
were reclining on one hip to try and keep our bottom from the sand. We were 
not happy. 

 CHAPTER SIX - DISPUTED PRISONER 

It was a strange experience. We were beside the wall at the rising of the 
sun and still there when the sun was replaced by stars. The air in the 
courtyard was soft and warm which, for a couple of girls as totally naked as 
we were, was a blessing indeed. 

We were left alone. No one came to gloat or ask questions. Our only contact 
was Ben and three times a day he relieved our tedium with food and drink and 
quaint conversation. Our food was mostly fruit and our drink was strictly 
water. A pail of water was left where we could both reach. I suppose a girl 
fastened in a deep, dark dungeon might look at us with envy but for me it 
was one long, frustrating time. And Ben's answers to our questions gave no 
hint of how long we might remain in our outdoor prison. 

We lived by speculation. First there was the degree of help which the State 
Department might provide. We understood their position well enough -- we 
were an embarrassment. Our next most urgent concern was to learn how long it 
might be before we were once again whipped. We knew of no national holidays 
coming up. 

"You have been whipped very nicely," Ben pointed out with pride. "Do not 
concern yourself when it is to happen again. I very much like to whip pretty 
girls. But I do not keep asking when it is to happen. I would like to whip 
you every day, if the masters allow." 

We took it as a reprimand and did not ask again. We spent our days in sleep, 
conversation, and boredom. Our chains, like all things of long habit, were 
sitting on us comfortably but denying our dearest wish -- that we might 
press our bodies together to share the love we felt. But we couldn't even 
touch fingertips. It was agony. My eyes fed hungrily upon breasts and pubic 
hair of the girl I loved. But that was all. 

The temptation to relieve ourselves with our own fingers was powerful but 
quickly put to rest when Ben warned that if we were caught at it, it would 
surely mean a whipping or perhaps being hung up by our thumbs as a way of 
keeping our fingers away from our pussy. I think perhaps Marjory did play 
with herself during the darkest part of the night but couldn't be sure. I 
know I was too afraid to try it. I got more and more frustrated and my 
dreams were filled with images of giant male phalluses at rigid attention. 

One way other the other our captor had taken away everything that girls can 
use to pass the time. Sometimes we fought in pure frustration at the chains, 
even though we knew it a fruitless exercise. As the days slipped by, our 
hopes grew dim. In our boredom we were almost willing to contemplate a 
national holiday with us standing bare naked in the public square for all to 
see us whipped. In a way it was the strangest time of my life. 

It was an impressive cavalcade, lead by Ben's beaming smile to be followed 
by no less a person than the State Department. Behind him were the local 
gentlemen with their bag of tools. Our fellow countryman,- for whom I began 
to feel sorry, said, for openers, he had better introduce himself. He was 
Heber B. Patmore, and he was much concerned over a couple of naked girls who 
were having a real bad time. In his features it was easy to discern his 
longing to take us to bed. Everything was suddenly more pathetic. "I have 
been instructed not to involve the gentleman you call Hamid," he announced. 
"However, I have been able to negotiate the terms of a release. It will not 
please you but it is the best I have been able to do. I have been given 
permission to take Miss. Marjory Magnus to freedom. But I am afraid that 
you, Miss. Celie Collins, are so highly thought of by the local authorities 
that they insist upon your remaining as some sort of national treasure." He 
paused to sigh deeply. "It's all quite absurd, but that's the way it is." 

There was a deathly silence until Marjory exclaimed, "I'm not going without 
Celie, I won't leave her here alone." 

"I'm afraid you have no choice, Miss Magnus. The matter has been discussed 
from all sides and should you chose to be difficult, you will be taken by 
force. Please understand my position." 

Even if I was a national treasure, I had the feeling I no longer matter. The 
interest of all present was focused on darling Marjory, who I knew was 
suffering the tortures of the damned and looking at me with wide, appealing 
eyes. It was a moment we would both remember. 

"It is difficult for me to see you two young ladies in this terrible 
situation," Heber said in obvious distress. "These people here are difficult 
to deal with and appear to regard you, Miss Collins, as something 
supernatural and beyond the norm." With an effort at cheerfulness he added, 
"But at least while you're here alone you will be no worse off than before, 
and Miss Magnus and I can continue our effort to effect your release. I do 
hope you understand?" 

I understood all right, and longed to cry at the prospect of remaining 
against the wall, securely chained, with nothing to look forward to except 
being whipped every so often as the holly days might indicate. 

I watched and learned there is a remarkable difference between ironing a 
girl with riveted metal and affecting her release. There was the little 
anvil and as Marjory's loveliness was laid upon it, the hammer punched out 
rivets with such ease as to leave us wondering why we hadn't been able to do 
it ourselves. It was only a few moments before she stood in total freedom, 
and despite reaching arms, leapt to engulf me in such an embrace as I will 
always remember. I could not clasp her back because I was chained but I was 
hugged and we kissed until a hand on her arm said enough was enough and led 
her away on the first few steps, which for her were the entry to another 
world. 

I was sad and, for the first few minutes after being left alone in my 
chains, I wept tears I could no longer control. Marjory's discarded chains 
laying there upon the sand were a constant and bitter reminder of her warm 
female flesh no longer pressing against my own. 

It is useless to go on and on about my emotions. Emotions come and go and 
the cold reasoning within my mind told me Marjory and Mr. Patmore would 
undoubtedly affect my release. I simply had to wait. Since my chains had 
prevented me touching Marjory anyway, my slumber that night was no different 
from the previous night. When Ben brought me breakfast in the morning, he 
informed me that the following day was the Feast of Suliman in which the 
nation that held me captive would proclaim it's virtue in the eyes of Allah 
by having me whipped in a public place. Gosh! How lucky can a girl get! 

I knew instantly what the fold of paper contained. Ben handed it to me with 
the air of a conspirator and told me not to swallow the pills before they 
came to strike off my irons. He wouldn't talk about who gave them to him but 
said I was a luck girl with much to be grateful for. With a wide smirk, he 
announced his intention to whip me very well, indeed. 

When I unfolded the paper there were two small pills. I also saw the 
scrawled message: "This is the best I can do, darling, and I have to trust 
Ben to give them to you. You'd best destroy this message any way you can." 

The irons which made me captive to the wall had become almost friends, 
enforcing, upon me life without derision and limited to the few pares I 
could walk When the smith and his helper came into view, I found myself 
wishing they would go away. I hastily swallowed the two pills and thanked 
Marjory in my heart. 

When I stood unchained the whole thing was hard to believe. My hands and 
feet were free, there was no collar upon my neck, and I accepted Ben's 
earnest assurance that everything was going to be okay. With an 
extraordinary docility I allowed myself to be led from the courtyard, 
felling the beginning of that pleasant world where I didn't really care. It 
was a drug-induced world but one I was grateful for nevertheless. 

It was a long journey evidently those who now governed my life deemed it was 
to get as far away from a port city as they could. But the crowd assembled 
to watch my nakedness and my strange immunity to pain would have done 
justice to a small city. In the middle of the city square stood a couple of 
poles firmly embedded in the sand. I knew their purpose immediately. When I 
was taken and placed between them. I felt like moaning out n protest at this 
cruelty as my mind continuously asked, "Why me? Why me? Why me?" 

The business of binding my wrists was simple it was like repeating a daily 
domestic chore. Ben circled my wrists with his cords and tugged them tight 
until I stood helplessly between the two posts. I looked around in 
astonishment at the many eyes all staring at a naked girl and longing to 
hear her screams. Or to witness the miracle of a girl who did not scream 
beneath the thong. Ben patted my bottom reassuringly and repeated that he 
would whip me very hard. 

Ben had left me alone between the posts. Evidently there was to be a wait in 
which I could contemplate my fate and the faithful would have an opportunity 
to examine infidel female flesh. Several policemen were in charge and 
marshaled the curious into a constantly moving stream of hungry eyes feeding 
up me from a few yards away. 

In a clinical sort of curiosity I looked up and saw that Ben had my wrists 
with neat circles of rope and knotted them with such tight knots that there, 
would be no hope of my getting loose. If a girl can't get loose, why hurt 
your wrists in useless struggles? 

When a quick glance over my bare shoulder told me that Ben was getting ready 
for his task, I simply closed my eyes to await the first cut on my skin. I 
longed to howl at them all in revolt against the outrageous indignity. I 
longed to threaten them with the Stars and Strips and the Marines, gut a 
naked girl tied to a couple of post and distant from her country doesn't 
have much to say about anything. I simply prayed that Marjory's pills would 
do their job. 

The pills failed me totally. Marjory had been swindled. Or perhaps Ben had 
substituted something else. His first lash across the center of my back 
evoked my loudest scream and such a dance of agony as to hold my audience 
enthralled within the framework of the posts. I danced and kicked and 
cavorted that finely evoked applause. I was an infidel getting her just 
desserts. 

That was the way it was. And Ben's urgent whispering between the strokes 
told me he was almost as concerned as I that Marjory's pills had failed me. 
Once more I got the full thirty strokes and then stood there, sweating and 
panting and longing to die while some old twit in a white shirt addressed 
the faithful and, for all I knew, made apologies for my behaving naturally. 
I was left tied to the post for maybe an hour before someone untied me only 
to bind my wrists again behind my back and lead me to a waiting car. 

I slept upon my belly against the wall with every bit of me firmly secured 
by familiar chain. I sobbed myself to sleep. After breakfast the following 
day I was visited by a trio of grave, elderly men who had already decided my 
fate but felt it proper to deliver their verdict to the chained prisoner 
while she was still captive to the wall. It was very simple, beneath Ben's 
whip I had shown myself simply human and thus became a silly, sinful young 
woman who might as well be sold by auction to bother them no more. I was now 
to join others in the cage of girls awaiting sale. Undoubtedly they found 
virtue in their judgment. I watched them go in an agony of apprehension. I 
would vanish from the sight of Marjory and Hamid, and Heber Patmore, as 
though I had never existed. I looked at the chains from which there was no 
escape and wept. 

They came for me in the afternoon, a pair of nattily attired soldiers and 
the smith. The irons were struck away by sure, swift blows of the hammer. 
and I was led from the courtyard and taken to a building I hadn't seen 
before and in which I found a vast chamber in which there was a huge cage. 
And in the cage were girls each of whom was restrained by handcuffs or cord 
or rope. None possessed their hands I soon joined this sad-group by having 
my own wrists corded unkindly behind my back and was then thrust through an 
open gate which clanged behind my back. 

My new companions were staring at me as I was at them. They came in a great 
variety of colors but all were beautiful girls of better than average 
figures. 

I knew there were worse places than this cage. I had lost my hands but what 
did it matter since I could do nothing with them anyway? The iron bars were 
only a transition to a different imprisonment. Each of us in that cage knew 
that the day would come when we would stand upon the block that men might 
view us and bid for ownership of our bodies. It made us sisters. I know for 
my part, and I suspect for most of those girls, we could only hope we would 
be purchased by someone rich and powerful and who would only whip us once a 
week. 

Two days later I stood on that block and was sold for an incredible sum to 
some unknown man who had found me pleasing to his eye. 

My hands were already tied behind my back to make me helpless. But to make 
quite certain I would not misbehave, my new owner used thin twine to tie my 
elbows together while I gasped at each bitter bite and pleaded for mercy. 
With a firm hand upon my arm I was then led from the auction room to a new 
life in which my only function would be to look beautiful and to serve this 
new master. 

The huge price paid for me did nothing to raise my social status. I was 
delivered to the elder Raschid El Akabar's senior wife as what was little 
better than a household slave. She had the power to whip me as she pleased 
or to punish me anyway as might meet her fancy. The master himself would 
enjoy me in his bed whenever so disposed. This whole domestic scene, when 
measured against my purchase price, seemed a waste of money. That night my 
master availed himself of my body, not bothering to untie my hands which had 
remained bound throughout my ordeal, and asked casually if my whipped back 
enhanced my pleasure. I would have loved to spit in his face but I could do 
nothing except to assure him he was entirely wonderful. 

The following day Hamid arrived to repose his property. It was ecstasy piled 
upon ecstasy! My treatment in the Raschid dwelling switched from low girl on 
the totem pole to a degree of respect I found embarrassing. They did 
everything except untie my hands. Apparently a slavegirl should be delivered 
to her master with hands tied and wearing no clothes. Hamid's visit was 
accorded all honor and respect. 

When his Rolls drew up at the gate, I was allowed out on to the patio to 
give him greeting. It was respectfully hinted that it was only proper if he 
found me on my knees. 

A lot of things had happened to me since we were last together. Sometime he 
seemed only a legend in my mind, and I wondered if he remembered the little 
slavegirl he had kept in chains at Shalima. 

But all these speculations were swept away as he raised me up, cut the cord 
upon my wrist, and clasp my naked body to his with such strength as to tell 
me I was loved. And the way he whispered my name in my ear... 

I had gathered that Raschid El Akabar was no small potatoes in his own 
right. But whatever rank he held must have been as nothing compared to the 
man I adored. Thus it was only fitting that the distinguished visitor be 
provided with a glass of the local beverage, and we accordingly sat with me 
kneeling at the side of my master's feet while the two men talked but in a 
language I did not understand. 

But I could have cared less. I sat back on my heels and simply glowed and 
glowed in the glory of knowing myself loved. And once more I was properly 
enslaved. If you think slavery is crazy, just try it sometime with a master 
like Hamid and you'll change your mind. 

I say no more of Raschid and his wives. We were served by a shy little girl 
who was obviously scared to death probably because she had been threatened 
with a thrashing if she spilled a drop. When the toasts were done, Hamid 
sent out to the car for a suitcase in which was everything a Western girl 
might wish to wear. I had been naked for so long I looked at him in 
wonderment. 

"It is a long way back to Shalima, beloved girl," Hamid explained. "There 
will be a stop over and I wish to take you to dine and to go shopping. For 
these pleasures you may not be naked in any land. And even though you may be 
proud of your whip marks, I am not. They were placed there upon your skin by 
someone other than myself. Come, sweetheart, make yourself beautiful." 

The shy little girl led me to a small room and helped me when I needed it. 
There was a basin of water and a towel, and with the child looking on 
bug-eyed, I washed by pussy and my nipples and anything else that needed 
cleaning. I longed for a bathtub but had to do with what I could. I was so 
damned happy I could have cried. 

As we walked out to the car with me uncomfortable in my gorgeous clothes and 
expensive shoes, I could not but reflect in the manner in which the lives of 
girls are fashioned by the men they meet. Even though we do not realize it 
at the time, men do as they please with us. Society has pretty names for 
their attentions, but in the end it is men who dictate our destinies. I know 
girls in love tend to be silly in their desire to immolate themselves for 
the men they love, but in this case with Hamid, I had a feeling that my 
emotions went beyond this much overworked word of love and came close to 
being simple worship of a man who could perform miracles. Yesterday I was on 
the slave block being auctioned off and today I was a fairy princess who 
hadn't even lost her slipper. Frictioned by the unaccustomed panties of 
purest silk, my sex was working over time. And the flame I had believed dead 
flared into demanding heat. I was shameless in desire. 

"I do not wish to hear about your adventures," Hamid said with the touch of 
amusement I remembered well. "I either know or can guess most of them. Your 
life on the Rankin's Pride would be predictable but I am curious how you 
made your escape from Rankin's ship. I could tell he valued you. Did he not 
keep you chained?" 

"Only by handcuffs and they didn't stop me swimming." I found myself 
reluctant to speak of Rankin but added, by way of explanation, "He had the 
soles of my feet whipped. And it hurt so bad and was such an ugly thing to 
do to me that I jumped over the rail and took my chance. I knew you'd be 
waiting for me somewhere." 

"You took an awful chance, sweetheart. You could have drowned, and there's 
sharks." 

"I refuse to think about that. Don't let's talk about it. And why didn't you 
rescue me earlier?" 

"All in good time, sweetheart. I have you now and won't let you go." His 
enjoyment of possession kept me constantly excited in that nice, warm 
sensation of being totally owned. Mischievously, I asked, "Why don't you 
have me handcuffed?" 

"We will spend the night at a hotel and not at Shalima. I can't very well 
march a handcuffed maiden through the lobby and up the elevator." 

"Yes, you could. You have such tremendous power in this land no one would 
raise an eyebrow. In fact, I think it would be fun. Please handcuff me." 

This time Hamid's pat was a little harder. "A properly trained slavegirl 
would never dream of asking her master for such a privilege." His voice was 
alive with laughter. "Evidently your behavior has been allowed to go in its 
own direction with proper corrections. That matter will be attended to when 
I get you home." 

"I bet you'll whip me?" 

"You are in a masochistic mood, sweetheart, and I am going to have to start 
your training all over again." Hamid gave me a sideways glance. "That's what 
you want, isn't it?" 

I knew myself in a state of euphoria in which whippings and chains seemed 
far distant but which, since they came from Hamid, were something to be much 
desired. I knew I was being girlishly silly but it was a lovely feeling. I 
longed for our journey to end so I could be hugged and kissed and receive 
all the gorgeous male attention which Rankin Teller had been loath to give. 
Spending the rest of my life with this man was something I desired above all 
else. I was pretty sure Hamid wouldn't go soft on me. He'd keep me some way 
chained and I could be pretty sure of an occasional whipping simply because 
I couldn't control my tongue. Hamid's thoughts must have been following the 
same trend for he added, "Perhaps, after I get you to our hotel suite, I can 
do something you may not enjoy. I think that for you frustration is the best 
punishment. Tell me, sweetheart, how you would enjoy to be tight tied down, 
spread-eagle on the bed to receive my attentions throughout the night but 
yourself be unable to move a single inch?" 

"I'd say you'd be wasting a good girl. I wouldn't like it the least bit." 

"But that's what you have to look forward to. Let's look at it as your 
number one lesson of the new training course." 

"You mean how to be a well behaved slavegirl in six painful lessons?" 

"More probably it would be twelve. You are a most difficult subject." 

"It's because I'm in love. Love complicates everything. You see, I'm not a 
frightened little girl scared of getting her bottom whipped. I'd love you to 
whip my bottom. And I guess I could become accustomed to being spread-eagle 
on the bed. And enjoy that, too." 

It was delightful conversation with just the right undercurrent of menace 
and authority to keep me constantly aquiver. A girl can't go on inviting 
outrageous punishment as her own topic of conversation. Suddenly curious, I 
inquired, "What did you do with Fayella and Inza?" 

"You saw them punished. And they continued to receive punishment throughout 
the day. But they're of no importance so I set them free and told them to go 
home and behave themselves. They seemed grateful for the mercy. I suspect 
they feared something far worse." 

"Will I see them again?" 

"If you wish I can have them brought before you in chains, and perhaps 
whipped one afternoon while we take tea. Or, if you prefer, you can simply 
visit them as an honored guest. Accompanied by an armed guard, of course and 
I expect they'd see the visit as an honor. But, sweetheart, why bother. If 
you desire a companion you could punish at will and with whom you could find 
communion, I am sure I could obtain one of those pretty little tricks that 
belonged to your beloved Marjory. I know where they were purchased and I'm 
sure I could buy one of them back. I should have thought of doing this 
before. Would you like that?" 

"Hamid, I'd love it! I'd love to have any one of them. But would it bother 
you if I didn't punish them at all?" 

He chuckled. "You think that now," he said good-naturedly. "But you'd get 
bored with each other, and since I would insist upon you keeping her at 
least handcuffed, she would have to obey your commands and accept whatever 
discomforts boredom might dictate. We must all guard against boredom and the 
best way to do that is not to allow it to happen." 

"So you think I should whip the poor girl whenever I'm out of sorts. I'm 
sure you're right but I'm not sure how good I'd be at it." Hamid squeezed my 
arm. "There's one way of finding out," he said jovially. "I had considered 
enslaving Fayella and Inza and making them a gift for you. But you might 
find it more interesting to possess a maiden of your own race. Consider it 
done." 

Our destination was a port city which was the usual mixture of ancient and 
modem. When I beheld the splendor the hotel Hamid had chosen, I could 
understand his wish for me to be properly clothed but I still regretted not 
having my wrists properly chained. The desk clerk was the usual SOB and I 
would have loved to see the expression on his face when I exhibited a pair 
of feminine joined hands before his eyes. Hamid knew perfectly well what I 
was thinking and whispered that I should behave myself or I would perhaps 
find myself spending the night hanging upside down from the balcony by my 
big toes. I didn't know if he was serious or not! 

After we were settled into a suite only a little larger than most homes, I 
was given the choice of dinning in or going to the dinning room. My reply 
was to the effect that since I was to have a bad time later, it would be 
nice to be among the noise and glitter of a fine restaurant. I was being 
vastly humored and I sometimes had a twinge of apprehension that there might 
be a price tag waiting for me somewhere. 

We were half way through dinner and the wine when a heavy hand fell upon my 
shoulder and a familiar voice addressed my master without a trace of 
reverence, "Damn it, Hamid, old boy, it's you who fished her out of the 
drink?" 

I am absurdly female. I knew I should hate Rankin Teller but I never quite 
managed to tell him this, and his unexpected appearance at our table seemed 
something to be expected. No doubt the Rankin's Pride was anchored in the 
harbor while its master had a night out on the town. Or, far more probably, 
was arranging to make himself a few more millions. Strangely enough, there 
existed between these two men a sort of camaraderie as though they were big 
enough and strong enough to overlook each other weaknesses. "I should have 
had you killed, Rankin," Hamid said without emotion. "I have not forgotten 
your hospitality, and keeping Celie prisoner. But the fact is you're a 
lovable rogue. Sit down and I'll order another bottle." 

I suffered a pinched nipple and a somewhat less than polite kiss upon my 
forehead. I looked at Rankin and sniffed disdainfully as he sat down and 
accepted our waiter's attention. "So you didn't like the riding crop across 
those pretty little feet of yours, sweetheart?" He laughed at my feeble 
attempt to look haughty. "I'll have to be careful from now one. Next time 
I'll keep you in irons after I have you whipped." Shaking his head, he 
turned to Hamid, "These girls, you can't keep up with them. I didn't think 
it hurt enough for her to jump over the rail in the middle of the night. 
I'll be more careful next time." 

"There won't be any next time." 

"Well, maybe not. But I notice you ain't got no irons on her now. First 
thing you know she'll be running off down the street." 

"No, I won't," I interrupted firmly. "And if all you can talk about is 
whipping me, I wish you'd go and have your conversation somewhere else!" 

"My, my, she's feeling her oats, Hamid! You ain't doing nothing silly with 
her, are you? I mean like hauling her off to church and making an honest 
woman of her?" 

"That's none of your business, Rankin. And, in any case, you have not kept 
her properly in line. She needs a fresh course of training. I suppose you 
gave her run of the ship and she spent half her time with those guests at 
the bar." 

"Celie will tell you what sort of a time she had. Mostly she didn't get 
nothing worse than a pair of handcuffs. I really do admire a set of steel 
bracelets on a girl's wrists. Couldn't we make her wear them now while we're 
having dinner?" 

"No, we can't!" 

"Well, look her, Hamid, old boy, I figure Celie belongs a lot more to me 
than she does to you. How'd it be I buy her back. Not that you ever paid me 
for her in the first place, mind you. How about ten million bucks? That's a 
hell of a lot of dough and you could buy yourself a hundred dancing girls 
for less." 

"Rankin, you're being offensive. And you're also giving Celie exaggerated 
ideas of her own value. The answer is no." 

"Okay, okay, keep your shirt on." Rankin turned to me and leered. "You see, 
honey, the effect you have on us poor men? Shit, I ain't ever offered no one 
ten million for a pretty ass and a pair of nice tits. I hope you're 
flattered." 

I felt annoyed with myself for I actually did feel flattered buy knowing his 
estimate of my worth. And for something he had previously enjoyed free of 
charge. I love the way these tycoons toss around millions to make the rest 
of us feel like two cents. Demurely I looked at Hamid and said, in meek 
submission, "Thank you, Master, for wishing to keep me. Please don't ever 
sell me to anyone." I almost added, "Certainly not to Rankin," but for some 
reason the words wouldn't come. I dropped it while wishing devoutly Rankin 
hadn't come and messed up our evening. 

"Well, if ten million ain't enough, Hamid, old chap," said Rankin 
thoughtfully, "how about I let you in on that consortium I'm setting up with 
the Saudis. Looks like the biggest thing since bread. You let me put 
handcuffs on this little girl here and lead her away right now and I'll give 
you a twenty percent cut. If that ain't being generous, I don't know what 
is." 

"I told you, Rankin, Celie is not for sale. You can keep your money. She is 
my number one slavegirl." He turned to me to add, "That's what your are, 
Celie. And I want you to tell this oaf that in your own words." 

Once more I was shocking demure. "I belong to Hamid and I am his number one 
slavegirl. And if he doesn't want to sell me to your, you'd best go back to 
the ship and select one of your lady passengers and see how she enjoys 
getting the soles of her feet beaten by a riding crop." 

It was always impossible to faze Rankin Teller. He carried off the moment 
well enough by pinching my nipple once again. "Well, I don't bear no hard 
feelings," he said. "The way you allow this kid to run around loose, Hamid, 
I wouldn't be surprised I run into her again sometime and get her for 
nothing. Let's drink to it." 

It shows the weight of Rankin's character that we drank the absurd toast and 
then I had to listen to a lot of he-man stuff about Rankin's lousy 
consortium with all the details of business matters that I didn't 
understand. But in the end he took his departure gracefully, and might even 
have been mistaken for a gentleman. I think both Hamid and I were grateful 
to see him go. And when Hamid said we had allowed the main event of the 
evening to drift on until it was now overdue, I followed him upstairs with a 
fast beating heart and happy anticipation in my mind. 

I could never be coy with Hamid. And between us there was nothing to spoil 
the glorious moment. I simply removed my clothes and shoes, then knelt at my 
master's feet to say with all the sincerity I possessed, "I love you very 
much, Master." Then I leaped upon the bed to stretch my limbs out and lay 
there panting and starry-eyed. 

Hamid was as good as his word. But for the binding of my ankles he made me 
sit up to watch as he strapped each in a band of leather, each with its ring 
through which he threaded his rope. My wrists were, not honored with the 
soft leather, instead they got the cut of cords wound around and around 
again and tightly knotted to leave a trailing length of rope by which I was 
to be anchored to the bed. It was then he positioned my nakedness to his 
pleasure before cinching tight each cord to the waiting bed post. I was 
absolutely taut in a very indecent exposure. Mischievously, I told him the 
binding of my right foot still had some slack and wouldn't he like to 
tighten it some more? For that outrageous piece of nonsense I got myself 
spread tighter. Playfully, Hamid plucked one of my pubic hairs to teach me a 
lesson. 

It was altogether glorious and I journeyed to and from the stars in the 
ecstasy of sensations he created in my body. Hamid had the power to make any 
girl happy. I thought of Rankin Teller only once and that the was moment my 
master decided to thrust a couple of pillows beneath my rump. I had never 
been happier in my life as that night beneath the hard, sure thrusts of the 
man I would forever call master. I was transported through all the places of 
the mind but was far too tightly bound to contribute anything except gasps 
and moans. I simply lay there and enjoyed. 

I wanted it to last forever. Bound there upon my master's bed, I knew for 
certain I had achieved a female ultimate beyond anything most girl would 
ever know. The bondage of the ropes told me who and what I was, and I 
blissfully hurt my wrists and ankles without feeling the pain while I 
struggled fiercely to thrust back at the male body thrusting against mine. I 
could not move but my spirit soared. 

It was during one of the brief pauses in which I was allowed to catch my 
breath and prepare to be pierced again that I beheld behind Hamid's naked 
form a hooded figure sheathed in black. The figure struck one swift blow 
before I could cry out and Hamid fell across my naked body. His body was 
dragged roughly from the room and from my sight. The whole thing had 
happened in the space of seconds. 

I deadly silence took possession of the room to make me its prisoner as did 
my bonds. I strained to hear any sounds but there was nothing. My master and 
the man or woman in black had vanished without trace, leaving me helpless. 

I felt no urge to scream, something told me it would be useless. What had 
happened was beyond my power to influence. Naturally I thought of Rankin but 
the black invader had not been of his shape or size. I wondered why I had 
not been touched. Evidently I was considered unimportant to someone's plans. 
Then, as pain began to seep into wrists and ankles. I turned from grief over 
my lover to bleakly survey my own situation. Hamid's cords had spoken only 
of love while he had been there but now had become enemies while the pillows 
beneath my hips were mute testimony to the shame and humiliation I was bound 
to suffer when released. 

But would I be released? T was tied to tightly to rise up and see the time. 
But it was probably midnight or later and a long time before the maid would 
discovery me. I had hours and hours in which in lay there in increasing pain 
without hope of help. In panic I screamed and screamed but my pitiful cries 
were lost in the penthouse. Desperately I strained against the bindings but 
only got pain as my reward. So I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my mind 
a jumble of fear and speculation. I was a sorry girl indeed and was 
painfully conscious how disgusting and ridiculous I would appear to those 
who might free me. If I hadn't hurt so much I might have gone to sleep. 

They came suddenly and in silence. A cloth was thrown my face and a gag 
strapped tight into my mouth. My cords were swiftly cut and I was flipped 
over onto my face while my arms were pulled roughly behind my back. I tried 
to struggle against the weight holding me down but my struggle was weak and 
I soon lay in acceptance of my new fate. My captors wasted no time. My arms 
were bound by one captor while my ankles were tightly tied together by the 
other. After my ankles, it was my knees, tight, tight, tight. While this was 
going on my wrists were being tied palm to palm with a vicious tightness to 
hurt. They now had me helpless and proceeded to bandage my eyes so I was 
mute and blind. They then preformed upon my elbows the brutal binding 
designed to make any girl do what she was told. But there were no commands 
and my elbows were soon joined as brutally as was the rest of me. The next 
inflection was a rope encircling my waist and drawn tight in a noose above 
my navel to be brought down between my thighs, a difficult operation since 
they were tightly bound, and then in some way attached tied to my tied hands 
and pulled very tight to inflect upon me what a captive girl always hates, a 
single strand of rope threaded between my lips and secured so tightly that 
it buried itself deeply with my soft flesh. When this was done, it draped 
down my arms to rob me of the last motion I might make. Whoever my captors 
were, I was now totally at their mercy and hurting far to much to fight. 

I think it must have been a sleeping bag into which I was shoved I heard 
zippers and felt the bag enclosing all of me including my head. I was picked 
up and carried I knew not where. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN - GIRL FOR SALE 

It is a bare stone room, well lit by a high barred window I am the only 
occupant and I woke slowly without much caring much what I found. I must 
have lost consciousness in the sleeping bag or I was drugged, but it does 
not matter, nothing matters now. 

I am naked. The gorgeous clothes which were Hamid's gift are gone, and I am 
bare all over. I have been lying on the stone floor. And when I make motions 
to get up I discover myself in a predicament over which I might giggle if I 
had a giggle left. I am chained --- chained hand and foot, and even a metal 
collar around my neck. I look at the metal bands upon my wrists and then 
upon my ankles. They are snug and tight. A chain perhaps four feet long 
snakes across the floor to anchor me to a metal ball. That might not have 
been so bad had there been only one, but each of my limbs is controlled by a 
length of chain and it's own iron ball which I suspect weigh more then I can 
lift. If I don't want to go anywhere I am well prepared. 

I didn't bother to fight and soon lost my desire to giggle. The iron balls 
were almost a living presence surrounding me with their five spheres of 
authority, I could move around within the tolerance of my chains but that 
was all. Slowly experimenting with this novel form of restraint I discovered 
I had the ability sit up and possibly feed myself, but that was about the 
extent of it unless I could drag five hundred pounds of iron around the 
room. I didn't even consider the possibility. 

I thought of Hamid. I didn't believe he was dead. This whole operation of 
kidnapping me had all the earmarks of a well-oiled plan for a purpose I 
could not yet guess. I had reached a point where I didn't really give a damn 
any more. If someone wished to chain me to five iron balls, I could only 
hope they enjoyed themselves at my expense. I lay down, intending to try and 
sleep, but had no sooner reached a fresh discomfort than the dungeon door 
opened to admit the bright-eyed presence of a girl. It was Inza, the 
daughter of Fayella and the murdered Lobo. And, as I saw her interest in my 
condition, I picked up clues as to what my fate was to be. 

"You're so beautiful, Miss Collins," she breathed heavily. "I'm going to 
love whipping you every day all the rest of your life. You may call me, 
'Mistress'." 

I moaned inwardly and thought back to the punishments this girl had suffered 
on my account. It was a formidable tally which warranted giving the child my 
full attention. 

"Mother sent me first to tell you what you may expect," she said in a 
pleasant, conversational tone. "You have been kidnapped and made our 
prisoner by the Islamic group to which we belong. It is called the Fayad 
Jamafe. Our people do not have enough money with which to fight the man to 
whom you once belonged. But we can torture you enough to avenge my father's 
death." 

"If your father and mother hadn't kidnapped me that time before, he would 
still be alive. It's their fault." 

"That is not the way we see it." The child's eyes glowed with what I once 
might have supposed was love. "It would be nice to whip you now as you 
struggle against your chains. Would you like that?" 

, "Nobody likes to be whipped. What else have you got to tell me?" 

"Everyday we will take pictures of you. We will send these to Hamid and, if 
he loves you as we think he does, he may respect our demands. Mother will be 
able to tell you a lot more than I." 

The young voice trailed away into silence and I felt pretty sure the child 
had been couched in what to say. Inza's English had improved considerably 
since that day when she directed a group of children in mild tortures my 
naked and helpless body had to endure at her hands. The last memory of this 
ardent young female was of her being naked and punished in the garden at 
Shalima. One way or another my future did not look bright. 

When Fayella came, it was easy to tell she was unhappy with her new role. 
But she cast everything aside to sink to her knees among my chains and 
embrace me warmly before uttering her distress at my condition and the 
judgment upon me her tribe had already arrived at. "It is the holy men who 
have brought you here like this," she mourned unhappily. "They are most 
angry over the death of my husband. And the punishments I received at 
Shalima. The tribe might not be rich but among them is power. And the will 
to inflict it on persons like me who could not fight back. As far as I could 
figure out they regarded Hamid as evil. 

"I pleaded with the old me not to make me your jailer," Fayella told me 
sincerely, "but they think I will find pleasure and revenge in punishing you 
each day. I ask forgiveness for the things I will do to you but I will try 
to do only enough for he who uses the camera to take the pictures. It is by 
these pictures they hope to punish the one you call 'Master'." She sighed. 
"It is all very simple." 

I suppose Fayella was right by the standards of another age my punishment 
would be simple, indeed. "So, all right," I asked, "so I have to be kept in 
chains and hurt. But, Fayella, for how long must I be treated thus?" 

"That I do not know. The only comfort I can give you is that it will be a 
friend who wields the whip and locks the irons. The elders of our people 
have no interest in you other than as an opportunity to distress Hamid." 

Inza knew her place and did not intrude as her mother spoke. And quite 
frankly she told of her disappointment that Hamid had not taken her into his 
personal slavery. As his slave she would, apparently, in the eyes of her 
family, obtain a particular social status that, when I had it, I never 
realized. To me it just seemed strange that she should be heart-broken at 
her punishments by Hamid then send back to her people as a well-whipped 
widow. She had had the same ambition for her daughter, who, it seemed, 
shared her disgrace. Then Fayella hurriedly added that whenever I was left 
alone with Inza, there was the possibility that the child might do harm. And 
that whenever Inza was unreasonable cruel I must be sure and let her know. 
How crazy can you get! 

As Fayella paused for breath I took the opportunity to point out that Hamid 
would bring his small army and inflict whatever damage he must in order to 
recover me. But in this hope I found another disappointment. "We are not 
where your master will seek you out," she explained patiently. "Our tribe 
would not dare keep you prisoner within our lands. Most certainly not within 
my house. This old house we are in is one loaned to us by one of our people 
who has moved to the city. You are still in the town where you and your 
master were found in that hotel. My poor, poor Celie, you will never be 
discovered here." 

"But my Master? What have you done with him?" 

"We dared not harm him, he is far too powerful and important a man. Today he 
is back at Shalima and in good health. Please forget him." 

No girl who has been owned by Hamid is likely to forget. I gazed at Fayella, 
who seemed as unhappy as I. "If you have the key to all this metal, why 
don't you set me free? Send me to Shalima or let Hamid know where to find 
me. It would be so easy." 

"The vengeance of my people upon Inza and I for disobeying their orders 
would be so terrible I dare not think of it. Please do not ask me again to 
do this thing." 

I felt sorry for Fayella but not the least bit sorry for Inza. The girl had 
listened respectfully but I wasn't a bit sure her mother's admonition about 
hurting me would have much effect. It looked like any way the cookie 
crumbled I would get hurt. What Fayella now came up with was most comic 
relief. "It is not too late in the day for us to punish you, Celie. Would 
you mind having your first punishment this afternoon?" 

I wasn't sure whether to laugh of cry but did neither. "Do I have a choice?" 
I asked. 

"If fear not. I am so terribly sorry about all of this." She paused then 
asked, "Would you mind if it was Inza who punished you this first time? I 
don't think I would do it very well, but after you've been our prisoner for 
several days I will have to try and share with my daughter the task of 
sending your master the pictures he will not like." Sadly, she added, "I 
wish Lobo had never kidnapped you." 

Then followed a rapid exchange between my two jailers in their own tongue. 
And then Fayella turned to ask me anxiously, "If my daughter sets you free 
while arranging you for punishment, will you be sensible and allow her to 
fasten you again? She will tie you very tight." 

I felt like telling them both where to go but I looked at the stone room 
which was my prison and at the hateful round chunks of iron to which I was 
chained and realized it might be best if I played along. It would be bitter 
humiliation to stand quietly while Inza did as she pleased with making me 
uncomfortable. Then, as an idea struck me, Fayella read my thoughts. 
"Celie," she said quickly, "please do not believe you can over power Inza 
and escape. Even if you succeeded there are others in this house. For my 
sake and your own, please don't try." 

I was once more hugged in a way to tell me how lonely this woman had become. 
Then, when she had departed to leave her daughter and me alone, I choked 
back the natural things I longed to say and became outrageously humble. "I 
will try and be obedient, Inza. Tell me the things I have to do." 

"First I wish to play with you. It is much fun for a girl like me to have a 
naked white woman whose nipples I can pinch and pull hairs from your bush 
below. You will enjoy this? No?" 

Inza and I were both forced to tug at my chains to give me enough slack by 
which to stand. She pointed out helpfully how needful it was for me to stand 
and thus make all of myself available. I stood there with the chain form my 
wrists and neck taut in disapproval. Gosh I hated those damned chunks of 
iron. 

The child had a genuine curiosity in the body of a full grown woman. I 
suppose in this way she caught a glimpse of her own future. I suppose it was 
only natural she should start with my pussy. I stand in taut apprehension as 
she preceded to pluck a hair at a time as slowly as she could to cause the 
maximum pain. "It would be nice to pull them all out" the dear child told me 
as she pulled another. "But this I have been forbidden to do. My mother is 
your friend." 

"Aren't you my friend, too?" 

"Oh, yes, I am very much your friend. But I have a duty which says I must 
hurt you. Maybe you wish to tell me of ways by which I may give you pain?" 

It is useless, my life revolves around pain, humiliation and immobility. 
Even my darling Hamid bound me to his bed so that I became an easy prey to 
those who wished us ill. Striving to delay the inevitable, I inquired, "Tell 
me, Inza, of all the things you intend to do to me." 

Inza's hands were now busy around my pussy. I hated the thought of being 
made to climax, standing here like this. But I kept silent and endured the 
mischievous fingers, one of which was making a sly penetration. Seeing that 
she had me aroused, Inza gave full attention with the finger below and her 
other hand upon my breast while her lips and teeth sough my second nipple. 
Soon I was breathing hard and this simply redoubled the efforts of the 
little bitch to make the outcome inevitable. I exploded with a moan and 
shivers in which the child took great interest. I was still chained and 
unable to protest. 

"That was very nice," my tormentor said. "Would you like me to do it again?" 

"No, please don't. It's horrible when I'm chained like this. Can't you think 
of something else?" 

"You will not like the things I think of... " 

"I'm sure you're right." 

"What I wish to do is to unlock you from those lovely iron balls and then 
find out just how obedient you are." 

The thought of being free from all that metal was wonderful. Throwing 
caution to the wind, I told her, "Get me free of these horrible things and 
I'll be as obedient as you could want." 

It was a wonderful feeling to have the heavy chains removed, one by one. 
When it was done I looked down at the pile of metal with a loathing to make 
Inza laugh. "You are free, Celie," she mocked. "Do you not wish to take the 
key from me? Do you not wish to run away?" 

Every word the moppet spoke was a goad to the anger and humiliation building 
within my chest. 

"I will be the teacher and you will be the little girl who has to do what 
she is told," she said sweetly. "First you will kneel and tell me how 
beautiful you think I am and how you hope I will punish you very much." 

I knelt before the child, demeaning myself with every word I uttered. I was 
then put through sort of a drill in which I had to pose in a sort of series 
of objectionable sexual positions. And to march back and forth across the 
room like a soldier on parade. It wasn't exactly torture but after a while 
came damned close. When she'd had enough of it, I was told, "You will come 
here and stand before me, Miss Collins. You will turn your back and cross 
your wrists." Goodness knows I'd been tied often enough but this was 
something different. The damned girl was actually making me feel a child. 
But I had given my promise and assumed the posture desired and waited for 
the first bit of cord. 

The business of having my hands tied behind my hack has always aroused 
feelings of one sort or another according to who was doing the binding. But 
I had never been bound by a fourteen year old girl, and I had to admit the 
experience fanned my flame until I became shamefully aware of its heat. I 
stood erect with breasts out thrust and drew in a deep breath with the first 
bit of cord. I had expected an amateur job but was swiftly made to change my 
opinion by strong young fingers that must have played this game before. The 
wrists mere secured quite solidly with many winding anti .knots, ail as 
tight as the girl could make them. It hurt but I did not say a word standing 
in my nakedness in complete acceptance of this fresh humiliation. I was 
being made helpless by a child. 

Inza's final knot came and I knew that my fingers would never reach near it. 
Inza then turned me around for a full frontal view. "Just think of it. Miss. 
Collins you're a grown up woman and you're naked. And I can do whatever I 
want to you! Aren't you frightened?" 

"Yes, I'm frightened. Please don't hurt me too much, Inza." 

"You are supposed to call me Mistress. For that I pinch your tit. 

She immediately did so hard enough to make me squeal and try to twist from a 
relentless thumb and finger When the young voice asked me slyly if I had 
learned my lesson, I said a vehement, "Yes, Mistress," which I repeated 
several times before the pinch was released. I wondered what would happen 
next but could have saved my time -- I too soon found out. 

"When I was a small girl, I was whipped very much, indeed," said the young 
teenager. "Mostly it was the caning of my bottom. But there were other 
places, too, and it hurt very much. Your bottom, Miss. Collins, is 
beautifully shaped and I would like very much to cane it hard. I am sure you 
will not object?" 

"With the way you've tied my hands, I can't object about anything. But I 
wont like it." 

"That is good to know, Miss Collins, but it would be so nice if you asked 
politely for me to punish you in this nice way. Please do that now." 

I tugged at corded wrists. I couldn't help it. In a voice choked with 
emotion, I managed, "Please, Mistress, would you please cane my bottom very 
hard?" By the time I had finished I was panting. 

"You did not say that good at all. Miss Collins," Inza complained. "You 
should smile and sound most happy. You will try again." 

I tried again and this time managed to pass. I was then told to be a good 
girl while my mistress went in search of the objects by which I would be 
hurt. I stood there watching her flit lightly from the room, no doubt in 
invitation for me to misbehave. But I refused to go near the temptation and 
spent the time struggling against the cords which now burned horribly around 
my wrists. I went to the barred window to enjoy the view. It was limited to 
houses like that in which I was now a prisoner and I wondered if someone 
came close enough to hear my plead if it would do any good. I had the 
feeling that I would constantly be confronted with opportunities to seek 
escape -- opportunities to gain more punishment, more likely. When my 
mistress returned, she carried not only a cane but a riding crop, some 
straps, and a wicked looking little whip. I was evidently in for a bad time. 

"You will please bend down, Miss. Collins as though to touch your toes. I 
will swish you five times and you will thank me after each. Do you 
understand?" 

"Yes, I understand." I bent forward as ordered but my punishment was raised 
to six because I failed to stiffen my knees. When I did so, I understood why 
it would hurt me more. I felt certain my bottom was taut as a drum. When the 
first blow bit my skin, the pain was about ten times worse than I'd 
expected. I forgot to count and I forgot to offer thanks, the main reason 
being I was withering on the floor in pain. Inza watched with pleased 
enjoyment but then said crossly, "You are not behaving at all well, Miss 
Collins. We must start all over again. And you must tell me how sorry you 
are for being so bad. If you do not get up now, I will use this little whip 
on you until you do." 

I started to tell her how impossible it was to bare such awful pain but the 
first cut of what she called her "little whip" convinced me there was worse 
pain. I struggled to my feet as rapidly as I could. 

Once again I was bent over in that shameful pose and hearing myself saying, 
"I apologize, Mistress, for my behavior. I will try and do better." 

We started again. Armed with the knowledge of what the cane could do, I 
managed to stay put for the first and second strokes and to gasp out my 
insincere thanks for the weals across my skin. But Inza gave blow number 
three everything she had to cause my knees to buckle once again and to cause 
me to fall to the floor. The child listened to my pleas for mercy with 
contempt. When she again reached for the little whip. I'm ashamed to say I 
hurried back to my feet and resumed the bend over posture. I was actually 
grateful when told that because my mistress had a kind heart, the punishment 
would not start over. I'm not sure how I managed to get through the 
remaining strokes. But I remained in that horrible posture for the rest of 
the strokes. After one I Was weeping bitterly until Inza grasp my hair, 
raised my head up and kissed me full on the mouth with all the ardor of 
love. I stood in disarray while my tears were kissed away. 

"I think you did that very well, Miss. Collins," Inza informed with 
sincerity. "You have been punished enough this first day so I will now put 
you back in your chains and to go tell my momma how brave you are. I am sure 
you will like that." 

"No I won't. Oh Inza, please don't chain me again. I can't get out of this 
room, you've got me safe." 

"I would be whipped for being too kind," Inza stated simply. "But I will 
leave your hands the way they are and I will chain one ankle if my momma 
says that is not enough. I will come back and chain you more." 

I didn't argue. Maybe she really was being kind. I looked down to watch my 
ankle encircled in Steel. And I was once again kissed by a nymphet who fled 
laughing from the room, slamming the door to leave me baffled and with a 
burning bottom. Thus passed my first day of a new captivity. 

I slept on my belly and bitterly regretted my chose of Inza's cord over the 
steel bands and chains. Having my arm behind my back precluded any sort of 
comfort and the relative freedom of my one chained foot make me wish my 
other leg, my hands and my neck had been restrained in iron rather my hands 
being painfully bound. By morning I was stiff and bad tempered and inclined 
to be tearful at the thought of another day of undeserved punishment. My 
tied wrists burned horribly. 

It was not Fayella or Inza who woke me in the morning. It was a cross 
between a policeman and a solider, I couldn't tell which. He appeared to be 
on a tour of discovery and seemed pleased at what he had discovered. Right 
off the bat he said, "You are Miss. Celie Collins. Is that not right?" 

Puzzled and dazed, I admitted my identity, and before I could ask questions, 
the military type ran back from where he came, presumably to impart the glad 
tidying of my discovery. The door of my prison was open and I longed to go 
and see what was going on. But my hands were still tied and Inza's chain was 
still on my foot. It was not long, however, before reinforcements arrived, 
this time obviously an officer with several uniformed men who used a key on 
my ankle shackle and actually cut the cords Inza had tied to tight. 

"We are civilized men," the officer said crisply as he motioned to one of 
his men who produced handcuffs which I gratefully exchanged for the thin 
cords. Those handcuffs felt so damned good I could have cried. 

Everything moved with military precision. I was given no time for questions 
but was propelled upstairs and out into the sunlight where a couple of 
police cars and a van awaited cargo. I was lifted into the van and dumped 
within the iron grip of as quaint a contraption as I had ever seen. My feet 
and legs were thrust through a couple of hoops as my joined hands were 
unlocked only long enough to fasten them again beneath my bent knees. The 
thing was then secured by a collar around my neck, a brutal iron collar that 
compelled me to sit upright upon my wounded bottom and discover I could make 
no effective movement whatsoever. I simply sat within the confining iron to 
attempt once more the hopeless task of finding out what this was all about. 
But my questions died upon my lips as first Fayella and then Inza were 
thrust to join me within the van, each being handcuffed as was I but joined 
together by a chain from neck to neck. 

"You are all under arrest for kidnapping," the officer sternly informed. 
"You will please to do as you are told." 

The officer's place was taken by one of his men who produced another set of 
handcuffs to lock Inza's ankle to the ankle of her mother so that their 
chances of running away were remote indeed. With that task performed, the 
policeman took his position at the wheel and we drove away. I looked at 
Fayella in mute amazement. 

"We have been betrayed," Fayella told me without emotion. "Our servants have 
been sent back to their homes and the three of us will share a fate I don't 
like to think about." She paused then asked, "I don't suppose you can get 
yourself free from that thing? My daughter and I are helpless with all these 
handcuffs. Oh, Miss Collins, I feel so guilty." 

I looked at mother and daughter and realized we were into a whole new ball 
game in which they appeared to have no more status than did I. But there was 
question I had to get answered. "If it's me who was kidnapped, then why am I 
arrested? That uniformed idiot didn't tell me." 

Fayella sighed. "We are in the hands of the police of this city. But they 
will not hold us long. Right now they are delivering us to a small village 
in the desert where we are to work as slaves. I have told that silly 
policeman of your identity, Hamid and Shalima. But he simply laughs and now 
we are on our way to be sold. Oh, Celie, I am so terribly, terribly sorry!" 

I was terribly sorry, too. "I do not understand this land in the way you 
do," I told Fayella dismally. "But cannot you get word to Hamid? Hamid would 
get us all out if he knew what had happened." 

"It is not possible, Celie. I do not know who has betrayed us but for 
certain we are on our way to where all three of us will be sold into 
slavery. A rich man will buy us and use us as they please. Even my poor 
child Inza will grow up within the clutch of irons." Fayella broke down and 
wept as I sat helplessly like a pretzel in a cage. 

It was a long drive and at the end of it the slave trader to whom we now 
belonged treated us with an unemotional kindness, frankly admitting that it 
was not good business to have his female merchandise marked by whips. The 
police made their delivery, released me from the metal thing, then went 
their way, leaving the three of us standing in the presence of the Arab 
gentleman who would sell us. He spoke rapidly to Fayella and Inza but mostly 
ignored me. We were than taken to a large room where my two companions were 
forced to remove all clothing, including shoes. And then all three of us 
received a metal collar, the chain from which was fastened firmly to the 
stone wall to allow us about ten feet of freedom but that was all. Our hands 
were joined in front by handcuffs. We were left alone and the door slammed 
with an alarming sound. 

I walked the few feet I was permitted by my chain and turned to look at my 
companions who were now as naked I. "He has not whipped us yet," said 
Fayella. "Perhaps we are going to be lucky arid not suffer strips until 
after we have been sold. I fear we can never escape." 

We did our damnedest with tugging and pulling but only reassured ourselves 
that we could not escape. Finally, exhausted, we sat on the bare floor and 
leaned against the wall to wait what ever happens next. In my case it did 
not take long. 

It was the officer. He was accompanied by one of those smaller men who are 
neither fat nor thin, and who, at first glance, appeared to one huge beaming 
smile, focused entirely on me. "This is Mr. Tony Pregio," the officer told 
me. "Mr. Pregio is considering doing you the honor of a purchase. He is 
aware of your past history, so do not burden him with pleas for release." 
The officer stepped aside. 

I liked Mr. Pregio's smile. Here was no grim-lipped authority but a man of 
the world who I felt sure would give a girl an even break. In the politest 
tone I could, I said, "How do you do, Mr. Pregio? My name is Miss. Celie 
Collins. I do hope you will buy me and get me out of these chains." I paused 
briefly then went for broke. "I should explain to you that I am very well 
behaved." 

The officer beamed, Mr. Pregio beamed, and my companions in chains viewed me 
with frowns. 

Mr. Pregio looked as though he might be shy but most certainly was not. He 
had me stand and assume various poses all designed all to show off my best 
assets. He poked and prodded and pinched and patted. He even looked inside 
my mouth as though I was a horse. Encouraged by the way my previous remark 
had been received, I went a step further by adding, "I am twenty-four years 
old. And as a slavegirl I should deliver my owner many years of useful 
service." 

Mr. Pregio could not provide a broader smile that the one on his features. 
Instead he burst into a genuine laugh, and patting my cheek, said, "You wish 
to be sold. Are you not happy with your present condition?" 

"She has been harshly treated," said the officer as though fearful of what I 
might next say. "But I have found her obedient, just as she has said. She is 
possibly the finest piece of merchandise I have ever offered for sale." 

"You mean the finest female flesh you've ever managed to arrest," Mr. Pregio 
chuckled. "How much do you want for her." 

The answer was crisp and instant, and a very large amount. Mr. Pregio was 
unfazed by the amount. He looked at me slyly and winked. "Think you're worth 
that much, girl?" 

"No girl is worth that much, sir. But it is not for a poor slavegirl to say. 
But if you buy me, I will try to make you pleased with your purchase. Please 
buy me.". 

He and the man who wanted to sell me left the room. In a surprisingly .short 
space of time Mr. Pregio returned, oozing good will from ever pore, to 
inform me I could not consider myself his property. And to be prepared to 
deliver my promise of good behavior. He patted my bottom before seating 
himself in the chair of authority behind the desk. 

My flesh had been sold that easily. I wondered if I had done the proper 
thing in trying so hard to be sold, but considered that perhaps I would have 
been sold even if I had been surly. But there was something American about 
Mr. Pregio to give me confidence. 

For a while my owner enjoyed gazing at his new toy, and I felt very much 
like merchandise. "There is a box over there," he told me casually, "take 
from it the first object you find and bring it here." 

I did as I was bid. Setting aside the lid I beheld something I understood 
all too well -- a massive dildo complete with straps and buckles was the 
last thing I would have supposed Mr. Pregio would wish to use on me But 
obediently I lifted the disgusting thing from the box and took it to where 
my new owner was eyeing my dismay in amusement. When I offered the beastly 
thing to him, he waved it away. "Thrust it within your self" ordered. "And 
then I shall buckle the straps on." 

The lifelike thing was huge but not as daunting as a whip, which I was sure 
would be the next instrument brought out if I refused. And I had boasted of 
obedience. Blushingly I spread my legs apart and began a gentle insertion of 
the male symbol I longed to hurl at Mr. Pregio smiling face. But inch by 
inch I completed a task most girls try at one time or another out of simple 
curiosity. This time I was not curious but simply shamed. When the monster 
phallus was tight within my loins I held it there with my fingers while 
backing up to enable Mr. Pregio to arrange the straps and tighten them as he 
might wish. I ended up with a neat belt around my belly made of supple 
leather and rather tight. Another strap was threaded down through the base 
of the prong and then up behind to be tugged and buckled brutally tight. I 
was then told to walk back and forth across the room to reveal any 
possibility of slack, after which the buckle was tightened one more notch to 
complete the authority by which my most place was invaded. 

I was about to explain the inevitability of my being sexually excited by 
this thing and the climax that was sure to follow but was cut short by the 
next command. "Celie, you will now dress yourself. The box contains 
everything you will need. 

I held out my hands and he unlocked the handcuffs with a tiny key. I was 
free to run or fight or do whatever I pleased but obedience had become a way 
of life for me. I looked to the box with feminine delight. Bit by bit I 
covered my nakedness, and I will never forget how good it was to encase my 
breasts in a perfectly fitting bra and remove them from the hungry gaze of 
males. The panties covered the straps completely, and the summer frock, 
along with the sleek and expensive shoes, completed all the covering a girl 
might need in a warm climate. There were no pantyhose. But there was a 
brush. When I had used it, I turned to Mr. Pregio and offered my hands to be 
once more joined. I was in a strange mixture of emotions but primarily a 
happy girl. 

I easily sensed the man's pleasure in both my appearance and behavior. But 
Mr. Pregio waved my hands aside to say gently, "You are a free girl, Celie, 
you bear no bonds. The door is not locked. You may open it and run to find 
your liberty." 

I suppose it was part of the picture, one surprise after another. Encouraged 
by a nod from the man behind the desk, I stepped out to do as I was told. I 
was more than half way to the door when it happened. I was suddenly in the 
grip of a flaming agony spread through out my being but mainly from within 
my loins. With a cry of pure agony I clutched my crotch and fell to the rug. 
There I contorted as wave after wave of pain flooded over me. All the time 
Mr. Pregio smiled. 

The anguish stopped as suddenly as it had begun to leave me gasping on the 
floor. Mr. Pregio helped me to my feet helped me straighten out my dress 
then quietly resumed his seat. "The door is still unlocked Celie do you no 
longer wish to run away? 

I gazed at him fearful of sawing anything wrong or making a wrong move. I 
wanted no more of the agony I had just experienced. My voice held wonder 
tinged with fear. "How did you do that, Master? I though. I was going to 
die." 

My master took from his pocket a small remote, control thing "It has 
different intensities," he explained helpfully "The one you have just 
experienced was the least of all Run away now and I will give you another 
demonstration." 

The straps were tight upon my tortured loins. Running away was a though from 
which I recoiled in pure horror. Instinctively I performer an act of which I 
was to feel shame. But which at that moment was purely instinctive. I fell 
to my knees and buried my face within Mr. Pregio's lap, clutching his knees 
in the desperation of a girl drowning in an ocean she did not understand. 
Unashamedly I wept. 

The flood of tears was just what I needed to wash away the emotions created 
by Mr. Pregio's next devise I unleashed one sob after another while male 
fingers played gently in my hair. He even dried my tears. I affirmed with 
real feeling, "I will never try to run away again, Master." 

I recovered but was still fearful lest that terrible pain return at any 
moment. But Mr. Pregio's voice was unfailingly kind as he patted my bottom 
in reassurance. It was probably the thing I needed most of all. 

"We are now going to dine," said Mr. Pregio, grandly. "It will be a pleasant 
change for you, and, if you do not wish to roll upon the floor, you will 
behave yourself." Once more I got a reassuring pat. "And, most certainly, 
dear girl, I will wish you to be polite to anyone who we may meet. Your 
obedience is a treasure beyond price." 

A taxi took us to an expensive restaurant that set my heart to beating in 
fresh optimize. Mr. Pregio was evidently well know at that place for he was 
treated like royalty and seated us at a center table where we could be seen 
by all and see all. I sat down grandly and knew myself a queen. 

I won't pretend the straps around my waist and digging into crotch didn't 
bother me -- they were they were very much present in my thoughts, imposing 
a constant threat. Just as I tried to ignore that threat, I also tried to 
ignore the erotic pressure on my private place, lest I become too excited 
and embarrassment. But for the moment smiling back at my master I felt 
fairly safe. And most certainly secure. 

At the end of the first course, and when I was in a happy glow of 
contentment, I became aware of another presence. It was that of another male 
who was immediately welcomed warmly by Mr. Pregio, who introduced me to me 
as Mr. Maskadek. My hand was raised to the newcomer's lips to be kissed. It 
left me flustered, sensing new developments while Mr. Maskadek was seated at 
our table, apparently an honored guest. Between polite exchanges with my 
master, he bestowed upon me an attention which stripped me bare so that I 
had to force my hands to remain where they were instead of rising to cover 
my breasts in feminine defense. Mr. Maskadek made an obvious query. "The 
girl is to be trusted in a public place without restraints," he casually 
inquired. 

My master then told of my virtues, stressing above all the quality of 
obedience. "Explain," he said, turning to me, "to Mr. Maskadek how you are 
controlled, Celie, dear. Mr. Maskadek will find the description of the 
device you wear of much interest. Do not be ashamed, Mr. Maskadek is a man 
of the world." 

I sensed our visitor as an educated Arab. He was lean and wore expensive 
clothes with distinction, and was now bestowing upon me his full attention. 
The last thing I wanted to talk of the device invading my private place and 
the terrible pain it could cause. But I was indeed obedient and now heard my 
own voice as from far away reciting the conditions of my strange captivity 
as if to have my loins thus strapped was a mundane detail of everyday life. 
I managed to reveal myself totally for these two males who probably got a 
erection out of what stripped me of everything except my blush. I sat there 
squirming and wishing Mr. Maskadek would go away. 

My master played his role of host with admirable easy. By the end of the 
next course I was once more relaxed. My blush faded and I was able to answer 
questions with relative ease. But that was too good to be true and at the 
end Mr. Maskadek came up with a real honey of a request. 

"Miss. Collins, it would please me greatly if you would expose for my 
benefit one of your breasts." He paused and then made what I suppose was a 
real big concession, "One breast will be enough, I do not need them both." 

Instantly I looked at my master but got only a nod of approval. I gazed 
around the restaurant and found everyone's attention elsewhere. The waiter 
was absent and no one was looking in my direction. My cheeks were flushed 
and my fingers trembled as I adjusted the flimsy dress to lay bare the 
female treasure Mr. Maskadek desired to see. I felt certain my breast was 
blushing as much as my cheeks and the nipple was outrageously erect. It 
seemed an eternity before Mr. Maskadek said a polite, "Thank you, Miss 
Collins," and a hastily scrambled to rearrange my dress so that my single 
breast vanished from sight. No one appeared to have noticed. We continued 
our dinner as if the shameful act I had just performed was something every 
girl might expect to have do to in expensive restaurants. I was breathing 
hard as my companions took up conversation in their tongue which left me in 
no doubt my master was offering me for sale and Mr. Maskadek was seriously 
considering the offer. Strangely enough it all seemed the most natural thing 
in the world. 

My companions now carried on their conversation in a language I did not 
understand but I had little doubt it all referred to me. And in the end I 
was happy enough to be left out of it while I enjoyed the best dinner I'd 
had in quite a while. I knew myself a girl who had lost identity along with 
freedom and knew it best to simply enjoy the good food and lack of pain 
while it lasted and to hope that Mr. Pregio would sell me to a kind master. 
Cynically, I wondered if the phallus deep within my sheath along with the 
straps would be tossed in as a bonus to my sale. I knew myself a little girl 
very much lost and far from home. 

From the moment I had been sold to him I had felt at ease with Mr. Pregio. 
When he took me home after dinner and straight up to his bedroom, I was not 
unduly concerned. A bedroom is a hell of a lot better than a prison cell or 
a dungeon. And when my master told me I was now free to unfasten and remove 
what he humorously described as the "Jack in the Box" my regard for him took 
a one more jump. I tugged at the straps and thought gratefully of the relief 
of going to the bathroom. The enormous phallus came out a lot easier than it 
went in. My master watched every move I made with a delighted interest which 
made me feel I was doing something clever. When the wicked prong was set 
aside, Mr. Pregio waved me to the bathroom. When I returned he suggested 
casually I might as well undress. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT - SLAVE TRADER 

Mr. Pregio had purchased me nude so it seemed natural enough I should strip 
for him now. The whole thing seemed absurdly normal, and just to make sure I 
gave no offense, when I cast aside my final bit of covering I demurely held 
out my wrists for the handcuffs. But Mr. Pregio had a little surprise in 
store. 

"In the top draw you will discover a length of rope, Celie, bring it here. 
Then turn around so I may tie your hands behind your back." 

"But you have handcuffs, aren't they much more convenient for you?" 

"I suppose they are," my master agreed. "But I find the act of tying girls 
hands with rope a very intimate and exciting act, as something we both 
share. Fetch the rope and don't argue." 

I fetched the rope and wondered how good my master was with knots. J stood 
straight and erect and crossed my wrists without being told. I found myself 
forced to agree that there was something very personal about this method of 
rendering a girl helpless. The crisscross of the thin rope, the tugging and 
the tightenings and then the knots were very familiar and I found the flame 
which smolders behind my loins gaining heat and telling me that even though 
Mr. Pregio was middle aged with an average figure, he was nevertheless very 
much a male. And using neither unkind word nor the whip, he had made me very 
much his slave, and I didn't mind the least bit this business of him tying 
my wrists. I liked my master and felt safe with him. When I was told to step 
away but to stand and talk, I obeyed without concern. If he wanted to look 
at me naked, I would not begrudge him a single glance. After all, I was his 
property! 

"I suppose, Celie, I am a voyeur," Mr. Pregio sighed. "I am well aware of 
all the things men to do you but I am afraid I prefer to watch rather than 
to perform. I may whip your bottom a little later on, and having enjoyed 
that stimulus, I will have you lay upon your back upon the bed so we may 
enjoy that male and female delight which has so many names. Will you enjoy 
this?" 

I was uncertain about the bit where I got my bottom whipped, but if he 
didn't lay it on too hard I was pretty sure I could give this remarkable man 
real pleasure. I told him so and then asked him why he had tied my hands 
behind my back when I could have used them to enhanced his joy. But Mr. 
Pregio was evidently more experienced than he liked to tell because he now, 
again in a faint apology, explained how a girl with a hands bound behind her 
back was forced to assume a position in which the penetration of her sheath 
was far more easy to accomplish and far more pleasant to enjoy. He added 
that any man who failed to get extra pleasure for a bound girl had something 
wrong with him. 

When he paused for breath I inquired, "If you enjoy me so much, Master, why 
don't you keep me for your own and have me always?" 

My master came up with another sigh. "Alas, dear girl, you represent an 
expensive luxury, a luxury I cannot afford. As I think you know, I already 
have a tremendous investment in you which gives no income until the day when 
you are sold." 

"You mean you can't afford me!" 

"I fear that about sums it up. I intend to enjoy you to the full while I 
have you. But a girl as beautiful and obedient as you is bound to find a new 
master very soon. And then I will have to find another girl to take your 
place." 

I stood there, naked with my hands tied behind my back, while this middle 
aged chap ogled me and my various feminine attributes with obvious pleasure. 
Taking a stab in the dark, I said, "But, Master, if you want another girl, 
why don't you buy Marjory who was sold the same time as I was sold? She's in 
this country somewhere. I expect you could find her if you tried." 

I had piqued his interest and his question was instant, "She's beautiful, 
this Marjory of yours? And is she obedient as you?" 

"She is absolutely gorgeous. You'd love doing to her what you're going to do 
to me. Please, Master, try and find her." 

Mr. Pregio nodded absently his attention was one hundred percent on me. He 
opened a draw and came back with a cardboard box which, when opened, 
disclosed a collection of what he playfully described as "goodies," all of 
which were designed to cause a girl varying degrees of pain or shame. "I 
enjoy the unorthodox," he explained modestly. "And I wish to examine the 
effect these little treasures have on you as you stand exactly as you are. 
They will hurt but I am curious to find out how well you will cope with that 
hurt." 

"But aren't you going to whip my bottom?" 

"That comes later, Celie, dear. In fact, as a further exploration into 
maiden distress, I intend to inflict the thong and the crop while you are 
still wearing my choice of what this box contains. Please don't worry, dear 
child, the inflictions will not be more than you can bear." 

It was one of those moments when having your hands tied behind you makes you 
alive with apprehension for you know you cannot stop whatever is to be done 
to you. Somehow I could not be scared of Mr. Pregio or anything he chose to 
do. In any case, my corded wrists told me plainly who I belonged to and that 
was that. 

My nipples were first to receive attention A girl can usually figure that if 
she is about to be hurt, it is those poor. Little innocent rosebuds by which 
she will be made to feel pain. I stood in interested silence while Mr. 
Pregio chose his nipple and carefully circled it within a metal loop which 
itself was at the end of what was obviously a handle with a screw device by 
which my master had only to turn the handle anyway he wished to causes the 
loop to tighten. Unfortunately my nipples were already hard and all he had 
to do place the thing on them and tighten the beastly little screw. 

The effect was to protrude them even more. I longed to tell him of the 
danger of circulation cut off or of doing injury to a couple of very lender 
parts of my body. But I need not have worried, my master was evidently well 
experienced and was as moderate in tiny tortures as in all else. It was but 
a minute or so before he withdrew the handle to leave my throbbing breasts 
painfully aware of how each nipple had been bound. The rings were by no 
means bits of wire but were of such dimensions that even buried in my flesh 
they were plain to see. And my master now exhibited another interest I had 
not formally seen. He produced a camera and proceeded to take the most 
inmate close ups of his erotic creations. I simply continued to stand with a 
pair of burning breasts of which I found myself ridiculously proud the pain 
didn't matter because the results were beautiful. And I found myself viewing 
my tortured tits with much the same interest as did my master. It was crazy, 
crazy, crazy! 

I was now expecting something to bit my tender flesh around my sex but 
instead of something so mundane, I was shown some larger rings than those 
now embedded in and around my nipples. But these rings were different for 
within their inside circumference was many small needles, sharp little, 
points of steel that looked very wicked, wished to squeal at the mere sight 
of such a potent threat. When my master turned me around I saw they were 
designed for girlish thumbs. 

When a girl's wrists were crossed and tied such as mine, it leaves all your 
fingers and thumbs free to wiggle and twist, and equally free to receive 
punishments all their own. Almost immediately my thumb got a taste of what 
to expect as my master slipped the wicked ring down over the knuckle and 
gently twist the handle. "Such sweet little thumbs." Mr. Pregio breathed as 
he turned his cute device to bring the needles in contact with my skin. I 
was still standing erect but this was becoming increasingly difficult to do. 
"The little needles are not long, Celie dear, but long enough to break the 
skin. I will now fix the other one so that both your thumbs may take their 
little journey into pain at the same time. Do not be alarmed you are taking 
it beautifully. 

I shivered and winced every time my master made one more turn and it was 
only a minute or so before I had two more rings burning intensely than the 
pair already on my breasts. But along with my panting and fearful gasps, I 
realized that the agony my thumbs would receive was strictly limited. When 
the last turn of the screw had been made the man who was having his pleasure 
with me turned me around once more and kissed me gently before making 
apology for all the awful things men do to a girl. 

"I am ashamed to do these things to you, Celie dear. You are so sweet and 
innocent and undeserving of pain. But your pain gives me such joy I know you 
will bare it with fortitude and love. You are the most beautiful girl I have 
ever purchased." 

I tried to smile and kiss him back but my pain was now all too real and I 
found myself laying my head upon his shoulder and leaning on his male 
strength as if I were about to crumple to the floor. But I was kissed and 
pushed away and told to stand erect to enjoy the rest of my punishments. 
When I obeyed I found myself looking at a couple of plain old office paper 
clips the kind with two handles and a big spring. Instantly I knew what was 
to come. "Please to spread your legs." Mr. Pregio told me with a smile. 
"Wide apart for something, I ran you have already guessed. Stand firm while 
I put them where they belong." 

I longed to tell him such things did not belong on the lips of a girl's 
pussy but dared not. The first clip gathered unto itself one of pussy lips 
to bite hard and deep I twisted and pulled away. Mr. Pregio .was enraptured 
at the sight of the metal clip dangling from my tender flesh. The pain of 
that clip, along with all the other pains inflicted on my body became too 
much. 

"Oh, please, Mr. Pregio, take that away! It's too awful for me to bear 
master, please! Everything hurts too much. I can't stand still any more. 
Please don't use that other clip on me!" 

The result was predicable. I stood quivering and with legs wide apart while 
my second pussy lip received the bite of clip number two. My vagina was now 
firmly in the grip of metal clamps and the pain something terrible. I could 
not look down to see them and still stand straight upright as I had been 
ordered but I was sure they made a strange sight as they hung from my very 
tender and sore flesh. I squealed and begged yet again for mercy. His only 
reply was to assure me that nothing more would be taken from the box except 
a gag. 

It took everything I had to stand as he desired. Even though the horrible 
little inventions possessed my flesh only at nipples, thumbs and pussy, the 
pain they created seemed to be spreading throughout my body. When I saw the 
gag I has to bite hard to hold back a feminine protest against a supple 
leather strap in the center of which an ideally designed rubber phallus! 
Quickly the terrible thing was pushing against my lips and, mindful of how 
easily this man could add more pain to my collection, I parted my lips to 
allow the horrible thing into my mouth. It filled my cheeks and was buckled 
with authority at the back of my neck. Confirmed by my master's smiling 
features, I could not utter a word. Whatever I endured now, I would be 
unable to plead. Ruefully, I considered that this was just as well. 

"The equipment is all now in place, Mr. Pregio assured me without realizing 
the thankfulness his words imposed. The next thing is to whip your bottom; a 
small punishment for which I think is only kind to secure you so you will 
not disgrace yourself by useless motions. I am sure' you will agree with me 
so do not bother to try and speak. I have decided this admirable armchair 
will suit our purpose without making you too uncomfortable. Come along, 
Celie, you will bend over the seat." 

I suppose if a girl had to be fastened in order to be whipped, the armchair 
was a happy enough choice. It was not long before rope bit my ankles to tie 
them to the legs of the chair to each back leg, well apart and firmly 
helpless. It was at this point that the strap from my gag was joined by a 
leather collar from which dangled a whip and a length of rope which Mr. 
Pregio fastened somewhere at the front of the seat and pulled and pulled 
until I was tightly bend over the back of the chair. My face was very close 
to the seat and all my hair fell around my face. But my attention at that 
moment was concentrated on my behind which was sticking up in the air, 
inviting punishment. 

I was quite sure my exposed bottom was stretched tight as a drum in 
readiness for my master's whip. My nipples burned, my labia down below 
screamed in silent indignation as the office clips bit into me like teeth. 
My thumbs also burned. I was now ready for the first stroke across my 
bottom. All in all, I was not a happy little girl. 

"You will observe how beautiful you are held and how these small torments 
all contribute to your punishment." Mr. Pregio managed to sound like an 
academic lecturer. "You will not be happy with me this moment but I ask you 
to bear with me the cuts of cane and crop with which I intend to pain upon 
your beautiful bottom curves a masterpiece of color. I will try not to be 
too severe. First I kiss the lovely cheeks I intend to mark." 

I suppose that at that point I could easily say that Mr. Pregio kissed both 
cheeks of my ass. But such course description of his salute fails to do him 
justice. Both kisses, gentle as they may have been, burned my skin with what 
I had to suppose was love. But I didn't have much time to think of such 
niceties because the riding crop cut across the skin with venom which made 
me thankful to be gagged. It hurt, it hurt real bad. 

My master must have kept the instruments of pain tucked away somewhere in a 
draw. The second stroke was not with a riding crop but instead a short 
leather thronged whip. I knew it was going to hurt when he dangled it before 
my eyes. He explained as he took up position that each cheek would receive 
individual attention. The results sent me surging against my bonds and 
making pathetic little noises. I couldn't do a thing, not a damned thing! I 
wondered what sort of visual effect he was striving for on my bottom and how 
many strokes it was going to take. 

I wondered how so nice a gentleman could bring himself to do these things to 
a girl but gave up. It's just the nature of men, I guessed. 

The next instrument was a leather strap, a limber, vicious thing like a live 
thing of heavy leather. The stroke across my bottom was a cracking surprise. 
The damned thing landed with a noise like a pistol shot, a noise to scare a 
girl half to death. And the pain was different and horrible in its own way. 
Mr. Pregio then moved to the other side and produced an even louder crack 
upon my other cheek. I tried to shake my head in negation but the rope which 
held the collar around my neck also tilted my chin so as to deny my head 
very much movement. 

The instrument taken up next was a wicked looking length of yellow cane. 
This time it wrapped itself all the way around from hip to hip. Spreading 
the pain across more of my flesh than another of the other instruments had. 
When it exploded across my flesh I came close to passing out, and the next 
thing I knew was my collar being released so I could stand erect. With belly 
hard against the back of the chair and fiercely flaming bottom, I was 
allowed only a few seconds rest before two male hands took hold of my hips 
and pushed me forward again. I felt a male phallus pressing against my pussy 
from the back side. I bend forward as silently ordered and .felt fingers 
spreading my pussy lips by the clips attached thereon. Suddenly the male 
phallus was thrust inside and the male body pressing against my back and 
rump. Make that my burning rump, if you please, for the tortured flesh of my 
bottom flared in pain each time his body thrust against it. Strangely, one 
of the things I remembered about the act of sex was that I grunted each time 
he thrust his phallus deep within me. 

Perhaps it was just that my bottom was too inviting a target for him to wait 
so he had shoved home his rod while I was still bound to the chair. Quickly 
I was excited and well on my way to a climax. It never fails to amaze me how 
a whipping or most any kind of pain can excite a girl's sex and make it 
ready for the male invasion. 

Just when I was really getting good and worked up, he slowed down. Suddenly 
he withdrew and quickly untied my ankles from the chair. In a rush I was 
picked up and carried to the bed where I was thrown upon the covers on my 
back. Mr. Pregio was quickly on top of me against, thrusting home his rigid 
rod with the vigor of a man twenty years younger than his. 

It felt most strange to be in the act sexual intercourse and still be very 
aware of the pain of metal rings upon my rigid nipples, around my thumbs and 
harsh clips upon the lips of my vagina. He used those metal clips to pull 
wide my vagina lips and thrust his rod inside. That act was painful but I 
didn't mind. That part of me that was the very core of a female screamed 
delight at the invasion of a male rod and I thrust my hips upward to meet 
his. The pain of my freshly punished bottom mingled with the pain from my 
vagina lips, nipples and thumbs, to intensify the sexual excitement. As he 
worked my body up towards climax, I closed my eyes and surrendered myself to 
the sexual ecstasy. I think I screamed into the gag as I climaxed. 

It was wonderful. I don't think I would recommend any girl endure the pains 
and torture the way I did just to enhance the sex act. But on the other 
hand, it was wonderful, far and away greater than "normal" sex every could 
be. 

Afterward we both gasped out last ecstasy, we lay there, Mr. Pregio still on 
top of me and inside my pussy while we caught out breath. I did not mind the 
weight of his body, nor the extra pain it caused on my ringed nipples and 
thumbs. I was in a haze of sexual aftermath and felt wonderful. 

But all things end. Eventually he rose from my body and regained his 
clothing. With the loss of sexual ecstasy, the metal instruments simply 
hurt, having lost all their ability to excite. I was finally stood erect and 
patted lovingly while my master fumbled with the rope bound my wrists. When 
I got' my hands back, I couldn't use them for a while they were numb. So I 
just stood there in limp gratitude while first one nipple and then the other 
was released from the bondage of the ring. If I hadn't winced before, I 
certainly did so now. When my tortured thumbs were freed I squealed in agony 
as the little needles left my flesh. The marks left were surprisingly tiny. 

I expect I would have been judged a nymphomaniac but had my master wanted to 
do it all again right then, I would have gladly helped him secure me. 

We fortified ourselves with brandy, I suppose to celebrate the fact I had 
emerged alive. My master's eyes were on my body constantly while he was 
lavish with congratulations for a job well done. I told him I had no choice 
about any of it but his modesty he refused to accept. I was a remarkable 
young woman beyond price and was again reassured I would fetch a great deal 
of money from some buyer. I had become accustomed to the whole thing and 
shrugged it off as just an incident in a slave girl's life. We were both 
dead tired and went to bed, my master's only precaution against my flight 
was to handcuff my ankles together, which, after all, was a pretty good way 
to keep a girl safely in one place. 

My life as Mr. Pregio's only bit of inventory became routine. We talked a 
lot and I found my master interested in what I could tell him of PI and 
Shalima. He delighted in my account of Rankin's Pride and my ups and downs 
of fortune while I had been Rankin's captive but our time together was not 
all conversation. My master had business affairs and when he left the house 
on them, he made certain I was secured indeed. His favorite trick was to tie 
me. Spread eagle on the bed or to bind me to a chair so I couldn't move. In 
the manner of two people having fun, he would sometimes handcuff my wrists 
and fasten them up above my head, not stretched so they hurt but simply to 
compel me to stand in what he called my "lovely nakedness." And that I had 
to endure until he chose to return. 

Dinner was always an event. It always entailed the use of his beastly Jack 
in the Box, with its unkind-straps beneath expensive dresses. During these 
pleasant interludes in expensive restaurants, I was examined at least twice 
an evening by gentlemen of all sizes, shapes and colors, who, if I found 
favor in their eyes, would enter into a flood of the local language in which 
I knew they were bartering for my body. I was told not to worry about those 
who went away without purchasing. I was told that while I had inspired lust 
enough to send them away with an erection, they had found the prize I 
commanded more than they could afford. If Mr. Pregio was not upset by their 
shortage of funds, it didn't bother me at all and I was beginning to enjoy 
myself. 

Until, that is, the morning when, after breakfast, my handcuffed wrists were 
raised above my head in a manner now familiar and I was told to posture 
myself in a provocative manner if and when a visitor arrived. I had a 
frightening premonition this would be the day. 

"He is tall, dark and handsome. And terribly rich," my master assured me 
earnestly. "He is also an old man and has the reputation of being kind to 
the girls he owns." 

"You mean he keeps a collection of us!" 

"He has four wives and a number of slave girls." 

"Good gosh, I don't want to be shoved into a harem!" 

"I have spoiled you, Celie," Mr. Pregio chuckled. "I would suppose the only 
disadvantage you might labor under would be that, after the first week, you 
might receive male attention only at rare intervals. I understand the poor 
creatures frequently resort to the use of lips and tongues even through the 
punishment is dire if they are caught." 

"It all sounds horrible!" 

"You should wait, Celie, until you see the man. And I want you to understand 
that should you fail to be sufficiently seductive, I would be forced to whip 
you severely after he has gone." 

"If you're going to be around the house, Master, I don't see why I have to 
be chained like this until he shows up. It might be hours." 

"If that proves to be the case, Celie dear, you will have to spend the time 
making pretty poses, and thinking up a few undying vows of devotion and 
obedience. Our client speaks English and may talk to you." 

Mr. Pregio went away about his own affairs to leave me stand with my hands 
loosely held above my head. I could shift around with ease even though I 
couldn't go from where I stood. I wondered what poses I could try on this 
unknown man and which might be likely to interest him. I even tried a few 
but found myself blushing at the silly posture and gave that up. I felt 
pretty certain Mr. Pregio had me sold. 

He wore Arab attire, including that oddly shaped thing they use for a hat. 
But in spite of that, he wore these garments as might a prince. Perhaps he 
might have been a prince, he was certainly handsome enough. His gray eyes 
met mine with a slight hint of amusement in them. I expect it was girlish 
silliness but right off the bat I wanted him to buy me. 

With Mr. Pregio hovering anxiously in the background, ready to give me a 
silent warning about behaving myself and being a good girl, my visitor 
wasted no time in coming close to open my mouth and examine my teeth. And if 
that isn't the most humiliating thing a man can do to a girl, I'd like to 
know what is. He then took a complete inventory of everything my body had to 
offer, playing with my breasts and nipples and then getting down on one knee 
to push my legs apart and examine my female area, no doubt with a view to 
using it sometime in the future. He made comments I could not understand 
about my whipped bottom but these Mr. Pregio easily dealt with, assuring him 
in perfect English that should he wish to whip me now, I was completely at 
his disposal. I not got a question shot at me in English. 

"Are you familiar with the custom in this country of whipping slave girls 
regularly every week whether they have misbehaved or not? Tell me 
truthfully." 

I had never heard of the custom and didn't like the sound of it, but I got a 
signal from Mr. Pregio which caused me to laugh, and assure eagle eyes that 
to be whipped by him would be the most wonderful thing a girl could ever 
have happen. I don't think he believed a word of it but I was pretty sure it 
had been the right answer. I was now freed from the chain above and told to 
walk back and forth across the room, and then to kneel at his feet. These 
guys with their humiliation kick sure know how to reduce a girl to nothing. 
By the time I'd had my little walk and was kneeling at the feet of my master 
to be I was trembling and quite sure I would be whipped at any time. But 
instead they fastened me the way I'd been before with hands above my head. 
They then went off to do their bickering in private. 

I stood there in miserable uncertainty. I had become fond of Mr. Pregio and 
did not wish to be sold. I had been a prisoner one way or the other for so 
long that I no longer had expectations of freedom or a life of my own. I 
would always belong to someone and be subject to their authority. Mr. Pregio 
would have suited me fine because he was really a kind man who say his tiny 
tortures and his Jack in the Box as simply a useful way of keeping his 
property under control. I suppose I could sum up my feelings for Mr. Pregio 
by saying he would never give me more than I could bear and most of the time 
not hurt me at all. I wasn't a bit sure about Hawkeye from the desert. 

My heart refused to stop beating fast with apprehension. I shifted from foot 
to foot and turned this way and that in meaningless movement. In the end I 
allowed my head to rest against one raised arm and tried to dream of 
anything but a man I feared. 

I had been standing quite a while before the door opened and I was so 
pessimistic about my future that I would have preferred not to look at 
something I might not wish to see. But, as if often the case with slave 
girls, my world was suddenly transformed by a flutter of feminine feet and a 
delighted cry. 

"Celie, darling, it's really you!" A moment later I was hugged by female 
arms and was feverishly seeking each other's mouths to kiss and kiss again. 
I longed to hold my mistress and tell her my love but had to simply stand 
there while she did all the work. She laughingly told me to be still so she 
could tell her story and I could tell her mine. I think it was the happiest 
moment of my life when Marjory walked back into it. 

There were surprises. Marjory had a key to free my hands from the overhead 
hook but leave them still handcuffed. I clasp my mistress by putting my 
joined hands over her head and hugging her all the way down. Ruefully she 
told me, "I'm a slave, the same as you, darling. I was told to come to this 
room and give you back your hands. And that I should then strip naked and 
put these handcuffs they gave me on my own wrists. Just a minute while I act 
the obedient little slavegirl because I don't want to be whipped in the 
middle of all this happiness. I've become very good about taking off my 
clothes and it doesn't bother me any more." 

I had seen my mistress naked often enough. I could swear now she was more 
beautiful than ever. Slavery had refined an already perfect figure. When she 
was as nude as I, we clasp and laughed joyously in a tangle of naked bodies 
and chained wrists. It was after that she told her story. 

"His name is Sabra, and I guess I was lucky he bought me at that damned 
auction. I was scared to death with visions of pure horror, but Sabra simply 
enjoys having a collection of girls around for the purpose of occasional 
sex, or whipping any bits of them that pique his interest. After the first 
week, which was pretty bad, he settled down with me to one session in bed 
and another session with the whip or riding crop each week. The rest of the 
time he's actually kind. All the girls live in great luxury unless they're 
caught trying to escape. In those cases he makes quite sure they won't try 
that again, and will become good little girls like me." My mistress paused 
to grunt sardonically. "You see, darling, I tried to escape and was caught. 
And the treatment I got for the week after that cured me of any more motions 
of freedom. There isn't any freedom for girls like us." 

"But with all your money... ? And the people you know...?" 

"I worked on Sabra with that but I don't think he believed a word I said. 
And ordinary millionaires like me don't hold interest for him because, like 
all these oil guys, he deals in billions. That's the reason they can pay 
these tremendous prices for us at an auction." 

"But it's so wrong! You're my mistress, you're not a slave. You should never 
be whipped! Oh, Marjory, darling, can't we do something?" 

"Maybe we can. But first I have to explain how the guy who owns you 
approached this billionaire who owns me with a proposition. I don't know 
what deal they finally arrived at but they're going to make a trade. Sabra 
gets you and Mr. Pregio gets me. The advantage for Sabra is that he gets the 
new girl to screw and whip, and Mr. Pregio gets me with a large chunk of 
cash besides. Each guy thinks he profits... " 

"But, darling, that way this man Sabra will take me away and Mr. Pregio will 
sell you so we'll be just as far apart as ever!" 

"It could work out that way. But since we cannot complain, we'll have to do 
the best we can with what we've got. Sabra wasn't interested in my money but 
Mr. Pregio is a different matter. He's actually a small business man, 
dealing in an inventory of one slavegirl at a time. I'm going to try and 
interest him in allowing me to ransom myself. I don't expect freedom without 
being screwed a few times, and having to be hurt in a few of the ways these 
guys find amusing. But, darling, I think there's a real chance Sabra really 
just wants girls for the playing of keeping them in a cage or chaining them 
up. But your Mr. Pregio wants money. Whatever it costs I'm going to get 
free. And then I'm going to get you." 

"But supposing Sabra won't sell me?" 

"There's more ways of getting you than simply money, Celie dear. I can have 
you kidnapped or simply raise a stink with the authorities." 

"It sounds too wonderful to believe!" 

"Believe it, darling, I'll make it happen. This Mr. Pregio who owns you now 
sounds like a decent enough type. If those words can be applied to a man who 
buys and sells girls for a living. Don't worry, I'll get to him." 

"He'll never allow you a chance to escape." 

"I don't intend to try. I've been punished enough to last a lifetime. I 
think I can handle Mr. Pregio, so stop worrying." 

When the men returned it was obvious a transaction had occurred. 
Apologetically Mr. Pregio chained Marjory's feet, explaining that until they 
knew each other better, it was better that he take every precaution. Marjory 
said that she understood perfectly. She even added a demure little, 'Thank 
you, Master," in perfect innocence. I almost laughed. With my mistress 
safely disposed of, attention now turned to me. 

I didn't get my feet chained but my handcuffs were switched from front to 
back, no doubt to put me in the proper mood for what came next. Tearfully I 
examined my new master and mentally classified him as too handsome for his 
own good. Without any emotion he put me wise as to what to expect as his 
slavegirl. 

"Marjory has told you who and what I am. You will give me total obedience 
and erase any notions of escape from your mind. You will never escape, you 
are mine to enjoy." Those dark Arab eyes roved up and down my nakedness. 
"When I am in the mood, I will screw you. Once a week or perhaps more often 
I will whip you or have you whipped to keep you aware of who and what you 
are. Tell me what you are." 

"I am your slave, Master." 

"Excellent. Always remember that." He turned to a beaming Mr. Pregio. "You 
are right, I will enjoy this girl. She is everything you promised. I wish 
you profit from the girl you now own. She has given me much pleasure. The 
one I buy from you will give me much more. I can tell she has been properly 
trained to yield a man submission." 

Mr. Pregio actually took me in his arms and hugged me as though I was a 
girlfriend, a child or wife. Both of us understood a strange sorrow in the 
parting. My elbows were then drawn tight together by the man who I must call 
master, who used only a few winding of thin cord that bit instantly into my 
flesh to tell of increasing agony designed to make me docile and, and 
anxious to please. I was still alive with joyous hope for Marjory's plan and 
bore the pain which, after all, was nothing new. I even managed to thrust my 
breasts out for good measure and approval of a new master. Thus I was taken 
to the garage to be stowed away in the trunk of a waiting car. In the 
darkness of the trunk I wept in longing for my mistress and in sadness for 
myself. I found a wry comfort in knowing I now belonged to a man who would 
give me sex when he so chose. 

Sabra's dwelling was much like a second Shalima. When I was thrust inside 
the gilded cage, I found it a complete dwelling all its own. I was greeted 
with little joy by the prisoners already within. At least the thin cord 
binding my elbows was cut and for that I was grateful. I did not mind my 
wrists remaining handcuffed. 

With me, the cage totaled six girls, which was probably more than enough for 
Sabra. After all, how many girls can one man use? 

I was shown to a huge bathtub and enjoyed a lengthy bath and shampoo, given 
to me by the other girls. I was the only one with handcuffs on, and was 
grateful that they were willing to perform such service for me. Next came 
the cosmetics for my face. I was then fitted with a pair of light sandals 
and admired by all to find myself the butt of feminine humor, heavily laced 
with dire predictions as to my fate. 

"Well, Celie, get ready to get yourself whipped. He's bound to give it to 
you today or tomorrow." 

"Our Master only whips his girls up between their legs. He doesn't bother 
with the place we sit on." 

I looked around at their grins, uncertain what to believe. I already notice 
noticed a couple of well-whipped bottom but decided not to mention that. 
Instead I asked humbly if someone would unlock the handcuffs. 

This got me only laughter. "You do not think our Master so foolish as to 
leave us with a key. We are often handcuffed as you are now. It is something 
a girl must expect." 

Well, that was that. Only one 'girl was completely naked like myself, the 
others were variously attired in very little. I had a strong hunch there 
would be a senior girl who had a key but I wanted to make friends and not 
start out arguing. The kidding continued. 

"Our Master will hang you by your thumbs for sure." 

"You will also be staked out on a ant hill in the desert." 

"He'll beat the bottoms off your feet so you can't walk for a week." 

I let them have their fun. I had to be grateful for all I had suffered since 
first being captive. Their threats would have scared me to death once but 
now I grinned back at them without concern. 

My hands fastened behind my back gave me more annoyance than their stories. 
But anyway, we couldn't 'get better acquainted right then because a male 
servant called me over and unlocked the door. I was followed out the door by 
dire predications of horrible things to happen. I left the cape and allowed 
a firm male hand to grasp my arm. No doubt I was about to learn something. 

I had to play it by ear but figured I'd best give the submission thing 
everything I had. I was taken to a very plush room where I found Sabra 
standing in princely garb to await my coming. I lost no time in sinking to 
my knees at his feet, bow my head and utter the single word, "Master." 

For at a least a minute the two of us would have made a statue, neither of 
us moved. But this desert prince or whatever he might be had me scared. He 
was so damned handsome and masculine for a little girl who had been trained 
in submission by Marjory and Rankin Teller. Here was a brand new deal, and 
if I didn't handle it properly it was going to hurt. 

I was raised to my feet by strong, gentle hands and told to stand before the 
chair in which my master seated himself. What he had to say was beautifully 
rational. "You name is Celie, that is what I will call you. You will address 
me either as 'Master' or 'Lord'. One thing I want you to avoid is, as you 
Americans say, 'laying it on too heavy' when you talk to me. Just be 
natural. Can you handle this?" 

"Yes, Lord." 

"I have had many slave girls. One day I will marry one or two of them to 
produce heirs. But that is not now. You are probably wondering why I do not 
possess you at this moment and spend my seed within you. I am simply bored 
with these impalements of a girl. When I honor you with my attention, you 
will give me pleasure by being bound and enduring small punishments which I 
devise. Do not be alarmed, there will be no hot irons or racks on which to 
stretch your body until it breaks. My interest in purchasing you lays in my 
believe that while I whip your skin, you will have intelligence enough to 
engage me in conversation. The effect I seek is much as if you were a 
private secretary who pauses in her work at my demand to uncover certain 
portions of herself which I will whip while we discuss your work. When I am 
satisfied with the strips I have placed on your skin, you will return to 
work as if nothing had happened. I find this a most pleasing fantasy. What 
do you think?" 

Once more I knew how ridiculous men were. Sabra was a little boy playing 
with a new toy. What he wanted was no worse than I already knew but this 
business of rational conversation while being whipped was a bit much. But 
Sabra's measured words told me I had no choice. Desperately I asked the 
obvious, "Did Marjory manage to please you in these ways, Master?" 

Sabra shrugged. "She fell short of what I expect you to do. She never 
managed to believe in her enslavement and keep trying to tell me she had a 
little bit of money with which to buy her freedom. In our conversations I 
found her talking to me as if we were equals. I grew tired of punishing her 
and thus traded her for you. Perhaps Mr. Pregio will give her freedom in 
exchange for her little bit of money which will seem like a lot to him. I am 
aware, also, that she will then seek to get you from me by whatever ruse she 
can devise. I am a man of honor, I respect a bargain or a contract. But, if 
in her pursuit of you, she places herself within my reach, I will make her 
once my slave. And thus possess you- both. I am not an idiot to be deceived 
by a pretty girl." 

It was as though he had read Marjory's mind. Once more I knew despair, this 
man was clever as well as cruel. Somehow I had to please him. 

"You are wise, Master, you can read a girl's mind as easily as you can read 
a book." 

"You will not be an acceptable slavegirl until the punishments I inflict 
cleanse your mind of such silly thoughts. We will begin in this room." 

The servants appeared as if by magic, handling me as if I were a .child. In 
a shockingly short time I was suspended from strapped wrists with my toes 
almost touching the rug. Panting and gasping I looked at my new master with 
mute appeal. 

"You no doubt find your situation distressful, Celie." Sabra resumed his 
seat to comfortably survey my stretched nudity. "It is a simple little 
punishment but will introduce you to my home and my authority. You will now 
discuss with me your admirable Mr. Pregio and I do not want your responses 
delivered in gasps and moans. I want your talk normal." 

I had no belief I could give him what he wanted. In suspension nothing is 
normal for a girl, and I wished Sabra would leave me alone to gasp and moan 
as I wished. But I always am amazed at the things I am able to do if a whip 
or some other horror is dangled before my nose. At that point, as I gazed 
unhappily up at strapped wrists, I heard my voice telling of he man who had 
been kind to me during his short ownership. I fought constantly to keep my 
voice normal and not to intersperse it with gasping breaths my punished 
breasts implored. Sabra listened attentively, asking a few questions here 
and there, and I got the impression he was satisfied with my performance. 
The trouble was I was sure my ordeal had just begun. 

I must apologize, Celie, for this very ordinary discomfort you now enjoy I'm 
sure you've been hung by your wrists many time. You're probably finding it a 
bore." The suave apology was heavily loaded with implications. 

I knew Sabra had something in mind and was just playing with me. But he 
evidently expected a reply so I said, "Yes, Master," and hoped for the best. 
With an unhappy feeling the best was still to come. 

It was an ordinary looking suppository. It was wrapped in silver foil which 
he carefully unwound making quite sure I observed every move. My mind 
instantly flooded with disgusting visions. But, of course, anything Sabra 
did wouldn't be ordinary and I don't suppose he wanted a mess on the rug any 
more than I wanted to make one. He now steadied my sway body with an arm 
around my waist while his other hand found the lips of my vagina to insert 
that beastly thing within. And then he pushed it well up inside with an 
expert finger. He patted my pubic patch as if in affection and then resumed 
his seat. For a while nothing hurt. 

"I am sure you realize, Celie, you will not enjoy the effect of what I have 
just done. The pain will come gradually and steadily increase until your 
pussy secretions flush out what has been placed there. The process is far 
from speedy. I will enjoy your comments and the effect begins. Spare me no 
detail." 

There I was stark naked before the steely eyes, allowing myself to hang 
limply without a struggle. And inside me an enemy gathered its forces to 
give me pain. I cannot think of any way a man could fasten a girl to make 
her feel more totally exposed or more vulnerable. I could almost feel the 
intensity of my new master's interest in what was about to happen. I expect 
he had seen plenty of naked girls so there was no reason for me to feel 
shame at being thus bared. I was pretty sure it wouldn't do any good to ask 
for mercy. 

It was a slow burn from within. I became aware of forces at work which 
caused me to suck in a breath and gaze upon my master with open-eyed dismay. 
My first forbidden moan came more for fear and apprehension than from what 
was taking place within my heated flesh. But suddenly as the beastly thing 
went to work in full earnest I could not avoid a wince and the involuntarily 
raising of one leg. Sabra nodded approvingly. 

I had been made terribly aware of the need to engage in normal discourse 
during any punishment. I had been told to give my master a play by play 
description of this agony as it steadily increased. Once again I heard my 
voice as from far distant. "It bums me, Master, it bums terribly. Please 
take it out." 

"I cannot take it out, Celie. It must be endured. Has it yet aroused you 
sexually?" 

"Yes, Master, it is having that effect. But it also hurts so bad I don't 
think I can control my voice. I am going to scream." I panted and wiggled 
for several moments until, without meaning to, I blurted out, "I know you 
will punish me terribly but I just can't help it. I'm sorry. Master, but 
this is more than I can bear." 

I had delivered this bit of news between gasps and moans and with my legs 
pumping steadily. I ended it with a scream. I put everything I had in that 
scream and peddled like crazy as Sabra watched in what I can only describe 
as deep content. I remember wondering if such a man ever got an erection. 

The scream had unlocked a door. It was followed by other. I no longer cared 
about punishment to come; I was far too concerned with my present condition. 
I knew I was providing Sabra with the best show of his life but I simply 
could not stop the jerking and kicking my wrists took a punishment of their 
own as I lunged and surged and sometimes lifted myself higher above the rug 
at their expense. I became a bundle of hurting female flesh and did no 
concern herself with the watching. The burn continued on and on, seemingly 
without end. Finally I sank into the darkness of oblivion. 

I must have been out a long time and came back into a sleepy state where I 
no longer hurt. Someone had rid me of that awful thing and washed away the 
burn. My wrists had also been freed so I lay on the rue in a sort of 
contented exhaustion, wanting only to Be left alone. I was totally free of 
restraints but could have cared less: The girl was pretty and clothed in 
only a few trifles which accentuated those parts we are supposed to hide. 
Her features were sympathetic and concerned. And when she moved there was 
the musical sound of the chain which joined her ankles. The chain was short 
and I recognized her as one of the girls from the cage. Weakly, I said, 
"Thank you for whatever it is you've done. Please go away and let me sleep." 

"I can't. There are things I've been told to do." 

"Can't you do them while I sleep?" 

"Don't be silly, it's you I have to prepare. Sabra is not finished with you 
yet." 

That woke me up for sure. I rose up on my elbows to gaze at my companion 
askance. "He's not going to shove another of those hateful things up my 
pussy is he?" 

Her laugh held music. "No, dear, you can forget the Hot Box treatment. I 
thought you know every new girl is whipped on her first day. It's our 
Master's way of saying hello." 

With the aid of two young, strong female hands I managed to sit up beside 
this girl. Her name was Betty. She was white and had been kidnapped while on 
a tour of the Middle East. She had been one of Sabra's slave girls for more 
than a year. Her scanty coverings failed to hide fading whip marks. "Sit 
still," she said. "There's a bottle of brandy around here somewhere, I think 
you could use it." 

I watched her take her small, sad steps forced by the chain joining her 
ankles. She certainly had learned to walk prettily with leg irons locked 
upon her feet. I watched as she returned with the bottle and glass, and then 
gulped down a sizable amount of the fiery liquid. 

"I'm not allowed to drink," she told me seriously. "The only time we slave 
girls get brandy is during or after we've been punished. You'll soon learn 
the rules they're not easy to forget." 

I held out the empty glass and watched it refilled. I was feeling better. 
And as I sipped, asked the obvious question, "You don't have me fastened any 
way at all, why don't I run away?" 

"Go ahead, if that's what you feel like. You won't get far and your 
punishment will be so damned awful you'll never do it again." 

I took her word for it and then asked the second most obvious question, 
"You' said you have to do things to me, what are they?" 

"There's no big hurry. Why don't you just enjoy being free. It's a nice 
feeling to be free." She gestured disgustedly. "After I've looked to you, 
I'll be put back in the big cage with the others. It isn't really a cage, 
you know, it's really a very beautiful place, but it's a place we can't 
escape from. Quite likely they won't unchain my ankles. I'll have to walk 
like this for days." 

"I don't see any sense to it. Does he just like to hurt girls?" 

"You'll think he's cruel today but he may leave you alone after... Well, 
after what's soon going to happen." Betty laughed bitterly. "He's got so 
damned much money he can indulge any whim he has. And most men have got a 
dream about owning a woman or a bunch. Most men never get to own one. But 
our Lord and Master collects girls and trades them around if they get to be 
a bore to him." She eyed me seriously. "The hell of it is we all realize we 
could be a lot worse off because the Master can leave us alone for a week at 
a time, or simply fasten us in ways he considers some artistic way just to 
look at." 

"It's not much to look forward to." 

"Maybe not, but let's face it, we're slaves. There is never any way to 
escape. After a while your main concern is to make it real good for our 
Master in bed. That joke about the sultan choosing his slavegirl for the 
night is the most real thing in our lives. We all long for it. We get bored 
with pussies." 

"I don't see why he traded Marjory for me, she's a lot better looking." 

"No she isn't. But I think Sabra began to believe her stories about how rich 
she was and her influential friends she had. He probably figured it safer to 
trade her off. Besides, she was sort of stoic and never did scream as much 
as the rest of us when being punished. 

"Look, sweetheart, I expect we've talked enough. Lie back on the rug and 
don't give me any trouble." 

It was a lovely silver bracelet and from it a few links of fine silver 
chain. It was not the least bit like a handcuff it was no where as thick or 
heavy. But it clicked around my wrist with a solid snap which told me I'd 
never get it off Betty did the same with my other hand and then got down to 
the real nitty-gritty, which was pretty much the same as Mr. Pregio had used 
on my pussy. The silver chain was only four or five inches long and at it's 
end was a metal circlet I recognized Betty played with my nipples until she 
had them hard and thrusting out, and then tightened them in the metal bands. 
When she was through she had me helpless. Whatever I tried to do with my 
hands ended up in a painful tug at my tit. The chain was just lone enough to 
make me have a sense of freedom. I could scratch my nose but not much else. 
I couldn't reach my puss and to defend myself would be a joke. I had to be a 
good little girl and keep my hands beside my breasts. Once more I knew the 
hopelessness of being a slave girl." 

I lay there while Betty busied herself with something else. The suspension 
bar to which my wrists had been strapped was now replaced by one both longer 
and heavier, one end of which she now proceeded to tie to my right ankle 
using a rope which she threaded and knotted tightly with real expertise. To 
drag my left ankle to the opposite end of the bar was a stretch which made 
me moan until Betty said she was sorry to have to put my legs so far apart. 
Laying the way I was. I could not see my pubic hair but she assured me my 
pussy was discreetly closed even though it felt wide open. She then attached 
the tackle to the bar and a moment later' my feet were going up in the air 
and I couldn't a thing about it. 

When my feet were well up so I couldn't see my own pussy and taut belly, she 
pressed the button so everything stopped. Her voice held genuine regret, 
"I'm sorry sweetheart' but this is where I have to leave. You can guess 
what's going to be done to you but don't let's talk about it. I'll see you 
later in the cage. That is, if Sabra doesn't take you to his bed." My legs 
were stretched too far apart and bound too tightly to encourage struggling. 
My hands longed for freedom and tried to fight the bracelets with their 
chains. My fingers were able to explore the pretty circles around my wrists 
and, since this was about all I could do. I played with-them steadily When 
Sabra came he laughed at the way I suddenly jerked my hands away and looked 
up at him with wide eyes. He carried a collections of small whips and a 
slender riding crop, the sight of which made me shiver because I could guess 
the portion of myself upon which it would be used. 

The hard, cold eyes surveyed me approvingly. Evidently Betty had done a good 
job. With surprising gentleness, Sabra told me, "You days will not all be 
like this. We are taking a measure of each other. You've already acquitted 
yourself very well. You might not have believed that as you struggled and 
screamed but girls are my hobby and I can tell from the sounds a girl makes 
when being punished what she is feeling. I am sure you realize I am about to 
punish you now." 

"Yes, Master." 

"Have you any more to say?" 

"I could beg for mercy, Master, but that is forbidden." 

"And you can control your hands?" 

"I must control them. Master, I dare not tear my nipples." 

"You see, child, we are conversing sensibly. It is my wish we continue even 
when pain bums your skin. You understand?" 

"Yes, Master." 

Maybe it was the brandy or perhaps Betty had put something in the brandy but 
I was in a daze of not caring, a euphoria of numbness of emotions. I asked, 
"Please, Master, could I have another glass of brandy." Without a word, 
Sabra fetched the bottle and glass. His strong arm raised me up while the 
other hand placed within my fettered hands the glass. The chain to my 
nipples allowed me to sip but would not permit me to tilt the glass. With 
grave courtesy, Sabra held me until I had swallowed the last drop and gasp 
out a thank you. He then allowed me to return to my back, disposed of the 
empty glass, and then went to the control. 

It was a strange and terrible sensation as my wide- spread legs went up and 
up so that my back slid forward until I rested only on my shoulders. My feet 
seemed way up high but the center of interest for Sabra was my sex. He 
fingered my pubic hair lovingly and said in a thoughtful tone, "You know, 
child, what these portions of yourself mean to men. I am greatly privileged 
to have you fastened thus. I have brought with me small whips which will 
cause you only pain. There will be no damage, there will be no blood. You 
will be able to see almost everything I do. For you, too, this is a moment 
of great privilege. You have one of the most beautiful pussies I have ever 
seen." 

The blow swept down onto my pussy, the small slender tongs of the first of 
the wicked whips bit the surface of my sex. My body and legs made motions 
but they were small for I was stretched and bound most skillfully. My hands 
were desperately clutching the breast to which they were linked. As though 
casting bread upon the waters, I said in as even a tone as I could, "Thank 
you, Master." 

This whipping up and down the inside of my thighs and squarely across my 
anguished puss was probably a work of art for the strokes were each measured 
and perfectly placed. I did not scream, but made terrible small sounds as I 
tried to hold inside disgraceful noises that Sabra did not want to hear. But 
with every stroke the pain became worse. I rocked back and forth on my 
shoulders but my pussy could not be move out of range. But through all of it 
my corded ankles held me tight and fast. I was being punished by a new owner 
who was probably finding out how much punishment I could take. Sabra's eyes 
glowed as I looked up at him over my sex. 

The little whips varied in the length of their thongs or the weight of 
leather. They had been skillfully made and designed not to cause damage but 
inflict pain. There was one whip with a single tong and when that bit 
between my two spread lips, I fought roped ankles and clutched my breasts so 
hard that they hurt themselves. I cried out that it was too terrible for a 
girl to take. 

But nothing ceased, there was only the small pauses as Sabra chose a 
different whip or moved himself to get a better angle on his target. The 
whipping of my tender flesh of all was methodical and thorough and terrible. 

The slender crop was the most terrible of all. I was so immersed in pain and 
the shame of being beaten upon and within my most private place that when 
Sabra departed from the room I did not see him go. 

I did not lay there alone for long, just long enough for me to come back 
into the world and realize I was neither dead nor dying. And to hope that 
the fire consuming my thighs and pussy would sometime cease to bum. 

It was Betty who came to survey my predicament and exclaim, "The Master 
really had a time with you, darling, didn't he? I'll bet you're wishing 
you'd been born without a pussy between those legs. Cheer up I got it too on 
my first day here. While he slashed away I knew I was going to die." 

"Oh, Betty, I'm so glad you've come. Please untie me and let me down." 

"In a minute dear first of all I want to have a good look. Did you blush 
when he put his hand on it? I'm going to put my hand on it now and see how 
hot it is. You won't mind, will you, darling?" 

I didn't care. I watched her fingers playfully running up and down my 
scorched thighs and then touch my pussy with a sort of clinical interest. 
But she also brought some stuff in a bottle which she put on my bruised 
flesh and I have to admit that by the time she was through I felt a little 
better. It was then a serving girl brought a tray with steaming coffee. 

"I'm not going to let your feet down just yet." Betty informed me. "We'll 
give you back you hands. I expect those poor nipples will be glad to get rid 
of them. Now hold still while I use the tool to take them off." 

I lay there breathless as fingers released first my nipple, and then my 
wrists. It felt glorious to have hands even if they could do nothing to help 
free myself from that obscene posture. With my feet still tied, Betty 
supported my head between her breasts and gave me the cup of coffee. I 
sipped it gratefully. 

After the second cup I felt almost human. When I lay back on the rug and 
Betty replaced handcuffs my wrists, I didn't care. It was not until then she 
lowered my legs, and untied my feet. She shackled them in the same manner as 
her own feet, with the same size leg irons. They made silvery music as she 
led me from the room. 

I noticed that Betty had no key to the leg irons. She was as bare as we 
walked as I was. The only difference was I was handcuffed. Our destination 
was the master himself, who examined my condition and explained as he 
unlocked the cuffs, "There is one more pleasure you can give me this day, 
dear child. I am about to bind your wrists behind your hack with simple 
cord. It is same thing which gives me great satisfaction." 

As soon as my hands were free I placed them in a crossed position without 
being told to. He bound them tight in a way which told me there would be no 
escape. For some reason I cannot explain, this attention, along with what he 
had done to me with the whip, aroused the flame within my sex. I never will 
understand why this happens. I said my thank you as sweetly as I could. It 
was in this condition Betty led me to the cage. 

The cage was really one wing of the palace. Everything was beautiful and 
wonderful and must have cost a great deal of money. The girls belonging to 
Sabra lived in great luxury. My punished skin was examined, evoking, no 
doubt, memories among the others. Some said nothing, some said they had 
fared much worse. They all refused to untie my hands. 

Thus began the most comfortable period of my slavery. Some of the girls were 
naked like myself others wore scraps of flimsy coverings. The days of 
idleness passed in a luxurious boredom interspersed by temporary excitement 
when one was called and got her feet shackled to leave the cage, destined 
for Sabra's attentions. They were returned to us with their hands bound 
behind their back. Most girls thus bound were allowed to be untied at the 
end of the day some were left bound for a few days. I was the only one left 
bound at all times. 

Thus passed seven days during which my wounds healed so that when I was 
summoned by a servant to clink my shackled feet beyond the open door, the 
girls all wished me a happy time in bed and promised they would see me 
tomorrow. But that tomorrow never came. 

When a hand at my back thrust me into the master's office, I beheld two men 
cheerfully conversing and sipping coffee. My heart almost skipped a beat 
when one of them grinned at me. It was Rankin Teller. 

As usual, Rankin was at no loss for words. "Come on in, sweetheart. Like a 
drink? I'm sure our friend here will untie your hands." 

Sabra waved to me and I backed up that he might remove the cords I had 
gotten very used to over the last week. I said my thank you and felt very 
strange to see my own hands. 

The offered glass was good coffee. I stepped back to stand submissively 
before male eyes. I had a fateful premonition. 

"Has the little so and so been trying to run away? I see you've got her feet 
fixed?" 

"The girl has behaved admirably. She is obedient. Her feet are chained 
because it pleases me." 

"Well, I get a charge out of it myself. In fact, I get a charge out of doing 
anything to this girl." Rankin turned his attention fully upon the man who 
owned me. "I'm damned grateful, Sabra, for this trade you've agreed to. I'm 
sure neither of us will regret the deal." 

I now got the full attention of Sabra's cold smile. "Mr. Teller is in a 
position to do me a favor. He has also made me a gift of two young women to 
replace the loss in giving you to him. I relinquish claim to you and Mr. 
Teller is free to dispose of you as he sees fit." 

I took another gulp of coffee and wondered what pair of unfortunate girls 
Rankin had chosen. With feeling too much shame or humiliation, I slid to my 
knees, bowed my head, and said, "Thank you, my Masters, I obey your wishes." 
I felt a fool but what else was there for me to do! 

"This girl's a real honey," Rankin said to no one. "I treated her real bad, 
that's how she came to be wandering around loose. But you're going to get a 
lot of fun out of those two gals I've just delivered. One of them likes her 
ass whipped so you don't have to worry about laying it on." 

I could see Sabra wince at the vulgarity and implication that his interest 
lay only in female bottoms. He finished his drink and suggested it was 
perhaps time for my new master to take me to a safe place to enjoy the 
marking of my skin. Everything was very friendly and polite as Rankin joined 
my elbows with thin rope, crushing them together in the standard binding of 
a slavegirl mea fit for transportation. The silver chains I wore on my 
ankles were evidently a gift as they were not taken from me. They clinked as 
I was led into fresh slavery. In the darkness of Rankin's car I wept. 

Our destination was, of course, the harbor and the Rankin's Pride. My new 
owner carried me up the gangplank with a pride and satisfaction he could not 
contain. "I told you I'd get you back, sweetheart. What's more, I got a 
visitor waiting for you in my stateroom. I could turn a nifty profit on you 
right quick if that was what I wanted. But don't worry, kid, I ain't selling 
you at any price." 

It was all terribly familiar. I was carried in Rankin's arms like a child 
and wondered why I did not hate this man in the way I should hate him. He 
was a brass- bound son of a bitch who nonetheless held me in an emotional 
thralldom from which I could not escape. When he stood me up in the familiar 
stateroom, I found myself gazing into the familiar smile of none other than 
Mr. Pregio! 

My elbows were released so I felt better, and then there were drinks all 
around. While I sipped a drink, Rankin boomed out his information, "Mr. 
Pregio, here, wants to buy you, sweetheart. He's told me about you and 
Marjory, and it seems he was damned fool enough to let your girlfriend 
ransom herself. She paid a hell of a price for her freedom so Pregio's heavy 
with cash and looking to buy you back. How's that grab you?" 

My heart was beating fast. I could almost feel Marjory in my arms but I was 
not a bit certain of what was going on. It seemed altogether out of 
character for Rankin to buy me simply to please Mr. Pregio. Especially if he 
would, in turn, sell me back to Marjory. Cautiously I said to Rankin, "I am 
a slave, you will do as you please with me. It is not fitting for me to make 
a choice." 

"See what I mean! Ain't she a honey, Mr. Pregio? And you just don't have 
enough dough to persuade me to let her go again. I lost her too many times 
already." His voice turned serious. "I'll tell you what I will do, Pregio, 
I'll buy that Marjory if you can still lay a hand on her. I'd pay a pretty 
good price to have them two girls chained safe in my brig again. What you 
say?" 

"Alas, the girl Marjory has already departed. Her ransom purchased her 
freedom and I haven't the least idea where she went." 

"That was a damned fool thing to do," Rankin admonished. "That gal can cause 
us trouble. But I'm willing to bet that right now she's looking for this 
little sweetheart. What I'd suggest, Mr. Pregio is you take that wad of cash 
and buy yourself another gal and you're back in business. I'm sorry but 
you're not getting Miss. Celie Collins." 

Mr. Pregio was graciously granted permission to embrace me before leaving. I 
gave me the most sincere hug and kiss he'd probably ever had from a 
slavegirl. But Mr. Pregio was out of his depth between men like Sabra and 
Rankin Teller, a realization I think he knew as he departed sadly. Through 
the window we watched his departure before Rankin produced the inevitable 
handcuffs and I extended innocent wrists to give him the pleasure he got out 
of keeping my hands close joined in silver bracelets. What he said then was 
not exactly good news. "Don't you worry none, Celie, you ain't going to be 
alone here for long. I'll have that Marjory girl rounded up soon enough. I 
got friends in this city and she's an innocent babe in the words in this 
part of the world." 

I kicked the chain between my feet and raised hands for him to see. "Isn't 
this what really matters," I asked, despondently. "You get a kick out of 
keeping me prisoner and sticking that big thing in me every night. Why don't 
you make a big guy out of yourself and contact Marjory who will give you a 
awful lot of money for me. Please!" 

"You know that ain't gonna happen, sweetheart. I just won the jackpot and I 
ain't gonna risk loosing it. Damn it, girl, I'll hold off whipping you until 
tomorrow. How's that for generosity?" 

"That's what I mean. I don't want to be whipped but you'll do it anyway. You 
could have made me love you if you hadn't been so mean. Look, if you lay off 
the hunt for Marjory, and if you'll let her go back to Palm Island, and if 
you'll let me speak to her on the phone, I'll tell her I belong to you and 
that's the way it has to be because... " 

"Because of what?" 

"Because I love you. I'll tell her that even if it isn't true." 

Rankin looked at me with that sly grin I knew so well. "But it is true, 
ain't it? I got the hots for you right alone and I sort of guessed you got a 
soft spot for me. Trouble is, any girl who falls for me has to put up with 
getting her ass whipped, and a few other tricks besides. You know them all 
so I don't have to tell you." 

The words did not come easily but I knew I meant them and could be bound for 
life by what they said. "All right, Rankin, I can't help loving you. If 
you'll forget about Marjory, I'll say I'm willing to let you whip me all you 
like, and do all those other things with me." 

"Even that box with your ass up in the air?" 

"Yes, even that. But next time please don't whip my feet." Rankin, from 
where he sat, had a view through the window and just then made a startled 
move. "Holly Cow, I don't believe it!" 

I worked my way to the window. Horrified I beheld Marjory, exquisitely 
dressed, climbing the steps to the deck and speaking casually to a member of 
the crew who pointed up to where Rankin and I watched. Resolutely my darling 
mistress walked across the deck. 

Rankin watched our greeting without comment until Marjory turned in his 
direction. "I've come for Celie," she said simply. "I was pretty sure you 
had her and I'd like to take her home. Please don't try to make me prisoner. 
I have a policeman waiting on the dock for my return." 

Rankin looked out the window once more to utter, "Well, I'll be damned if 
you're not right." He sent a crewman to fetch the uniformed escort. As soon 
as the man arrived in the stateroom, Rankin broke into the local tongue and 
then produced some large domination currency. In return the policeman 
saluted us smartly and went away. All three of us watched him leave the 
dock. Marjory's face was white in disbelief and fear. 

"Them guys can all be bribed, sweetheart. Didn't you know that? You've the 
second girl today I get today. How about a pair of leg irons like Celie's 
wearing just to make sure you don't go running off someplace?" 

The struggle was short and sharp, and when my darling arose from the floor, 
her ankles were chained together just as mine. She glared at Rankin angrily. 
"If I'm not off this ship within an hour the authorities will come and ask 
you why. Be sensible and let us g-" 

"Hell, honey, I ain't never going to let you go. Not ever. Celie, here, is 
my number one girl but you'll make a good number two. I've told Celie she 
don't get her ass whipped until tomorrow, just to let her get to feel at 
home. The same will go for you. Settle down and we'll wait an hour before I 
strip you naked and chain you in the brig." 

"You and I made a bargain," I said hotly. "You're supposed to leave Marjory 
alone. Let her go." 

Rankin winked. "I told you the boys would leave her alone. She's walked in 
here of her own free will and I've done nothing to make her come. The damned 
girl's asking for it!" 

I looked at Marjory and Marjory looked at me. As though in acknowledgment of 
ownership, we both shook our shackled feet before accepting glasses offered 
by Rankin. 

Rankin entertained us for the full hour as we waited but the authorities 
never came. Perhaps they never intended to, or perhaps Rankin had bribed 
them, too. 

"Well, you pretty bitch, where's your army?" My darling mistress refused to 
reply but stared stonily at the man whose property we had become. It seems 
that once a girl is enslaved, she can change ownership at the drop of a hat. 
And I knew that in both Marjory's mind and mine there were no longer doubts 
or hopes. Palm Island had vanished in the mists. 

Rankin unlocked the leg irons on my ankles. "Come on, Celie, you can watch 
while I fix your sweetheart for the night. You know the hotel where she's 
going to stay." 

I knew all too well, I was still handcuffed and what the hell was the good 
of fighting or trying to run. Or maybe I didn't want to run! I followed my 
former mistress and her captor down the familiar steps and to the familiar 
iron door. I watched Marjory strip naked when her feet had been released 
until she stood there in bitter shame as the heavy irons were locked upon 
her at wrists, ankle and neck. And the brutal iron belt went around her 
slender waist. She stood there in all her loveliness, a defiant captive in 
her chains while Rankin took my arm and led me from that place of bitter 
memories. I wanted to cry and to be taken to his bed. His fingers on my arm 
had set me aflame below. I thrust the thought of Marjory from my mind. 
Tomorrow we would both be whipped, but tomorrow is another day. At that 
moment Rankin had me chained in metal and lust. 

Beside the desk where my master writes there is a chain and collar most 
solidly anchored to the floor. The collar was locked around my neck and my 
ankles wore the same heavy shackles as if I were in the brig. There were 
heavy shackles on my wrists. I sat beside my master as he writes. Sometimes 
he played idly with my hair or pinches a convenient nipple. Cheerfully he 
told me how hard he would whip me when he gets to it. I knelt there beside 
his chair to sometimes lay my head upon his knee. That was as it should be 
-- I was then and am now a slave. 


THE END
