HIT-198 Lost Liberty
By F.E. Campbell


CHAPTER ONE - Prisoner in His Own Castle

It’s quite insane but there’s not a thing I can do about it. Or if there is, I haven’t discovered
it. I’m sure all three of us would make a delightful study for a psychiatrist. Inga and David are 
delightful to me but they keep my ankles chained together with silver bands around the 
ankles and heavy chains between them. I can walk slowly, I cannot run. When they are both 
absent from Hastings Castle, they lock me in the cell. When I ask how long this imprisonment 
has to go on, they never really have an answer. Usually it is Inga who puts her arms around me
and whispers that I’m really loving it all and have no real wish ever to be free.

There is an insidious something about being kept forever naked. It makes a girl twice as 
vulnerable and defenseless as if she wore clothes. But I haven’t worn clothes for so long that 
I’ve forgotten what it’s like. But walking around bare doesn’t bother me any more. I’ll bet that 
if I were given clothes and told to dress, I’d be uncomfortable. You see what I mean, the whole
thing’s nuts!

The real killer is that I own the place. I own Hastings Castle and the huge estate that goes 
along with it. The estate is administered for me by David Suffcliff, just as he did for my 
grandmother before me. I had made up my mind to marry David Suffcliff but then he goes 
and marries IF, the gorgeous creature who was hired by Grandmother to teach me discipline. 
Grandmother thought I’d been a naughty girl. But, of course, we never did agree about that. I 
was within sight of having served the sentence Inga and David had created for me, and would 
have been a free girl, when Inga broke the news that I would never be free again. As if to 
emphasize my loss of liberty, she locked the handcuff’s back on my wrists -and that’s another 
thing I have to beef about. I’m forever being handcuffed in front or back in addition to having 
chained feet. It’s really for the birds and I wish I could do something about it.

I know what you’re thinking, it’s the one about the poor little rich girl who’s kept captive 
while her jailers steal her fortune. But it isn’t like that. David looks after the Hastings estate as 
if it were his own. Everything appreciates in value and it’s all still in my name. If I wanted 
money, I’d have tons of it. But what on earth would I do with it? I do admit I try to bribe 
anyone I come in contact with in the hope I can persuade them to let me free. But so far 
there’s been no takers, and if they mention my attempt to Inga or David, I get whipped.

And, believe me, getting whipped is for the birds!

I think by all the rules I should become morbid and go around the bend. But it isn’t that 
way at all. Inga and David spent a lot of time with me. Or should I say they allow me to spent a
lot of time with them. There is also little Daisy down in the kitchen who is often put in the cell 
with me. Sometimes she’s attached to me by collars and chains and padlocks.

Or tied to me or fastened by some of the strange gadgets they have. Daisy actually thinks 
it’s fun.

David goes to his office every day where he has a big law practice where he employs all 
sorts of serious types who deal with torts and litigation with keen enjoyment and certainly a 
lot of profit. The firm of Suffcliff and Company is highly esteemed in business circles. I suppose
in a way I’m one of his clients. But the whole thing is absolutely nuts!

I suppose you’re wondering why I simply don’t walk out the front door. And you’re quite 
right, I could. But I’d walk very slowly because of my chained feet and I would be naked. It is 
also a considerable walk out to the road where I might get picked up and helped. But I might 
also get raped or arrested by the police. That happened to me once before and I have no 
desire to repeat it. I’ve tried this a couple of times, but I always get caught. Then I get whipped
so bad I swear to never try it again. If you’ve never been whipped, I suggest you try it just 
once and you’ll see what I mean. While it’s happening you simply want to die because it hurts 
so bad. And I’m always neatly strapped or tied and have to take it. Daisy often gets to watch 
by way of teaching her a lesson. After she assures me that I am quite wonderful when I’m 
whipped and what does a girl do to make it happen. Daisy is the sweetest thing and I’d find 
the role of being Hastings Castle pet prisoner harder to take if she wasn’t around. In her own 
way, she’s a prisoner, too.

I am sitting in the lounge, reading a book. In the fireplace a lovely, hot blaze crackles 
cheerfully while I add to the musical sounds by clinking the chain between my feet while I 
breathlessly pursue the adventures of James Bond and wish he would walk through the 
doorway and carry me off to freedom. There is really a shocking shortage of James Bonds 
around Hastings Castle. But you can imagine my feeling when James Bond walked through 
the door!

At least the guy who is staring at me now is a reasonable fact simile. I cover my pussy with 
the book and stand up to be ready to be carried away to freedom. The guy stood there 
looking around like he was lost. As is usual with me these days, I quite forget I am stark naked 
and it is something of a shock to unwarned visitors. Sweetly I say, “Good afternoon. I’m 
Patricia Torrance.” I then take a step in his direction in a silly sort of show of good will when I 
trip over my chain and fall on the rug the way I often do. It turned out well this time because 
the young man, I’d say he was thirty to my twenty-four, which is, of course, just right, picks me
up and is most concerned that I am not hurt. He sort of dusts me off and then suddenly 
realizes I’ve got nothing on to dust. He becomes quite scarlet and even stutters a bit as he 
introduces himself as Colin Ruppert, an associate in the firm of David Suffcliff and Company. 
He was looking for the office, it seems. He then backs away to get the best possible view of 
what I have to offer, and become suddenly articulate. “By Jove, Miss Torrance, do you know 
that you’ve got no clothes on?”

“I had noticed it,” I said demurely. “But I’m afraid I never have any clothes on. You see, I’m 
the family pet. And the prisoner of Hastings Castle. Would you be a good sport and carry me 
away to freedom?”

He gulped and was about to ask why I simply didn’t walk out the front door when he 
noticed my chained feet. He stared at them for a minute before stating the obvious, “You feet 
… They’re … Well, sort of fastened together.” He looked at me in a legal fashion as thought 
accusing me of bad taste in costume jewelry.

“The proper word is chained,” informed him sweetly. “My feet are kept chained so I can’t 
run away. I’m sorry if it bothers you.”

“No, not really,” he exclaimed immediately. “It’s really a quite nice effect. I must 
compliment you on wearing your chains with such distinction.” With eye riveted upon my 
pubic hair, he slowly said, “Where did you say I’d find the office?”

“I didn’t say. May I offer you tea? I have only to ring.”

“Thank you but no. Could I … Well, what I mean is could I get you some clothes or 
something….”

“If you could carry me out to your car and drive me to London, I would be grateful.” I 
looked him in the eye and lied through my teeth, “I’m sure Mr. Suffcliff would be grateful.”

I got a sideways look. The poor chap simply had to know something was wrong. “I could 
not possibly drive you anywhere in this condition, Miss Torrance. Do you have clothes?”

It was at that moment Inga made her appearance and took charge. “Well, Mr. Ruppert,”

she exclaimed in evident relief. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Did Patricia offer 
tea?”

“Indeed, yes. She was most kind. She had asked is she could ride back to the city with me 
and I just explained that she really should wear some clothes.”

“Of course she should! She’s a lovely girl but a bit impetuous.” She gave me one of those 
“don’t you dare” looks. “Come alone,” she said to Mr. Ruppert ,” where I’ve got everything just
as David wanted it. Patricia can just go back to reading her book.”

Needless to say I didn’t read my book. I didn’t even use it to cover my pubic patch. I sat 
and looked at the fire and kicked angrily at the links joining my feet. I liked Colin Ruppert and 
no doubt there was a nice guy if he ever got away from Suffcliff and Company. But along with 
finding a bit of a heartthrob, I knew there was trouble ahead. Colin had unwittingly spoken of 
my attempt to escape. And for me to try and escape by any means at all was a no-no. I’d be 
whipped for sure!

It’s really damned unfair, this attitude about my trying to be free. Any prisoner should be 
allowed a chance to escape, however impossible it may be. Trying to get away does something
for self-respect. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t try. I was just ashamed at the way I was 
always caught. Like right now. I looked down at my chain and wondered if I could take my silly
little steps across the house, out the door and down the front steps to where I presumed Colin
Ruppert’s car was waiting. I could hide in the back seat and maybe he wouldn’t even notice. 
Acting on that impulse I took my first steps towards the door.

It’s a breath-taking, agonizing experience to try and hurry -when ‘ your fset ate chained 
together with no more than fifteen inches between and the links are clinking and rattling on 
the rug. When you hit a bit of wood floor the noise become much greater. I had actually 
reached the front door when Inga’s voice stopped me dead.

“Were you going for a walk, dear? I’ve ordered a quick coffee in the office. Why don’t you 
join us?”

It’s always so civilized. No rough stuff, no harsh words, everything is sweetness and light 
until I find myself fastened some outrageous way and Inga is picking up the whip. I blotted 
out the visions of what my punishment would be and followed Inga to the office where Colin 
Ruppert sat, sweating slightly over what he no doubt thought of as “my condition.”

“Dear Patricia is so impetuous,” Inga explained. “I think she was on her way to your car.

I’m so glad I saved you the embarrassment of returning her.” Turning to me, she said, 
“Drink it while it’s hot, darling.”

I sat and sipped and managed to get Mr. Ruppert to blush again as he worked hard at 
trying not to look at what I had to offer. I’ve got the loveliest breasts and I could tell they were
having a strong effect. But I’ll also admit to being somewhat preoccupied with wondering how
many lashes I would get for my escape attempt. In a stupid move, no doubt brought on by 
the fact that I had fallen for the guy, I blurted out, “Mr. Ruppert, I’m a prisoner her, held 
against my will. I expect I’ll be punished for speaking to you like this, probably be whipped. I 
ask again, please take me back to town. If you do that, I’ll be safe.”

I have to hand it to Inga, she’s equal to any occasion. Before Colin Ruppert could swallow, 
she became as sweet as honey. “Don’t listen to the dear child, Mr. Ruppert, she’s wickedly 
mischievous and always embarrassing people. You mustn’t believe a word she says. You can 
check with Mr. Suffcliff when you get back to the office.” It made such beautiful sense that 
Colin Ruppert swallowed it whole. After all there had to be something wrong and the way 
Inga presented it, that something was me. I was still seeking something to say, something to 
really grab his attention, when Mr. Ruppert gathered up his papers, swallowed the last of his 
coffee and said his thank you’s and good byes. As he gathered his stuff, his gaze constantly 
flickered to my breasts and pubic triangle, so I knew at least he was going to remember me. I 
prayed they would bring me back because I had the feeling he could become the medium by 
which I could gain my liberty. I gave him my sweetest smile and added that I would certainly 
think of him while Inga was whipping my bare skin. All present laughed at my statement. I 
watched the door close behind them and felt a terrible desperation -so near yet so far had 
been freedom.

I was shivering in the way I do when I know I’m going to be punished.

Inga showed no anger when she told me I was a naughty girl for trying to escape. She 
showed no anger when she told me I was going to be punished for the escape attempt. I had 
expected nothing less but that terrible empty feeling in the pit of my stomach told me how 
much I feared what was coming. While a girl’s being whipped she thinks nothing could ever 
hurt this much and swears she will never do anything to cause this to happen again. But a few 
weeks later, after the marks have faded and the pain when she sits down gone, she forgets. 
And, when tempted with a chance at freedom, she makes mistakes. I did.

Inga told me to march myself down to the punishment room in the basement and stand in
the place where I am usually whipped. Like a stupid cow being led to slaughter, I meekly 
shuffled by way on chained feet along the corridor and down the stairs to that large room 
filled with instruments of correction for a naked woman. With all thoughts of rebellion shoved 
down in my mind, I stood under the leather cuffs hanging from the ceiling, the same leather 
cuffs that I had been strapped into many times before. I shivered a little but somehow never 
could bring myself to refuse the polite request to march to my punishment like a meek lamb. 
It was shaming to act thus but what choice did I have? I could never fight Inga and win. 
Especially with my ankles chained together. Fighting would only result in my being forced into
the same position I now stood in. And extra strokes being added to my punishment. Or 
perhaps some other form of punishment being added after the whipping. Inga is very good at
dreaming up punishments for me. I have been bound in painfully tight positions and forced to
endure them all day. I have been locked in solid oak stocks for the day and had to endure the 
aching muscles caused by the immobility. I had no doubt Inga could find many ways of 
punishing a naked girl.

Inga came cheerfully into the punishment room and went immediately to securing my 
wrists in the leather cuffs. “I don’t know what to do with you,” she remarked casually.

“You’re always getting into trouble. You shouldn’t have tried to get Mr. Ruppert to take 
you away. That’s an escape attempt, you know.”

I knew. “Please, Inga, couldn’t we find some other way to punishment me? It hurts so 
much to be whipped. You don’t know.”

Inga said nothing. Going to the wall that held all the whips and canes and leather straps, 
instruments of pain all, she selected a slender and flexible cane. She positioned herself behind 
me and I bowed my head.

The first cut was a fiery streak across my bottom. I jerked and a small cry escaped my lips.

“You really do like that Mr. Ruppert, don’t you?” Inga said just before the second stroke 
found my soft flesh. “I saw the way you were looking at him.”

A small part of my mind told me that perhaps she was right, perhaps I did find him 
interesting. There was some kind of attraction I felt for the man. But the rest of my mind was 
busy coping with the scold and pain burning my bottom. The third stroke was harder than the
others and evoked a couple of kicks from my bare legs. It was starting all over again. The pain 
would grow with each cut of that terrible weapon and I would cry louder and dance upon air, 
kicking and jerking in what must have been an interesting demonstration of a girl’s reaction to
pain. Inga never seemed to tire of watching me do this. When the pain grew bad enough, I 
would scream. I never intend to scream, but the pain becomes so terrible that no girl could 
keep it all in. Screaming helps.

Many strokes later I was hanging limp in my bonds, almost unconscious from the 
incredible pain cruel slashes across my skin slowly spaced out over a long time. I was only 
dimly away that Inga had stopped. I was in agony.

I think the total number of strokes was someplace between twenty-five and thirty -it’s easy
to lose count. They were spaced out from knees to below my neck and had turned my entire 
backside into one burning ache.

Without a word or a whisper she put the whip on a bench and left. I remember wondering 
what she would do when she came back. Was I punished enough for an escape attempt or 
would there be something else? Perhaps she was simply going to let me hang for a while. She 
does that often after whipping me. Says it gives me time to reflect upon my sins.

I was wishing that Colin Ruppert had not come anywhere near Hastings Castle. But by the 
time my skin had settled down to a steady scold, I knew I wanted him to come again. It isn’t 
much but it’s my own hope.

As if being whipped was not enough, Inga unstrapped by wrists to gather my aching arms 
behind my back to bind them there with that awful thin cord which hurts a girl so bad she 
won’t even dream of struggling. I am sure my crossed wrists looked very pretty as they rested 
upon discolored, whipped skin. We went to lunch were I was made to kneel beside her chair to
eat whatever scraps she chose to place between my lips. With the whipping over, I was 
outrageously hungry but my captor feeds me little for, as she wisely pointed out, she must 
protect my figure alone with my estate. Like I said before, this whole thing’s crazy!

With my hands tied the way they were, there was not much I could do. But Inga loved to 
bath and attend my needs, and pointed out with her wonderful feminine logic that being 
minus hands and feet in no way impairs the skill by which my tongue and lips may give her 
pleasure. David was staying in town for the night and Inga had me all to herself. On those 
nights when her husband decided to use me to gratify his sexual desires, Inga disapproved 
but always gave in to David’s orders. Inga had often bound me tightly spread-eagle upon the 
bed, completely naked and ready for David to come in and use as he pleased.

I often wondered how much Inga resented those time when David had sex with me, but 
finally realized that David was a viral male and was giving plenty of sex to his wife to keep her 
happy.

That night I was left alone with this lesbian. I did not think of protesting. I was a 
well-trained slavegirl.

Through the next day my wrist remained bound and I was most cruelly helpless. If I tripped
over my chained feet, the fell was painful because I had no hands to break my fall.

My jailer had the cute trick of asking me if I would like my hands untied and then, when I 
have assured her that it was the thing I most wanted and turned my back to present my wrists,
she would sweetly explained that they were not going to be untied just then but it would be 
something nice for me to think about. I was seething and thinking of murder and sharp knifes 
and of Colin Ruppert rescuing me.

That night, with hands still tied and feet still chained, I paid my dues to this lesbian.

When I was first made a prisoner and show a glimpse of the possibilities between Inga 
Furgerson’s sleek thighs, I rejected them in scorn. And I have to hand it to her that I was never
made to give pleasure in response to pain. When I finally gave in to the ancient act, it was 
after she had broken the news that I could never be free again and was now the household 
pet, a prisoner forever. I remember falling to my knees and, as if to buy back my freedom, 
hungrily sought her sex with my tongue.

When Inga first came to Hastings Castle, her only duty had been me. Because I had been 
judged by my grandmother a naughty girl I was to receive punishments each day in the hope I
would mend my ways. Now that my grandmother was dead and Inga was Mrs.

David Suffcliff, she carried on in pretty much the same direction. Now I have no 
opportunity to be naughty. Except in those chances when I see a chance to escape and grab 
at it. It is on those occasions when my punishment become very painful. Otherwise I suppose I
could call it discomfort, or humiliation. Anyway, Inga never lets up on it.

It was a very ancient old donkey cart and the donkey between the shafts was almost as 
old. His ears were floppy and at the moment he was fast asleep. “You’re going to love this one,
dear,” Inga said in a tone as if she were doing me a favor. As usual I was naked and was 
positioned at the back of the cart and, wonder of wonders, I got my hands untied. But I didn’t 
have the chance to give my wrists a good rub before one of them was placed in a half circle 
cut out of the wood at the back of the cart. I began to catch on as a heavier cord looped over 
my wrist in circle after circle of tightness. I moaned inwardly but didn’t say a word, having 
learned never to complain. As Inga often points out, things can always get worse. Having got 
my right wrist fastened to the oak, the same was done to my left. I watched in a sort of dull 
fascination as the cords possessed my hand to bind it in a vicious tightness that, if I didn’t 
know better, would lead me to suppose Inga didn’t like me. When both hands were prettily 
cinched to make certain they can never escape, I stood there in the innocent of my nudity with
my arms straight forward at the level of my breasts. I flexed imprisoned fingers and knew 
myself more hopeless than when my hands were behind my back. Neither Inga nor I said a 
single word but Inga was smiling.

When the beautiful silver restraints were unlocked from my ankles and set aside, it was 
pretty much like being stripped naked. I pretty much accepted those leg irons as a part of my 
body. I rarely was free of them. I looked at Inga inquiringly.

“There you are, darling,” she cooed. “You’re almost a free girl. All you have to do is go to 
work on one wrist with your teeth and you’re a free girl”

I sniffed in disdain. I well knew rhat to get my teeth down to my hand would be awkward 
and painful. And Inga had hidden the knots away from my fingers and certainly from my 
mouth.

“Long ago they used to drive a girl all around town fixed just as you are fixed,” Inga 
explained. “But they also whipped her as she walked and there wasn’t a thing she could do 
about it. History records the pleasure the good citizens derived from watching the naughty 
girl get her skin lashed by anyone who wished to take a swing at her. It was described as 
‘Whipped at the Cart’s Tail.’ and must have been disagreeable for the poor girl. But don’t 
worry, you’re not going to be whipped. You’re simply going for a little walk with dear Daisy. 
Ah, here she comes.”

Daisy is clothed and said, “Hello, Miss Patricia,” very respectfully before climbing up to the 
cart’s seat. Inga explained what was expected of me. “You just walk along behind, darling.

You need the exercise and fresh air. And I am glad you know it’s hopeless to try and bribe 
dear Daisy into letting you go. Daisy’s a good girl and you leave her that way. She won’t make 
the donkey trot.” She paused to giggled. “I’m not sure he could even if he tried. The whip up 
front is for him, not for you. Do you get the picture?”

“Yes,” I said as surly as I could. Then I added, uselessly, “what did I do to deserve this?”

“Nothing, darling. Any you shouldn’t think of it as a punishment, it’s just exercise. And it 
gives you and Daisy a chance to talk. I remember the two of you got very close when we had 
you locked in the rabbit hutch. I’d let Daisy spend more time with you if you didn’t constantly 
offer her huge sums of money if only she’ll let you loose.” Inga chuckled again.

“Right now I’ve never seen a girl with less cash in hand than you. Having you naked is so 
wonderfully convenient.”

Poor Daisy is always embarrassed when she has to do something like that, and it wasn’t 
much of a trick to guide the donkey along paths he knows. And, even though she’s younger 
than I, we find things to talk about. She didn’t say anything to me just then but made clucking
sounds and small snap of the whip to the donkey’s backside to wake him up and begin our 
sad journey.

I simply walked and had to admit it wasn’t all that bad. Once Daisy had the old donkey 
headed in the right direction, she swung around in the seat to get a good look at the owner 
of Hastings Castle as she walked behind the cart. Daisy had never managed to reconcile to the
fact that I owned the castle and was, technically, her employer, yet I got myself punished and 
locked up and all sorts of other things. “I’m real sorry to see you like this,”

she moaned. “It ain’t right but there ain’t nothing I can do about it.”

“Don’t worry, Daisy,” I told her. “We’ve talked about this before. I expect I’ll live.”

Having to spend my time in the castle because of chained feet, I found my slow walk 
behind the donkey a pleasure. It was so good to be out in the grass and trees and fresh air. 
Once more I wished Inga didn’t tug and cinch so tightly at the ropes. Daisy told me often how 
pretty I looked whenever Inga had me bound up. I didn’t agree with her, but I didn’t disagree, 
either. How could I tell, I can’t see me from an outsider’s view point?

I was again tempted to offer her a tremendous sum of money if she will cut me loose and 
help me escape. But the whip marks were still fresh upon my back so I held my tongue. I don’t
think that Daisy really believes in that much money, anyway. She never seemed to take my 
offers seriously.

As I gazed at my tied wrists, I couldn’t help knowing freedom was only a couple of cords 
away. It was almost too much for words.

The woodlands at Hastings is quite expansive and contains many paths. With Daisy 
heading in the general direction of a circular tour, the old donkey needed no supervision.

As we ambled along I became aware of something on Daisy’s mind. “We I found out what 
we was doing today,” she said, “I phoned that nice Mr. Ruppert fella, and I tells him that if he 
wants to help you out, this would be his chance. I told him about where we would be out in 
the woods. I hope you don’t mind, Miss Patricia.”

“With me in this condition?” I retorted. “Oh, Daisy, how could you!”

“Well, you is always in some sorta condition, Miss. You ain’t been free like the rest of us.

The servants all think you’re a bit kooky to put up with all those things Miss Inga does to 
you. The gardener’s helper, young Albert, he got hold of a book somewhere what shows girls 
being whipped and says they all enjoy it.”

“But, Daisy, I’m naked and tied to this cart. I don’t want gentlemen seeing me like this.”

“Well, I thought it was for the best. No gentleman is likely to see you properly dressed.

He’ll have to put up with you just as you is just like I have to. But it will give ‘him a chance 
to talk to you. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he cut you loose right now?”

I was in a terrible dither and told Daisy she had done the right thing. I didn’t believe Colin 
Ruppert would show. After all, he had a lot to loose and not much to gain except a girl who 
might be a damned nuisance to him even if she would be terribly grateful once he got her 
freed from handcuffs and leg irons. But I comforted myself with the knowledge that the whole
thing was beyond my control. If Colin Ruppert came, goodness knew what would happen! But
if he failed to show, I’d be no worse off. For a moment I tugged against the cords in a longing 
to cover my pubic triangle.

The duties of the city lawyer would rarely take him into a sylvan wilderness such as this.

His business suit and hat would seem out of place. But judging by previous acquaintance, 
he would be far more embarrassed than I. I was surprised as we came upon him suddenly.

He was sitting on a fallen tree, simply waiting for us. I realized that Daisy must have given 
him implicate instruction on how to find us. I made a mental note to thank her. As we drew 
level and stopped, he rose to his feet with his eyes firmly riveted upon my breasts. He touched
his hat in a salute while I stood like a dummy with my arms straight out in front of me and not
able to cover a single thing. I said what seemed appropriate, “Good morning, Mr. Ruppert. A 
pleasure to see you.”

“Same, I’m sure.” His blush now matched my own. We stared and waited for a cue.

Believing in the direct approach, I lost no time, “Would you mind cutting these cords 
around my wrists,” I asked matter-offactly. “I would be ever so grateful.”

Colin Ruppert was a guy any girl would be happy to own. But he was a lawyer and he 
worked for the man who had decreed my captivity and was unaccustomed to dealing with 
girls who wore no clothes. The poor guy didn’t have a clue of what to do. But right then he 
was there and that was all that counted.

Mr. Ruppert did not instantly produce a knife or fumble with Inga’s knots. He was a lawyer 
and wanted to be surer of his ground. And who, no doubt, supposed the whole thing might 
be some elaborate hoax by an irresponsible young woman who quite probably deserved the 
marks still vivid on back and bottom. He hummed and hawed a bit but finally said, “I find 
myself attracted to you, Miss Torrance. I do not understand these circumstances in which I find
you but I am willing to hear your side of any story. And I certainly hope that when you’re free, 
our friendship might ripen into something more.”

I knew the thing to throw my arms around his neck and press my body hard against his 
body, but I couldn’t do that. Inga’s cords still held me tight. So we were reduced to talking, 
which never was as good as rubbing against each other. As though I was a prisoner in the 
dock, I heard myself explain, “I’m being held a prisoner here, Mr. Ruppert. What you are 
looking at right now passes as my daily exercises. I’m sure that by this evening I’ll be sick of it. 
It’s actually a form of punishment. And as you can see, I am held completely helpless. Please 
cut the ropes.”

“But this is so extraordinary! Without precedent!” The poor guy was visibly disturbed. “Am 
I to understand that Mr. and Mrs. Suffcliff hold you in a form of servitude?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to say. Maybe I haven’t said it too well. Look at the way I’m 
tied! I’m a prisoner.”

“Well, you look like that. But I’m concerned in case you’re one of those young women who
enjoy this sort of exercise. There’s a lot more of it than anyone knows.”

I took a deep breath and sympathized with his position but what I wanted was to get my 
hands free and demanded forcibly, “For Pete’s sake, Mr. Ruppert, cut these cords and let me 
free! I don’t want to be a prisoner any more.”

“But you did enjoy it once?”

“I didn’t say that. I don’t see how any girl could enjoy being tied the way I’m tied right 
now.

Or any of the other things they’ve done to me. Don’t you understand that you’re my only 
hope of freedom. If you’re embarrassed because I was made a prisoner by your boss, simply 
cut me free and I’ll take it from there. I’d love you to take me back to the city. But I don’t want 
you to suffer because of me. Please, please, please!”

I felt sorry for the poor guy, he hadn’t expected to find anything like what he was staring 
at.

A naked girl tied to a cart was a long way from the court or a lawyer’s office. It was Daisy 
who broke the silence.

“I’m not allowed to let Miss Patricia loose, Mr. Ruppert,” she explained with simplicity. “My 
orders are to drive her around and around the grounds. With her staying fastened the way she
is so she has to follow behind.”

“That’s incredible!”

“Well, I expect Inga would explain it all better. I’m just a girl the family trusts. I usually work
in the kitchen.”

Colin Ruppert swallowed hard and prepared to become the Knight in Shinning Amour. He 
had no knife but he was male and his fingers were strong. They fought Inga’s knots and, after 
a while, won the battle. While we were that close I knew he could pick up my scent and was 
affected by it. Unless they’re sweating or sleeping with you, men don’t exude much of a smell 
the way we girls do. Colin was lightly sweating and breathing heavily as he work, especially 
when he came in contact with one of my breasts.

“You’re a most beautiful girl, Miss Torrance,” he said. “I just don’t understand this whole 
business.”

I didn’t care whether he understood it or not. When my hands were actually free I could 
have danced for joy. While I rubbed sore wrists and said my thank you’s over and over.

When I stopped to give him one of my nicest smiles, he was taking off his business suit 
jacket with a view to covering my nudity. But I soon stopped that as I explained it would only 
make me more naked than I was and doubly erotic. I could tell the poor chap was vastly 
relieved. But what he had to say next was something to think about. “I will take you back to 
the city with me, if that’s what you want,” he said with formal politeness. “But I absolutely must
ask you to wear some clothes. I must ask you to return to the castle where you can get 
properly dressed and make any other arrangements you desire while I discuss this whole 
matter with Mrs. David Suffcliff.” He paused before adding, “I do hope the dear lady can 
understand my point of view.”

I almost told him that what really mattered was that he could understand Inga’s state of 
mind but let it drop. What I really wanted was to run like hell in the opposite direction. But 
what Colin said made sense. And I didn’t see how Inga could hit him on the head or get me 
handcuffed without creating more of a scandal than there already was. I told Daisy we were 
hurrying to the castle and she could follow behind. There was no way I wanted to wait for that
poor, old donkey.

Inga is shrewd and clever. Moreover, she is never at a loss. When Colin Ruppert and I 
showed up in her office, the office that was really mine, she behaved as though we were 
expected and my being free was the most natural thing in the world. She insisted on coffee 
and told me I just as well should go and get dressed and collect whatever it was I wanted 
while she had a talk with Mr. Ruppert. Damn it, it was all so plausible!

As I raced up the stairs, I was thankful Colin was a lawyer and might, therefore, be able to 
pick up any flaws in whatever Inga chose to tell. But for that moment I was concerned in 
gathering up whatever I wanted to get away with and making myself reasonable attractive for 
Colin that he might still think me as beautiful as when I wore no clothes.

Gleefully I opened the door of the clothes closet and get my first shock. The place in which
my belongings had been was now totally bare. Being a little scared and over cautious, I get a 
chair and propped the closet door open while I walked into the spacious closet. I couldn’t 
even find a pair of shoes. In the middle of the floor the whole thing gave way beneath my feet
and I found myself sliding down a ramp into blackness. I landed with a bump and heard the 
trap door close most decisively above my head. I looked around. I was in a dungeon.

The first thing I did was to try to climb back up the ramp but there was no foothold and 
the door above was firmly closed. My next hope of the dungeon door but what as solid as 
rock and repelled my puny efforts easily. There was not much to work on except a small 
window that was high up and out of reach. In any event, I could see that it was heavily barred. 
The furnishings of this horrible prison were a single, hard, small mattress, and the damnedest 
collection of shackles and chains you ever saw. There was also rope and straps as though 
someone was trying hard to please.

I was neatly trapped. I figured that Inga had arranged the whole trap in case I ever tried to 
do just what I did. The air was warm from some hidden source I could not discover. But 
anyway I looked at it, I saw only a naked girl in a dungeon from which there was no escape. I 
sat on the little mattress and wept out my broken heart.

My time in that gloomy stone prison was to be one of the most miserable memories of my
imprisonment in Hastings Castle, the castle I was suppose to own but didn’t even know 
enough about to avoid stepping on a waiting trap. I shed my tears and wondered what was 
going on upstairs. I pace back and forth a lot. I have no idea how long it was before Daisy 
opened the huge door and told me she had been sent down to chain my wrists and ankles 
and put a collar on my neck. As usual, she was terribly sorry but determined.

“Please, Miss Torrence, don’t fight me, let me put the chains on you. Because if I don’t do 
it, Inga will and she says if you make a fuss, she will whip you, too. Gee whiz, Miss Torrence, I 
thought you was gonna get away this time for sure.”

I stood there and let myself be chained, the anklets and wristlets and collar around my 
neck were not as ancient as the stone walls, they were new and shinning and fit me like a 
glove. I couldn’t help a little gasp of dismay as the metal bands clicked shut and I found I had 
to drag around about fifty pounds of metal with every step I took. The linkage was long and I 
suspected its main purpose was to annoy, to irritate, and punish. The collar, while a thing of 
beauty, was also a heavy burden. It appeared to have no other function than to make me 
aware of what I was: a helpless prisoner. Daisy kissed and told me that she had been ordered 
not to stay and talk. The door closed with a solid clank.

I could not believe I would be kept long in this place with this iron on me. I girl could go 
mad down there. There was just my nudity and a lot of chains. I could not make any motion 
that did not evoke a clank or chatter of metal. For something to do, I compelled my chained 
feet to walk back and forth against the dragging weight of iron. The noise of the chains and 
their weight upon my ankles told me that even if the door should suddenly open, I would still 
be a prisoner. This was punishment for sure!

I think I was in that black hole three or four days, each day filled with loneliness and rare 
visits from a say Daisy to bring food and repeatedly told me of the order that she must not 
linger. I think the tasks she was told to perform on me were by way of additional punishments.
But in the lonely solitude almost any change was welcome. The first thing poor Daisy did, 
muttering in embarrassment, was to remove the chains. “I gotta take these here chains off,” 
she said, “then I gotta tie you up. Gosh, I hope you don’t mind.”

I minded! But in a way both of us were trapped, a couple of girls in situations from which 
we could not escape. I was happy to be free of the irons but then had to immediately position 
myself to be bound. Daisy was almost as good at it as Inga. I wondered if she had been taking
lessons. Or perhaps Inga had been binding Daisy more than I knew and Daisy was simply 
picking it up. That first time I got my wrists crossed and bound behind my back in the good, 
old-fashioned way I knew so well. And then the same thing with my ankles. Since my feet were
crossed and bound in this overlapping position, I couldn’t even stand up or crawl or anything. 
All I could do was sit or lay on the horrid little mattress and chaff my skin trying to get loose. 
Needless to say, I never did!

I got more of Daisy’s apologies with the next day’s travail. And that one was very simple, 
except I got so damned tired. I had to stand with my back against the stone wall with my 
hands chained to either side and slightly above the level of my head. There were several links 
to each length of chain so I could make some noise if I were so inclined. But I couldn’t lower 
my hands. It was better than being tied or chained real tight so you couldn’t move. But it 
didn’t stop me from growing very tired as the long day wore on. I felt like a butterfly-pinned 
into place. I was ready to scream by-mid afternoon. A few times I did,-

Wasting into the silence a peel of anger against being treated thus. Inga was probably 
upstairs, chucking to herself. And-for all I knew, Colin Ruppert might be chuckling up there, 
too. But this I refused to believe. Colin Ruppert was my only hope and I refused to cease that 
hope.

CHAPTER TWO - An Old Friend Visits

My release was undramatic. It was just one more of Daisy’s visits but that time, when my 
limbs were freed, they were not refastened. The only shackle she could not remove was the 
lovely, wicked collar around my neck. I stormed into the office all ready to give my jailer a 
piece of my mind about the treatment of young ladies who hadn’t done anybody any harm. I 
found myself suddenly face to face with David Suffcliff, who looked up from the papers on the
desk with no surprise, to say, with a total lack of emotion, “Hello, Patricia, nice to see you 
again. That’s a lovely collar you’re wearing.”

I have already said I had not feelings about being nude. But that is something subject to 
sudden changes. You think you’ll never blush again but some unexpected encounter makes a 
girl long to cover her breasts and pussy. It was that way now, and the blush I felt rising to my 
cheeks made me doubly furious so I was on the verge of letting loose a vocal onslaught when 
he calmly cut me off and informed that I would find Inga in the lounge and why don’t I go and
have a pleasant cup of tea with her. The bastard then returned to his papers with that manner 
of dismissal all lawyers know.

I stormed out of the office in the same fury as I had entered.

Inga listened to my tirade with that quiet little smile she reserves for such occasions.

When I was exhausted from demanding over and over, “Why a dungeon, and why all those
chains? And why leave me alone for so long?” I let out one final wail of anguish and, falling to 
my knees, buried my scarlet face filled with tears in the softness of her lap. For a little while I 
was simply a small child seeking comfort. And since comforting damsels in distress is 
something Inga does well I was soon feeling better and a little bit ashamed about being a 
crybaby. It was not until I felt her snap the irons upon my ankles that I realized I had been 
completely free and could have run away if I’d had the sense to know what I was doing. But 
this didn’t worry me the way it should have done. I seemed to be a frame of mind where 
escape and all thoughts of it did not seem real anymore.

“That dungeon was real mean,” I accused. I got kissed and hugged until I was ready to 
purr. The dungeon wasn’t mentioned. As the final act in being fondled and love like the pet I’d
become, my jailer cupped my features in firm hands, looked me straight in the eye, and said, 
“Darling, some way or other I just have to make you understand that escape is a no-no.”

My only answer was to stand erect and kick at the chain which once more joined my 
ankles. “I suppose you told Daisy to make me completely free,” I said disgustedly. “Well, she 
did just that and I didn’t even think of escape. I guess that’s your answer. Now you’ve fixed me
so I can’t run away where. I hope you’re happy.”

“How’d you feel about being chained back in that dungeon? Like right now?”

“No!” I almost shouted. Miserably I added, “I’d rather die.”

“Then lets both of us keep that dungeon in the back of our minds and go back to the way 
we were before CR got you hot and bothered.”

“He’s a nice man, he probably thinks we’re all crazy. Especially me.”

“He’s happily back in the city where he belongs, Patricia. Forget him.”

I sniffed and thought of all the things that had been said before and decided not to say 
then again. As if reading my mind, Inga said, “Daisy will be bringing tea in a moment, and, just
as an exercise in discipline, I’m going to tie your hands behind your back. You know where I 
keep the cord, go get it.”

I had no thought of disobeying. No doubt it was some sort of test. Or an exercise in how 
to keep your pet under control. That is, if you pet happens to be a pretty girl. I rattled my 
chain as I went, and on the return journey fingered the length of cord by which I would soon 
be made helpless. Without a word I handed it to my mistress, turned around and awaited the 
familiar bit of thin cord on my flesh. It came and went to leave, me with bare arms firmly 
anchored behind my back and my usual feeling of shame that I had not fought.

“Kneel close beside me,” Inga directed smoothly. “Rub yourself against my leg, it’s a nice 
feeling for both of us. And it will be handy for me to feed you a watercress sandwich. I’m so 
glad you’re being a sensible girl.”

I did as she ordered. It is very frustrating to drink tea and eat sandwiches when robbed of 
hands. And I knew Inga loved this feature of my helplessness, my utter dependence upon her 
will. So I sipped my tea and ate my sandwich, and actually made pleased little sounds where 
appropriate. I was actually taking pleasure in the pretty play when Inga dropped the bomb.

“David thinks it would be nice for you to have the company of an old friend,” she said 
without sarcasm. “He has suggested a Miss Mavis Collier with whom you were on intimate 
terms when you were free. I’m expecting Daisy to bring her in any minute.”

My reaction was instant. “Don’t you dare let Mavis see me like this,” I exclaimed in horror.

“She’ll laugh her head off and think we’re all nuts!”

“Don’t be hasty, dear. Mavis may find you as enchanting in your birthday suit and those 
pretty ropes and shackles as I do. You’re really a terribly sweet as you kneel here and accept 
my offerings. In my opinion, your Mavis will simply adore you.”

“It was going to happen, I could be sure of it. I cringed and tugged at tied hands as I 
remembered the MC I used to know. Mavis was older than I and somehow had never gotten 
herself a man. She had a nice figure but her features weren’t all that hot. She was inclined to 
go heavy on the sarcasm. Her hair was wonderful and she wore it long which she tossed over 
one shoulder or the other according to her mood.

When Daisy ushered her into the office, Mavis ran true to form. Standing for a moment as 
if transfixed by the sight of an old girlfriend now naked and bound and chained, she gathered 
it all in at a single glance and gushed, “Patricia, darling, you look wonderful! And I expect 
you’re Mrs. David Suffcliff. It is simply wonderful for you to ask me here to tea so I could see 
what’s happened to dear Patricia. We’ve all missed Patricia but I can see she’s in good hands. 
Are those watercress sandwiches? I do adore watercress sandwiches.

May I have one?”

I left Mavis strictly at Inga’s mercy. I couldn’t do anything anyway so I simply knelt 
helplessly and blushed at this outrageous exposure of my nakedness, a nakedness which 
Mavis finally got around to. “I always knew you had a marvelous figure, darling,” she burbled. 
“And I always knew you needed control. It’s wonderful to see you’ve got the whole package! 
Thanks, I’d absolutely love a cup of tea.”

Mavis and Inga enjoyed themselves, I did not. But my shame in being seen in this 
condition had only just begun. After a suitable interval of chatter, during which Mavis ate and 
drank as if starved, my mistress said, as if struck by a sudden thought, “There’s things I have to
do so I’m going to leave you two together to talk of old times.” She looked at Mavis pointedly.
“I’m sure you’re going to love everything Patricia has to tell.” With that she left the room.

You know those stories about how snakes mesmerize rabbits and rodents before they eat 
them? Well, the way Mavis looked at me now was pretty much like that. We may have been 
old friends but we had never been really close and I was getting the feeling there was more to
Mavis than I had ever known. I tried hard not to tug at corded wrists or make a fuss with 
chained ankles. I felt it would be best to leave them without comment about what the 
fashionable young woman was wearing about town this year. Mavis was fascinated, totally 
fascinated with ME.

I tried to cope but was defeated from the start. “I’m sorry you were embarrassed like this.”

I said. “It’s a silly game Miss Suffcliff and I sometimes play. Please go home and visit me 
another time.”

“You mean when you’re not in such exquisite restraint?” she rolled the words out lovingly.

“Don’t be ashamed, I think it’s a lovely idea. I always wanted to tie you up and beat the 
hell out of you.” She giggled. “So did everyone else.”

It as not a good beginning. I tried again. “Perhaps you’d like to untie my hands, I 
suggested.

“No, they’re lovely were they are.” Mavis was drinking in every part of my figure. “I think 
it’s beautiful that someone’s managed to take away all your clothes and fasten you like that. 
Are you as helpless as you look?”

“Yes, for the moment I am. Please untie my hands and we can talk sensibly.”

“You know I won’t do that. You’re too sweet the way you are. Does Mrs. Suffcliff beat you 
regularly?”

“No.”

“There’s some marks on your skin…?”

“Never mind the marks on my skin. Look, Mavis, I’m being held a prisoner against my will.

Please help me, take me back to the city with you.”

“I was warned you’d ask that, dear. And I know about your being whipped. And I think the 
whole thing is delightful. You mustn’t be ashamed of me seeing you like this. We’re old 
friends….Aren’t we?”

“Yes, we are. And I wish you’d prove it by getting me out of here. You can start by untying 
my wrists.” I stood up and turned my back to her to hold out my hands. I flapped the bound 
hands for her attention. “For goodness sake, get on with it before Inga comes back.”

“I can’t do that, darling. You are very sweet the way you are. And Mrs. Suffcliff has warned 
me not to interfere. I think you’re playing a really delightful game and I can understand why 
we haven’t seen anything of you lately. I find Inga really yummy, yummy, and I can understand
your wanting to stay more or less her prisoners.” Mavis giggled. “She tells me she looks upon 
you more or less as a pet.”

It was hopeless! Mavis had been lured to Hastings as a sort of erotic cocktail for Inga’s 
enjoyment. She was quite probably listening in to our conversation. There was also the matter 
of the shame I must inevitably feel over being thus nakedly exposure before an old friend. I 
was still thinking of some way to penetrate Mavis’ armor when she came out with, “Patricia, 
dear, would you mind very much if I pinched your nipples? You’ve got the most gorgeous 
breasts and it’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”

I stepped away. The last thing I wanted was to have Mavis practice her cute little sadisms 
upon my defenseless body. I tried the only approach I could think of. “Don’t be disgusting, 
Mavis.” I made my voice as haughty as I could. “You’ve got me at a disadvantage but I’m 
certainly not going to stand still and let you do something like that. If you want to pinch tits, 
pinch your own.”

“It’s not just tits, darling, it’s your pussy as well. I expect you’ll put up a bit of a fight but 
nothing I couldn’t handle. How’d you like my finger inside your pretty little puss while I bite 
your tits?”

“Mavis, act your age. I’m sure you can get the best of me, I’m so damned helpless, but if 
you have any decency at all….”

For the moment Mavis allowed the subject to drop, switching to another subject. “I know 
there’s something fishy going on here, but I’m not sure what. Are you really held a prisoner 
against your will?”

“Yes, I am. And if you were a real friend, you’d help me get away.”

“You mean you’re always kept tied up or chained or something?”

“Yes, always.”

“And you get whipped if you don’t behave yourself?”

It was a loaded questions. Even when I’d been a free girl I’d never quite sure about Mavis.

And now the things she was asking might be only curiosity, but, on the other hand, could 
very well mean she was feeling her way into the things she could or could not do. I had the 
feeling that perhaps I had been too much of a bitch in times past, and that my grandmother 
was right in wanting to punish me for many years of misbehavior. But I didn’t want to go on 
getting whipped forever for past sins. During the time Inga had held me prisoner, I had 
certainly paid my dues. But now here was Mavis, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed with 
discipline in mind. I groaned inwardly and tugged at tied hands. I began to realize that Inga 
had probably bound my hands behind my back for Mavis’ benefit rather than just for lunch. 
The whole thing was probably a set up with me as the bait and prize.

Mavis was looking at me now with a hunger in her eyes that made me shiver. When I 
thought of my nipples between her fingers I took another step back and almost tripped over 
my chain, an accident which would have amused Mavis no end. “Surely there has to be other 
things we can talk about,” I said.

“Well, I expect there are, dear. But I find you such an interesting subject that’s all I want to 
talk about. You must be frightfully rich after your grandmother died. So, how much money 
would you give me if I really try to get you out of here? For instance, I could untie your hands 
right now.”

“I can’t walk out of here with my feet chained. You’d have to get the key.”

“Don’t quibble, Patricia, my sweet. How much?”

“I named an outrageously large sum and saw the interest sparkle in her eyes. But perhaps 
the sum was too large for then she came back with, “I’ll bet you’d never give it to me. I’d get 
you back to town and then you’d change your mind.”

“That’s a chance you’d have to take. Naked girls don’t carry currency.”

“Well, all right, I’ll think about it. But you haven’t told me what it’s like to be whipped. I 
know you’ve been punished that way, I can see the marks. I’ll bet it hurts something terrible?”

“More than you would ever dream. For Pete’s sake, Mavis, don’t tell me that’s something 
you want to do?”

“It’s something everyone wants to do, darling. I’ve read up on the subject quite a bit. And 
there’s always the Sunday newspapers. There isn’t a week goes by without some fellow up in 
the courts for whipping a pretty girl’s bottom. I think it would be the greatest fun.”

“Mavis, you must be crazy! It hurts unbearably.”

“I wasn’t thinking of you, I was thinking of me. I know I’d enjoy it so much!” She paused 
then eyed me carefully. “Patricia, dear, you wouldn’t mind, would you, if I ask Inga’s 
permission?”

“Yes, I would mind. I’d hate you forever.”

“I’m sure you don’t mean that. It seems to me that when it’s something between two 
friends, with one of them getting whipped and the other doing the whipping, it would make 
that friendship better than ever. I’d love to try.”

In all the time Inga had done whatever she wanted to me I found myself in my present 
condition of tied hands and chained feet often enough, but never had I so longed for freedom
as right then. There was an eagerness about Mavis and I could easily imagine the silly creature
doing me an injury. I was about to ask her what her friends would think if they could listen to 
her now when the door opened and Inga came back. I was gratefully relieved to find myself 
once more in the charge of a competent mistress. But it didn’t take me long to discover that 
my two companions had talked on the phone before Mavis’ visit and had an understanding. 
Mavis went straight to the point.

“Patricia is being very selfish,” Mavis said as if wronged. “She refused to let me play with 
her nipples and says there’s no way she wants to be whipped. You’ve got her so nicely helpless
but I wouldn’t dream of doing it without your permission.”

I was feeling less and less happy. Quite often Inga displayed a pixie mischief. She came up 
with the last thing I wanted to hear. “Patricia, darling,” she said, “we mustn’t be unreasonable. 
It’s nice of Mavis to come and visit you, and I’ve enjoyed her company, too.

I think the least we could do to show our appreciation is to make you … available?”

“I don’t want to be available, I want to be left alone.”

“No doubt you’re thinking of a return to the dungeon, dear?”

I knew I couldn’t get loose but I tugged like crazy anyway. “You know darned well it’s the 
last thing I want. Inga, don’t be mean.”

“Very well, no dungeon. But I think it would be nice, darling, if you were to explain to 
Mavis how obedient you’ve become and how you always do anything I ask.”

I could feel the trap closing. Against these two I didn’t have a hope. Miserably, I addressed 
our visitor. “That’s right, Mavis, it’s true what she said. I am very obedient and do whatever she
says.” I wiggled bound arms. “Especially when I have no choice.”

“Isn’t she sweet?” Inga purred. “So now we’ve got that understood and out of the way, I’m 
going to suggest, Patricia, dear, that you kneel in front of Mavis and stick out your breasts 
nicely to be played with. Will you do that?”

“She doesn’t want to play with them, she wants to hurt me.”

“You’re just assuming that, dear. Don’t be negative at times like these. Go ahead, kneel 
down and offer your breasts. Wipe that pout off your face and invite your visitor to enjoy your
nipples. Go ahead.”

It wasn’t easy. I was loaded with shame at so debasing myself. And I was apprehensive as 
hell over what Mavis would do to me. But I did as I was told and made my voice as submissive 
as I could. “Here are my breasts, Mavis, dear. I want you to find pleasure in them.”

Surprisingly Mavis kissed me first and then told me how delightful a girl I had become.

And what a lovely body I possessed. Then, without warning, she gripped my nipples -not 
hard at first, just a sort of pinch of possession. We looked at each other, eye to eye, without 
illusions. She then gently steered me up between her thighs as her pinch become more 
positive and drew me exactly to the posture she desired. Her knees then clamped hard to 
keep me under control. She then slowly increased the pressure of her fingers, watching my 
face intently all the while to enjoy whatever reactions I might betray. When she suddenly 
pinched with all her strength, I screamed.

Mavis never let go, not even when I struggled and tried to break away and deliberately 
screamed right into her face. Her fingers remained in command of my poor breasts, breasts 
that now had nipples that burned and hurt. It went on quite a long while, with Mavis varying 
her tugs and pinches, and making my rosebuds perform circular motions to twist my breasts. 
Her playful way of bestowing pain continued until Inga suggested perhaps it would be 
enough for now.

As Mavis’ knees relaxed their grip and her fingers let go, I lost no time shuffling chained 
feet to get back out of range. I looked reproachfully at Inga, then turned to glare at the source
of my agony. “You’re a rotten, sadistic bitch,” I hissed at her. “You ought to be ashamed.”

“Could you give the silly girl a spot of brandy, Mrs. Suffcliff? The girl seems a bit 
distraught.”

The way Mavis said that made it sound all my fault. But when Inga held a glass to my lips, I
drank gratefully, sure that my ordeal was only just began. That conviction was confirmed when
she gave me a second glass right away. By the time I had downed that I was breathless and 
feeling better. While I was panting my way back to normalcy, Mavis returned to her pet 
obsession. “There remains the question,” she said, “of whipping the dear girl. How do you feel 
about that, Mrs. Suffcliff?”

“It’s a splendid idea,” Inga betrayed me without a qualm. “But I won’t allow you to be too 
severe on this occasion. We won’t use the whip or the cane, but I have a lovely leather strap….”

“It’s not fair!” I burst out. “I haven’t done a thing to deserve being whipped. Not even with 
that lousy leather strap, which hurts like hell, just in case you don’t know. Inga, please don’t let
her talk you into this.”

“Mrs. Suffcliff knows perfectly well what she is doing, Patricia,” Mavis said stiffly. “It’s up to 
her to say what happens to you. And, anyway, she’s got you so delightfully fastened 
complaints won’t do you a particle of good.”

Mavis was absolutely right. I sure was fastened so I couldn’t do a thing. But it was Inga 
with whom I was now concerned. She was dangling handcuffs in front of me and telling me to
turn around to get my hands untied. Hatefully, I obeyed. A few moments later my wrists were 
prettily handcuffed together, in front instead of behind my back. But I didn’t have any hope of
that doing me any good. I looked Inga in the eye and simply said, “Please, Inga, don’t do this 
to me. Don’t punish me just for Mavis’ amusement.”

There are big stone pillars to each side of the lovely lounge at Hastings. I had lone since 
become acquainted with the rings embedded in the stones above a girl’s head. I was now led 
to tone of these and told to raise my arms to one of those rings and hold my hands for Inga 
to insert a large padlock through the ring and to the single link between my wrists.

There I stood, not stretched or in discomfort but simply with my hands above my head 
and fastened so I could never get them free.

The standing position in which I was held is flattering to a girl, it shows everything she has 
even though facing the pillar. There was sufficient latitude in my chained hands to enable me 
to back up a few inches or to thrust my nakedness hard against the marble column.

My nipples were still burning from Mavis’ attentions, so I simply stood in listless 
acceptance of my lot. I looked back to where Mavis was gloating in my punishment. I gave her
a glance of bitter hatred before turning to where my mistress was busy selecting the 
instrument of my punishment, a punishment I had not earned.

“May I use the strap on the poor darling?” Mavis purred hopefully. “I just know it is going 
to be a marvelous experience.”

“You may use it under my direction,” Inga said in a fine, mistressy tone. “But we have to 
remember the dear child has done no wrong and must not be too hard on her.”

“Well, I’m not so sure about that ‘done no wrong’ business. While you were gone she tried 
to bribe me into helping her escape from Hastings Castle. She offered me quite a lot of 
money. Didn’t you tell me that was a no-no for her?”

My heart sank when Inga asked directly, “Patricia, is this right, did you do that?”

I blurted out a guilty yes and could see the dungeon, with its chains, getting closer. I’d be 
lucky if all I got was the strap.

The way in which my locked wrists were now padlocked to the column probably sounds 
simple enough and terribly innocent. But it’s really a terrible way for a girl to have to stand.

Her most whippable portions are clear to view and terribly vulnerable. You can see to 
either side but what I was seeing at that moment was not reassuring. I pleaded, “Inga, this just
isn’t fair. It’s all wrong. There is no reason why I should be whipped just to satisfy Mavis’ 
curiosity. Call the whole thing off, you can, you know.”

“Are you telling me you prefer the dungeon, Patricia?”

“No, I’m not. All I’m asking is for you to be fair.”

I did not get unlocked. But Inga brought a brush and started to brush out my hair in a way
she knows I love. Silently I supposed it was as good a prelude as any to begin whipped.

After a minute, Mavis came up with, “Oh, could I do that, Mrs. Suffcliff? It’s such a 
wonderful ideal. Sort of like the condemned man eating a hearty breakfast.”

Inga frowned but gave the brush to Mavis. The brushing then lost its magic and I ceased 
to get those tingles up and down my spine and the warm feeling in my puss. Instead I had to 
put up with Mavis whispering in my ear, “Do you realize that I’m soon going to tenderize you 
tail, you uppity little bitch? I’m going to give you that strap as hard as Mrs. Suffcliff will let me. 
Aren’t you the luckiest girl!”

“I don’t want my tail tenderized. Why don’t you go to the kitchen and sit on a hot stove to 
tenderize your own?”

“Naughty, naughty! You shouldn’t say things like that, Patricia. I promise I’m going to give 
it to you real good after that one.” She tugged on my hair with the brush in her hand. Then 
she said over her shoulder to Inga, “I suppose this is why you keep the dear girl naked all the 
time, Mrs. Suffcliff. It must be a great convenience when you want her punished.”

Mavis’ voice throbbed with pleasure.

“It’s one of the reasons,” Inga explained casually. “And having her naked is a big help in 
tying her up, chaining or strapping her. In fact, it’s positively ideal, especially when you think 
what a deterrent it is to running away. I wouldn’t have her any other way.”

“I wouldn’t have you any other way, either, bitch!” Mavis’ whisper was once more vibrant in
my ear. “I loved the way you reacted when I pinched your tits. That’s something I’m going to 
do again if Mrs. Suffcliff permits. Right now I’m aching to get a hold of that strap.”

I stood there and let Mavis gloat. There really wasn’t anything else I could do, not with my 
wrists locked in metal circlets above my head.

After a while the two of them decided to have another cup of tea, so I was left to stand in 
what I hope was a good pose to make Mavis envious of my figure. The two of them chatted 
away on the couch. In pure disgust I pressed my forehead hard against the marble and waited
for the pain to come.

They kept me standing like that for half an hour while they drank tea they didn’t really 
need, and Mavis drank in my shame and humiliation, and made a lot of queries about the best
way to whip a girl couldn’t defend herself. I could cheerfully have murdered the silly bitch.

Inga chose the supple leather strap with which I have had an acquaintance in the past. I 
did not protest, I knew it was no use. A sideways glance showed Mavis running the strap back 
and forth over her hands in panting anticipation of joy to come. I was then made to meekly 
plead in the most humble terms for a punishment I did not deserve and did not want. While I 
was reciting the lines I didn’t want to say, I think Mavis had her first orgasm, for which she had
the grace to apologize. But then she added, brightly, that she expected others.

“May I start now, please,” she asked Inga. Mavis was as good as her word. The limber 
leather strap cracked loudly squarely across my bottom. I tried not to scream but it wasn’t 
easy to keep quiet while the agony spread and spread from my cheeks in all directions.

Mavis’ tenderizing of my tail got off to a good start.

It was as if the female was entranced with my bottom because the second stroke landed 
squarely on the same agonized strip of skin. This time I handled the awfulness by kicking with 
one chained foot and twisting hard against handcuffed wrists. I must have put on a fine, erotic
display because Mavis was almost panting in some sort of excitation of her own. Number 
three against cracked against my bottom and I did a little dance at the end of my chains. 
Number four snapped across my back, an unexpected blow which drew a moan from me. 
Mavis was wining all along the line, and in some desperate need to protest, I twisted to look 
her straight in the eye, spit the word “bitch” at her, before turning back to my column.

Mavis sucked in her breath as if I had just done a terrible thing to her. “Mrs. Suffcliff, for 
that sort of behavior,” she asked, “shouldn’t we use some sort of instrument that hurts more? 
I’m not sure this strap is near enough effective.”

“It’s hurting. Look at the marks you’ve put on her skin. But I will allow one concession for 
her rude behavior.” Inga’s voice was hard. “Patricia, spread your legs wide apart so your friend 
can cut up inside there with the strap. You really must learn to control yourself.”

Unhappily I obeyed. With cuffed wrists allowing me enough length to effect an most 
indecent spread. My reward was a bitter cut squarely across my pussy and ending with a 
horrible sound of impact up my belly. The pain drove me back hard against the marble to jerk 
and dance in pure agony. I was suddenly panting and emitting the dry, sobbing sounds of 
deep distress. Whatever Mavis’ faults might have been, she certainly knew how to use that 
strap.

Pressing my legs tightly together, I gave Mavis a look of pure hate, mixed with agony.

Unhappy with the loss of her new target by the closing of my legs. Mavis against lashed 
my defenseless bottom with fiery impacts that shot agony through my body. Inga did not stop
the whipping even when the leather strap slapped away at my thighs and the tender flesh 
there. At twelve slashes, Inga stopped her. Towards the finish I made the most terrible sounds.

“Shouldn’t the dear child offer us some sort of thanks for this correction?”

I didn’t wait for the order to come from Inga but, hating every word and swallowing 
shame, I humbly said, “Thank you for whipping me. Mavis. You did a wonderful job. I didn’t 
know you were so talented.” Once more I pressed my face against the marble and tried to will 
away the agony.

Now that I had been well and truly strapped by my old friend, I was not left to stand like 
that too long, just enough time for Mavis to come out with some wonderful comments on the
changing coloration of my bruised skin and the sounds I had made. The key was then used so 
I was allowed to lower my joined hands and stand submissively for what came next. I longed 
to feel the welts where the strap had struck but a handcuffed girl cannot decently reach her 
bottom. And even when Inga unlocked one wristlet to bring my arms back I had no 
opportunity to feel my hurt bottom before my wrists were again locked above it. As usual 
Mavis was equal to the occasion.

“You were talking about a dungeon, Mrs. Suffcliff. You’ve got me nicely interested. Do you 
think I could see Patricia nicely chained in some dark place with rats and mice and things?”

“No rodents, I’m afraid.” Inga sounded irritated. “But I’m sure Patricia will be happy to 
show the irons that go along with being locked up in a dungeon. You may as well act the jailer
so bring her along.”

I’d had a feeling that I hadn’t seen the last of that dungeon and now I was being taken 
back down there by the girl who had just whipped me and the mistress who let her. Mavis’

hard lingers were tight upon one bare arm as I worked chained feet like crazy to keep up 
where Inga led. I could well believe myself walking some sort of fatal last mile.

Like a child being fitted with clothes she did not want, Mavis could not be contented with 
just looking but had to lock on every wristlet and anklet and chain. It was hateful to have to 
offer my limbs for her chaining but I had little to say about it. They draped me in about 
everything the dungeon had to offer in the way of metal. By the time Mavis had giggled her 
steady procession up and down my nakedness I was heavily restrained from head to toe. I was
then viewed from every possible angle and told to walk back and forth within the limits of the 
chain and collar. Mavis loved every clink of my irons. They then both kissed me good-bye and 
went away, Mavis even insisting on slamming the door and turning the massive lock so I 
would hear. I sat on the tiny mattress and allowed my tears to flow.

I found myself strangely resigned to that damned dungeon. I no longer saw ghosts in the 
gloom nor bothered to fight the weight of irons by which I was restrained. I did experiment 
with the collar and its chain but the only way I could get relief from that was to lay down and 
take its weight off my neck. At least this was better than being beaten by Mavis with that 
horrible strap.

Being locked inside a dungeon, a girl is apt to get strange notions, so rather than thinking 
about the hours or days or weeks in which I would be chained, I allowed my mind to flit back 
and forth between Mavis, Inga and myself. I found myself wondering if it would be Mavis who 
brought my water and apple and chunk of brown bread as one more of her experiments on 
how to treat old friends. I didn’t now how long she would be visiting Inga.

Or if she would get to whip me once again. Or perhaps use on me some of those other 
devices she didn’t even know about.

I was thus miserably occupied when I heard the opening of the door, an unexpected 
sound which told me Mavis was up to another of her tricks. I didn’t even look but stayed on 
my mattress with my head upon my knees. If I failed to show interest or curiosity, I would at 
least defuse some of my former girlfriend’s venom.

I wasn’t caring much about anything but as the time passed I became aware of a sort of 
pregnant silence. So, after having had my belly full of loneliness, I raised my head. They were 
there, watching me with eyes alight with interest.

“She’s absolutely glorious,” Mavis said in awe. “Just look at her now, Mrs. Suffcliff! My 
goodness, I wish I could paint. I’d call the picture simply, “The Dungeon.’”

“I told you that if you put a girl in this dungeon and chain her up properly, you’d get a 
gothic effect. You’re right about the paints or camera. Next time you come you’d better bring 
whatever it is you want. I’m sure Patricia will pose for you again. But I think she’s been 
punished enough for one day, so I’ll let her loose.” Sarcasm crept into Inga’s voice. “I do hope 
you don’t mind.”

But they did not grant me freedom until I had once more walked up an down and posed 
for Mavis’ benefit. She was absolutely fascinated by the discovery of my imprisonment at 
Hastings Castle. As my chains fell away under the influence of Inga’s key, I looked as level as I 
could at my one time friend and said listlessly, without much caring, “I hope you’re going 
home tonight, Mavis. Please don’t bother visiting me again.”

It was then Inga broke the glad tidings that Mavis was staying over night and the least I 
could do was be polite to our guest. It was in that vein the three of us walked upstairs, with 
me overlooking the fact of total nudity until just before going into dinner. Then Inga chained 
my ankles.

Everything I did, said or was intrigued Mavis immensely. She confessed to a near orgasm 
during dinner at the thought of my ankles shacked down out of sight. And how she simply 
adored my eating with them with both my breasts in full view and hands completely free. I 
was slowly realizing that darling Mavis was not the way I remembered her at all. She was an 
erotic sexpot with sadistic overtones who found pleasure in hurting a naked girl or compelling
that same nudity to unmentionable shames and humiliations while Inga watched as a sort of 
referee. Even though it was hurting, I sat. I could not fail to realize a degree of eroticism in 
myself and the behavior of my pussy. When no one was watching I reached down between my
thighs to cup my poor whipped sex. But when I brought my palm back to once again use a 
knife, it was soaking wet and the wetness came from me.

Like I’ve said before, a girl can’t always control her own body!

With dinner over we retired to the lounge in the manner of people with money. When 
Inga produced handcuffs, I obediently held out my hands without a word and watched as they
were locked together in a manner to bring a sparkle to Mavis’ eyes. Inga was also watching 
the sparkle and immediately told Mavis firmly, “No, we won’t whip the little darling anymore 
today. That’s one thing you’ll have to learn when you’re a mistress, not to over do it. Always 
keep your prisoner alive and alert, and, if possible, make her take part in the conversation. 
That’s what we’re going to do now.”

I sat demurely with locked ankles and wrists. With Mavis around I was grateful for any trifle
of mercy Inga would extend. We then engaged in a conversation which was hardly an 
intellectual debate since it dealt entirely in the way in which I could be punished, humiliated or
hurt with the facilities at hand. Mavis was more and more seeing Hastings as a dream come 
true, and I wondered how I had ever chosen her for my friend.

“Have you stretched the little darling on the rack?” she asked.

“Not seriously, but we have tried it out,” Inga confessed. “Should you like to try it, it can be
arranged. But I must insist that I maintain control. The wheel is powerful and one turn to many
… Well!”

“And shouldn’t Patricia be branded,” Mavis asked with an endearing innocence. “It seems 
to me there was always a branding being done when pretty girls were imprisoned in grim old 
castles. Have you thought about that?”

“There will be no branding,” said Inga decisively. ‘Try again.”

“Suspending the dear child by her thumbs?”

“I haven’t done that yet. The punishments I’ve done to Patricia aren’t just to hurt her. They 
are to keep her in line, to make her realize that her behavior has been less than satisfactory. 
And to counter these constant inclinations to escape.”

Mavis obviously felt cheated. After all, why make a fuss about suspending a girl her 
thumbs, especially when she was an old friend. I swallowed a gulp of the brandy and looked at
my old friend with hostility. But, of course, Mavis was an inexhaustible source of painful ideas 
and I did have to wonder what I had done to her way back when I was a free girl to make her 
feel about me the way she did. But then, perhaps no young lady with hands tight fastened 
behind her back would be safe with Mavis! I gulped more brandy and hoped her erotic 
curiosities would not take me back to the dungeon and the chains.

Inga explained to Mavis how it had come about that I was a prisoner in my own castle.

Mavis was surprised to find out that it all began with my darling grandmother, who had 
decided that my behavior was not proper and had instituted a program of correction with 
Inga hired to implement it. After my grandmother died and left the estate to me, Inga married
my former lover, David Suffcliff, and together they imprisoned me on my own estate. They 
keep telling me that it is not a life sentence but I had my doubts.

Mavis was fascinated by the story. Inga went on to explain that she had allowed Mavis to 
visit me because, as she put it, “We wish to avoid the poor girl becoming morbid in 
confinement.” Inga paused to sip tea. “To that end I have been taking her out into the 
woodlands to receive whatever punishment was scheduled for that day.”

“I save the whip for insubordination or an attempt to escape,” she continued. “The strap 
you gave her today is just a childish reprimand, a reminder to be good. A real whipping would
be a lot different.”

“You mean I can’t whip her again tomorrow unless she does something bad?”

“That is correct. But during your stay here you may observe the dear child enduring all 
sorts of punishments, such as the pillory or the stocks, neither of which do her any harm but 
do impose a period of quiet contemplation. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Mavis’ agreement was obviously false. Mavis had other ideas. “I’m 
delighted to observe you demonstrating all these quaint punishments. But are there any of 
those which might make our little sweetheart cry out in pain as she did this afternoon when I 
used the strap?”

“I’ll see what I can think up for you, Mavis.” Inga was once more very much the mistress. “I 
must ask you to remember that Patricia is simply a prisoner, and she is not a prisoner who has 
to be punished every day. Personally, I’m very much in love with the dear child. I am observing
her constantly and putting her to tests of which she may not be aware. And it is the belief of 
my husband, Mr. Suffcliff, that we may be able to give her back her freedom in only a few 
years. She had made remarkable progress since we took her in hand.”

Mavis obviously found this altogether too kindly for her liking.

What she wanted was screams, and those screams to be mine. I grimly determined within 
my mind to ask her at the first opportunity whatever it was I had done in the past to make her
feel I deserved all this punishment. I knew I had been a bit difficult with my friends and 
relatives, but to have one of them wanting to whip me as a full time occupation seemed a bit 
too much. But I played alone with Inga’s cue.

“I have been taught a lot of lessons since Inga came here,” I said truthfully. “I’m a different 
girl to the one they took into their loving care. If you weren’t so all fired anxious to keep on 
whipping me, I could probably show how nice a girl I’ve become. Why not give me a chance?”

“I don’t believe a word of it,” Mavis said firmly. “As far as I’m concerned you’re still the 
arrogant little bitch I used to know. I put up with you then because, after all, you had the 
money. But you don’t seem to have any money now, and I want to try out all the lovely 
punishments a girl is subject to in a place like Hastings Castle. The fact that you own the place 
adds a great deal of my enjoyment. You are a perfect dream of a whipped heroine, but it left 
me feeling that twelve lashes were altogether too few. I’m sure they hurt but how would it be 
if we had given you twenty or thirty or more?”

“About the same as if I had thrown a glass of brandy in your face,” I said, throwing caution 
to the winds. “If I was a little bitch once, you’re twice as bad. You’re a sadist, a sadist who is 
enjoying this whole thing. Why the hell don’t you go home!”

It was a mistake and I knew it the moment I said it. I stole a glance at Mavis and met only 
with a frown. I resigned myself to the dungeon.

For captive girls nothing turns out the way they think. Inga was still beautifully in charge 
and struck exactly the right cord, “I am going to make you a gift of Patricia thought the night. 
She will be helpless to do you harm and will obey your commands and prove herself as a 
pleasure slave beyond your fondest dreams. But in that bedroom where you spend the night 
there will be no whips or canes.”

It gave Mavis a little time to realize what she was getting. The absence of whips was 
obviously a disappointment before she realized what else she was getting. In a surge of 
happiness, she demanded, “Can I have her with hands locked behind her back, I want her 
helpless, not the way she is not? I think you’re being altogether too kind with Patricia, locking 
her wrists in front like this.”

“I wouldn’t deliver the darling to you in any other way,” Inga said with swift decision. “I’ve 
got an interest in this, too, you know. I don’t want her getting loose or talking you into some 
kind of rescue effort. Don’t worry, her hands will be locked behind her back.”

“Yummy!” Mavis was positively glowing with anticipation.

CHAPTER THREE - Painfully Tied to a Post All Night

That’s the way it was. After brandy I was left standing with darling Mavis in my own 
bedroom in my own castle, and I couldn’t even utter a complain because I had been warned 
that if I made a fuss the whip would follow. I stood there with my hands behind my back, 
naked and helpless, and did a quick survey of the room to find what reassurance I could in the
absence of whips and canes. I all would have to cope with that night was Mavis’ carnality, a 
quality I had never even thought to. But from the way she was looking at me, it was 
something that was very real. However, for that moment, she satisfied her urges with 
exclamations.

“Just to think, you pretty little darling, I’ve got you all to myself. You’re helpless and there 
isn’t a thing you can do about it. Why don’t you at least wish to whimper? Or say you’re sorry 
for past misdeeds? Just think, darling, I could hurt your pretty little nipples something 
terrible!”

“No, I don’t have anything to say.” I knew myself lost and most take my medicine and 
failed to plead. “Mavis, what on earth have I ever done to you to deserve this?”

“I’m sure you know, sweetheart. I’m sure you can recall all your behavior of the past. You 
were simply an arrogant little bitch, and I’m so grateful for this chance to punish you and cut 
you down to size. I do hope you understand.”

“I have paid whatever debts I owed by being punished by Inga for a long time now, since 
before my grandmother died.” I might as well have saved my breath. Mavis started to take off 
her clothes, smiling at me the whole time. I was surprised how attractive her nakedness was. I 
had never seen it before. Not that the quality of her breasts or legs was likely to help me. I 
tried to be helpful. “You’ve got a lovely body, Mavis,” I said. “You don’t have to be jealous of 
me.”

“Don’t you realize, darling, this is the first time you looked to find out. You never even saw 
me when we were together.” Mavis laughed outright. “You know what your next job is, don’t 
you, darling?”

“Yes.” Mavis now disposed herself upon the bed and beckoned with a demanding finger.

“Come on, you little slavegirl, come on and pay a couple more debts.”

“I’d be a lot more use to you if I had my hands.”

“Yes, and a lot more trouble. And, anyway, I don’t have the key. Get over here, you 
beautiful slave.”

I was not born a lesbian and it had taken Inga a long time to break me and then train me 
in the ancient arts. The scent of Inga’s puss was something I adore and the taste of her was 
every bit as good. But with Mavis it was different. Her scent and taste was every bit as sour as 
her disposition. But Inga had trained me well so I did my job with a sort competence inspired 
by fear of both what Mavis and Inga might do if I failed to please. As soon as possible after it 
was over, I made a shuffling retreat and managed to wipe my lips on the bed covers while 
Mavis wasn’t watching. I was supposing that if she didn’t want an immediate repeat, we would
now go to bed. In that I was wrong.

Mavis, in a sort of relaxed aftermath, did become pleasantly conversational about old 
times. I don’t suppose my end of the conversation was all she wanted or desire, after all a 
naked girl robbed of hands and feet probably isn’t the best companion. Mavis suddenly 
stopped and snapped, “You’re not paying attention! You never did pay attention to what I 
said. You haven’t changed a bit. And now I suppose you think you’re going to get to go to 
sleep! Get off this bed, you little bitch! I’m going to teach you a lesson.”

I obeyed. And then remembered that while the room contained no whips, there was a 
plentiful supply of ropes and straps and handcuffs from which my old friend could make a 
selection. She told me roughly to turn around. But I was already handcuffed, I pointed out 
reasonably.

“Do as I say. Turn around and keep still.”

I almost disobeyed but, as always, memory of the whip and dungeon changed my mind.

Unhappily I backed up to Mavis for her convenience and was immediately rewarded by the
sudden, savage looping of my elbows and the tight cinch that drew them close and then 
knotted them with tugs and twists. “That ought to hold you, Patricia, dear,” my old friend said 
with a return to good humor. “I expect that hurts!”

“You’re damned right it hurts! Mavis, you’re not going to leave me like this for the night, 
are you?”

“Worse than that, darling. I’ve only just started. This is going to be one night you’ll always 
remember.”

“But I’ve done everything you wanted. I’ve been obedient. I know I gave you satisfaction.

Damn it, Mavis, give me a break!”

It was a four-poster bed and the only break I got was to be pushed back against one of 
the posts so she could tie my elbows to that massive wood pole. Then she did a bang up job 
on my tummy, binding it as tightly as she could and then cinching those ropes down very 
tightly. It practically cut me in half. I was still wearing the metal collar and the ring attached to 
that got tied back to the post so that is wasn’t even easy to look sideways. My knees got it 
next and then my ankles. By the time our visitor was finished, I simply couldn’t move.

Mavis stood back to admire her work. As usual, she had something to say about it. “You 
look perfectly wonderful, darling. Ropes suit you. I’ll bet I fixed you so you can’t move.”

“Mavis, please don’t leave me like this. It hurts, and you’re right, I can’t move or even 
twitch.”

“I’m so pleased. You will, of course, spend the night like this, and I’ll untie you in the 
morning. You really do look so lovely.”

Mavis cupped my breasts in her hands and squeezed, not too hard, just enough for me to 
know that she could cause me considerable pain. Her fingernails pinched my nipples lightly 
and I remembered how much pain she had caused me earlier in that manner. When she let 
go, I offered that Inga would not like for me to be so painfully bound for an entire night.

“Well, Inga isn’t here, is she?” Mavis purred. “And when she finds out in the moming, it will 
be too late, won’t it? I will have enjoyed having you tied to that bedpost all through the night. 
You see, dear, I’m not going to sleep all the time. I’ll wake up now and then and do things to 
you. Lovely things like pinching your nipples, and maybe putting a gag into your mouth so 
you can’t complain. This room is full of ideas.”

Mavis had me. She had me good! I though of all the things I wanted to do but did not 
dare.

I dared not. “You’ve done a marvelous job on me,” I conceded in an even tone. “I’ll never 
get loose. And these ropes are going to hurt me more and more all the time. I guess that’s the
idea, isn’t it?”

“You catch on quickly, dear. Now you can watch me go to bed. I know you’re too 
frightened to make a sound and that’s the way I want you always.”

I was obliged to look sideways to see Mavis make herself comfortable. She hadn’t tied me 
to the post so I faced out into the room but sideways so I could see her happy and 
comfortable while I was being tortured. I knew that would be the word for it before too long. 
My tormentor did not put out the light but left me standing in its full glare so I would be 
visible to her. I soon discovered the worst tie of all was the one that cinched my collar to the 
post. It meant I had to stand erect, my head couldn’t droop forward. With the ropes holding 
me up, I might have been able to find some comfort in sleep. But with my head held firmly 
upright I would find sleep elusive.

I twisted against my metal collar and its anchoring ropes to do exactly what Mavis wanted 
me to: watch her and envy the glorious comfort of the bed I could not share.

It was a bad, bad night! After my first glimpse of Mavis and her comfort, I turned back to 
stare stonily ahead. Quaintly enough the only bit of me not suffering discomfort were my 
handcuffed wrists. Mavis had taken them for granted when she attached my elbows to the 
post. I still had the movement of my hands but I had best watch that because if I made the 
handcuffs clink she would have a reason to torture me some more.

It was impossible not to think back to all those times when Mavis and I had been together 
in a freedom I did not understand but took for granted. I could see that often I must have 
been the bitch she now called me, and she put up with it because I was the young heiress to a 
vast estate. We had some good times but I had never dreamed that a day would come when I 
would be utterly at her mercy and under the full attention of her sadistic tendencies.

I stood against that post like a mummy in a museum. It was hard to keep quiet but I did so
even as the rope begin to hurt and burn into my skin. Once in a while I stole a glance at Mavis,
happily sleep, and actually wished myself back in the dungeon where at least I could sleep 
myself. At that moment sleep was driven far away by the pain in my elbows and stomach. My 
knees and ankles also hurt but to a lesser extent and I tended to ignore them, so much 
greater was the pain in my elbows.

Right on time after a couple of hours the girl in the bed woke up and focused on my 
bound nudity with obvious pleasure. Mavis was still naked and slithered out of bed like a 
serpent to approach her prey and take possession of my nipples in the way I had been 
dreading.

She didn’t pinch them at first but simply held them between thumb and forefinger to look 
me in the eye and taunt me and scare me to death. “It’s so wonderful, darling,” she breathed 
right into my face. “If I pulled them now, would you follow?”

“I can’t move.”

“That’s right, dear, you’re all mine. I think I should squeeze just a little. Don’t you?”

“Please, Mavis, please, please, please…!” My voice trailed off as the fingers upon my tender
flesh began making pain shoot back into my breasts. In the end I simply screamed.

And I kept on screaming as she pinched and bit the most tender portions of myself which 
the binding thrust forward for her pleasure. I could not escape the pain, so firmly bound was 
my body. I remember jerking my head back and forth against the collar rope as I screamed 
out my pain. In the end I was still standing and sobbing.

“Please stop,” I heard my voice pleading. “Please stop. Look, if you’ll untie me from this 
post, I’ll service you all night. I’ll never stop. I’ll give you the greatest happiness you’ve ever 
had.” I was serious and put everything I had into those word. But they just ended in one more 
awful scream. I was simply left to stand there panting with burning breasts and a terrible fear 
of other things to come. I got no comfort from watching Mavis slither back into bed and go to
sleep, something she appeared to be able to do almost at will.

I was left standing there all night with those horrible ropes cutting deep into my flesh and 
bringing agony. Towards morning I had to force myself with all my will to not whimper in 
agony least the noise awaken my tormentor. It was a fun evening.

When Mavis next work up my breasts were ignored, she was bored with them. But in her 
searching around she came up with a pair of two inch paper clips, the kind with the solid 
metal spring designed to hold bits of paper against all odds. Mavis knelt before my nakedness
and pushed and pulled until my pussy was exposed. I have a neat pussy with a pretty slit but 
now this was my undoing. Carefully she parted my lips and snapped her beastly clips, one on 
each side to envelope me in such pain that my screams filled the room. “Take them off! Take 
them off!” I heard myself shouting. “Mavis, this is agony! Don’t do this!”

I could have saved my breath. The twin bite of metal remained on my most private part as 
Mavis returned to sleep, leaving me to stand with a fire between my legs, a fire totally beyond 
my ability to bear. I did my best to keep silent but every little while a moan escaped my lips, a 
moan of pure pain which fed upon itself. After a while the noise I was making drew Mavis 
once more from the bed and I’d swear she had set it up this way. She had a gag all ready for 
my mouth, one of those most horrible gags which reduces a girl to nothing except strange 
sound at the back of her throat. The metal pear was thrust between my lips to be held safely 
above my tongue as the soft leather covered my offending mouth and closed it tight, a 
tightness intensified over and over as the hateful thing was buckled tight at the back of my 
neck. Once more Mavis’ lovely nakedness found comfort between the sheet while I stood 
silent with a fire flaming between my legs.

I don’t know what to call it but it was pretty bad. The metal clips biting at my pussy lips 
were an unceasing torment. I no longer bother about making noise. If Mavis wanted quiet, 
then she need not have tortured me. But with this new venom in my crotch, I forgot all about 
obedience. And even thought the hateful gag denied both speech and cries, I contrived pitiful 
sounds of anguish. But Mavis was impervious to such trifles and went to sleep in a manner 
purely offensive. I stood against that damned post and longed for Inga.

I did not sleep well the rest of that night.

When Mavis awoke it was sometime during the gray pre-dawn hour. I was a whimpering, 
sorry tortured mass of girl flesh. She stood before me as I pleaded with her with my eyes for 
relief. She teased my nipples a bit, toying with the hard tips between her forefingers and 
thumbs. Then she removed the gag, almost having to pull the damned thing from my mouth. 
As soon as I could moisten my tongue enough to talk, I pleaded, “Please, oh, Mavis, please 
take those awful things from my pussy! I’m sure they’ve done some serious harm to me. Oh, 
please!”

Casually she toyed with my nipples while she teased my mind. “If I were to take them off 
your little puss, where would you like me to put them?”

I bit off the reply I wanted to make. Then the meaning behind her words hit home. “Oh, 
please don’t put them on my nipples! They’ll hurt terribly. I’ll be hurt.”

“Well, probably you’re right. I suspect they might bit off your lovely tits and that would 
leave you a titless wonder! Would spoil your appearance, wouldn’t it? Well….” She continued 
to tease my nipples, prolonging my agony.

“Oh, please take them off. I’m hurting something terrible and have been for hours. Oh, 
Mavis, how can you be so cruel?”

“You’re beautiful when you’re suffering,” was her reply. She was enjoying herself. I wished I 
could have said the same.

“Please free my cunt lips from those things!” I pleaded. “My pussy will never been any 
good again. Oh, Mavis, free them and I’ll be your slave forever.”

Mavis took them off, but taking them off was almost more painful than putting them on. It
was difficult not to scream. It was also difficult not to tell her of the gratitude at the release of 
my cunt from that terrible type of bondage. I stood there panting and sweating as the bite of 
metal was removed. But then I was confronted with something even worse.

“It’s a while before morning, darling,” she purred. “And I really do want you to remember 
this night.” She again teased my nipples with light touches of her fingernails. They were hard 
and rigid. “I found these lovely little darling among the ropes in that drawer. Aren’t they 
sweet?” She held up a couple of new objects whose use was all to obvious.

“Oh, Mavis, don’t put them on me. They’ll be awful. Why don’t you simply untie me and let
me make love to you? Please don’t clip my nipples.”

Inga had displayed them for my benefit but never used them. Inga had always kept her 
punishment within the realm of what I could only call discomfort. But Mavis was different.

She took my rigid nipples in her fingers and positioned one nipple within the metal clamp.
I cringed inwardly. Collared as I was, it was hard to look down, but my breasts were thrust 
outward by my bondage so when the jaws closed slowly on my tender flesh I could watch in 
horror. I let out a yelp of anguish as the tiny jaws bit hard. First my left breast and then my 
right to leave each well adorned with a bobbing bit of costume jewelry no girl would wish to 
wear. Each nipple burned. Mavis went back to bed.

I bit back my moans least they disturb this woman under whose total control I was. I dared
not invoke more punishment, or that terrible gag again. I suffered in as much silence as I 
could. It was terrible to be powerless to do anything about the burning pain in my nipples.

My arms were tightly bound behind my back, the elbows painfully tight together and 
lashed to the post, my wrists loose in their handcuffs.

I could have screamed but once more the whip and dungeon held me mute and I was 
aware that even against my will a fire was generated within my loins. I could not understand it 
and wanted to scream out that my body should find exciting so much pain.

But I did not. Instead I bore the increasing excitement, ignoring it as best I could. It was a 
fire of which I was ashamed but it was there. I silently endured until Mavis decided it was time 
for both of us to greet a whole new day.

It was early. My time on the post had been long, and wickedly painful. As Mavis peeled 
away the ropes from within my flesh I once more endured punishment upon punishment, and 
when the clips were taken from my nipples I screamed some. But after my elbows had been 
untied and I had serviced Mavis once again, I found myself half way back to normal and 
grateful for the bathroom.

Mavis gave me a bath, her hands lovingly soaping those place on me she had hurt the 
most. Throughout my ankles remained chained as did my wrists behind my back. I was simply 
a pretty doll for Mavis to play with. Inga was waiting for us at the breakfast table.

As usual, I was the topic of discussion. “I gather you’ve whipped the dear girl quite a lot,”

Mavis began. “I know I shouldn’t be greedy but could I visit you sometime and watch you 
whip dear Patricia properly. I remember you said something about an ultimate one hundred 
across her bare skin?”

“She would have to be a pretty bad girl to warrant that,” Inga said. “I couldn’t possibly 
inflict it upon the poor dear just for your amusement.” Mavis was not put of that easily. The 
damned girl had gotten an obsession about whipping me or seeing me whipped. I had to 
wonder how she had contained all these desires without them finding outlet. But her new 
suggestion sounded half way practical. “You do have to punish the girl sometimes,” she went 
on. “Just to keep her properly in line. We needn’t use the worst whip, but I would really love to
see our little sweetheart get those hundred lashes even though the whip was mild. Are you 
sure you can’t accommodate me?”

I’m sure Inga thought she was doing me a service by reviving an old friendship for me. As 
far as I was concerned that old friend could drop dead. But Inga could probably not 
understand my point of view. “Why don’t we leave it a week,” she offered. “You may have 
changed your mind by then. And, really, I don’t want to hurt our little darling. I really do love 
her very much. Supposing you drop by next weekend and we’ll do whatever seems sensible at 
that time? Those hundred lashes are not impossible, but I would sooner it was fifty. Patricia 
has become so well behaved I no longer have a good excuse to whip her. I do hope you 
appreciate this.”

That I was being discussed like a sack of potatoes was too much. “I don’t want to be 
whipped at all,” I said firmly. “And what’s more, I don’t deserve to be whipped. Why don’t you 
go home, Mavis, and figure you’ve had your fun? And don’t come back next weekend.

You won’t get any more from me.”

“Isn’t she wonderful,” Mavis said. “I absolutely have to see the darling girl dancing beneath
the lash. You will accommodate me, won’t you, Mrs. Suffcliff?”

I didn’t believe what I was hearing. I had to refrain from hurling the contents of my plate 
into Mavis’ hungry face. I looked at Inga and said it once again, “Please don’t whip me. I don’t 
want to be whipped just to give Mavis and erotic kick. I’d sooner be locked in the dungeon.”

A girl has to be careful what she says. Although I’m sure Inga’s decision to chain me in the 
dungeon was nothing more than to make me thankful to get out when the seven days were 
up. The seven days that separated me from Mavis and the whip. During this time of my gothic 
confinement, I had no belief it would ever end. The chains dragged at my nakedness day and 
night, and I longed for my medieval punishment to end. But it lasted a whole week.

One evening Inga visited me for awhile to chat. She remarked upon how much Mavis had 
livened up the place and that she should really introduce her to Mr. Suffcliff. I sniffed and 
informed her that I didn’t need such a livening up. And, I added, she will probably want to 
whip David’s ass just like she wants to whip mine.

“Or David might want to whip hers,” Inga said shyly. “I’m surprised you haven’t thought of 
that yet. It occurred to me constantly.”

“It’s a wonderful idea,” I said. “Except you’d no sooner do it than she’d run off to the police
to show them her wounded tail. Gosh, I hate that expression.”

“No she wouldn’t, she’d be too ashamed. She’d have no choice but to write it off. Has she 
got any family? The last thing we need is a lawsuit.”

“There’s none that I know of. I suppose that’s why she was so lonely and wanted to cling 
to me in the first place. Oh, Inga, let’s not talk about her. I find her just one big pain in the 
ass.”

Inga smiled and I realized I had made one big pun. Inga sighed and looked at me. “All 
right, we’ve give Mavis a rest. But that leaves me wondering what to do with you.”

She kissed me. Mavis arrived on Friday night, she didn’t want to waste an single moment.

But it was Saturday morning before my hundred pounds of iron was taken from my limbs 
and I was invited upstairs to have breakfast with the two more important women in my life at 
this time. Mavis looked at me like she was a snake and I a helpless mouse. Inga set the tone, “I
don’t want you to think you can come and whip darling Patricia anytime it takes your fancy, 
Mavis. I am permitting this single occasion because Mr. Suffcliff and I both believe it is good 
for the girl to have variety in her captivity. Nothing is worse for a girl than becoming morbid 
and obsessed with escape. Mr. Suffcliff and I have agreed to give in and allow Patricia to be 
whipped with the ultimate one hundred lashes previously discussed.”

Inga paused to eye our guest meaningfully. “I do hope this satisfies your need, Mavis. It is 
a punishment beyond which we are not prepared to go.”

“And it is a punishment I do not deserve or want,” I said forcibly as I clinked my handcuffs 
which were now in front instead of behind. I looked at Mavis with a glare. “Why don’t you 
collect stamps or go bird watching or something?” I demanded. “It does you no credit if your 
total ambition is to see me whipped. You should be ashamed.”

Mavis was not ashamed. She was positively gloating over the erotic feast to come. I wasn’t 
a bit sure about Inga, maybe she thought it was time to whip me again or maybe she was just 
being polite. Disgruntled, I inquired, “What sort of whip do you intend to use on me?”

“Nothing to cut your skin, darling,” Inga said soothingly. “It will hurt but not harm you.”

I knew she was giving me a message not to be afraid. “But couldn’t we use a proper whip?

One that draws blood?” Mavis was sounding like she was being cheated. “If Patricia is truly 
a prisoner, I don’t see why you have to be so concerned about her pretty skin.”

“We are concerned about Patricia, Mavis. I have explained how we will whip Patricia for 
your enjoyment. That is as far as I’m prepared to go. I would have thought you would be 
abundantly satisfied.”

Mavis swallowed back what she was going to say. She wasn’t totally stupid. She knew that 
if she were to push Inga too much, she would be excluded from everything. There are limits to
hospitality.

“Why don’t you go back to town, Mavis,” I offered. “I’m sure you must feel back about the 
things you’re trying to get done to me. Please don’t ask Inga to give me one hundred 
strokes.”

I might have spoken to the wall. Looking at my two companions I knew there was no hope
for dear, little Patricia. The chains on my ankles and the handcuffs on my wrists, I knew I could 
influence little. A naked and chained up girl can be ignored.

Mavis would not leave the subject alone. “And when is her whipping to take place?” she 
asked.

“Right after lunch, darling,” Inga replied. “You have to wait for it. But I haven’t made up my 
mind about that.” Inga looked at me lovingly. “Don’t take on so, you’ll survive.”

“Maybe I will, but in what sort of shape will I be? You gave me a hundred lashes once 
before and I nearly died. At least that’s the way it felt. I wish you would remember I’m suppose
to be mistress of this castle. You’re really going overboard with this whipping business.” I 
looked straight at Mavis and told her, “It’s all your fault. Inga doesn’t want to whip me at all. 
It’s you who’s pushing it. Look, couldn’t I arrange some sort of money to buy you off?”

“Let’s say a hundred thousand pounds, darling?” I looked at Inga and demanded, “Can you
arrange it for this bitch? I’d rather pay it than be whipped a hundred lashes …

Please?”

“Money doesn’t enter into your punishments, darling,” Inga said. “David and I absolutely 
will not allow you to buy yourself off or obtain your freedom through the use of your money. 
You’re a prisoner until we both judge you competent to be something else. You haven’t 
reached that point yet.”

“I’ll say she hasn’t!” Mavis agreed. “As far as I’m concerned she’s sail the little rich bitch 
who deserves the tenderizing of her tail. I’m sure that last session did her a world of good.

I really do wish, Mrs. Suffcliff, you’d agreed to more stroke upon her pretty skin than just a 
dozen. A dozen seems so childish. I’m so glad we’re now talking in term of a hundred. I’m sure
darling Patricia will benefit immensely.” Mavis turned to smile upon me.

This whole affair of my imprisonment and punishments had never made sense to me. I 
suppose Grandma was right and deserved the first week or so of Inga’s attentions. But beyond
that, and despite my loving Inga, I couldn’t see this captive of mine as anything else but a way 
for Mr. and Mrs. Suffcliff to amuse themselves at my expense. Now, with the way Mavis and 
Inga were talking, I could see myself going back into the dark ages.

Concentrating on Inga, I pointed out as strongly as I dared that Mavis shouldn’t be 
allowed to punish me at all. But the logic thrown back at me frustrated me more than ever.

“David and I feel that Mavis will be good for you, Patricia, dear,” she explained. “Neither of 
us want you falling into a rut in which I do certain things to you on certain days. Mavis has 
been a real stimulant and I’m glad she wants to visit us again. As for the hundred lashes, I’m 
not a bit sure it isn’t time. You so easily get uppity and inclined to look for chances to escape. 
Don’t fell badly, darling, everything is for the best.”

That was little help! I could see Mavis had enjoyed seeing me put back into my place.

Probably she wet her pants every time Inga mentioned those hundred strokes. When it 
came to giving me a bad time, she was the worst. I shut up because I knew I wasn’t going to 
win.

“Well,” Mavis uttered, highly put out. “You may think that Patricia should be whipped a full 
one hundred strokes and with a very sharp whip! The girl needs all the correction she can 
take.”

Inga spent a long time looking at Mavis. Then she slowly rose to her feet. “I think,” she said
smoothly, “that perhaps today is not a good day for the whipping of Patricia.

Perhaps,” she continued quietly but with a firmness, “next weekend would be better.”

Mavis’ mouth hung open. Then it snapped shut. “Well!” she uttered, and looked as if she 
was going to chew out Inga but good. But then her features melted into a smile. “Well, if you 
say so….” She rose to her feet. “Well, if there isn’t going to be any show today, I had better get
going. Have many things to do, you know.”

Mavis was quickly out the door and gone. I sighed. At least I was not going to be whipped 
that day. I did note, however, that Inga hadn’t said the whipping was off, only that perhaps 
today was not the day. It still hovered over my head like an ominous cloud.

“That Mavis is a nice girl,” Inga said, sort of musing to herself. “But she pushes a little too 
much. I don’t like to be pushed.” Suddenly she turned to me, smiling sweetly. “Well, we’ve 
done with her for now. What shall we do with you today? How about being tied to a tree all 
day?”

“Maybe I don’t but it can’t be worse than being tied to the bedpost all night with clamps 
and gags and tight ropes, being tied to a tree isn’t bad.”

“Very well, dear, there is a simple little thing I can do to you that will enable you do go to 
sleep all day if you’re so inclined. It won’t hurt too much. Come alone.”

Inga unlocked my anklets so I didn’t have to hobble over the grass and into the trees. She 
carried a little bag I thought I recognized but it was so lovely being out in the sunlight after a 
week in that dungeon that I didn’t say a word. I guess I was learning a few things from the 
treatment I had been getting. One of them was to keep my mouth shut.

We chatted happily as we made our way to where ever it was I had to spend my day.

Wearing only the handcuffs was pretty much like freedom. When we were into the woods, 
Inga selected an old tree with smooth and told me to make myself comfortable. She pointed 
to the grass under the tree and told me to sit there then to lift my right foot as high as I could 
put it against the trunk. By this time I had an idea what I was going to get and raised my right 
foot as high against the trunk as I could. Sure enough the bag yielded staples and a hammer.

“You did that to me before but with my fingers,” I accused. “It hurts.”

“Don’t be a fusspot. You have to expect some discomfort when you consider what you’ve 
become.”

“What I’ve become! I’m still the owner of this whole estate but it doesn’t do me much 
good.”

There were quite a few stable and Inga made her selection of exactly the right size to fit 
my big toe. She placed my foot flat against the trunk and fitted the staple over my big toe.

A few swift taps with the hammer and I could feel the metal press tight against my toe.

She then selected a smaller staple and fitted it over my little toe. “Oh, no, you’re not going 
to do that to my little toe!” It didn’t make sense that I should be upset about my little toe 
being stapled to the tree but not my big toe, but that was the way it was. Inga ignored my 
protest and hammered my little toe to the tree. She then took my other foot and placed it 
next to my stapled foot. In a minute my left foot was also secured firmly to the tree.

There I was with my legs up in the air. It didn’t hurt all that bad although I made a fuss and
said it did. I was told abruptly that I could just put up with it. Inga kissed me, gathered her 
tools, and was gone.

I was in a fix. It would have been nicer to be just be tied to the tree without my legs up in 
the air but at least it wasn’t too bad. I soon discovered this was another of those situations in 
which joined hands become a nuisance since there wasn’t much I could do with them except 
put them over my head or lay them upon my navel. I put my arms high over my head on the 
grass and it wasn’t long before I went to sleep.

I woke up with some sort of bee or beetle enjoying itself in my pubic hair. I jerked and hurt
my toes before I remembered that I was stapled to the tree. I brushed the beetle off. I had 
forgotten that there were animals and insects in the woods, insects that like to eat humans.

My nakedness was terribly vulnerable. Things with wings and things that crawled found me
desirable and showed a preference for my pussy. I was constantly doing a sit up to brush away
something from my pubic hair. The hardest part was reaching down between my legs to get at
those things crawling up my bottom. Damned crawly things tickled.

In spite of beetles and bugs I got quite a lot of sleep that day. Usually it was my toes that 
woke me up when I tried to turn over in my sleep. Each time I wondered how many more 
hours I had to serve before Inga came back with her tools.

After I spent the day with my toes stapled to the tree, I think Inga got bored with 
punishing me, so I spent the rest of the week with just my ankles chained. I was sort of back to
square one, and such time as Inga spent with me was in pleasurable recreation where I was 
treated as the equal I was. On the Friday afternoon before the weekend, David Suffcliff came 
to spend the weekend with his wife. Some where between dinner and cocktail time, he picked 
me up and carried me to his office. He was always impatience with my hobbled steps when 
chained, and maybe he wanted to remember what it was like to hold a naked ME in his arms. 
Once upon a time we slept together quite a lot but that was when I was still a free girl. When 
he set me in the client’s chair and he was seated behind the desk, he explained that the Estate 
had flourish under his direction. I was getting richer and richer every day, and he saw no 
reason why I couldn’t be set free before the end of the year. My heart leaped and I said how 
grateful I would be to be free by Christmas time so I wouldn’t have to wonder how a girl both 
naked and chained should behave herself at that time.

That didn’t raise the laugh I had hoped for and when we went to cocktails, he was still very
much the lawyer guarding my estate. When Inga told him about Mavis’ strong desire to whip 
my bottom, not to mention hurt other parts of me, he smiled slightly.

Then Inga dropped the bombshell. Mavis was coming that evening to be a house guest 
and to watch me be whipped. I sucked in my breath. David seemed to accept the news as 
nothing important and went on sipping his cocktail. Inga let the subject drop.

Inwardly I sighed. I had suspected it would happen, after all Inga hadn’t said the one 
hundred stroke whipping was permanently off. But perhaps there would be other fireworks 
that weekend. There were things I knew about Mavis that they didn’t. For example, Mavis 
preferred married men, always trying to persuade them to divorce their wives and marry her. 
Never worked but she tried it several times. With David present the stage was set for Mavis to 
have a wonderful weekend. I didn’t say a word -they could find out about that side of Mavis 
themselves.

Mavis ran true to form and came to dinner in the most revealing dress I have ever seen her
wear. It gave emphasis to her better parts and showed quite a lot of skin. I could tell David 
was impressed. Inga didn’t fail to notice, either. Even though I was in for a terrible whipping, I 
felt a pleasantly warm little feeling that perhaps darling Mavis would get herself into hot 
water. I prayed it would be so.

Mavis was lively and chatter and most pleasant. She took possession of the conversation, 
most of which she directed at the only male present. She managed to include a great deal of 
discussion about David’s feelings towards whipping girl’s behinds and torturing them in 
general. He fielded her questions with ease, even coming out with what I was certain were 
fictitious accounts in which various demure young ladies got their tails tanned for sure.

Mavis listen with full attention. And when the conversation got around to my tail being 
tanned, Mavis’ mouth was obviously watering, and she came out with something scarcely 
designed to add to any affection I might still feel for the silly creature.

“I do feel you’re being unduly kind to Patricia,” she said. “As far as I can see she leads an 
absolutely pampered life. Those chains between ankles are nothing.”

It wasn’t long before I realized David was enjoying her. Then straight-faced he preceded to
discuss those portions of me that were best punished, and how it was better to give me a little
freedom to jump and kick when my skin was slashed with a leather thong. He calmly agreed 
with her assertion that the leather strap was something just for kids. Mavis was positively 
cheerful.

If there hadn’t been for a punishment hovering over my head, I might have enjoyed the 
dinner hour. Mavis did not exactly rape her host between the soup and the roast beef but she 
went as far as she could and left no doubt that, should he feel inclined to bit of fooling 
around, she was more than ready. I could have kicked her ass! Inga sat and smoldered while 
her husbands proved a mine of information as to the many ways a girl could be made 
uncomfortable. And the many instruments Hastings provided for so noble a cause.

Anyone but Mavis would have known that she was getting her leg pulled. But with me 
nakedly in view, she was almost panting with sadistic intent. She was very fond of what David 
had to tell her of the thing David called “The Horse,” and I had the feeling I would make its 
acquaintance before we got rid of her. David waxed disgustingly specific in his description of a
maiden’s distress as her pussy bore her weight upon the narrow edge.

“And can they still do you know what afterwards?” Mavis asked innocently.

“Of course.” David’s face was still calm, his tone casual. “The female vagina seem 
indestructible,” he said in a manner that would anger any women’s libber. “We are allowing 
dear Patricia to be placed on the horse tomorrow for you benefit. And if you should be 
curious on that point, we will arrange for her legs to be spread wide apart for you to give her 
pussy your full attention. It is not as terrible as it sounds.”

“That’s what he thinks,” I vowed inwardly. It’s a terrible punishment and there is nothing a 
girl can do about it except suffer. The only woman I would wish it upon was Mavis, and I got 
through the first couple course with dreams of inflicting it upon her, and everything else she 
wished for me. By the time we got to the brandy, I hated that woman bitterly.

It wasn’t much better in the lounge over brandy. Mavis made such a fuss that Inga 
handcuffed my wrists behind my back and told Mavis she had the job of feeding me the 
brandy and making sure I didn’t get too drunk. She accepted and managed to spill a great 
deal of expensive brandy over my breasts which she wiped off lovingly during a discussion of 
the best ways to fasten a girl who was about to receive a hundred strokes with a leather whip. 
Once more David proved a mine of information and I felt myself curling up inside over his 
graphic word pictures of girls and whips and canes, and especially with riding crops. I began 
to realize how far Mavis had to go and wondered if my flesh and blood could handle the 
course. David might have been putting Mavis on but you couldn’t tell it from his straight face 
nor from her enraptured one.

And there were times when I caught David looking at my nakedness when he didn’t think 
Inga was watching him. And I could tell David wanted me! Men are so ridiculous. They can 
never rest unless they get their hands on every woman in sight. Maybe this talk of whipping 
my flesh was getting to him as well as Mavis.

The man and woman who held me prisoner were being ridiculously kind to this stupid 
bitch who wanted my flesh scored all over. She was asking them if they minded making me 
stand up to go through such contortions as to illustrate graphically the best places to plant 
the whip on the next day. Yes, why not, they said and I was ordered to stand and pose my 
body in all sorts of ways. It’s really amazing how a girl’s breasts and pussy intrigue both men 
and women.

Mavis was incredible. After showing her all of my body, she came up with, “Isn’t there 
some sort of punishment where a girl gets the bottom of her feet whipped? I really would love
to see that one. Have you ever punished dear Patricia with that one?”

Inga was quick on the draw. “No we haven’t! It would hurt too much.”

“Oh, pooh,” Mavis retorted in a manner that suggested if she had control over me the 
soles of my feet would be painfully sore all the time.

It was at that point I politely inquired the length of her stay and was told snappishly that 
she would be with us until Monday morning. When I thought of two full days of Mavis my 
tummy cringed and my toes curled. Usually after I’d been severely whipped Inga goes easy on 
me the next day. But I was certain that would not happen this time. I was sure Mavis had 
cataloged every one of David’s descriptions of maiden distress and would do her best to make
sure I suffered every one.

There wasn’t any awkwardness about going to bed, everyone took it for granted I was 
Mavis’ property. And when she snapped a leash to my collar and led me away to the 
bedroom, it seemed no more than proper. David and Inga were obviously fully employed and 
they took pains to make me understand that I would prefer what I was going to get to 
spending the night in the dungeon fully chained. That damned dungeon was getting to be a 
bit of a bore.

I was let away by a girl who smiled in a way to send shivers down my spine. When we got 
to the bedroom she tied my hands cruelly tight behind my back. Before leaving the lounge 
she had asked Inga to removed the handcuffs so they would not get in the way of the rope.





CHAPTER FOUR - The Tenderized Tail


If there had been any choice for me, I would not have chosen Mavis to sleep with. With my 
hands tied behind my back, I had to listen to all sorts of gloating references to things I would 
have to put up with before she went back to town. When she had exhausted that topic, she 
got around to getting me between her legs and couching me with terrible threats to do a 
good job. I had to make her and her pussy very happy or my skin would suffer. I was thankful 
for Inga’s training, and equally thankful there was no whip or riding crop in sight. I seemed to 
be forever treading a thin, thin line.

Since she could not whip me, Mavis’ thoughts turned to more carnal things. She made 
careful examination of my private parts as I stood with widely separated legs. I was then 
forced to employ the skills Inga had taught, wiggling and squirming between receptive thighs,
to smell and to taste a girl for whom I had no love. Fortunately my performance was beyond 
reproach. She must have liked it, for me rested a bit then made me do it all over again. And 
again after that.

Finally she fell asleep with me still between her legs. That was were I fell asleep. I could 
have wept over my degradation.

It was the same in the morning. Mavis refused to give me back my hands and once again 
insisted upon having me use my mouth and tongue to give her her first orgasm of the day.

She would not leave the subject of how I was going to feel when I was whipped. I asked 
meekly if we couldn’t talk about something else, and was told that was a no-no. I got my 
nipples pinched for that.

Mr. and Mrs. Suffcliff had evidently determined that everything should be bright and 
cheerful to pick me up for what lay ahead. They were so bright and cheerful I wanted to puke 
on Mavis’ new dress. But I did my best to seem normal even through I was scared and 
shivering. I mean, a hundred lashes -Holly Cow!

There was a good deal of discussion as to how I should be positioned for what they called 
my punishment. It was a discussion in which I had no part, but I must admit I ate the ham and 
eggs, and toast and coffee with a zest I simply can’t explain. Maybe it was to build up my 
strength. Or maybe I figured I would die and might as well enjoy myself while I could.

Inga had untied my hands over the protests of the girl who had tied them far too tight so I
was able to enjoy breakfast. I could have cared less that Mavis considered the chaining of my 
feet to be nothing. Inga could have cared less, too, but about David I was none too sure!

It must have been obvious to both Inga and David that to keep Mavis too long in 
suspense would only invite orgasms inside her pants. And more of her constant talk about 
whipping me. It was therefore decided that after breakfast I should be fastened in an 
adequate exposure by which the whip would have full play.

I wanted to protest the whole affair but restrained myself to a pitiful plea that I might not 
be whipped at all. All present seemed to consider my plea in poor taste. I was hurried 
downstairs.

The manner of my fastening was certainly a change. It was a sturdy metal frame designed 
for the restriction and discomfort of a girl. My ankles were unlocked but instantly chained 
again, well spread apart. I shivered as I realized how exposed my pussy was. I was then told to 
bend over the bar that touched my belly and, when I obeyed, each of my wrists was looped by
a simple noose of rope to draw them forward and down to a bar beyond my reach. Those 
were drawn tighter and tighter to hold me with arms wide apart and once more totally unable 
to move. This time no one appeared to want me to kick and dance around in the manner of 
my previous markings of my skin. I was held in place and the whip could find any target on my
body it wished.

As usual, they let me stand a while, no doubt for the good of my soul and the building of 
character. The bar over which I was bent was cutting me in two due to the manner in which 
my limbs were tied. I was well able to see the whole thing and appreciate its points.

But no matter how I tried, I could not move enough for any useful purpose. I knew myself 
a gift which Mr. and Mrs. Suffcliff had bestowed upon Mavis. It was a bitter pill indeed as I 
realized how she could slash me anywhere she chose. And even though this posture was not a
conventional one for the whipping of a girl, my belly and my bottom were most appropriately 
held.

For perhaps half an hour everyone had gone away and left me alone.

Mavis was without shame. She alone returned and, although apparently not yet authorized
to use the whip, she used a finger to trace patterns where the thong would bite my flesh. I 
knew full well that the posture in which I was fastened make my sex fully available for both 
view, touch, and the whip. Even my breasts were available, hanging down in an unusual 
manner. Mavis could easily come at them from the side and cut them to pieces with a leather 
whip. Mavis’ voice was almost like a record stuck in a grove. “Darling, I’ll be able to cut at you 
wonderfully. Won’t you be thrilled?”

“No! I’ll be in pain.”

“You should be thrilled. Mr. and Mrs. Suffcliff have been so wonderfully kind. Oh, by the 
way, I believe you’ve slept with him. Is he any good?”

“Find out for yourself.”

“I intend to, dear. I’ve caught his interest. I suppose Inga is too practical to hold a man for 
long. David’s been having the best of both worlds in leaving you to the attentions of his wife 
while he screws her and looks after you estate. And I’ll bet he’s screwed you a few times since 
his marriage to Inga. Right?”

I didn’t answer. It was all too true and too painful to think about. But in fairness to David, it
is hard for a man to have a naked and chained up girl around the house all the time and not 
take advantage of her now and then. Especially a girl he had bedded down quite a few times 
before she became the owner of Hastings Castle.

“Leave the two of them alone,” I said. “Damn it, Mavis, they’re giving you everything you 
want. You can whip me and torture me, and generally have yourself a wonderful time. I don’t 
see why you want David, too. You’ll never get to whip his ass, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

The hands touching my body became more insistent as they searched those parts of me 
Mavis would especially whip. They gave me pleasure now in ways we both understood as she 
told me over and over how her whip was going to make me scream. I couldn’t argue, that was 
the way it was going to be. I wondered if she could see me trembling.

The whipping of Miss Patricia was witnessed not only by the girl who held the whip but by 
Mr. and Mrs. Suffcliff and dear little Daisy from the kitchen. At that time I was not sure why 
they pulled Daisy in on such a terrible demonstration. But quite probably they wanted her to 
see what could happen to any young lady under their power. I recognized the whip, it was one
I had felt before, a most practical instrument which delivers maximum pain along with 
minimum wounds. Mavis was playing with it in a state of ecstasy, and when she cut the taut 
skin of my bottom I provided her with my first scream. The pain on stretched skin was terrible 
and I am ashamed to say my tugging against my bonds provided all the emotions of anguish 
their hearts desired. I had become no more than a lovely, female body from which to draw 
responses.

“It might be wise if we gag the poor darling,” Inga interposed. “She’ll be terribly ashamed 
if we let her use her mouth.”

The gag was hateful but there was nothing I could do about it. It was thrust within my lips 
to push my tongue down and fill my mouth with foul tasting rubber. It was then brutally 
strapped at the back of my neck. I could still make sounds but only the sounds of a girl being 
hurt beyond her capacity to bear. I looked from side to side but the entire audience was 
behind me. I could see their legs as I looked between my own. I could also see my own pussy, 
wide open and inviting the whip. I know it would only be a matter of time before Mavis 
thought to bring the whip up between my legs instead of across my bottom.

We always talk about the whipping of her ass, or the beating of her bottom, or some such 
nonsense. The first cut had been stretch across both cheeks of my bottom right on top of 
what Mavis had given me a week ago. But in my mind from the beginning had been the 
picture of my open legs and inviting pussy. But Mavis was holding off on the choice targets. 
Her second stroke landed across my back. Had I been able to scream without a gag, it would 
have deafened all those present. But instead it was a terrible muffled cry of distress.

“That’s positively wonderful,” Mavis breathed in pure joy. “Look at the way that mark is 
forming on the darling’s back. By the time I’ve given her a hundred like that, she’ll be covered 
with black and blue and purple. Here we go on number three.”

It took darling Mavis only a little whip and relatively few lashes of the whip for her to 
realize the full possibilities of the way in which I was fastened. My legs are wide apart and my 
crotch wide open tempting targets for a whip-mad woman like her. The whip hissed and 
snapped within my most tender flesh to cut my cunt and slat upon my belly. Whatever 
motions I had previously performed were nothing to the violent jerking my poor body did 
now. I was throwing myself against the ropes holding me prisoner, mindlessly straining to 
break free. It was useless, I was a prisoner of the ropes and the pain that gripped my entire 
body, the center of the fire being my cunt. I screamed into the gag.

No girl should ever be whipped there. My mind was screaming at me that this was only 
the beginning of a hundred lashes! I was certain I would be dead after a hundred such cruel 
cuts into my tender private parts.

After twenty strokes David must have felt guilty and called a halt to Mavis’ disgust. She 
pointed out that she was just getting nicely into her stride and, as I could agree with, her cuts 
and slashes with the leather thong were as hard as any girl could take. When I was untied 
from that frame, David and Inga had to carry me to a chair where I sat gasping and sweating, 
trying to calm down my screaming nerves. Slowly I became normal, normal except for an 
aching burn in my pussy that would not go away. Mavis was grumbling in the background 
that I was putting the whole thing on and could really have taken the full one hundred. I 
remember thinking the girl was nuts.

Anyway, they were there with a drink of water. “We shouldn’t have stretched her in that 
frame,” Inga said. “Those cuts on her bend back and up between her legs were just too much.”

“I hope you’re not suggesting I’ve been cruel to the dear child,” Mavis said, standing up 
for her rights. I remember saying at that point, directly to David, “I’m sorry about being so 
sissy but I can’t take it. Why don’t you whip that silly bitch instead of me.” At that Mavis 
pretended to be mortally offended and suggested that I should be tied back the way I was so 
she could teach me manners. At that moment I didn’t much care.

Every time I moved it hurt but it wasn’t the first time I had been whipped. If Mavis hadn’t 
been so sadistic and if I hadn’t been stretched over that frame, I probably would have given a 
better performance. A hundred is bad but it wouldn’t kill me. I was now aware of my three 
jailers standing around, muttering among themselves. I blurted out, “I’m sorry, Mavis, that I 
insulted you. It’s just that you hurt me so bad, and I wasn’t thinking straight.

Please forgive me.”

It was a humiliation I was ashamed of but it pleased Mavis tremendously. She conceded 
that maybe she had been a little bit hard, and did Mr. and Mrs. Suffcliff have any suggestions 
as to how me might continue. They gave me fresh heart by ruling out the frame, and deciding 
I should just stand with my hands above my head in the center of the room where they could 
all get a good view of Mavis’ work. The whip Mavis had been using was to be replaced with 
something really kind. I must have been in really bad shape for I remember feeling a 
tremendous gratitude for the new position and the easier whip. I was lifted from the chair to 
have wristlets buckled tight as I stood under the hoist. When my arms went up in the air, it 
was almost like coming home.

“I’m sure you understand. Mavis, that to have the dear girl standing like this doesn’t 
stretch her skin as it was in her frame. Actually you have more access to her skin as she stands 
then before. But take it easy.”

Mavis gave a look of scorn at my pussy, but refrained from pointing out to Inga that she 
could no longer whip me directly up between my legs. Instead she asked politely, “May I whip 
her breasts?”

“No, you may not, leave then alone. A hundred isn’t easy for Patricia to take.”

There was more talk as to my ability to stand the rest of the hundred strokes sentence.

But Mavis’ anguish at the thought of being cheated of a single stroke was almost heart 
renting, and I could understand how Inga and David reluctantly let her have her way. I was 
told there would be other intermissions and to be grateful my breasts were not included on 
the target list. I guess I was grateful. And when Mavis let me have the first of the new series, I 
told them not to gag me because I would like to try and handle it without.

I am a veteran in the matter of being whipped. Being able to scream is a bit help, just as 
kicking and jerking your legs is, too. I had this freedom now and all I had to control is the 
screams. If I could not, I was sure I would get gagged. I hated that gag very much, so I 
clamped my lips shut and provided what relief I could by dancing whenever the leather found 
my skin. Maybe in this business of being whipped a girl gets a sort of second whip or maybe 
the whipping of her bare skin looses its shock effect. When the first stroke cuts at you, you 
know for sure you are never going to make it, but you always do. As Mavis got her jollies by 
the cut and burn of the new whip, I danced like a hooked fish pulled out of water. The 
whipping of Miss Patricia Torrence paused for lunch. I guess this isn’t as crazy as it sounds. 
Darling Inga simply found that an excuse to give me a break. Savoring every snap of the whip 
across my skin had caused Mavis to draw out the punishment by trying to be artistic with each
cut. The result was that when I was freed and let upstairs I still had forty more to go. As we ate,
Mavis animatedly discussed new techniques and promised that in the new session to come 
she would find ways to make me scream. It was a real fun time for dear Patricia. Inga didn’t 
have much to say but made sure I had a proper meal, including whiskey. Inga was thinking 
deeply, I knew the signs.

Mavis blossomed under David’s polite attention from which she paused only long enough 
to ask sweetly if my tail was properly tenderized or did it need some fresh attention. I said it 
was doing nicely and I would be glad if she left it alone. The damned girl then proceeded to 
gloat over the fact that there was all the rest of today and all of tomorrow to be used in her 
efforts to “correct me.” She professed to be much interested in David’s technical information 
about the “horse,” and, for the second time, brought up the subject of whipping the bottom 
of a girl’s feet. David provided the information that it was called the “Bastinado.” She 
appeared to think the soles of my feet would benefit by some unmentionable cuts with a 
cane. She avidly listened to David’s fictitious stories about the way young ladies could be 
fastened for this delightful exercise. Inga caught my eye and winked.

I suspected that by the time we reached the coffee Mavis had had a little too much scotch 
for good judgment. She was looking deep into David’s eyes and bubbling happily about how 
she was going to enjoy the afternoon, and her only regret being that to inflict upon me the 
remaining forty might not occupy the rest of the afternoon. She then had the appalling 
effrontery to ask sweetly if perhaps Inga would mind filling in while I remained tied and able 
to watch. Mavis was so happily involved with her subject that she made it sound almost 
possible, as if any hostess should be happy to strip naked and let her guest whip her bare 
skin! That girl was out of her tree!

For girls like me nothing ever turns out the way you think it would, or should. I would have
supposed Inga would have splashed a cup of coffee in Mavis’ face while David smartly put her 
in her place. Neither happened. Mavis said it was a wonderful idea and why haven’t they 
thought of it before. She added that our guest probably wouldn’t mind if it was the husband 
who whipped the wife.

I sat there in disbelief until I could take it no more and then let loose with an explosion of 
outrage. “You’re not going to let Mavis run your lives,” I protested. “Are you? She’s crazy with 
the power you’ve given her over me, and right now she’s had too much to drink. What she 
needs is a good thrashing!”

There was a shocked silence. My outburst was evidently considered in poor taste, and 
under Mavis’ urging, the conversation now considered the possibility that perhaps I deserved 
fifty instead of forty. I sat and shivered with each new, more severe suggestion.

But when David advanced the view that forty was plenty, that any girl who had a full 
hundred certainly didn’t need more, that gave Mavis the chance to sweetly advance the idea 
that, indeed, it she would be merciful to dear Patricia. So why not take to and fasten her for 
the Bastinado.

David killed the Bastinado right quick by telling Mavis that if I seemed in good enough 
shape the next day, she could do it then. Right now the farthest he was prepared to go was to 
sit me on the horse, probably right after tea time, after I had been given my forty strokes. 
Mavis brightened up right quick and I sat there and cringed under her bright eyes.

They reminded of stories about crazy people. This time I got no reassuring winks from 
anyone. Mavis was so excited over the improved prospects for punishment of my flesh that 
she almost had to be held in her chair. I remembered the Mavis I used to know and wondered 
if other seemingly nice girl might also hide a love of sadism.

As I obediently followed my jailers downstairs, I wondered if I might not be the only girl 
sentenced to be flogged who knew for certain that after the whipping another awful 
punishment lay in wait. Anyway I was thankful for the luncheon break and offered my wrists 
for the tight leather bands without demure. When I found I could no longer lower my arms I 
sighed. There is one nice thing about being made helpless, you don’t have to make decisions.

Mavis was still in great form although not as accurate. Probably she was just getting the 
range when she wrapped the first cut of the leather around my thighs. But number two, or 
should I say number sixty-two, flamed across my back and then number three continued the 
process of tenderizing my tail. By that time I doing a small dance with my feet as the only way 
I could show the pain within. I had thirty-seven more to go and wondered if I could make it.

I moaned instead of screaming as the new, improved whip bit at my flesh. Mavis was 
doing her best to strike my back in hope the end of the thong might curl around and bit my 
breast. But Inga was right there to ware her my breasts were out of bounds. As if to show her 
displeasure, I got the next one hard up into the crotch. I hadn’t expected it and it hurt like 
crazy. I wished it were Mavis who was getting it instead of me.

Nature has a way of helping out a girl who is getting whipped. At first you are sure you 
can’t survive it, but as lash mounted upon lash, you finally reach a point where the poor girl 
can finally see the light ahead. I was thankful for the new whip which, even though it hurt 
horribly, was easier to take than the other one. But Mavis obviously disapproved of that bit of 
charity from the start and choice my most painful places to lash. I was dancing all over the 
place by that time.

Mavis had discover that one of the ways to bestow more pain was to lay one cut directly 
over another. I did my best to spoil her aim by keeping constantly in motion, kicking wildly, 
and weaving my hips. Again and again I received the scorch and burn. After twenty, Mavis 
spaced them out to a slower beat in order to prolong her joy and my distress.

All things come to an end. And finally I heard someone say, “That’s it, she’s had it,” and the
leather ceased its slashing of my skin. I continued to jerk and moan for perhaps a minute until 
I thought it was safe to stand still and push my cheek against one bare arm. I had received my 
hundred strokes and was still alive. I panted back to awareness to find three pairs of eyes 
studying me with an intensity. I get the impression I had put on quite a show and they were 
sorry to see it stop. But Inga was still my friend and announced that enough was enough and 
they would no go up and order tea be brought to the lounge, at which time someone would 
come to unfasten me. I simply nodded, scared to say a thing for fear of getting myself into 
more trouble. When they were gone and I was alone, I let as much of my weight as possible 
hang from strapped wrists, and dreamed of what David had promised. I had no doubt he 
would keep his word so freedom was now a certainty ahead. It was far ahead but it was there. 
No doubt I would get another whipping like this before freedom came, but I didn’t care just 
then.

The Suffcliffs were certainly giving Mavis her heart’s desire. I should have guessed it would 
be her who came to set me free. She was carrying my ankle chains and lost no time in putting 
them on. She kissed me and came up with what I might have expected.

“You won’t mind if I give you a couple more with the whip, will you, darling?”

“Yes, I would mind. I would mind horribly.”

“Since we’re quite alone, it’s an opportunity I can’t resist. A couple more won’t show any 
much difference on that wonderfully marked skin of yours.”

Mavis struck me twice with all her strength. They were terrible impacts. While I was still 
panting from the pain she released my arms and unbuckled my wrists from the straps. “I’d 
love to sneak you through a side door and into my car,” she whispered. “Then I could take you
home with me and have every so much fun! But the Suffcliffs have been so kind I couldn’t. But
it’s a wonderful idea.” She giggled. “Maybe another time.”

I’d never wanted an English tea so bad. I made a hog of myself with the sweet little 
sandwiches. There is some magic about English water to produce a beverage you can’t get 
anywhere else in the world. I sipped away and never once mentioned the Bastinado lest 
someone be tempted to try it out on me. However it wasn’t long before dear Mavis brought 
up the subject by pointing out how well I walked with chained ankles. It would, therefore, be 
no hardship, she pointed out, for me to go back downstairs. She gazed around in bright 
expectation.

David reminded her that he had said the Bastinado might be used tomorrow -if I was in 
good enough condition after my whipping of today. “This afternoon we can put the dear girl 
on the horse and leave her there until dinner. If you wish. Mavis, we can delay dinner an extra 
hour.”

“Oh, I do wish!” Mavis was not passing up a single trick. “I’m so intrigued with this 
punishment of dear Patricia, and your understanding of the need for it. and how she deserves 
everything we do. I love you both.”

At that moment I wasn’t in love with anyone. I wasn’t sure about David and Inga. So far 
they had been almost as bad as Mavis. And when I got a look at myself in the big mirror I was 
shocked and strangely proud at all the multi-colored weals that covered my back, bottom and
even the front of my thighs. In fact, about the only thing not hit was my breasts. My friends 
made comment about how beautiful the whip marks had made me, and there was talk of 
getting a camera. But David said they wouldn’t show up on film as good as in real life.

So we all went downstairs so Mavis could find more pleasure in my punishment. David 
carried me so everyone wouldn’t have to await my hobbled steps. While his rough tweed 
chaffed wounded skin, I found it strangely comforting.

The horse was awaiting me. It was simple. A wooden plank turned on edge and set 
between two braces to hold it firmly in place about four feet off the floor. A naked girl is set in
place on the plank with her legs dangling over either side. Then her hands are bound behind 
her and tied upward until she is forced forward. Her ankles are looped with rope and pulled 
sideways until she thinks she is going to be split in two. This leaves her with all her weight 
upon her cunt which is being deeply cut into by the relatively thin board. An inch of wood 
isn’t much when you consider that all of the girl’s weight is resting upon it.

That’s what a horse is. It’s a horrible punishment, among other things because it can go on
hour after hour until a girl thinks her pussy will never be any good for anything again. I was 
already naked. The chains were taken from my ankles as my hands were being bound behind 
my back. The two girl then roped my ankles with good, stout rope. The moment had come 
and David lifted me tenderly and with precision to place my pussy upon the waiting edge. As 
soon as that was done the girls pulled mightily on my leg ropes and my legs spread widely 
apart until the muscles were taunt. I was gasping as David lifted my bound arms to a big hook
dangling from above. With Inga kneeling to watch my punished puss and ordering my arms 
drawn higher to achieve a forward bend, I was soon in a very uncomfortable position. I’m sure
it was the worst possible way to “ride a horse.”

I am not original, I always say the same thing, and I say it in a gasping terror. “I can’t stand 
it, it hurts too much! Take me down! Take me down! Oh, please don’t leave me like this.”

I was ignored by everyone. They walked around and inspected my bonds. I longed to lean 
back to ease the pain but my arms were held far too high for that. My cunt was burning 
already and I just knew it would grow far worse very quickly. If I had been holding on to any 
secrets, I would certainly have parted with them.

After everyone had a damned good look at every bit of me, the Suffcliffs announced that 
they were going back upstairs, but Mavis became insistent that they allow her to stay and 
watch. The miserable bitch simply wanted to stand and watch me suffer. And, since there were
a couple of chairs available, she would probably sit down and damned more comfortably than
I! Inga warned her that while she could touch, she was forbidden to torture. She should leave 
me alone and get her jollies visually. Inga further explained that I would probably start to 
scream somewhere alone the way so it would be wise for her to strap a gag in my mouth 
before leaving. Mavis immediately offered to do the job later, after I actually started to 
scream, but was curtly refused. I had to open my mouth for the chunk of rubber that filled my 
mouth and pressed my tongue down, followed by the leather strap that sealed my mouth. I 
was now a pretty package, unable to do much of anything.

Because of the upward drag on my arms, my view was limited to the floor immediately 
below me and a little to each side. Mavis, every considerate, positioned a chair where we 
could see each other, and asked if I would like my tits pinched now or later. Good gosh, the 
girl was impossible!

For all practical purposes I could not move. I suppose I could weave my shoulders a bit, 
but that and my effort to toss my hair proved too painful to bother with. To prove how lovable
she was, Mavis arranged my hair for me and told me how grateful I should be for such a 
service. I could not talk so it did not matter. My nipples were not pinched but stroked. Inga’s 
authority held. But my companion was forced to rise, thrust her chair back, and kneel in order 
to get a close up view of the manner in which my pussy was compressed. Everything about my
present plight evoked pleasant admiration or curiosity.

Even though it hurt, I was forced to play a game where I answered by shaking my head or 
nodded to Mavis’ excited questioning. I remember the first. “I can’t see your dear little pussy. 
It is there somewhere, isn’t it?”

I nodded and longed to tell her how bad it was hurting.

“It’s lovely the way you’re tied. Mr. and Mrs. Suffcliff really know how to look after a girl 
like you, don’t they?”

Once more I nodded. I was certainly well looked after. Sitting on that narrow edge of a 
plank is so bloody awful it’s beyond description. The pain spreads out from your pussy and 
shoots up and down your spine in an intensity enough to make you sick to your stomach.

Your whole nervous system ties itself in knots. Mavis was truly at her best. “If you’ve had 
this punishment before, you can tell me, darling, if you pussy can still accept a man afterwards.
I’d think it might be ruined for life, but I’d like you to tell.”

I shook my head. I hadn’t been ruined for life before and I supposed I wouldn’t now. The 
Suffcliffs knew what they were doing and the only thing I was concerned with was simple 
suffering. Of course, that’s the way the horse is suppose to be. I sucked in air and waited.

“When you were a free girl and you and I used to go around together,” Mavis continued, 
“it never entered my head that one day I would have you in the position I have you now.

Used to dream a lot about punishing you but never thought I would actually got to do it. I 
would always go to sleep playing with my clit while envisioning you hanging my your thumbs 
and being beautifully whipped by three naked young girls armed with ghastly and wicked 
black whips. I do think the whip is a wonderful medicine for bitchy rich girls like you.”

These sweet sentiments didn’t seem to require an answer so I didn’t shake or nod my 
head. And I tried to make my eyes plead with her for release. But Mavis laughed and 
continued her fantasy. “Another thing I used to dream about was to have you raped. I would 
have four stout pegs driven into the ground and your wrists and ankles tied wide apart. I used 
to have you discovered in this situation by all sorts of men, ranging from accountants to 
bikers wearing dirty leather clothes. All of them raped you in the most delightful ways while I 
watched. Often these delightful dreams were good for a couple orgasm but you were getting 
orgasms by the dozens. I do hope you’re listening, darling?”

I was listening and through it best to nod as if I, too, shared her lovely fantasy. Mavis 
continued, “Of course, I had to vary it a bit to keep my clit excited. So I arranged for you to be 
gang raped by some of the most delightful unwashed bikers. Their number was always twenty 
because twenty seemed about right to insure you were not exhausted by your orgasms, 
which, of course, started with number one. I’ve never tried a biker but I have to suppose they 
are very virile. Have you any experience with them?”

I shook my head to that one and made sounds behind the gag which must surely convey 
my need for mercy. I was in the most appalling pain and in no mood for Mavis’ fantasizing.

But a girl sitting on the horse has no control over what happens around her, and I certainly
had no way to shut Mavis off. I moaned from the pain seeping through my body.

“If it wasn’t for the Suffcliffs being so damned conservative,” Mavis whispered in my ear, 
“wouldn’t it give you a nice relief from the that boring sitting still if I were to give you a hard 
slash from time to time? You’re so beautiful when you’re whipped.”

I shook my head decisively to that one. I was afraid that Mavis’ fantasies might become all 
too real. I was suffering with her alone to watch, but supposing she decided watching was not 
enough!? Once more I gave her the pleading eyes without result.

The imagination of Mavis was endless and certainly not inclined to comfort a damsel in 
distress. Her clit must have been shockingly over worked because she now came up with, “I 
now see you as a prisoner in the docket of some ancient court, darling. Your wrists are chained
and your clothes tattered. Your ankles are joined by a huge chain which makes the damnedest
music when you walk. The judge is an old bastard who hates pretty girls.

He listens to the evidence impatiently and then sentences you to be flogged in a public 
place and spend the next six months in some sort of prison or dungeon with all sorts of chains
loaded on you everywhere. I rather like that dream, I used it often.”

Once more I longed to tell her she was a mean, sadist bitch. I wondered if she knew how 
much pain I was really in. She probably thought it a mild discomfort instead of torture.

What I longed for without fantasizing at all was to put her through the whole gambit 
Hastings Castle had to offer but I couldn’t do a damned thing but sit there and feel my pussy 
dissolving into pain. From time to time my excited companion explored with her fingers both 
front and rear to see if she could find my pussy. I moaned constantly, both as a relief to the 
pain and to let Mavis know I was not enjoying my ride on the horse. I knew she’d never untie 
me but at the same time had been forbidden to be cruel. I closed my eyes and pretended she 
wasn’t there. But that didn’t do much good because it wasn’t long before I felt fingertips on 
the nipples of my breasts. I shook my head in denial and tried to catch her glance.

“You mustn’t worry, Patricia, dear, but you tits are so lovely I can’t resist. You can tattle but 
I really don’t know what the Suffcliffs would do. But I’m not going to pinch so it would just be 
your word against mine and there won’t be any evidence. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could 
make you get an orgasm? I think that would be real doozy of an experience, fixed the way you
are. Maybe your pretty little puss would be grateful.”

I could not move so Mavis did as she pleased with my breasts. But at least she was still 
scared enough of the Suffcliff to not cause any serious harm. I was curious myself to find out 
if, in that awful agony of the horse, a girl could respond to erotic stimulation. I soon 
discovered she could, and I could swear my loins were responding and generating more 
vividly that if Mavis and I had been in bed. I was saved from climax by the arrival of Inga who 
caught Mavis in the act because she was so absorbed in what she was doing. She gave Mavis 
a fine verbal dressing down before unbuckling my gag and pulling the rubber gag from my 
mouth.

“Did Mavis pinch or hurt you?”

“No, but she wanted to make me have an orgasm just to see how I would behave. Inga, 
dear, please get me down off this thing. I’m dying.”

“You’ve got a while longer, darling. Mavis is your friend and I think we all want to make 
sure she enjoys her stay with us. Try and endure it for her sake.”

“Don’t gag me again. That gag is a horrible thing.”

“Very well, dear, you can have you mouth back. But don’t be too rude to Mavis, she’s only 
working out a lifetime of fantasies she’s never been able to make real before. Try and be kind.”

Kind! I was ready to burst as I watched Inga depart. I wondered if she wasn’t putting on 
some sort of act instead of just being polite. I looked sideways at Mavis to say, ‘Thank you, 
Mavis, you rotten bitch, for torturing me like this. If I live through it, I’ll never speak to you 
again.”

“Yes, you will, dear. You’ll forget all about this in a week. I’ve read all about these things in 
books.”

“Piss on your books. How would you like to let my arms down a few inches?”

“You know I can’t do that. And you look so beautiful like you are, all the tensions are just 
right. Your body is beautifully stretched out.” She was ecstatic. “How’s your pussy handling the
squash?”

“It died long ago, I don’t have a pussy anymore. And it’s all your fault. Why don’t you try 
this?”

I got kissed. I suppose it was a sort of expression of her delight at both my suffering and 
my suggest she should try it. Mavis is good at kissing, I will have to admit. And I’ll be damned 
if she didn’t restart the flame in my loins she had started when she was teasing my nipples. 
You know how awful it is for a girl when she’s interrupted half way to an orgasm. I pleaded 
humbly, “Please, Mavis, finish what you are starting. Don’t leave me hanging.”

“But, darling, you are hanging.”

“You know damned well what I mean, you silly bitch. Go on, play with my tits until I come.”

I expected her to refuse but curiosity was far too great and instantly my nipples were once 
more getting rigid under the attention of her fingertips. And she even took my nipple in her 
mouth and sucked and teased it with her tongue until I exploded in an incredible orgasm. I 
actually did a sort of scream along with a lot of other noises. When questioned I had to admit 
that the sensation of that orgasm was something I’ll never forget. My mind couldn’t have 
been functioning well under the stress because I remember saying thank you several times. I 
must have been terribly grateful for something to break the agony of my having to sit on that 
damned thing.

Since Mavis had been forbidden to add to what I was already suffering, she contented 
herself with word pictures of torments I still had waiting for me. She was really well-versed in 
ancient stories of what girls had endured in times past if they or there family had offended the
local lord of the manor. My heart went out to these girls for, after all, I was getting the same 
treatment. Although I gathered that the edge they sat upon was a lot sharper than the one on
which I now sat. These ancient disciplines were much involved in what was then called a 
flogging. I had to suppose the whips used on me were almost merciful compared to what was 
used in ancient times for a flogging.

No matter what punishment Mavis described to me, she generally returned to her favorite,
the Bastinado. She assured me, bright-eyed, it was still on the books for tomorrow.

I made only brief responses. I was still enduring a terrible punishment and anything I said 
had a gasp or a moan attached. In bitter sarcasm, I suggested that, if she were so interested in
the Bastinado, perhaps she could volunteer to take my place. Then she would know 
everything there was to know about it. I reminded her that she would be able to walk again 
inside of a week. The sarcasms didn’t work on Mavis who then told me another of her 
fantasies. She didn’t seem to notice that I didn’t really care about her fantasies, she was having
fun. I think it must have been in Puritan English, she explained.

Even though I was of noble birth, I was arrested and dragged before the local magistrate.

None of my family were allowed in and only the evidence against me was spoken. I was 
sentenced to a day in the stocks and then a second day in which I was to stand in the pillory. 
Then I would be publicly flogged and chained in prison for a month. I wasn’t even sure of 
what I was accused of except that it was something sexual. And back then most anything 
sexual was forbidden.

I was made to take my clothes off and given a shift, a small, ugly nightshirt. Since my pubic
appearance was not until the following day, I was taken to the prison and dumped into a 
miserable little cell. Since the smith had gone home to dinner, and was not available to put me
in chains, I got my hands tied behind my back. My cell mate was a girl about my own age who
had been caught stealing a loaf of bread and was therefore going to be hanged. And, believe 
me, the smith had really done a job on her. She could have untied my hands but refused, 
saying that she would be flogged before getting the rope around her neck. It was a miserable 
night. And when my cell mate was led away, I was escorted to the village green where I was 
invited to sit on the bench and take off my shoes and socks because the stocks that would 
hold my ankles for the day were a good, tight fit. I did as I was told. It was horrible for a girl 
who was always fully clothed to have her bare feet held in wood and damned little clothing on
her body. I remember that after those jailers had clicked the padlock and gone away, I cried at
the shame of being in the stocks in public. That public threw garbage at me, leaving me 
covered in orange peels, slop, and other filth that I could not wipe off because they had left 
my hands bound behind my back.

The verbal taunts were shameful for a noblewoman to have to endure.

About half way through the morning, while no one else was watching, one man, a local 
farmer, stood on top of the stocks, lowered his pants, and paid me the ultimate insult. I was 
one shamed female. And I didn’t smell too good, either.

Mavis continued her graphic description of my punishments in her fantasy. I listened but 
mostly because it was something to help distract my mind from the agony in my pussy and 
whole body.

She told me how I spent another awful night with my hands still tied in that cell, having 
been fed my one of my jailers. Mavis was sparkling-eyed as she told me how the jailers didn’t 
give me back my shoes but I still had that beastly shift. I was led out the next day to the village
green where the pillory awaited. One of them took my hair and pulled it up while my neck was
set into the wooden yoke that would hold my head and hands rigidly in place all day. The top 
of the yoke was padlocked firmly in place. I was happy to get my hands untied from behind 
my back where they had been for almost two days. But the pillory was of a height as to make 
me bend over slightly. I was certain the strain on my back would grow into a serious pain 
before the day was over. Most villagers came by and I was the main target for their garbage. 
With my head and hands held the way they were, I could nothing to stop the insults hurled at 
me. I was soon plastered with food refuge and slimy things I really didn’t want to identify. I 
cried, then sulked, then screamed at the people.

All I could do to ease my pain was shift my feet from side to side. And I had been right 
about the strain on my back.

“Gosh, Patricia, I sure do wish I could get you into that kind of position,” Mavis said 
cheerfully. “You would be so beautifully helpless.”

“Damn it, Mavis,” I said angrily. “Don’t you realize that what you’re having done to me now
is a damned sight worse than that you’re describing? If somebody ever set you on this thing, 
you’d know how terrible it is. I’m hurting worse than you could ever dream.”

That day in the pillory was a Teal bitch, Mavis continued with relish. I was told that the 
cat-o-nine-tails which would be used to flog me the next day would not contain any bits of 
metal as it would when flogging a male. It was both because I was a woman and because of 
my family name. It would make sure that, although the flogging would be painful, I would 
survive with my skin marked up but not cut to ribbons. I didn’t know whether to thank him or 
spit in his eye.





CHAPTER FIVE - Painful Fantasies


They didn’t bother with a whipping post as such. The massive wood of the pillory would serve 
to hold me. Except that when a girl is to be whipped, she puts her wrists into the holes and 
leaves her head out. After my wrists were secured, my shift was removed, exposing my body 
to all those watching. I looked at my shift as it was taken away and longed to have it back. It 
seemed that most of the village had turned out to watch my whipping. There seems to be a 
sort of legend, Patricia, dear, Mavis said, that a whipped woman is better in bed. So all the 
males for miles around came to watch and talk about what a good lay this girl would make. 
But, she added, you would about that better than I.

My answer was another moan.

So absorbed in her story telling was Mavis that she seemed to forget that this had 
happened in centuries past. I stood there, bare naked, she continued, while everyone stared at
me. There was nothing I could do because my wrists were quite securely held by the wooden 
holes. I longed to be anywhere else other than were I was.

The crowd had grown even larger by the time my executioner showed up to take the 
cat-o-nine-tails in one hand. He was a powerfully built man wearing a black hood over his 
head. Another men, an older, bent over old fart, read a list of my sins and announced that in 
hopes of saving my soul, I would be flogged for a total of twenty lashes, spaced throughout 
the day. He let me have the first swat right then. Fire exploded in my bottom as the nine 
leather tongs slashed across my flesh, each scoring its own path of pain. It was going to be a 
bad day. I danced and screamed, and tugged like crazy at the pillory. All I managed to do was 
rattle the padlocks. I pleaded with them that I was innocent but was ignored. I was hit again.

Mavis paused and tilted my chin so I had to look at her. “I don’t have to tell you what it’s 
like to be whipped,” she said. “I’ve seen you whipped good and proper. The only difference 
was that in her dream I was naked in a public place and each slash of the leather monster was 
greeted with cheers or gasps on the part of the audience, and pain on my part.

After five strokes, the whip was put away, and ft was explained to the villagers that it was 
part of my sentence that I stand there thus exposed throughout the day. And that none 
should touch me while I stood there. The rest of my lashes would be delivered in three more 
groups spaced out.

Some stayed to watch the flesh of my bottom turn vivid colors as the weals ripened. The 
men seemed to be reluctant to leave. I could see in the eyes of each the desire to come over 
and touch my helpless body. But one of the jailers stayed to enforce the ruling that I was off 
limits and none dared to defy him.

When the executioner returned, the next five strokes were across my back and hurt more 
than those on my bottom. And a couple of them brought more pain than intended because 
some of the tips curled around to slash the sides of my breasts. I protest but was again 
ignored. I put on a fine display of twisting and dancing in pain, but my only reward was a 
promise of ten more strokes later in the day.

I stood, sweating and tugging vainly at my wrists while those around discussed my 
perform and lamented that I could not receive twenty or thirty more slashes instead of ten.

It scared me to death but apparently left them feeling the whole punishment inadequate.

I can’t pretend I become too involved in the story Mavis had to tell. My mind was centered
upon my pussy as Mavis rambled on. I wished only to be free. I listened but only because it 
was something to try and take my mind off the pain.

After I’d been flogged, I stood there all day, Mavis continued. The additional ten strokes 
were duly administered in two groups of five, much to the delight of the crowd. After that I 
was taken back to the prison, but not immediately to my cell. I had an appointment with the 
prison smith who viewed my nakedness with a gleam in his eye. The jailers forced me into 
various contortions for the smith’s convenience and at the end of it I had a collar solidly 
riveted upon my neck, wristlets upon my wrists, and anklets upon my ankles. These were 
joined by links of heavy chain, rusty and unbreakable. I was then taken back to the cell where 
the smith splatted out one more rivet to fix me to the wall. There was enough of the chain 
tether to allow me to walk a few paces but what the hell was the use! I wasn’t going anywhere.
That was the beginning of my prison sentence. Either through negligence or deliberately, I 
had not been given back my shift and was now the naked prisoner chained within stone walls. 
My jailer’s last word was to warn that I would again be whipped if I were to complain. Boy, did 
I shed tears!

“I wished it had happened to you, Mavis,” I said crossly. “If you get hot pants out of such a 
story, why don’t you ask Inga to recreate it here? Hastings is well equipped.”

“You’re so sweet, you think of everything,” Mavis purred as she nibbled on my ear, and 
then kissed my lips in the manner of a girl excited by lust. I asked her why she was so damned 
set on seeing me punished and she answered it was because I looked so gorgeous while I 
suffered. And desirable sitting there on the edge of the plank and unable to move an inch. 
When she asked if I enjoyed her fantasy, I told her it could not have happened to a nicer girl, 
and I only wished I had been there to throw a bit of potato peel.

She sighed and accused me of failing to understand die finer details of dreams.

I sat out that afternoon in painful misery to promote secretions in Mavis’ puss. I didn’t 
share her joy but I could see that Mavis got tremendous pleasure out of the awful way I was 
bound and the way the pain reflected in my face. True, she loved to see me whipped, but this 
punishment of sitting on the horse gave her exquisite joy not to be had by any other means. 
When Inga came to set me free, Mavis was actually miffed and only reluctantly helped Inga lift
me from the perch of pain. After that I stood and tentatively felt between my legs as though 
to assess the damage. But that freedom did not last long because Inga then tied my wrists 
behind my back and then delivered me for cocktails in the lounge. It was all so beautifully 
civilized.

I have to admit that Mavis’ hand with its bar of soap felt good on my body as she cleaned 
the swear from my body in the bath. She paid far too much attention to by breasts and pussy, 
but I did not protest. It did feel good. Mavis appeared surprised that there was no obvious 
damage to the place where my punishment was centered, but I pointed out that the purpose 
of the horse was not to do damage, only cause pain. And it was very effective at that. The men
who created that punishment wished to keep a girl’s pussy intact so they could enjoy it after 
she was finished with her punishment. Mavis retorted that men were horrible and female flesh 
should be reserved for female lips. I didn’t argue, what the hell did it matter!

Dinner would have been a delight. My ankles were chained but that was all! And had it not
been for my conviction that the Suffcliffs were actually going to allow her to whip the soles of 
my feet on the next day, it might have been a fun time. I had come through a lot that 
weekend but there was still pain and punishment to come.

I listened to the chatter happily enough even though my thoughts were filled with how 
badly the Bastinado would hurt. Mavis keep looking at me like a cat eyeing a fat mouse. I had 
to keep from saying something nasty or throwing something in her face. I just kept telling 
myself, “One more day. Only one more day and she’ll be gone.”

That night my temporary mistress was all agog. She had one more day of the punishment 
of my body and had the Suffcliff pledge that I would suffer various tortures on the next day 
for her pleasure.

I often caught Inga’s and David’s regard dwelling upon me in a sort of speculative way as 
if wondering how much of my punished flesh they could bestow upon their visitor.

Whenever I heard them speak of the Bastinado, I pretended not to hear. Then in bed I 
serviced my temporary mistress with all the furor I could command. I tried hard but it did me 
little good. My ankles were chained and my hands tied behind my back as the two of us 
drifted into sleep with Mavis muttering about how a girl would feel while the soles of her feet 
were being whipped. I simply refused comment and drifted into slumber, hoping that 
somehow Inga would intervene.

Why should I tell of baths and breakfast, and the chatter which ignored the fact that I was 
soon to be tortured yet again. Darling Mavis often tried to steer the conversation in that 
direction but was skillfully headed off by Inga or David. Mavis obviously felt cheated but there 
was nothing she could do against the couple who owned me. Perhaps she comforted herself 
with thoughts of what was to come.

As far as I know the Bastinado started out with a girl being suitably fastened and then two 
other girls given the privilege of striking the soles of her feet gently with light rods, in 
infliction which went on and on until the maiden screamed and screamed confessions which 
then were carefully recorded that she might be punished for them later. The way it was done 
today, and the way it was going to happen to me, ignored the light rods. Now the ankles were
to be firmly bound so the feet were held motionless with the soles held upward, and then 
whipped with a cane in the same manner as might a girlish bottom. In other words, they 
would be beaten so they hurt like hell! It was a pretty concept.

After all the fussing of breakfast and bathing, and a good deal of pleading which I could 
not restrain, I was left downstairs where the punishment was to be done. It was not the best 
way to start a day, especially when I gathered that after the Bastinado there would be other 
delights designed to please Mavis and displease me. I had no choice, I was simply the naked 
female body on which these performances would be played out.

There’s lots of way of doing the Bastinado but by far the most satisfactory is to tie the 
girl’s wrists behind her back, to have her completely naked, and to lay her face down upon a 
rug. Behind her is a small but solid frame, and to that both her ankles and knees are firmly 
bound and bound so tightly they cannot move. The feet are pointed towards the ceiling, the 
soles upturned and making a ready target. After I had been fastened thus there was a 
discussion about the gag. And, since the punishment was so awful that screams were 
inevitable, the gag was used to seal my lips. Once more I went through the humiliation of 
opening my mouth to receive an infliction I did not desire, and then to have the soft leather 
close my lips. The buckle was tightly secured behind my neck. This leaves a girl in an utterly 
helpless position but one in which she can toss her body from side to side, shake her had, and
even arch her head and shoulders upward and backwards. But she cannot roll over or pull her 
feet one inch from the strike of the leather whip or cane. I felt very helpless and looked from 
side to side, seeking pity. There was none. So, with a mouth full of rubber and lips tight sealed,
I lay one cheek upon the rug and waited for the awfulness to happen.

It appeared the awfulness was not to happen right away. David and Inga decided it would 
be nice for our guest to have me all to herself before the cane began its impacts upon my 
feet. They told Mavis to enjoy me and her dominance over my naked and helpless body.

They would be back in half an hour. It was all beautifully normal for Hastings Castle with 
me a bundle of nervous shaking.

“This is simply wonderful,” Mavis beamed. “The Suffcliffs are just too kind.” There came a 
pause. “Darling, I think this time they’ve gone too far in their wish to make me happy. Early 
this morning I put my car by that little side door. Do you get the picture?”

For a moment I was at a loss but then saw it all. Mavis couldn’t be satisfied with some 
punishing of me, she wanted it all. She wanted me all to herself. And goodness knows what 
would happen to me then!

She busily untied my ankles and knees from the frame. Her voice was alive with happiness. 
“Your ankles are still chained, darling, and that could be a bit of a bother. But I’m sure I can 
find a key somewhere. Your hands are beautifully tied behind your back so I can control you 
easily. Darling, I do hope you see the possibilities.”

I saw. But I was gagged and could not scream. Even after my legs were untied and I was on
my feet, there was little I could do. The chain on my ankles prevented me from kicking, and 
the ropes around my wrists prevented me from doing anything much. I resisted but she 
grabbed a handful of my hair and shook my head. “You’ll do exactly as I wish,” Mavis 
whispered in my ear. “And when I get you home, you’ll be whipped according to the manner 
in which you’ve obeyed. Do as you’re told and the whipping will be light. Fight me and … Well,
I’m sure you understand.”

I understood. I simply allowed myself to be taken from the room of punishments to the 
side entrance where her car was waiting. I moaned in misery because I much preferred to be 
the slave of Inga rather than the prisoner of Mavis. But I was completely helpless as well as 
completely naked. The thrusting hands had their way with me and it was not long before my 
hobbled feet took me to the little door beyond which awaited a fresh enslavement I did not 
want. When that door was opened Mavis and I were confronted by her little car and leaning 
against its fender was none other than David Suffcliff.

“Where you thinking of leaving us?” he asked politely.

I almost felt sorry for the bitch. She’d been caught red-handed and I couldn’t see any way I
could share in the guilt. But brightly she came up with a typical bit of Mavis deceit, “Oh, yes, 
perhaps you’d like to join us, Mr. Suffcliff. I was going to take the girl for a short drive.

She has a difficult day ahead.”

David obviously didn’t believe a word. He’d have to be crazy if he did. In the same casual 
tone he inquired, “I notice you still have the dear girl’s hands tied behind her back and her 
ankles chained. I would have supposed that if you wished to give her a bit of recreation you 
would not have kept her helpless.”

“Oh, that!” Mavis dismissed the thought with a wave of the hand. “Darling Patricia is a bit 
difficult. I’m sure you do understand. She doesn’t do anything without some element of, shall 
we call it authority?”

“That’s right,” David agreed, then addressed me directly. “What’s the deal, Patricia? Are 
you going willingly?” He unstrapped the gag and pulled the wet rubber from my mouth.

“No, I’m not. Mavis was going to steal me away. If you hadn’t bound my arms I might have
fought but I’m helpless. She pulled my hair to get me here.” I sniffed. “She said that the first 
thing she would do when she got me home was whip my ass to bits. I think she’s a mental 
case.”

The three of us stood there looking at each other with varying emotions. Mavis was 
looking bright eyed and expectant, evidently seeing her present situation as nothing more 
than embarrassment. David was now every bit the lawyer.

“We left Patricia secured tied in readiness for the Bastinado as you desired, Miss Collins,”

he said in firm tones. “You have chosen to release her feet from the punishment and to 
take her away from Hastings Castle. That is hardly the action of a friend.”

“You’re making a lot of fuss about nothing,” Mavis said. “We’ve got the whole day ahead 
and we can certainly whip this dear girl’s feet even if we don’t start until this afternoon.

May we carry on now? And if you’re suspicious do please come along for the ride.”

David’s movements were swift and deadly. In a few seconds Mavis was glaring at him and 
tugging in bewilderment at wrists handcuffed behind her back.

“How dare you do this to me! Unlock these things immediately. If you don’t let me loose 
this instant I shall go immediately to the police.”

There was a lot more things Mavis said but enough is enough, and I stood there entranced
with joy as she struggled furiously to get her hands back. When she ran out of breath she 
tried the haughty lady. “I’m sure you consider this a joke, Mr. Suffcliff. If you release me 
immediately, I will over look your boorish behavior.”

“That’s kind of you. I’d say that was a fine, liberal attitude,” David said heartily. “Now all 
three of us will go back to the playroom.”

Mavis didn’t want to go but when David grabbed a handful of her hair she had little 
choice.

Once back in the playroom, as David called it, he patted my bottom with his free hand and
told me to run upstairs and fetch Inga.

The playroom told a whole story with graphic precision. There was the rumpled rug on 
which I had been bound, and there was the frame to which my legs had been bound. Cast 
around were all the bits of rope Mavis had hurriedly untied. David was still very much in 
charge and told Mavis to clean up the mess she’d made. “I can’t,” she protested, “not with 
these things on my hands.”

Quietly David unlocked the handcuffs and put them in his pocket. Mavis swiftly made tidy 
the tell-tale evidence. With the last bit of rope coiled and the rug smoothed, she stood there 
expectantly as if she expected someone to say thank you. What David now ordered must have
been quite a shock but it sent thrills up and down my spine.

“Please remove your clothes. Miss Collins.”

The simple words hit Mavis like a blow. She must have known what to expect but played 
the role of outraged modesty. “You must be joking, Mr. Suffcliff!”

“No joke. I want everything off. Even your shoes.”

“I absolutely refuse, it’s absolutely indecent.”

Mavis’ cheek were scarlet.

Inga took her hand. “Don’t be silly, Mavis. You’ve worn out your welcome. Now we’ll 
continue your education with you as the subject. Get naked. I’ll use this riding crop to cut your
clothes away.” Inga snapped the tip of the crop so it just hit Mavis’ bottom lightly.

I softened and began to feel sorry for the old friend who had treated me to badly. I could 
understand completely everything that was going on in her mind. She began a flood of 
threats and promises upon her captors, a magnificent outpouring of an innocent and put 
upon young woman. Inga silence her with a cut of the crop directly across her buns. Mavis 
stood there with mouth hanging open, looking from one person to another for some trace of 
sympathy. There was none. She made one last try to retrieve what she probably considered 
her “honor.”

“Very well,” she said, “But Mr. Suffcliff will have to look the other way. Turn around or 
something, it’s not proper that you should watch.”

No one said a word but Inga flexed her riding crop once more and, with a moan of defeat, 
Mavis reached for the first of the fastenings. As they fell away one by one, she kept pausing to
give us a chance to change our minds. Eventually she stood as stark naked as I was, trying to 
cover her pubic curls with one hand and both breasts with the other. David quickly put an end
to her modesty. “Come here and turn around. Put your hands behind your back.

“I can’t possibly. I’ve got nothing on!”

“That’s got nothing to do with it. Do as I say.” Mavis looked around to give us another 
chance to change our minds. Then, with a muffled sob, she backed to where David stood, and 
I’ll swear she only did it to hide her frontal attractions. Mavis probably didn’t know it but she 
had a good body. The handcuffs once more clicked their love song and Mavis was thrust back 
to where she was told, ‘Turn around and face us. Don’t cross your legs, we want to see all of 
you.” The male voice told it would accept no nonsense.

When a girl’s hands are fastened behind her back, modesty goes out the window. In 
scarlet-faced disgrace, the new prisoner faced us in defiance. “You’re being most unkind,”

she said. “I hate you all.” She made a motion to turn her back towards us but a sharp order
from Inga changed her mind to make her stand in shamed exposure, unable to cover a single 
thing. I knew the feeling all too well.

The Suffcliffs had me a prisoner so long they must have become bored with breasts and 
pussies and nipples and bottoms. But as part of the treatment they scrutinized the handcuffed
girl for a lot longer than I would have bothered with. The next order came as a matter of 
course. “Lay on the rug, Miss Collins. Face down and with your feet against the frame.”

“And what if I refuse?”

Inga flexed the riding crop again. “In that case you will enjoy this as a preliminary to the 
main event,” she said sweetly. “If I were you, I’d lay down on that rug.”

“When a girl has been robed of hands, laying on her face is awkward, but Mavis flopped 
and wiggled herself into position and lay there staring at us sideways. She would have been a 
fool is she couldn’t guess what was coming.

It was Inga who bound the slender ankles to the frame. Then, when she started to bind the
knees, Mavis exclaimed, “You’re going to Bastinado me, aren’t you! Please don’t do that.

I’m told it hurts terribly.

“You were intent on doing it to Patricia.”

“That’s different.”

“Really! Tell us how it’s different.”

“Well, you’ve got Patricia as a prisoner or slave or something. Slavegirls have to expect that
sort of thing but I’m a member of the public and you can bet your boots I’m going to the first 
police station I can find as soon as you let me loose.”

“But you’re forgetting, Mavis, we don’t have to let you loose. In any case, it will be a while 
before you can walk. And now I expect you’d like to be gagged.”

Mavis did not want to be gagged and said so forcibly. She was still calling upon us to be 
sensible and let her go when her cheeks were filled with rubber and leather covered her lips to
seal them. Finally her vocal assault upon our ears was at an end. From then on she would 
make only the sad, small sounds of protest through rubber. It was at that moment David 
untied my hands.

It’s always glorious when you get your hands back after they’d been tied out of sight for a 
long, long time. Gleefully I flexed my arms and massaged my wrists while I looked at the twin 
cheeks of Mavis’ bottom. I then went over and ran my fingers back and forth across its 
immobilized cheeks while asking sweetly, “Would you like me to tenderize your tail, darling?””

Our new prisoner went crazy. I had no doubt touched a tender spot, a responsive cord.

Cheerfully I said, “Don’t bother to speak, Mavis, dear. May I borrow the riding crop a 
minute, Inga, please?”

Inga’s eyes were as wide as saucers as she watched me come back with the weapon. “If 
you don’t want me to tenderize your tail,” I said sweetly, “I can always roast your rump. It’s 
almost as sweet an expression, don’t you think?”

I cut the air with everything I had, and the crop made the loveliest sound as it impacted 
with the most force and pain Mavis had every had upon her skin. I took a quick step back 
because, even shackled as she was, Mavis was putting on the performance of the century, and 
getting every sound passed the gag she could manage. At a moment when she unwittingly 
curved up her pretty little rump once more, I gave her number two right squarely on top on 
number one the way she had done with me. I suddenly knew I had to cut those pretty curves 
to bits.

But Inga gently took my hand and the crop. “You can give her the Bastinado, dear,” she 
promised gently. “But let David and I have a go at her first. Stand where ever you want to 
watch.”

The Suffcliffs armed themselves with limber yellow canes that would cause no serious 
damage but would cause plenty of pain! The first blow was Inga’s privilege and she sliced the 
small, tender soles from toe to heel. And then we all watched as Mavis, in a fresh revelation of 
horror, jerked and twisted upon the rug. Looking back over her shoulder as if to tell us she 
could not possibly bear another stroke. I understood that motion, too, it was all very familiar.

I suppose I should not have gloated over Mavis’ downfall. But my pussy was still sore from 
my time on the horse, and if she had not tried her kidnap, it would now be me down on the 
floor with my poor little feet sticking up to invite the cane. It was very difficult to feel sorrow 
for Mavis. Her ankles and knees had been wonderfully bound. And while the handcuffs 
robbed her of hands and arms, they still allowed enough motion so that she made a pretty 
picture as she twisted and rocked, from side to side in response to the pain. The canes rose 
and fell with a terrible cadence and my tummy was doing flip-flops as I thought of what the 
dear girl must be suffering. But when Inga handed me her cane, I saw only that lovely 
upturned foot and felt that same savage intensity as when I laid the crop across her bottom. 
Fiercely I measured out half a dozen cuts before the crop was once more taken from my hand.

I don’t know how many slashes with the canes the soles of Mavis’ feet had to bear, it was a
lot. And when I gazed down at the well-beaten and discolored flesh with the whole foot 
swollen and angry looking, I knew for sure Mavis wouldn’t have to wear shackles this evening. 
Even with feet completely free she wouldn’t be going for a walk.

It was decided Mavis would lay exactly as she was. There would be no more cuts across her
feet but this she did not know. So long as she was thus bound, her mind would be alive to the 
possibility that the beating of her soles might continue at any minute. I was taken my the arm 
and led to lunch. I was so damned thankful to be free of Mavis’ influence I would have been 
happy in any case. My feet were still chained, of course. My ankles would always be shackled 
so I would not think of running away. As usual David picked me up and, as usual, the small 
flame in my belly flared as I smelt his after shave and my breasts rubbed his jacket. I wanted 
him so bad but knew from past experience that a slavegirl did not ask for a man’s favors. They 
were given when he wanted. That shows how silly a girl can get.

Lunch was a delight. I was allowed to have my hands and the three of us talked about 
poor, dear Mavis. And as we talked it became evident to me that David and Inga were by no 
means through with the girl. They were by no means going to send her home with beaten 
feet. They were going to keep her captive and they finally decided that the rabbit cage would 
be the ideal place. Her feet would heal there, and when she could again walk they had plans 
for what they called her “rehabilitation.” That simply meant, as far as I was concerned, they 
would keep her prisoner just as they kept me and do with her whatever they desired. I humbly
seconded all these motions because all the pain I had endured the last two days had her as 
the inspiration. All of my body was outrageously whip-marked, and my poor pussy constantly 
complained of sitting on the horse. It would be nice to think of Mavis doing these things, too. 
But a girl like me has to be careful what she suggests.

Everything was now going my way so I kept demure.

It was decided that David should carry the girl with wounded feet out to where she would 
spend the next few days in a cage in the great forest area behind Castle Hastings. Quite 
suddenly the questions was put to me as to whether I would like to be put behind bars with 
her as my company. This was suggested because she had once been my friend. I had not been
entirely unhappy in the rabbit cage and I felt a little guilty about Mavis’ poor feet, so I said yes,
that might be a good idea. Unless I had to have my hands tied or handcuffed behind my back.
I looked around inquiringly.

“We’ll leave you with just the chains on your feet, darling. It’s your old friend, Mavis, who’s 
going to get her hands behind her back the whole time she’s there. You’ll have to look after 
her, of course. I imagine it’s a situation you’d enjoy.” They both looked at me expectantly.

It was a situation I would enjoy. Me completely free except for chained feet, and darling 
Mavis with sore feet and wrists firmly tied behind her back. I was assured this was the way it 
was going to be and that if Mavis healed up fast, chains would be added to her ankles like 
mine. It was thus after a marvelous lunch that the three of us went downstairs to untie a 
tearful girl no longer sure of anything. Once David would have carried me to the rabbit cage, 
but with Mavis unable to walk, he carried her. I flamed with jealousy as she made the most of 
the situation by rubbing her breasts outrageously against his tweed jacket.

For the me rabbit cage was sort of like coming home, but when David deposited his 
burden behind bars Mavis viewed her new home with alarm, especially the straw in the back 
which was the only bedding. Then there transpired that the Suffcliffs had business in the city 
and our needs would be seen to my Daisy, the kitchen maid. The door to our cage was closed 
with a clang and we were left alone in our forest cage.

The rabbit cage was really a full sized prison cell, perhaps ten feet by ten feet, surrounded 
by thick iron bars set solidly in concrete and with a concrete floor. The door was solidly 
padlocked.

Mavis looked at me with anger in her eyes. But there was also a little fear there, she was 
not sure of me. But when she tried to stand, she immediately returned to the floor with a 
moan I knew was genuine. Thus began a new association between two old friends.

Mavis was outraged by everything. First off she was offended that we would be tended by 
a kitchen maid. Her second gripe was the tied hands. Having hands tied behind her back was 
a new experience for her and it frustrated her at ever turn. Especially since my own hands were
free. When I explained that I could not possibly untie her under the pain of a terrible 
punishment if I did, she simply sniffed and took it for granted I was being mean.

She was then annoyed that she could not handle her feet. She was constantly looking at 
them and contriving ways to better see the soles of them. Her biggest gripe, however, came 
with our first meal. Mine would have done justice to the best hotel, but Daisy had received 
instructions that our visitor would not get her hands back and would be fed through the bars 
like an animal. Daisy enjoyed that part, serving me with relish and not paying too much 
attention to Mavis. When her dinner came to her, she told poor Daisy where she could take 
her apple and piece of bread and shove them.

Mavis indicated that she would rather starve than receive nourishment through the bars.

Daisy put the offending food back in the hamper and left. Mavis was hungry that night, a 
hunger I could not appease.

As the night worn on, Mavis took the attitude that everything was my fault and she would 
not be in this cage, bound and naked if it were not for my doing. I sighed and went to sleep.

I realized that I might feel guilty about that in times to come but Mavis had been such a 
bitch that I felt a good deal of satisfaction about that sharing of her imprisonment. There was 
no way either of us could get out of the rabbit cage but she did not believe that. She told me I
ought to offer Daisy a million dollars to let us go. When I pointed out that both of us were 
naked and where does a naked girl keep a million dollars around her person, she gave me a 
couple more sniffs. She then hatched up a notion of her own that David and Inga were 
undoubtedly stealing my estate and would not free me until every penny was gone. She also 
couldn’t understand why I did not know the length of time we would be in the cage. When I 
suggested it might be about a week, she blew her top again. She said that it wouldn’t take 
that long for her to be ready to run away if someone opened the door.

Her biggest beef would be her still bound wrists that would hinder her escape attempt.

And since I refused to untie her hands, I was the villain. And she threw in how humiliating 
it was for her to have to walk around on her knees. That was, of course, also blamed on me.

She also blew her top about having to sleep with me in the straw. All these things were a 
shock. She had always led a civilized life and had now walked into something too bizarre for 
words.

While I ate my breakfast the next morning, Mavis actually did walk on her knees to the 
bars and accepted the bits of break pushed into her mouth through the bars by Daisy. She ate
the apple the same way. But the smell of what I was given obviously drove her wild.

And with Daisy giggling at her from outside the bars, she was in a constant dither of rage.

I began to wish I wasn’t sharing her prison. I asked Daisy if she had the key but she 
claimed that Mrs. Suffcliff had taken it with her and we were prisoners for sure.

I did what I could for my nearly helpless fellow prisoner. I couldn’t carry her but I could 
help her to her knees so she could get back on her own. I would have fed her myself if it 
hadn’t been for the instructions that she had to take her food through the bars from Daisy.

Anyway there still remained a topic of interest to this female -the questions of what would 
happen to her after the soles of her feet were healed. I had only one answer to that, simply 
that if Inga had said she was keeping her captive the same as me, it might be a long time 
before Mavis saw freedom again. Maliciously I added if ever.

Mavis cheered up a bit and talked sensibly after we’d been caged for a couple of days.

Her feet began to heal and the prospect of being able to walk again partly offset her 
anxiety about being a permanent captive. She said with a blush that she thought she had 
made a great impression on David Suffcliff. She wondered he might not divorce Inga and 
marry her. This, of course, was vintage Mavis, and she was miffed when I told her that wasn’t 
going to happen. Finally she got around to the inevitable.

“Darling, you haven’t serviced me since we were put in this cage. I’m feeling better now 
and I’d love to have you between my legs. Come on, let’s do it.”

All I could feel was disgust. My reasoning was that someone might be looking through the
bars. There was nothing to stop anyone from coming by and having a look.

“But, darling, we had such fun!”

“You had the fun, I didn’t. I had to do a good job and pretend to enjoy it. Well, I won’t get 
punished in here so I’m not going to do it.”

My fellow prisoner sniffed. “I think you’re just being mean,” she said haughtily. “I wish your
hands were tied behind your back. I’d fix you good.”

“I’m sure you would. But it’s your hands that are tied, not mine. And I’m damned thankful 
for that. You’ve got a mean streak in you and you’ve got to learn to keep it in check.”

“Very well, I’ll do it for you. I’m sure if you lay down properly I can wiggle and probably do 
a real good job. Let’s try right now.”

“Sorry, I’m not a lesbian.”

“You’re begin simply horrid, that’s what you are. I sure do wish I had managed to get away 
with you and take you back to my place.

Within a couple weeks I would have had you so damned obedient….”

“The way you go about it, you probably would have had me in a coffin. But I’m curious, tell
me what you planned to do with me when you got me home. You remember I was so damned
helpless I couldn’t have fought.”

Her eyes became dreamy, her voice purred with deep yearning. T had it all figured out, 
Patricia, darling. I would have whipped you every day. What I mean is you wouldn’t have had 
to be a bad girl, I would whip you anyway just to see you wiggle. And make cute noises. And 
then I certainly would have had one of those horse affairs fixed up just for you. I enjoyed 
seeing you on that thing.”

“And I’d get the Bastinado as well, I suppose?”

Mavis actually hesitated and squirmed. “Well, I don’t suppose so. That was a lot worse than
I though it would be. My poor feet still hurt after all these days. No, I wouldn’t have had a 
Bastinado frame fixed up for you. But I would have had the pillory and stocks and a cute little 
cage. And some other cute notions I’ve read about. You would never have been bored.”

I sighed hopelessly. Mavis was impossible. “What you’ve just told me amounted to full 
time torture,” I told her. “Wouldn’t I ever had a break?”

“Why do you complain? We had all those lovely nights together. And we could have had 
many, many more stretching out indefinitely. I would have had you a most obedient slavegirl.”

“Mavis, you’re crazy! What you would have given me would probably be a slow, painful 
death. Don’t you understand that a girl can understand only so much of that stuff you’re 
planning to do to me.”

“You make me so mad!” Mavis struggled with her tied wrists again. She got her wrists well 
and truly chaffed with all these tuggings and twisting. But when I suggested she forget about 
trying to free herself, she came right back at me, “You’re scared that if I get my hands free, I’ll 
punish you like you deserve. That’s exactly what I’d do. I don’t know how I’d go about it in this
damned cage but I would.”

“You’re forgetting that I would have something to say about that. And I’m not helpless any
more. Your ankles are chained and that’s enough, I’d have the advantage and soon your 
hands would be tied. Gosh, I’ve never been so poorly treated.”

Most of our conversations weren’t worth telling. We were just too naked girls bored out of
our tree in a cage, a cage from which there was no escape. By this time I was longing for 
Inga’s return. I didn’t care about David, I was made at him. But it would be nice to hear Inga’s 
voice again. And see her holding up a key. Anyway I was so damned bored I even encouraged 
Mavis to tell another of her fantasies. She was flattered by the attention and didn’t need much
encouragement. The story went something like this.

“We don’t ever recover from our school days,” Mavis began thoughtfully. “And this fantasy
is all about a girl’s school that couldn’t have even existed, it was too bizarre. I mean the did 
things to the girls no one would believe. And, of course, being a fantasy, it just had to be laid 
in Victorian English were the cane was very much a fact of life, even for very small girls.”

In Mavis’ fantasy I wasn’t a small girl at all. Fantasies are wonderful the way they can alter 
the real world. I was about the age I was then, early twenties, and I was one of the mistresses, 
although of course, a very junior mistress. And one of the things that made this school unique
was that the junior mistresses could be punished just the same as the students. And Saint 
Swithens had set up a list of rules which made it pretty certain any girl would be punished 
sooner or later. And because all of us girls were afraid of loosing our jobs or being sent home 
to mother in disgrace, we went along with even the most painful inflictions Saint Swithens 
could give. The older mistresses and board of governors must have descended from the 
Spanish Inquisition.

Mavis sniffed and asked if she was being a bore?

I gave instant reassurance. Anything from Mavis was bound to be strange enough to 
amuse. And I was getting tired of sitting in the rabbit cage and looking through the bars.

So we went right back to Saint Swithens and it’s punishment.

I was brand new and scared of everything, Mavis continued the story. An older teacher was
helping me, an old trout who blew the whistle over something I hadn’t even known I had 
done. The result was I was sent to the office with a little note while the old dragon carried on 
with the class. I was scared on the way to Miss Codd’s study. I’ll admit I read the note on the 
way but didn’t understand it. There was but a single word on it, “Clips.” To my innocence it 
made no sense.

Knocking at the door was pretty much like having an appointment with Satan. But Miss 
Codd, herself, while of a commanding presence, was charming to talk to and said everything 
with an air of it all being for my own good. I ventured a timid greeting and handed her the 
paper. She glanced at it while I stood trembling. “I’m sorry to read this, dear,” she said sweetly.
“Kindly strip to the waist.”

You can imagine how I felt! I had never been naked before anyone else in my life. I knew it 
a command I could not possibly obey. I stated that as firmly as I could.

“Of course, dear, all the girls feel like that on the first time. But you’re such a charming girl 
and I’m sure you do not wish me to engage in force. Kindly remove whatever of your clothing 
you need to bare yourself from the waist up.”

I was certain I didn’t want to do it but Miss Codd’s voice gave me no choice, especially 
when I had visions of myself walking away with packed bags in the shame and disgrace of 
dismissal. I reached for the first fastening.

Miss Codd went to rustling papers on her desk. When I finished with the first fastening, I 
stood there and she looked up to say, “Yes, dear?”

“I can’t do it, Miss Codd. I’m terribly sorry.”

Miss Codd opened a drawer to produce a frightening length of yellow cane. Her voice was 
kind. “You prefer me to use this, dear?”

I took off my frock and stood there in my undergarments. Under Miss Codd’s regard I 
managed to roll that down. Beneath her stare I managed to completely uncover myself from 
waist up. I wanted to die.

Miss Codd nodded approval and extracted from the same drawer a couple of lengths of 
rope. “You have a beautiful figure, dear,” she assured me as she walked around the desk.

“It’s a beauty you should never be ashamed to show or share with others. We will now tie 
your hands behind your back.”

Imagine my feelings. I knew my face was scarlet and I could almost feet the color creeping 
down towards my two large breasts with their rigid nipples. The sight of the cane and bits of 
ropes sort of left me in a numbness of incomprehension. I did not protest as my arms were 
gathered in behind me and I felt the first loop of cord encircle my wrists. It was the funniest 
feeling and with Miss Codd rather pleasant. Miss Codd tied tight, tight, tight! But for all I knew
in my innocence, this might well be the way in which all girls were tied -if and when they ever 
were!

I managed to adjust to the lose of hands, after all Miss Codd would make sure no harm 
came to me. But when the second piece of rope encircled my elbows to draw them very 
tightly together, I began to wonder if all was as it should be. Band after band bite into my skin,
making me inquire, “Is it really necessary to tie me like this, Miss Codd? I’ve very well behaved 
and the way you’re drawing that rope around my elbows hurts something awful.”

Having delivered this complaint, I felt certain I would be shot at dawn.

Bare to the waist and with arms and elbows tightly trussed, I allowed myself to be 
positioned in front of Miss Codd’s desk to her satisfaction. She then produced a couple of 
small metal object I did not recognize and asked me tenderly, “Have you ever seen anything 
like this before?”

“No, Miss Codd.”

“They represent an interesting innovation in the matter of feminine punishment.” Miss 
Codd’s voice was as sweet as ever. “I use the word ‘feminine’ because the punishment has to 
do with one of your two most feminine portions. I’m sure you understand?”

“No, Miss Codd, I don’t.”

“In that case, and since this is the first time, you will find this an intensely interesting 
experience, my dear. It is one I hope we do not have to repeat too often, but we have found it 
most effective in emphasizing our rules of order. It is a punishment entirely unsuited to the 
very young. Please hold still while I prepare your nipples.”

I stood still but I still believed there had to be something wrong. I was panting and 
trembling and when Miss Codd’s fingers discovered the nipples of my breasts and began their
teasing of my flesh, I was delivered to a series of sensations and emotions beyond anything I 
had known. When the loving voice returned, it spoke of something of which I should have 
been well aware. “There we are, dear, your nipples have become large and hard and very 
ready for your punishment. Please hold very still, dear, while I clip them.”

I don’t think I could have moved if I’d tried. I was mesmerized first by the lovely voice and 
by a mental picture of what was about to take place. Never in my whole life had I engaged in 
conversation about the nipples on my breasts. Now they were nipples prepared for 
punishment. Steadying me with an arm around my waist, Miss Codd approached in an object 
in her left hand I could scarce believe. Even when I felt the hungry jaws nuzzling my flesh, I 
failed to comprehend that it was actually taking place. But with the tensioning of the arm 
which held my waist and the decisive positioning of the metal clamp, I began to feel a little 
fear. When the clamp was released and the jaws closed viciously onto my flesh, the full horror 
of my punishment became all too clear. The pain was atrocious and my nipple burst into fire. I 
looked down to see the metal horror bobbing happily on my breasts, secure in its knowledge 
that my hands were firmly locked behind my back and totally unable to reach around to the 
front of my body. I squealed and moaned with the pain, an entirely new pain I had never 
dreamed of. I was held in place by Miss Codd’s arm and gentle voice. “That’s number one, 
dear. We will now look after number two. You are bearing up remarkably well.”

The pain was so bloody awful I couldn’t think straight. Number one was bobbing at my 
breast in a way so awful I simply couldn’t think of number two. But Miss Codd gave my right 
nipple a refresher course in standing up hard and rigid, and I was quickly standing there with 
two metal horrors firmly biting my nipples. Miss Codd patted me affectionately and returned 
behind her desk to say in a tone I could not mistake. “You will stand still.

Miss. You will, moreover, stick out your chest. I don’t want you cringing or bending down.

Those things on your nipples are intended to hurt. And since you earned this punishment 
please do not complain.” She sat down and the rustling of papers began once more.

Mavis paused in her story to look at me and make a grimace. ‘This stuff is probably old hat
to you, Patricia. But just imagine what it would be like to a young girl never introduced to such
things. You were devastated.”

When I stood still as ordered, the agony increased, Mavis continued. And the tiny bobbing
became more active. Forbidden to complain, I simply stood in the deepest shame and most 
terrible pain I had ever known. I vowed to myself that whatever my sin may have been I would 
make sure never to commit it again. I moan in pure anguish while Miss Codd busily rustled 
papers.

It wasn’t easy to stand still. My instinct was to move, and there was the strong conviction 
that if I could shake my chest I could rid myself of those horrors attached to my nipples. I 
stood there, stiff and trembling, most of me covered by a wicked blush until, with perfect 
timing, Miss Codd engaged me in conversation.

“As I told you,” she said, “this is a punishment designed to correct your sinful way. It is also
one of the lesser inflictions Saint Swithens bestows. Let us hope you never make the 
acquaintance of more severe corrections.”

“Yes, Miss Codd.”

“There is always the question of corporal punishment, dear. Would you prefer, if I made it 
possible, to bend over and touch your toes for a dozen good strokes with the cane you’ve just
seen?”

How the hell did I know! Miss Codd was talking of things I’d never even dreamed of. But in
those days, the legend of the cane was a potent fear of every school child and in the minds of 
junior mistresses. My nipples were hurting terribly but I made the response I felt was right. 
Simply I replied, “No, Miss Codd, I prefer this punishment now to being whipped with the 
cane. Thank you.”

I was so innocent and frightened. The rope around my elbows was hurting like all get out 
and so were my wrists. The helplessness inflicted upon me by those two ropes was an 
absolute revelation. I did not believe it, even as it was happening.

“As your service with Saint Swithens gains maturity, Miss, you will be made aware of the 
corrections to which you may consign your pupils. We wish to be entirely fair, and to that end 
we do require each junior mistress submit to junior punishments in order that she may know 
their potency. We mentioned something of this at the time of your application.”

“Yes, Miss Codd.”

“I don’t suppose you have stood in the pillory all day?”

“No, Miss Codd.”

“Or the stocks or a stretch upon the rack?”

“No, Miss Codd.”

I was trembling so bad it was hard to get the words out.

“You are a delightful child and I look forward to punishing you often even though it is my 
duty to consul you to avoid penalties where ever possible. Tell me, dear,” the feminine voice 
became more feminine, “does the thought of punishing your pupils give you pleasure?”

Good gosh! This on top of all else. I made it short and simple, “No, Miss Codd, I’m afraid 
not.”

“You will soon learn, dear. Are you finding it difficult to stand still and erect?”

“Terribly difficult, Miss Codd. Please take these thing off my breasts.”

“No, dear, there is a certain prescribed period of time in which you must suffer the little 
clips. I am sure you are prepared for this period of suffering.”

I fluttered my shoulders. It did me no good but it was the only motion I could make and 
not risk further punishment. I miserably added, Yes, Miss Codd. Thank you, Miss Codd.”

I was a mindless creature with a couple of burning breasts. I longed to scream my anger to
the world but dared not.

Mavis’ voice trailed away.





CHAPTER SIX - Scolded Skin


There we were, a couple of naked girls securely caged behind iron bars, without any hope of 
freedom, or even a couple of magazines to keep us amused. Mavis sort of summed it up, “I 
expect everything I’ve told you is old hat, Patricia, dear. I mean, you’ve had your tits clipped 
often enough, and your bottom caned and whipped, and the whole bag of tricks.

What I’m telling you is all pretty much the same tricks except for the age in which it 
occurred. Do you want me to continue with the nonsense?”

I wanted her to continue. It was better than boredom. Mavis could be amusing. Or simply 
laughable. I was sincere when I told her to continue.

I had tender tits for quite a while, Mavis continued. They had a strange effect on me for I 
was terribly naive about anything sexual. My punishment session with Miss Codd was an 
introduction to a new world, a fascinating new world against which I tried to close my mind. 
But I could only close it so much. Then there came the case of Libby Thelps. I’ve forgotten 
what it was Libby did, maybe I never knew, but her sin was such it could not be hidden. In my 
capacity as her teacher I had no choice but to accompany the weeping child to her place of 
punishment which, as usual, was the study of Miss Codd. She made it sweet and simple, 
“You’re aware that this child has sinned, Mistress?”

“Yes, Miss Codd,” I replied.

“And you, Libby, are you aware that you have broken the rules?”

“Yes, Miss Codd.” The simply admission was accompanied by tears.

“Then please remove your clothes.”

Libby was not as shocked as I had been. She had evidently been punished previously and 
knew the drill. She quickly removed her clothes and stood before us naked and unashamed 
with budding breasts and a dark hint of pubic hair. The poor child was trembling but not 
some much from being naked before adults as from fear of pain.

“How old are you?” Miss Codd asked sweetly. “Twelve, Miss Codd.”

“You are old enough to merit restraint.”

“Please don’t strap me down, Miss Codd. I’m frightened.”

“There is no other way to keep you still, dear. I can’t have you running around the room 
while you’re being punished. Position yourself on that bench in the corner. Come now, don’t 
waste time!”

The weeping child did as she was told. First she pulled out the bench for the convenience 
of Miss Codd, then threw herself, breasts down, on the smooth surface. She was then secured 
to the bench by a strap around the small of her back, pulled cruelly tight. And then another 
for each knee and another for each ankle. Libby’s arms were stretched out above her head 
and her wrists were made fast by limber leather bands which made mc shiver just to see. In 
spite of her distress, Libby was taking a keen interest in everything that transpired.

Libby had a delightful young, curved bottom which was now held in place by the straps.

She could raise her had and weave her shoulders but that was all. She was doing that now 
and when she beheld the instrument of her correction she let out a positive howl of protest. 
“That’s a riding crop, Miss Codd. Please don’t whip me with that. I’m too young to get the 
crop!”

“Nonsense, child. You are not only twelve years old but a big girl. Take pride in having 
graduated to where this excellent crop will welt your bottom. If you scream, you will be 
gagged.”

It happened suddenly. The thunk of the crop across two curved bottom cheeks made me 
want to join Libby in her screams. The scream was instantly cut short so that the poor girl’s 
only relief was in the way she tore at the straps and the way she flung her head from side to 
side. The shock of the blow upon bare skin appeared to have robbed her of speech. The crop 
rose and fell again upon the unprotected flesh until, at the eighth blow, I could remain silent 
no longer.

“Please, no more, Miss Codd,” I interjected. “Libby has had enough. Please stop.”

Miss Codd stopped but not in the way I had intended or hoped for. She turned 
imperiously to view my stricken face before drawing herself to her full height. She demanded 
pleasantly, “Libby’s punishment is twelve strokes. Perhaps you would care to take the 
remaining four on her behave?”

I was as scared as Libby and heard my voice as though from far away, “Yes, oh yes! You 
mustn’t whip the child any more. Yes, I will be glad to accept her four remaining strokes.”

My voice trailed away in a choked up sob.

“Very well, Miss. Kindly prepare yourself.”

“Prepare myself? I’m afraid I don’t know how.”

“I will make it simple for you. Bend over and touch your toes, I will do the rest.”

by the time I was touching my toes I was also wishing I had kept my mouth shut. I was 
certainly I would never be able to hold my posture against the tremendous pain when the 
crop struck me. Too late I was realizing how that skin was going to be taut and stretched in a 
manner to double the agony in impact. Not that I had been whipped in my whole life, but 
watching Libby was almost like being cropped myself. Then began the most shameful thing of
all. First Miss Codd neatly folded up my skin across my bent-over back. Then my 
undergarments until my bottom as exposing bare skin. My bottom was wickedly exposed.

The clipping of my nipples the other time should have warned me how painful punishment
could be at Saint Swithens. And I looked behind as best I could, a timid reaction which did no 
good at all because at the same moment the crop bit my bottom from hip to hip. I wailed in 
shock and agony then collapsed upon the rug. I was holding my bottom with both hands and 
whimpering. As I looked up I caught a glimpse of Libby’s sympathetic eye as she lay there, still
strapped down.

“I’m sorry, Miss Codd, I simply can’t stand the awful pain,” I mumbled through the pain.

“Please forgive me. Please don’t whip me any more.”

“You prefer I whip Libby instead? In either case, there is an’ additional stroke for this 
absurd performance down there on the rug.” Miss Codd’s voice had become as cold as ice. 
“Please arrange yourself once more. This time do your best to maintain the pose even though 
it hurts.”

What could I do? There was young Libby looking at me hopefully. And Miss Codd, who I 
was certain would discharge me on the spot should I refuse the punishment. Once more I 
bent over and pulled up the skirt to bare my bottom. The crop would cut again and yet again, 
and when I thought of the extra stroke, I straightened my knees and clenched my teeth. I 
managed to survive the next two strokes but the fourth must have been a little harder than 
the other because suddenly I found myself on the floor, hugging my bottom with both hands.

Miss Codd wasted neither time nor words. My wrists were suddenly encircled by thin rope, 
drawn so tight I squealed. I was dragged to a desk over which I was then bent. My hand were 
pulled up over my head and fastened somewhere over the edge of the desk where I could not
see. Once more my garments were hoisted out of the way and the thin, sharp edge of the 
desk bit into my pussy. My legs were not on the floor and evidently not going to be tied. I was
so frightened I did not kick.

“You’re such a silly girl, Miss Torrence. You only had two more strokes to endure. Those are
now three and you will endure them at my convenience.” A firm hand suddenly pressed 
against my pussy between my legs and squeezed. For a few incredible seconds the fingers 
massaged my pussy and I felt feelings I had never felt before.

Mavis paused to look at me. “I do hope you’re feeling sorry for yourself,” she said.

It was hard not to agree but I reminded myself it was only a fantasy in Mavis’ mind.

Miss Codd laid in on something awful and I screamed. I could not help myself as the crop 
slashed pain across my flesh. I jerked at the ropes and jerked around, kicking my legs wildly in 
what must have been an incredible show. I did not know such pain could exist.

Mavis paused and sat there reflectively. I could not tell if she were savoring the pain she 
told of or thinking about something else entirely. Finally I decided the story was over and 
asked her why she couldn’t have come up with some fantasy that was more colorful. “Like 
being captured by pirates so something,” I said. “And having to walk the plank. Or maybe 
getting your bottom branded by a cowboy?”

Poor Mavis, I didn’t have to be unkind. But on the other hand I had trouble not feeling 
sorry for her with her wounded feet and tightly bound hands behind her back. I could see the 
misty look coining back into her eyes and knew that another epic or maiden suffering was 
coming. But I was saved the ordeal by a male voice that said, in outrageous, “I don’t believe 
this. It just isn’t possible!”

It was Colin Ruppert. He was staring at two naked girl prisoners behind the bars in 
disbelief. The interruption draw Mavis to the bars on her knees while I took a more casual 
approach, wondering if I should try to cover my sexual parts. I did not. I stood in stark 
nakedness to say in pleasant surprise, “Why, Colin, how nice of you to come!”

“This whole thing is crazy. A lawyer in business suit peering through the bars of a cage at a
couple of naked girls, one with chained ankles, the other with hands bound behind her back. 
Both of them overjoyed by his appearance. Mavis immediately said, “Please get us out of her, 
Mr. Ruppert. My feet have been so badly hurt that I can’t walk, but you may carry me to the 
car.” And then, in a far more even tone, I said, “I’m terribly sorry, Colin, but we’re locked in and
there is no way we’ll be getting out. Mr. and Mrs. Suffcliff took the key to town. But it is nice to
see you.”

I was always sorry to remember the pleasantries we exchanged at those times. But Mavis 
was not so polite. “Get us out of here!” she almost yelled at him. “Immediately! Don’t listen to 
Patricia, she has a slave mentality. Only a man like you can set up free.”

I was sorry for Colin. He stood there looking at us, and I can’t deny his interest in two 
complete sets of feminine equipment with nothing but the bars to hamper his view.

Obviously searching for the right words, he came out with, “I absolutely had to come 
today. Mr. and Mrs. Suffcliff were in town and absolutely laughed away my inquires about 
your health and welfare. And here I see I was right. Is the door around the other side 
somewhere?”

Poor Colin. He so much wanted to play the hero but he would have fit the role much 
better if he had changed into casual garb rather than a pin-stripped suit and Homburg hat. I 
went into the section where we sleep with the straw-strewn floor and stood there to listen to 
his assault on the locked door. I could have wept at the total impotence of all three of us. Inga
and David were probably chuckling up their sleeves, fully well knowing where he had gone 
after making inquires after me. Colin Ruppert paused in his efforts and I shouted out not to 
bother and that we could say everything we needed to say through the bars. With that I went 
back to Mavis who was clutching two of the bars and anxiously watching Colin’s lack of 
progress.

Colin had placed his lawyer’s briefcase on the ground and now rose mightily in my 
estimation by withdrawing from it a hacksaw. While Mavis breathed awe of the male, I began 
to, for the first time, to see a ray of hope. When Colin picked his bar and busily began to saw, 
Mavis ran true to form and complained, after a couple of minutes, “It isn’t cutting at all! If you 
can’t do better than that, you’ll never get us out of here.”

I had a notion Colin was thinking the same thing. It was probably the first time in his life 
he’d ever used a hacksaw and the resistance of the bar was obviously a disappoint. For the 
first time, I offered feminine support. “Don’t stop, Colin,” I urged. “It may take a few minutes 
but we’ll both make sure you’re well rewarded. Gosh, it’s going to be wonderful to be free.”

Colin bucked up instantly. It’s amazing what the prospect of two naked females can do for 
a man. I kept on with such silly remarks while Mavis confined her encouragement to a simple, 
“For Pete’s sake, hurry up!”

The hacksaw took at least ten minutes before it cut neatly through the brutal bar which 
had held us captive. Even then, when Colin grasped it with both hands and heaved, it 
remained firmly in place. He looked around for something to stand on while he saw vigorously
on another place. When the heavy metal finally fell away, all three of us contrived a modest 
cheer. I figured Mavis couldn’t walk so I sat down, thrust my shackled out with the newly 
created space and quickly followed with the rest of me. I clasp our perspiring rescuer in a part 
of loving arms, and pour a stream of thanks into his ear. Mavis’

voice cut into our communion. “That’s all very well for you,” she said. “Patricia’s only got 
her ankles chained, she’s almost free. But I’m not. I can’t walk and I still have my hands tied 
behind my back.”

Colin was a perfect gentleman and was full of apologies for Mavis’ condition. Giving my 
nudity an extra hug, he said wisely, “It’s too far for you to walk with chained feet to the car.

Do you mind if I carry Mavis first?”

I said I didn’t mind but felt a pang of jealousy as my knight in shinning armor cut away the
ropes from her wrists to pick her up and carry her away. I stood there beside the violated 
cage, kicking disgustedly at my chained ankles. I could have hobbled somewhere far behind 
them but there seemed little point. So I sat on the grass and allowed my whole being to soak 
up the sights and sounds of freedom. It was one of the happier moments of my life.

A girl becomes accustomed to ironed ankles. The short chain and metal anklets diminish 
her into subservience to those who hold the key. I longed to be rid of the metal on my feet 
but while I waited I played with the links. It was while thus employed that I was startled out of 
my thoughts by a female voice I knew all too well.

“You must have had a visitor, darling. I’ll bet I know his name.”

I looked up at Inga in dismay and abandoned thoughts of flight or fight. My first thought 
was that Mavis had gotten away free while I was stuck here. How short freedom had been! But
I got to my feet and allowed my nakedness to be hugged and kissed with such feeling as to 
make me feel things weren’t that bad after all. On completion of our embrace.

Inga turned me around to gather my arms behind me in a manner shockingly familiar. I 
felt steel bite my wrists. Once again I was handcuffed, a condition that was pretty much a 
constant in my life. I just stood there and let her do it. But what could I do? I was still 
leg-ironed and couldn’t run at all. And Inga had proven again and again that she was stronger
and more clever than I am.

“Colin’s got a real crush on you, darling,” Inga said. “We’ve known about it from the 
beginning, of course. When he disappeared from the office without explanation it wasn’t hard 
to figure where he had gone. David was angry because important clients were due this 
afternoon. Where is the dear boy now? Don’t tell me he’s taken Mavis into the woods with evil
intent?”

“He’s carried dear Mavis back to his car because she can’t walk,” I said huffily. “He was 
going to come back and carry me, but I suppose that’s not going to happen.”

“That’s right, he isn’t. Which just goes to show you the wisdom of keeping your ankles 
chained together as we have all this time. You couldn’t even give the poor boy a good screw.”

“I’d have a good try at it if I got the chance,” I retorted bitterly. “I’m sick to death of being 
kept in a cage without male comfort. And I think you’re mean not to let David have me one 
night a week!” I was feeling sorry for myself and more than a little surprised that I had let out 
what I did. Before I inherited Hastings Castle, David and I had been lovers And for a while after
that he partook of my body when he wished, but as a master using his slave rather than a 
friend. But lately he had not been visiting me and I blamed Inga for that lack of male attention
to my body’s needs.

Inga examined the damaged to the cage. “Fortunately there is someone on the staff who 
can use a welding torch,” she told me. “That bar will soon be as good as usual. And you’ll have
you behind it again. Come along, I’m taking you back to the castle and we can both envision 
poor Colin’s dismay when he finds you gone.”

Inga did not carry me but I was hustled back down the path as quickly as I could take my 
tiny hobbled steps. We entered what I now saw as my prison instead of my possession by the 
usual small door, and I was soon inside the cage where the door slammed and I sat dejectedly
upon the bench. What would happen now was my main concern.

When Inga returned, she excitedly told me through the bars that while Colin had come 
back for me. Mavis had stolen his car and driven away to a freedom of her own. Inga thought 
it a huge joke but I could have wept.

We are so terribly civilized and never do things the way we should. Inga arranged for 
dinner to be early and when confronted by an angry Colin Ruppert simply invited him to join 
us at the feast as if nothing had happened. Over the loss of Colin’s car, Inga simply offered to 
drive him to the railway station so he could travel back to town. It could be that Colin shows 
up to disadvantage in his management of his wasted afternoon. He was allowed to sit 
opposite me at dinner where he could see half my assets and guess at those hidden at a lower
level. As a great concession for this occasion, Inga moved my hands from back to front where 
I used every excuse to clink and exhibit my pretty bracelets for Colin’s approval. It was easy to 
see the poor boy was anxious over his attempt to rescue a maiden in distress and over his 
continued partnership in David Suffcliff’s law firm. I was pretty sure he might lose his job. We 
bid each other good bye formally before my hands were put back from front to rear and I was
left alone while Inga drove my hero to the train. Never before had I hated leg irons and 
handcuffs as I did then!

On Inga’s return everything was almost painfully normal. “One of the staff repaired the 
cage,” Inga told me sweetly. “He welded that bar back into place as good as new. And, just as 
a punishment, I am going to put you back in there, just the way you are, to reflect upon your 
sins.”

“But I haven’t sinned. I haven’t done anything to deserve punishment.”

“Sometimes a girl gets punished simply because she’s a girl,” Inga explained as if I didn’t 
already know that. “I’m sure it was not your fault Colin Ruppert sawed through that bar.

But, on the other hand, he wouldn’t have done it if it hadn’t been for you. See what I 
mean?”

I saw what Inga meant, and robbed of hands by the steel around my wrists, I dejectedly 
allowed myself to be led back into the dark woods and thrust back into the cage. Before the 
door was locked, Inga kissed me and played with my body in a way to make me gasp in 
longing. Breaking off just when it was getting really interesting, she locked the door and 
waved good bye to me.

The bar which Colin had sawed through now looked exactly like all the rest except for 
some discoloration at the two places where he had cut it. I pushed against it will all I had but 
failed to move it an inch. It laughed at my tiny efforts and I was once more captive in a cage.

It was bad, bad, bad! I could use neither hands nor feet effectively. I spent a while tugging 
on the handcuffs because a prisoner always feels that maybe there was a mistake somewhere 
and she could get one of her hands free. Although what I might have done with a free hand in
that situation was a mystery. And, to make matters worse, I was missing darling Mavis terribly. 
Mavis might be an absolute bitch, and I would gladly dispense with her company when I had 
it, but now I was alone and missed even her company.

In a sour mood I went to the straw and found what comfort I could without another 
female to rest against.

Inga brought my breakfast and I felt honored but had a hard time holding back my pleas 
for release and a return to the partial freedom as the captive of the castle. Inga was generous 
and unlocked the handcuffs that I might feed myself, and that she did with a quiet smile. Her 
conversation opener was not one I would have chosen. “Darling, I’m wondering how to punish
you,” she said casually. “I’m sure you agree you deserve to be punished?”

My heart flip flopped but I put on a brave front. “There’s nothing to punish me for. I’ve 
done nothing. I’m sick to death of being chained and bound and whipped. It’s crazy that we 
are fond of each other but that’s the way it is. I don’t see why you don’t set me free. If I were 
free, the three of us could still get along happily. And if you wondered, I’d make sure you kept
your job, not as my jailer, but as my companion. Gosh, we could travel all over and do 
wonderful things.” I paused a moment to give emphasis to my next words. “Inga, dear, please 
give me back my freedom.”

“Beautifully said, darling, but I’m afraid it won’t do you a bit of good. I like having you as a 
prisoner in all the different ways I put you in restraints.” Inga paused a second herself.

“David’s told me he suggest that you might be ready for freedom in about six months. But,
darling, I’ll tell you straight I’m going to contest that. I’m going to point out that since his 
business takes so much of his time, it’s lovely for me to be able to do whatever I want with 
you.”

“You mean to keep me just the way I am?”

“That’s right, darling. A sweet little girl in chains. Or maybe a damsel in distress, if you 
prefer that. If you’ve finished eating, I’ll put the handcuffs back on.”

“I don’t want the handcuffs back on, I don’t want ever to be handcuffed again.”

“Don’t be silly, dear. If you make me come in there, it won’t be handcuffs you’ll wear -it will
be tight, tight ropes. Lovely thin twine that hurts. Is that what you want?”

For answer I thrust my hands through the bars and sulkily watched them locked in steel.

The sound as they tightened on my skin seemed some sort of knell of doom. I held up my 
once more joined hands to glare at them in disgust, a disgust which deepened with Inga’s 
next remarks.

“Now, returning to the subject of your punishment, darling, have you something you 
might not hate too much? Or should I just give you a moderate whipping?”

“I don’t want any of them. You needn’t think I’m going to ask to be punished. Gee whiz, 
Inga, I think you’re mean.”

“I would like to tell you that I’m teasing, but I’m not, dear. You’ll get a whipping tomorrow 
and I don’t suppose you’ll enjoy it the least bit Have a nice day.”

With chained hands I clutched the bars and watched her go. I knew there was an element 
of teasing in most things she did but knew, also, her whip would hurt me just the same.

Once more the loneliness in the cage took hold and I had to wipe away a tear of self-pity. I
sat on the bench and longed for company.

I was not to surprised at Inga’s statement that she would work to change David’s mind 
from his promised freedom. I suppose I never really believed in it. And being Inga’s prisoner 
had become second nature. I seldom had any visions of anything beyond the restraints she 
kept me in. And being whipped every couple of weeks. It was not hard to guess why Inga was 
keeping David from using me as a woman. Not only was she jealous, she didn’t want him 
feeling affection towards me. I was her prisoner and she wanted it to stay that way.

If I could have hugged David and teased his body with my nudity, I might have been able 
to make him keep his word. Perhaps even to free me sooner. A beautiful woman has power in 
her body, a power to influence men. But I knew Inga would make sure that didn’t happen.

I sighed and wondered if getting whipped tomorrow would get me out of this outdoor 
cage and back into the castle, the castle I owned.

On the following morning it was Daisy who brought my breakfast and watched through 
the bars as I picked at it. If there is one thing that will rob a girl of desire for food, it is knowing
that she will soon be whipped. My youthful companion didn’t help.

“I’ve been told to take you back to the castle, Miss,” she said hesitantly. “You’re going to 
be whipped, aren’t you?”

“That’s right, Daisy, I’m going to be whipped.”

“It’s a crying shame, it is,” Daisy avowed with feeling. “And there ain’t nothing I can do 
about it. If only I had the key….”

“Don’t let it bother you, Daisy, I expect I’ll live. And don’t get yourself in trouble by trying 
to help me. I doubt anyone could help me, anyway. The Suffcliffs would find some way to 
catch me even if I ran without handcuffs or leg irons. Shall we go?”

I clinked and stumbled along beside the house maid. I wasn’t in any hurry and everything 
looked shockingly familiar right up to the little doorway leading into the basement. Even the 
room of punishments looked just the same as always as I took my hobbled steps to where I 
would have to stand to received my punishment.

“They want me to put a collar and chain on you,” Daisy said. “Inga will come and do the 
whipping herself.”

I shrugged and followed where she led. There were enough collars and chains to 
immobilize a dozen girls. It didn’t take Daisy long to lock the collar around my neck. The chain
was so short I had to stand against the wall. She kissed me and fled, leaving me standing 
there, naked, ankles chained together, hand handcuffed behind my back, and a chain from my
collar running up to an overhead ring. I sighed and wondered how long I would wait.

I wished I could go to sleep to pass some time. I wished, too, that Inga had not left the 
whip on the floor in full view, a reminder of what was going to happen. I suppose it could be 
said that everything was normal at Hastings Castle.

After what seemed a long time, Inga walked briskly in, at that rapid pace used by nurses 
and doctors. She came straight to where I stood, and, as she said, “Good morning, darling,” 
clasp my nipples between thumbs and fingers to make me gasp in both surprise, pain and 
apprehension. “Shall I play with them?” she asked sweetly. “You know, the old pleasure and 
pain thing. I feel mischievous today and I think you can look forward to that happening. I do 
hope you’re grateful.”

“Don’t be mean,” I said. “I’m helpless, as usual, you can do whatever you want with me.”

“Don’t be sulky. It’s nice to have your approval.”

“If you’re so anxious for my approval, you can unchain me, give me clothes and money, 
and push me out the door. Oh, Inga, don’t play with me.”

“You have a positive obsession about freedom,” Inga admonished. “You wouldn’t be happy
if you had it. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself without David and me to look after 
you. I’ll bet if I did what you ask, you’d come right back.”

I sniffed. And then, when Inga led me to where I had to stand, unlocked my wrists, I stood 
there nakedly in my leg irons. I was not going to fight. What the hell would that prove?

I looked up at the familiar straps and bar and asked, dejectedly, “I suppose you want me to
raise my arms?”

“That’s right, dear. I’m really fond of having you in this position. You’re so very beautiful 
and vulnerable. I’m sure you know what I mean?”

I sniffed again and raised my right arm in that abject surrender which always leaves me 
feeling disgusted with myself. Inga strapped my wrist into the tight leather band so tight it 
made an indentation in my flesh. Without spirit I offered my left hand.

“Like I said, darling, this is much the best way. I did think of hanging you up by one ankle 
but it’s so untidy. I’m sure you’d hate it.” She picked up the whip. “I know you don’t hate this. I
think you’re beginning to enjoy it.”

“Of course I hate it! I’m a girl, remember? And I’m stark naked, in case you haven’t noticed.
That whip will hurt like hell.”

Inga made no reply but stood there to look me in the eye and then slash viciously to make
the leather thong snap around my hips and across my bottom. I yelped in anger and agony, 
tugging frantically at my wrists and doing a little dance with shackled feet. The blow had been 
unexpected and left me in disarray, twisting and jerking, and making sounds of pent-up fury. 
When I had gathered myself together, I stared back at Inga’s enjoyment to blurt out, “No 
matter how you use that beastly thing it hurts like hell. Oh, please, Inga, don’t use that thing 
again.”

Her answer was the same as before. This time she snaked her strip of leather up between 
my legs which, at the moment, happened to be innocently open to the full extent of the chain 
between my ankles. There was plenty of space for her purpose. Once more I did my pretty 
contortions. “Inga, you’re hurting me,” I pleaded. “Please stop! That last one was really cruel.”

“You’ve only had two, darling. Spread your legs as wide as you can and I’ll snicker another 
up between your thighs. And don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this.”

Inga seemed so convinced I was enjoying what she was doing that it scared me. My loins 
were ablaze with both the burning pain and an excitement I did not wish to acknowledge.

But it wasn’t as she imagined it. I would have stopped this immediately had I the power to.

I was not enjoying myself.

My feet spread themselves as wide apart as the chain would allow, almost as if they did it 
on their own. I certainly did not want to open my legs in invitation that terrible pain in my 
most private place. Once more the thong bit wickedly into and across the softness of my 
unprotected pussy. Inga was obviously in the mood, for a moment later the whip was back on 
the floor and she was as naked as I, hugging me as tightly as she could. She thrust her crotch 
against the vivid whip marks she had made. Then her lips found mine and I was kissing her 
back with vigor. We remained thus clamped hard and fast together for several minutes before 
I heard the whisper, “First the pain then the pleasure.” Inga’s voice throbbed with an emotion 
as deep as mine.

Suddenly she was gone, vd I had to look back over a shoulder to behold her nudity 
swinging the whip at my bottom. With the scold of it upon my flesh I orgasmed unashamed 
and longing only that the ecstasy should not stop. Good gosh, I sometimes wished my body 
didn’t betray me so.

Inga was clever and was doing something she loved to do. My bottom and my hips were 
twice burned again before she transferee her attention to my thighs. The thong lashed my 
thighs inside and out. Then two wicked blows snapped one upon each breast and I screamed 
out my pain and anger. Instantly her nudity was upon mine. I gave myself to her with every 
fiber of my being and ceased to care if I was whipped forever so long as this glorious creature 
sometimes held me in her arms.

A girl is whipped and responds in many ways, and now I was forced to realize Inga knew 
me better than I knew myself. If she alternate the strokes on my bare skin, I would cease to 
care as her arms found my nudity and her lips clamped hard on mine. The naked Inga was a 
creature of beauty beyond my power to describe. She was a force which held me within 
Hastings Castle in the strangest and most potent enslavement a girl had ever known.





CHAPTER SEVEN - Links and Locks


I could not kid myself that I had not been wickedly affected by Inga’s whip. This marking of my
skin had started in a mood of mischief but, because of what the two of us had found as I 
stood with strapped wrists to endure the pain, we discovered something I had not known was 
there. I had come to love the whip, so long as it was wielded by Inga’s hand. And so long as 
she loved me ardently after every few strokes which sent me into the hysterics of agony. At 
the same time being loved by strong arms and exploding into orgasms more times than I can 
remember. When she had sentenced me to the punishment, Inga had described it as a 
moderate whipping, and perhaps that’s what it was but on a girl’s bare skin no whip is ever 
moderate. The following day I was marked up with multi-colored weals I would probably wear 
for a couple of weeks. Chained in Inga’s bed during the night I realized the leather thong had 
rid me of a morbidity and made my life more real and alive. And I was again curious about my 
fate, even though my behavior was humble and obedient. And all this sounds as though I was 
really a mixed up girl when really I had never been more “with it” in my life. Before breakfast I 
was made to stand for Inga’s inspection.

“I was more and more in love with those leg irons, darling,” Inga confided. “Even stark 
naked, they make you see in some way clothed. Restraining your feet the way they do, they 
manage to be very beautiful.”

If Inga had commanded me to go to the North Pole, I would have tried to do just that, so 
potent was the memory of Inga’s thong, and the press of Inga’s lips against mine, and her sex 
thrusting hard against mine. I belonged to her totally and ate my breakfast in a dither of 
affection and a conscious I did not desire to be whip again for at least a week.

“Does it hurt to sit down, dear?” asked Inga slyly.

“Yes, but it’s a lovely hurt. You were so good to me yesterday.”

“Bring your breakfast over here, dear, and kneel beside me.”

Wondering, I did as I was told, setting my plate beside hers and then kneeling on the rug 
to have first one wrist and then the other cuffed round the leg of the table so I belonged to 
her indeed, and if I was to eat breakfast it would be by her hands and not my own. My own 
ironed wrists told me only to stay exactly as I was. It was in that manner I was fed my breakfast
and have never enjoyed a meal half as much. With her whip and her lovely nakedness, Inga 
had broken me totally!

The gardens behind Hastings Castle are alive with statues created and placed there in 
generations long past. I have told you of some of them. That morning I was led into the 
gardens with my hands tied behind my back and a leash snapped to my collar to a bronze 
masterpiece I had never before seen. Inga informed me it was actually the Second Earl, way, 
way back somewhere in the family tree, a chap who apparently demanded implicit obedience 
from both his wife and the female staff of the castle. I gathered I was to give him comfort 
throughout the day.

My skin was still tender from the whip and my mind in a dither of desire to please my 
mistress by obedience. Sure my nipples hurt, but so did everything else. I was a girl properly 
punished to please a demanding mistress. And when we stopped by the bronze statue I knew 
pretty much what to expect because the old boy had prong sticking out in front that was big 
enough to pleasure a brood mare. Right away I said to Inga, “Please don’t make me take that 
awful thing in my mouth, I’ll choke on it!”

“It’s not your mouth, darling. You’ll give it comfort with a different part of you, further 
down from your mouth. Get up here and I’ll make the adjustments.”

I’ll have to admit I didn’t much care for the Second Earl, he had a leering expression on his 
features as if inviting any passing female to pause long enough to sample his immensity.

And it soon became evident that modern fingers had worked some sort of modern miracle
to make this giant phallus a life of its own. It moved up so I could be impaled upon the 
massive rod. Inga assisted in positioning my sex directly over the bronze rod and teasing my 
flesh into a state of excitement sufficient to provide lubrication within my cunt. She lifted and 
settled me down upon it, slowly but firmly until I felt that my entire sex was filled with that 
hardness and that my poor flesh might rip apart at any time. It was huge!

I let out with a small gasp as my body settled against the base of the statue’s phallus. I was
horrified at having this monster invade my private place, horrified and shamed. But it was also 
an incredible erotic feeling and my body betrayed me by wanting to hump my hips up and 
down on that shaft. I suppressed the urge.

Inga took a long leather strap and passed it around my upper body, just above my breasts,
and the statue, buckling it tightly behind the old fart, tightly enough so that I was pressed 
hard against him. The bronze was cold but I said nothing. I was much more concerned about 
that part of him inside me. Unhappily I asked, “Inga, darling, can’t you think of something 
else? You’ve got me buckled so tight this damned thing inside of me feels like it will come out 
my mouth. Oh, darling, my cunt just isn’t that big!”

“Nonsense! You’ve taken it all in just fine. And there’s a lot more to this than you think.

That lovely phallus has been sensitized so that if you excite it properly it will have a regular
orgasm and shoot an actual jet of fluid deep within you in a way you cannot evade.

I think that’s so ingenious!”

“I think it’s hateful. Please whip me instead.”

“No, dear, you won’t be whipped again for a little while. Your wanting it again is pure 
indulgence. Pretty soon you’ll be wanting it all the time. Sir Roger here will keep you amused 
all day. And that belt which you can’t touch will make certain you can’t withdraw.

You’ve got a visitor inside and you’ll have to warm him up, make love to him, so that every 
so often he’ll reach a climax and give you a real hot dose of fluid.” Inga paused to playfully 
pinch my nipples. “You see, darling, since we’ve gone modern we’ve installed a little electronic 
device which will register how often Sir Roger reaches a climax under your loving care. It won’t
be easy but you’ve got all day to work at time. And even though you can’t pull back much, I 
shall expect the old boy to provide, under your stimulation, of course, half a dozen orgasms. 
And should you fall short of this target, you’ll hang by your thumbs all day tomorrow. And I 
know you won’t enjoy that. Do you understand?”

“Of course I understand it. It means I’ll spend tomorrow hanging by my thumbs. I think 
you’re mean. I can’t imagine this old bronze statue coming to a climax just because his thing 
gets warm inside my sex. It’s a horrible idea. Inga, darling, can’t you do something else to me. 
I can’t see why you can’t let me spend the day with you in the castle, the way I used to. I’ll 
have my leg irons so I can’t run away.

Gosh, give me a break.”

“Love him tender, love him true,” Inga cooed mockingly. “You get that little pussy of yours 
hot enough you’ll be surprised how he’ll response. The old fart has been just waiting for years 
without a woman and here he is now with a good eight inches up inside a warm pussy. I’ll 
leave you now so you can comfort him. I’ll be back around noon and read the meter. Bye-bye, 
darling.”

So there I was, my hands tied behind my back and my tummy and breasts cinched 
uncomfortably tight against Sir Roger. And way inside my vagina was a bronze phallus I wasn’t
at all sure about. The stricture around my body was tight but, in a spirit of experiment I move 
first one thigh and then the other. Inga hadn’t tied my feet at all so I was just wearing the leg 
irons. But as I made these trifling motions, which didn’t seem at all sexual to me, I could swear 
I could feel a perking up of Sir Roger’s secret weapon, and when I tried again I’ll be damned if 
the old boy didn’t ejaculate. Whatever it was they used as cum, it was hot enough so I knew 
I’d received a gift from another age. I immediately stopped all such motions and contended 
myself by trying to get my wrists untied. It’s an amusing pastime but that’s about all. Never 
since I had first been bound by Inga have I ever worked myself free from anything.

The heat of Sir Roger’s gift slowly faded and I could feel the fluid tricking down and out of 
my vagina. I looked around the statue where the cinching belt was buckled but there was no 
way I could reach it. I could only begin to wonder if I shouldn’t get Sir Roger excited once 
again, just in case there was a meter ticking away somewhere. So I went through the same 
motions and got the same result.

Now I’ll admit the truth, so long as Inga isn’t looking, and say that I was not unaffected by 
that large phallus filing my vagina. The process of getting him to reach his orgasm was also 
roughly the same movements needed for me to reach mine. I slid my hips up and down on his
shaft as far as the strap around my body permitted, squeezed my thighs together and 
generally made like it was a real male tool inside me. When my pussy heated up enough, Sir 
Roger responded and my vagina was filled with a warm liquid. And, hell, it felt good! A woman
likes the feeling of a male phallus squirting juice inside her, it’s instinct. And Sir Roger was 
ready to do it as many times as I wanted. Without getting soft in between times. Continually 
ready. All day. Wish I could say that about some of the men I’ve known. I climaxed right alone 
with him on the third try.

But I digress. Many times I leaned against Sir Roger’s massive chest to rest between those 
times when I was wiggling like a whore in heat, trying to generate enough heat to get both Sir
Roger and myself to climax. I did not take Inga’s word lightly, there would be punishment 
awaiting should I fail to make Sir Roger shoot his load enough times. And I would never tell 
Inga how much fun it was.

Well, a girl who is bound to a statue for an entire day and all alone has to find diversion 
where and when she can. Right?

During one of those resting periods I heard a voice speak somewhere from behind me. It 
was not hard to recognize it as belonging to Mavis.

“Really, Patricia, dear, you should be ashamed of yourself. The absurd situations you get 
yourself into. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the Second Earl was making love to you.”

I managed a backward glance, and there was good old Mavis, and with her a girl of about 
the same age, a girl in whom I sense power. I wondered how long she had been standing 
there. Long enough to have seen my last stupid wiggling orgasm? Sulkily, I returned the 
greeting, “Hello, Mavis. Please go away.”

“This is Bree Banting, Patricia, dear. I’ve told her all about you and she’s absolutely 
intrigued. We’re going to take you home with us.”

“I don’t want to go home with you. Leave me alone.”

“But you don’t have anything to say about it, Patricia, dear. You’ll positively love the things 
we’re going to do to you. I want you to be particularly nice and very polite to Bree, she’s a real
darling. The least you could do is offer her a greeting.”

“Good morning, Bree. Now go home.”

“I can’t do that,” Bree said in a melodious voice.

“Mavis has told me about that statue you’re fastened to and I’d love a demonstration.”

What a hell of a spot! It was bad enough to have to cater to Sir Roger’s always-rigid rod 
without having a pair of giggling idiots behind making suggestions. Coldly I said, “There’s 
nothing worth demonstrating. It’s a disgusting idea and if either of you had a thread of 
decency, you’d untie me from this horrible fix.”

“She wants to be untied, Mavis,” said the fresh visitor. “Why don’t we do that and see what
happens?”

I felt no surge of joy as the strong fingers dealt with Inga’s knots and strap. I felt Mavis and
this newcomer were bad news and kept silent, even when willing hands lifted me up and away
from the beastly prong within my sex. But I stepped back quickly and turned to offer them 
bound wrists, a meaningful move. I was told, “Don’t be greedy, dear, we’ve untied you from 
that silly statue but you can’t expect everything all at once.”

“It wouldn’t hurt you to untie my hands -I can’t run away with feet chained.”

No one answered. I turned to become a witness to the incredible. Without a word of 
warning, Bree seized Mavis by the hair to tug her head back into helplessness, while the other 
hand tugged down female panties and, with extraordinary strength, lifted my former girlfriend
to put her securely upon the prong. A moment later the leather strap snaked around Mavis’ 
waist while she exclaimed in outrageous, “What are you doing, Bree! Don’t you dare tie me to 
this horrible thing! Lift me off!”

Mavis might as well have addressed the moon. One her nylons was dragged from a kicking
leg and used deftly to bind her wrists behind her back in the same manner as my own. She 
was now helpless but by no means silent.

“I hope this is just a silly joke,” she cried in outrage. She kept looking between Bree’s face 
and down towards where Sir Roger’s massive phallus was sunk deep into her vagina.

“Why have you done this to me?”

If my ankles hadn’t been shackled I might have ran. But as it was I stood in fearful silence, 
gazing in disbelief at Mavis. Her skirt had ridden up on her hips and her large breasts were 
heaving against Sir Roger’s chest. She was also wiggling her hips but whether from trying to 
dislodge his phallus, find a more comfortable position, or sexual excitement I did not know. 
Could have been all three.

“I’m sorry about this, Mavis, dear girl, I really am.” Bree’s rich voice sounded almost sincere.
“I thought it would be nice for you to stand where you are so that bronze bastard can make 
love to you all day. I’m taking our little girl with me. I’m sure you understand.”

“I don’t understand at all.” Mavis was heaving and twisting and her voice came in gasps.

“If you take Patricia by force, it’s kidnapping. Ohhh!”

AH that twisting had done the trick. Mavis was receiving her first gift from Sir Roger. I 
could understand it being a bit of a shock. And I really believed for a moment she thought the
old boy had come to life. She made some more gasping sounds, moaned a bit, and bit her lip.
“He’s just shot his load into me,” she said through clenched teeth. It was easy to see from the 
blush on her face and spreading down her chest that Mavis was not unaffected by her 
position and Sir Roger’s gift. I figured she was only a little bit a way from a climax herself and 
trying hard to keep it in. If only she didn’t keep on wiggling her hips, she might have a better 
chance. But I doubted it. I knew the effect Sir Roger had on girls.

“I’ve been raped!” Mavis uttered.

“Aren’t you a lucky girl,” offered Bree without concern. “You should have a really fun day.

I’ll now take Patricia to the car. Good bye, dear, and thanks a lot for letting me in on what 
I’m sure is going to be a most profitable deal.”

I felt like exploding in frustration. Here I was, a pretty little package neatly delivered to an 
Amazon I had no reason to trust. Everything Inga had done to me made me an easy prey, and 
when strong fingers grasp my hair, I found myself taking my short, snubbed steps in a 
direction I did not want to do. I took once last look at Mavis but she was lost in a massive 
orgasm, pressing her body hard against Sir Roger, her legs spread wide apart as if she were 
trying to impale herself deeper onto his phallus. Her body was shaking, her eyes were closed, 
and she was moaning in a most delightful manner. I wondered if I had looked like that during 
the several orgasms I experienced that morning. Then my head was jerked and I had to leave 
Mavis to her fate.

“Be sensible, Patricia, I’m taking you and there’s nothing you can do about it. We can be 
friends or enemies. Are you going to walk with me to the car?”

“I’m walking now, what more do you want? You know I can take only short steps.”

“I could carry you but I don’t want to. I like to hear the sound of that chain. I think it’s a 
wonderful idea and I wouldn’t take it off for the world. Here, I’ll give you a real incentive.”

The hand suddenly left my hair to fasten thumb and fingers on one of my nipples, just 
hard enough to tell me I had best do as I was told. I was close to tears and thinking longingly 
of Hastings Castle and those who dwelt therein. My ankles were now hurting from the 
constant snubbing of the chain.

My kidnap was obviously well planned. The car was waiting on the rarely used back road, 
and I was lifted into it to sit beside the steering wheel in the front seat. Abruptly I was told to 
behave myself and not be silly or I would be lifted out and stuffed inside the boot. “I expect 
you’re curious, Patricia,” Bree said as she steered down the bumpy track. “I met your girlfriend 
Mavis in the singles bar, and when she told me all about you and Hastings Castle, I realized 
she’d handed me a gold mine. I played the girlfriend act until she suggested we go and pick 
you up and bring you home to play with.” Bree laughed. “I think your Mavis is a frustrated 
sadist to judge from all the things she wanted to do to you. And things she assumed I would 
also enjoy. Right away I realized the possibilities of disposing of poor Mavis and holding you 
for myself. I think you’ll fetch a pretty ransom. According to your friend, you’re rich, rich, rich!”

“I wish you all the luck in the world,” I retorted bitterly. “I can’t think of anyway you’re 
going to get ransom money out of the Estate or me. Mavis is probably told you a lot of 
nonsense.”

“But you would pay me money, wouldn’t you, honey, if I got those chains off your ankles 
and untied your hands?”

“I don’t have a single penny, I’m stark naked.”

“You’ve got a lovely figure, Patricia. And as for the money, I’m sure the family lawyer will 
come up with it when I quote him a price. Yes, dear, your friend Mavis told me all about Mr. 
Suffcliff and Mrs. Suffcliff, and the terms of your grandmother’s will. Don’t try and tell me you 
don’t have any money.”

I had expected to be taken to the city but instead we were heading for another rural area.

After a while we pulled up before a pretty but dilapidated cottage, set upon the boarders 
of a marsh with a lot of scattered trees. I could easily guess this was my new prison. The final 
road up to the cottage was gravel and ran right up to the house. With a note of pride, my 
companion said brightly, “You’re going to love it here. The inside is a bit more modern than 
the outside. Come along, darling.”

I got the grand tour. There were the firm fingers in my hair and a longing in my heart for 
free hands. I didn’t get much chance to look around before I was hustled inside to be shown a
modern miracle within the stone walls. Everything was shinning and new and looked as if it 
would work. And my heart raced downhill as I was shown the stark, bare room which spelt 
imprisonment in every line and angle. Even the window was heavily barred. One corner was 
filled with a cage which Bree informed was just “girl sized.” In that she was quite correct. There
was room to sit down or stand up but that was all. The lock on the cage was shinning new. My
heart sank.

“I’ve kept several girls here at different times,” Bree informed. “I won’t bother with the 
reasons, but I’ve enjoyed them all. I like whipping girls and making them helpless. But, for 
Pete’s sake, don’t look so down. Come to the kitchen and I’ll make coffee.”

It didn’t take me long to realize that in this Bree I’d gotten myself another Inga. But while 
with Inga there was always some doubt about the term of my imprisonment, with Bree it was 
just as long as it would take to sell me to the highest bidder. She assured me gaily I would 
love to cooperate rather than to suffer the pains of disobedience. I had little doubt she was 
right.

I actually got my hands untied for the coffee and biscuits. Bree watched me intensely as I 
sipped coffee. Then she continued to outline my fate. “Those irons on your ankles are simply 
wonderful, child. We can be completely civilized without you trying to run away. I’m not sure if
I should take them off or not.” She mused quietly for a moment or two. “The easiest way out 
for me would be if you could lay your hands on a considerable amount of cash so I could 
simply turn you loose and wash my hands of this adventure. Can you do that?”

“Not unless you give me freedom and clothes and take me to the city. You can come with 
me to the bank, but I don’t suppose you want to do that?”

Bree was thinking hard, and nodding slowly as if my suggestion had merit. “It may not be 
as impossible as you think,” she said slowly. “The problem for me would be to keep control 
while you’re out in public. I don’t suppose I could trust you, could I?”

It was my turn to think. I’d had no problems with the bank during my previous brief span 
of freedom, I probably wouldn’t have any now. And surely I should feel grateful to this woman
is she gave me back the freedom I’d been seeking so long. “Of course you could trust me,” I 
said with certainty. “Just so long as you will accept what the bank will let me have. I have no 
idea how David Suffcliff has altered my affairs. How much do you want?”

“We’re not going to bargain, honey. I’m simply testing you. So now we can move on to the
second possibility. That’s simply ransom. I can have you write the usual pathetic appeal with 
instructions on how to pay. It has its hazards but I’ve planned for them. Will you write the 
letter?”

“No, I won’t!”

“I could persuade you, dear.”

The delightful voice had lost some of its melody.

“Well, maybe you could. What other plan have you got?”

“I’ve only got three and the last one is to sell you to anyone who’ll pay a descent price.

You wouldn’t have to write letters or play any part I’d keep you helpless so you have much 
to say about anything. How would you like to belong to a rich Arab or a whore house in 
Florida? They pay better over there.”

I shuttered. “You mean you’d really sell me to a place where all sorts of men would shove 
their beastly things up inside my sex?” I looked at Bree with disbelief. “That’s absolutely 
horrible!”

“I’m told it’s not all that bad. It depends, of course, on the house. And the madam. And, of 
course, the location. If you pleased one of the clients, you could be sold to him. And that way 
you’d have only one thing to deal with instead of a couple of hundred.”

“I like plan one the best. Honest, Bree, you could trust me. I want my freedom and I’m 
ready to pay for it. How much do you want?”

“One hundred thousand American dollars. That’s pretty cheap, considering who and what 
you are.”

I knew Bree was right and was on the brink of pointing out that the bank might refuse so 
large a sum but the risk was entirely hers. If the bank called the police, I’d be home free.

So I said, as quietly as I could, “I expect that’s a reasonable price. If I can get it, I’ll pay it.”

Bree sniffed. “It sounds a bit too easy, sweetheart. I’ll think about it. But, anyway, I’m going
to have you write that ransom note, whether you want to or not. Let’s wash these few dishes 
and go to my office.”

Her office was small but functional, a desk, a telephone, and two chairs. I sat across the 
oak desk, facing the woman who held me captive by virtue of ironed ankles. My wrists were 
still free, no doubt in preparation for signing the ransom note, a copy of which Bree then 
thrust across for me to read. It was accompanied by a blank sheet of paper and a pen.

“A million pounds!” I said aghast. “You’ve got to be crazy, no girl’s worth a million 
pounds.”

“With the figure of yours someone will pay that to possess you, sweetheart. Don’t 
underrate yourself. You can write out the letter the way it’s typed.”

“It’s crazy. David won’t act on it, he’ll probably just tear it up.”

“That’s possible, dear. But he can be softened up by graphic photographs that I’ll provide 
to illustrate your … Shall we say ‘discomforts’?”

I pushed the paper and pens back across the desk. My heart was thudding for I could not 
tell just how severe her treatment of me might really become. So far I had been treated 
without force, only the threat of it. Meekly I said, “Please don’t be a bitch. I don’t want to be 
tortured and I don’t want to sign that letter. Please take me to my bank and let me free.”

Bree’s smile could sort of envelope a girl and make her feel everything was okay. But her 
words belied the smile. “Patricia, I think we have to get properly acquainted. I’m going to give 
you pain. Nothing serious but enough to get it established that I am serious. You may be a 
rich young heiress but remember your feet are chained and I can do anything I want with you.
You’ve seen the room we’re going to use. Come along.”

We did not go downstairs, but instead went up to what once may have been an attic but 
was now a bare room in which I was to be taught my lesson. First off my hands were tied 
again behind my back with vicious cord. Her knots were tight and secure and I immediately 
wrote off any ideas of getting my wrists untied. Next she sat me on the floor and tied my 
ankles below the leg irons. It was not until she pulled down a rope and a big hook from up 
above that I realized her purpose. The hook was slipped around my ankle bondage and a 
motor somewhere above hummed as my feet were pulled upward. A few moments later I was 
hanging neatly upside down.

Matter-offactly, as if dealing with a domestic chore, Bree examined my bonds and made 
certain my head was well above the rug even through my hair fell all the way to the floor in a 
cascade of curls. She completely paid no attentions to my protests and dire predictions of 
death if she left me like this too long. Instead I got my bottom patted and kissed before she 
went away. There had been no further mention of signing anything or of obedience.

Bree had just made it clear that this was simply a demonstration of a punishment, a 
punishment I must endure simply because she wanted me to know she was serious.

My ankles hurt and the upside down position was disorientating and uncomfortable. I 
moaned in misery and fought my bonds in furious futility.

I had never received this punishment before and it almost threw me for a loop. I could 
wiggled and jerk around to my heart’s content, and tug all I wanted to at bound wrists, but 
could do nothing to change the awful condition in which I had been left alone with a mind 
filled by stories I had heard of people who died from hanging upside down too long. In a 
terrible fear I wondered how “too long” might be. And whether it would be best to hang 
quietly or to struggle to bend myself so that my head wasn’t quite as far down.

After a while I tired and ceased to fight the punishment in a battle I could not win. It was 
horrible to hang like that. And it was frightening.

It was an hour before Bree returned. At least that’s what she told me it was. To me it had 
been an eternity of suffering. Playfully she spun me around and around, and once more paid 
no attention to my pleadings. She summed it up briefly, “Are you ready to write that letter 
now, dear?”

I knew myself close to breaking. But there was some Hastings biood still running in my 
veins and that made me say, with a strength I did not feel, “I can’t sign it, Bree. Please put me 
right side up again. Please give me a break.”

We did not argue, everything seemed well understood on both sides. But now my helpless 
arms above the elbows were circled by a strap which, when it was firmly buckled, welded my 
forearms from wrist to elbow. I was then lowered to the floor where I lay gasping and thankful
and humble enough to offer thanks. But this rest period did not last. I was yanked to my feet, 
my hair was grasp and once more, with the rope now cast aside, I took my metallic steps to 
where the cage stood in waiting. It was no surprise to anyone when the massive door was 
unlocked and I was thrust inside to immediately turn and stare beyond the bars at my new 
prison and the girl who held my key. “You’ll get no supper,” Bree said simply. “And I’ll leave 
you in this pretty little cage to enjoy a good night’s sleep … If you can!”

Bree made a big deal of locking the door, no doubt to impress upon me the condition of 
hopelessness. There was a rug on the floor and a couple of cushions but no where to really sit.
I would have to sleep upon the rug as best I could. It was at that moment of anguish that the 
strap around my elbow really began to hurt, along with my arms, and my stretched shoulders. 
That one lousy bit of leather was making me uncomfortable and told of torment to come. I sat
on the floor and leaned back against the bars. I shed tears I could not dry.

It was not yet night, the outdoor sunlight still filtered through the barred window to 
illuminate a room filled with promise of agony. I tried to struggle but that was hopeless and 
only added to the pain. I sat still in my tiny prison and did a lot of thinking.

I had not doubt that David and Inga would extract the story of my kidnap from Mavis. She 
was probably as angry at Bree as I and would seek revenge for whatever time she had been 
forced to spend with Sir Roger’s phallus firm within her sex. But I was forced to doubt her 
ability to tell of anything which might lead to my rescue. If she could tell them where Bree had
taken me, then Bree would not have left Mavis there to do the telling. I was sure this cottage 
and this torture room were a secret from Mavis. Perhaps I would never see Hastings or the 
Suffcliffs again. Once more the tears came to my eyes.

Thinking some more, I realized Bree faced the same problem all kidnappers faced, how to 
collect the ransom without being caught. Plan one would depend upon her willingness to 
place her trust in my anxiety for freedom. The ransom idea would most certainly take time and
in the end fail. A terrible fear began to form that plan three to sell me to the highest bidder 
was quite probably her easiest way out. Once more I shivered at the thought.

I had hoped that my belted elbows would become numb but the leather was broad and 
soft and its nagging pain was permanent. I was forced to try and sleep against the throb of 
constricted arms behind me and the pure helplessness. I shed more tears that night, and 
whether I slept or not I still do not know. Often a girl in pain will drift into sort of a 
semi-conscious which is somewhat restful. I think that’s what happened that first night in my 
new captivity. I returned to wakefulness quiet suddenly to find sunlight coming in the window 
and Bree standing there, looking down at me with a quiet smile of possession.

She was stark naked.

“Mavis tells me you performed a service for Mrs. Suffcliff and her. I don’t see why you 
shouldn’t perform it for me. I don’t see why I shouldn’t enjoy the full benefits of possession.”

I was too numb and too scared to argue. I allowed myself to be positioned on the pillow 
and then watched the patch of silky curls come closer and closer to my mouth as my new 
mistress sought the greatest advantage in what we were about to do. I had long known myself
a love slave and now went to work with a certain amount of pride in the skill of my tongue 
and loving contact of my lips. I gave it everything I had and was amply rewarded by the 
violence of my mistress’ response. At the end of the ancient act, we were both exhausted.

The strap was unbuckled my from elbows and my wrists returned to life as their cords were
tossed away. Once more I was free save for shackled feet. As I led by my hair to the bath, my 
spirits rose with a fresh hope for the day. The soapy bath was very nice. Bree chatted happily 
about her life as a buyer and seller of young woman, a profession in which she appeared to 
have made a great deal of money. I was almost chagrined to not be the first girl to be her 
merchandise. Undoubtedly I would be dealt with competently.

Breakfast was a joyous affair in which I clinked back and forth on the tile floor and was 
obedient to every command. For the meal itself I was made to wear handcuffs. “For the look 
of it, dear,” Bree assured me. “You are perfectly designed for chains or rope. And I suspect 
would like equally lovely beneath the whip. Are you ready for our visit to the bank?”

“You mean you’ll trust me!”

“Not entirely, dear. There is a little gimmick I’ve used on occasion. It won’t stop you 
running off but it will certainly make you wish you hadn’t. I call it the ‘Obedience Factor’.

It’s an electric jolt to a wire running from your pussy to your tit. It’s quite devastating.”

“You don’t need it.”

“I’m inclined to believe you, dear, but you’ll get a demonstration just the same. Just as last 
night n the cage you got a demonstration of how I mean to be obeyed. After you’ve had the 
one, you may never need another.”

I didn’t much care. The thought of walking into my own bank and withdrawing my own 
money as a prelude to total freedom engrossed my utterly. I would willingly have accepted a 
period of torture to make the dream come true. I was lavish in my thanks to this female.

We washed the breakfast things in a mood of gaiety before I was led to the main bedroom
of the cottage. I wondered if when night fell I might be allowed to share Bree’s bed instead of 
being locked in the cage. But then I realized that if our day went without a hitch, I would be a 
free girl in my own apartment and would never feel the bite of handcuffs again. I was happy, 
and even the thin bare wire which Bree taped from one lip of my pussy with the other end 
taped firmly to my left breasts did nothing to dampen my spirits. Until, that is, without 
warning she pressed a button on a small black box and I found myself screaming in agony, 
rolling on the floor, yet fearful of touching the wire. I was being taught one more lesson.

The anguish stopped as suddenly as it had come. Without comment, Bree provided me 
with clothes, beautifully expensive clothes and gorgeous shoes. The handcuffs were unlocked 
from my wrists. When I was attired and prettily perfumed, I was made to sit before the mirror 
while Bree did a quick repair job on my hair. She was good at it, and looking at the results, I 
knew myself truly the mistress of Hastings Castle once again. The only problem left was the 
metal joining my ankle but Bree produced a ring filled with small keys and tried one after the 
other until the metal band fell free and the lovely leg irons were set aside while I was told to 
learn to walk again by making a few circles of the room.

As I obeyed, it was as if walking on air. With a great yearning I longed to leap and run in a 
way denied me for so long, yet found myself looking at the shackled down there on the rug 
with some affection, as for an old friend. No doubt Bree would find some use for them.

My poor heart took another beating as we walked through the impressive portal of my 
bank. I could hear Bree’s breathing as I wrote out the withdrawal slip and passed it to the 
teller. But even my optimism was daunted by the look of shock on the teller’s features as he 
read the amount with evident disapproval. I had expected him to excuse himself to seek 
higher authority for such a big withdrawal so wasn’t surprised when he did. In surprisingly a 
short time a couple of policemen were taping Bree and I on shoulders and asking for 
credentials. I had absolutely nothing to prove identity and Bree was not much better off. So it 
was not long before we were asked to come along to the station.

I argued to no avail and the long-faced teller viewed our discomfort with obvious 
happiness. When the handcuff clicked upon my wrist, I’m sure the silly idiot saw a promotion 
only minutes ahead in his future. We were inserted into the back seat of a waiting car.

I will say at the station we were only briefly questioned before being ushered into what 
looked like a padded cell. Almost immediately a constable arrived with English tea and 
unlocked our handcuffs so there might be no delay of its enjoyment. “A rum go, this is.

Miss, and I do hope you’ve got some good explanations to the sergeant. At this moment 
he’s on the phone talking about you.”

He took the empty cups and out handcuffs when he went. I felt like beating down the 
locked door with my fists until I found someone with real authority to talk to.

“Why don’t you tell them the truth, dear, they have to believe you.” Bree was amazingly 
calm while I had visions of being stripped bare and hosed down by some stern matron before 
she sprayed disinfectant on my pubic hair. “They’ve got nothing on either of us, Patricia, pet. 
When they check out our references they will have to let us go. We may still have time to get 
to the bank.”

It came out exactly as Bree said. There were official apologies and more cups of tea. We 
were even driven back to the bank where the manager came to me with open arms to the 
utter disgust of the teller who had thought himself on his way to promotion. I handed Bree 
the massive wad of notes and we stood there looking at each other in an embarrassed way 
until she laughed. “Don’t forget to take off that wire when you get home, dear. Until you do 
you must remember I only have to press a button and you’ll come running. But you’ve kept 
your part of the bargain and I’ll let you go. This isn’t holding your for ransom, you know, you 
simply purchased your freedom. Go and enjoy it.”

Shyly we kissed and then I watched the strangest of all kidnappers walk away with my 
hundred thousand dollars in her purse. I will never know if she pressed the button by accident 
or on purpose, but suddenly, for a fraction of a second, the awful agony gripped me once 
again but vanished before more than a gasp could come out of my mouth.

I hurried to the closest washroom to rid myself of the wicked wire taped to my breast and 
puss. Walking on air, I then went home.

Everything was exactly as when I left and I enjoyed the comfort of my armchair before the 
fire. But after that came loneliness. I missed the shackled on my feet and the handcuffs on my 
wrists. And above all I missed Inga, and to a lessor degree mourned the departure of Bree. I 
wondered if I would ever dare visit her in the little cottage on the marsh. There were friends I 
could have called but I hesitated to drop in on them unannounced after such a passage of 
time. I fell back on something I really didn’t think I should do. I called Mavis.

She replied typically. “You should be kidnapped, Patricia. What are you doing running 
around loose?”

I told her what there was to tell, it was surprisingly simple and I knew she listened in 
disbelief. But we agreed to meet at our favorite restaurant and catch up on our adventures. I 
had a bone to pick with Mavis but time heals everything and my mood was benign as I sipped
my cocktail while waiting in the lounge. I took her greeting when she came in stride. “I think 
you were absolutely horrid, Patricia, not to help me when that awful woman fastened me to 
that statue. I was there all afternoon and must have gotten at least a quart of his terrible stuff 
inside me. I thought I would drown.” She sniffed. “And then you just went away and left me 
alone.”

I noticed that her eyes got a far away look when she talked about Sir Roger and her 
afternoon astride his prong. And a very faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“Hadn’t you noticed my hands were tied and my ankles shackled?” I retorted quietly.

“There was little I could do about the whole thing.”

“Well, surely you could have done something. I spent the most horrible afternoon of my 
life. And do you know what Inga did when she came and found me there? She whipped my 
bottom. Thanks, I’ll have a vodka martini.”

“Serves you right,” I said. “Try to think back to all the awful things you do to me. Some of 
them were torture. Like standing all night cruelly bound to that bedpost?”

Mavis was unshaken. She simply sniffed and told me huffily it was all my fault because I 
was a rich bitch and these sort of things happen to our kind. And she hoped I was paying for 
dinner as she didn’t have any money with her.

We all have a Mavis in our life and I suppose we put up with them because of the 
entertainment they provide. I dropped the past and sought to satisfy my curiosity about 
something more immediate. “I’m surprised Inga let you go,” I told her thoughtfully. “I 
expected her to keep you instead of me. I’d been stolen away and if she’d dumped you in her 
dungeon, it would have simply been a fair exchange. Why didn’t she?”

“How should I know?” Mavis said. “Maybe she doesn’t like me as much as she likes you.

But she did make me a proposition.”

“Yes?”

“It’s too absurd, really. She likes having a girl around. And since the job I was doing in 
town doesn’t pay much, she was wondering if I would like to take your place. I would be a 
prisoner. There would be no hope of getting away, and I would punished whenever she 
wanted to. That woman is nuts!”

“Did she offer to pay?”

“Yes, she did. The money was to be put in an account of my choosing, and I’d be allowed 
to see the account book every so often to see how rich I was getting.” Mavis gave a Mavis 
sniff. “I was tempted.”

“You think you could take it as well as handing it out?”

“I was thinking about that all afternoon as I stood there with that ancient bastard’s prong 
inside me. If you can control yourself so you don’t get scared, there’s a real thrill there.

Even when she was whipping my bottom, I was getting all wet inside. I never did 
understand why you were always trying to escape.”

“Now I’m a free girl, I could use a slavegirl myself,” I said jauntily without meaning it.

“Would you like the job? I promise I’d only whip you once a week.”

Her reply was instant, “How much would you pay?”

“You mean you’d consider something so terrible?”

“Why not? I’m fed up with my lousy job and its lousy pay. You’ve been a rich girl all your 
life and you don’t know what it’s like to be poor. I’m beginning to wonder if I should have said
yes to Inga.”

“You prefer Inga to me?” I asked.

“Yes. Inga’s so beautifully professional. I couldn’t take you seriously. We’d probably argue 
all the time except when you’re hurting me to make me behave. No, thanks, darling. I’ll take 
Inga.”

She looked at me pathetically and placed a hand on my arm. “Patricia, dear, you’ve simply 
no idea what it’s like not to have money.”

Mavis had cured my loneliness and given me something to think about. The next day, 
realizing I ran no risk, I called my castle and asked for Inga. When she came on the line, I 
found myself angered by her casual approach. “I’m sure you’re enjoying your freedom,”

she said with a trace of mockery. “When are you coming back?”

“When I come back it will be as owner of the place,” I said promptly. “I’m going to see your
husband in his office today but I fully expect I’ll have to employ another lawyer to fully protect
my interests. But don’t let that worry you, I’m still in love with you both. Maybe I’m nuts, but 
that’s the way of it.”

“You’re so sweet. David and I have confidence you’ll do the right thing. David has been so 
consciousness in looking after your estate. I’m sure you like the way he’s handled it for you. By
the way, have you seen anything of your girlfriend, Mavis?”

“We had supper last night. Why do you ask?”

“Well, at the moment, I’ve got the dear girl delightfully chained in the dungeon downstairs.

She wants me to keep her prisoner instead of you. What do you think of that?”

It was not as much of a shock as it might have been. I had sampled loneliness and could 
guess at Mavis’ desire for something beyond a mundane job. But thoughts of that dungeon at
Hastings made me shiver. “Why did you have to chain her down there?” I demanded. 
“Couldn’t you have started off with something easier?”

“She asked for it, Patricia. She’s in a mood for it. I’m sure it will pass and she’ll want to go 
home someday. But for now, she’s a happy prisoner. Why don’t you come home and we’ll take
turns whipping her bottom?”

“You know why I won’t go back, I simply wouldn’t be safe. You’d have me in irons or tied 
up in no time flat.”

“So what? You know you loved it.”

I could never argue with Inga, she knew my weaknesses all too well. Hearing of Mavis in 
the dungeon was a bit of a shock but I wrote it off as doing her a world of good. And I had to 
admit to a longing to accept Inga’s invitation to whip darling Mavis’ bottom.

And I could kick myself for closing our phone conversations in a friendly mood, and then 
going to visit David in his office. Good gosh! To think I used to sleep with him.





CHAPTER EIGHT - Lovely Leg Irons


David cannot be shook. It did not seem to bother nor surprise him one bit to see me walk into
his office, completely free and dressed. As I looked into his eyes, I wondered if he knew that I 
serviced his wife when he wasn’t looking. But I wasn’t going to talk about that.

After our greetings I simply asked, “What do I have to do, David, to be free?”

“It seems to me that a little while ago I explained to you how you would be free in six 
month’s time. Isn’t that good enough?”

“David, don’t be stuffy. By accident I’ve managed to get myself free so I could walk around
town and even visit you like this. I haven’t been handcuffed for almost twenty-four hours.

But what I want is to be completely and truly free to do as I wish with myself and my 
property. And to know that you or Inga will not have some pull a bag over my head and drag 
me back to the dungeon.” I raised my voice for emphasis. ‘Tell me what I have to do!”

At least I made him smile. And with the smile all the old tenderness returned. I had 
forgotten this man had once whipped me and now wished to make me prisoner again. I said, 
“For goodness sake, isn’t there some sort of conflict of interest here between us?”

“None.” His tone was quiet as to be almost frightening.

“That can’t possibly be true. David, help me.”

“Go back to Inga at the castle and pick up where you left off. That’s the simplest solution.

Remember, SW, I’m still the executor of your estate.”

“You mean I can’t fire you and get someone else?”

David shrugged. “I don’t believe you could, not legally. And if you did get a new man in to 
look after things, he’d be in such a dither of not knowing what to do, it would take more than 
six months to get him on the right track. But by then you’d be free.”

“I’m free now.”

“Yes, but you’re worrying, don’t tell me you’re not. I’ll bet you’re scared to go back to 
Hastings even though you own the place.”

“That’s because Inga is there. I absolutely get the best of her. She’s have me tied up or 
chained up in no time. David, this is a hell of a fix for a girl to be in.”

He came around the desk and gathered me up into his arms to comfort me like a child 
and to leave me viewing him as a cross between a lover and a lawyer. I remembered the 
happy days when I had him as a lover in bed. His voice was, as always, entirely reasonable. 
“What you need, Patricia, is a descent holiday. Just mooning around the city buying things is 
not what I mean. You should got at Monte Carlo or Florida. Get out in the sun. Will help you 
get a grip on your life.”

“And when I come back, what then?”

David resumed his seat and shrugged. “Patricia, my dear, I am not going to forgive you 
those six months. There’s really no reason why I should. Inga wants to keep you indefinitely 
because she’s in love with you. But I don’t stand for that. Finish your sentence at Hastings and 
then you’re as free as the wind. And by that time I will have increased your wealth to an even 
greater figure than it now is. You’re really a very lucky girl.”

I didn’t think of myself as lucky, I felt bewildered. And from that bewilderment made a 
suggestion I would later regret. “So, okay, I go traveling. But who should I go with? No one 
wants to travel alone to strange places, especially a girl. Look, I know this may be crazy but 
Mavis and I used to be happy together. We used to have some fun. Phone Inga to get her out 
of that dungeon and send her back to London. We can try to pick up the pieces if that girl 
isn’t too ridiculous. I suspect all these disappearances have already lost the job she had. And 
one of the motives in taking that job at Hastings is she’s simply broke. Will you do that?”

David picked up the phone, and dealt with Inga’s protests with his usual quiet 
competence. When he replaced the receiver she said, reassuringly as if speaking to a child, 
“You’ve got your wish, Patricia. That ridiculous female will be back in town inside two or three 
hours. Good luck with her. I wouldn’t want her myself but there’s no accounting for tastes.”

David always left me feeling good, and I walked out of his huge office feeling sorry those 
poor girls working away at word processors and other boring jobs. I thought of what a fool I 
was not to have married David when I had the chance. Now I had to meet him on equal terms 
as today. But at Hastings there’s Inga in between.

I took long and wonderful strides back to my apartment. I still found it hard to believe my 
feet were free.

When Mavis showed up I could tell she was still uncertain whether to show gratitude or 
anger. The fust thing she said was typical, “So you’re not the grand lady with a vast estate, 
Patricia.” She sniffed disdainfully. “You needn’t think you can push me around as if I were hired
help. Gosh, I wish I had all your money.”

“I thought you would be glad to be back with me but you don’t sound like it.”

“I don’t mind admitting begin glad to be out of that terrible dungeon,” she conceded.

“Gosh, one night in there with all those chains weighing me down and having to sleep on 
that hard wood bench was a bit much. And when I knew I was safely coming back to town, I 
gave Inga a piece of my mind. She didn’t need to shove me in that dismal hole right off the 
bat. It wouldn’t have hurt her to let me have a getting acquainted period with just those leg 
irons and maybe handcuffs. Like she used to keep you. I understand you want to go on a 
trip?”

“I thought Monte Carlo would cheer us up.”

“Well, if you’re paying all the bills … Are you planning to take handcuffs and a whip and 
things like that?”

“I hadn’t thought about that. We are suppose to be having a holiday. There’s handcuffs in 
the dresser draw but I’m not taking them. And don’t you take them, either. I’m sick of being a 
prisoner and I’m sure you’d get sick of it, too.”

We spent the rest of the day in a riot of shopping and got ourselves back to where we 
used to be and were enjoying each other by dinner time at our favorite restaurant. Mavis even
forgot to continually make reference to my money and her poverty, a fact which I found 
encouraging. By bedtime came around, there was only a very minor hitch. “Are we both going 
to use the same bed and sleep naked?” Mavis inquired.

“Of course, we always did, didn’t we? Why not? Why the question?”

Mavis had the grace to blush. After a bit of hesitation, she offered, “Well, if we’re both 
naked I wondered if you’d like to do for me what you’ve always done for Inga. I wish you 
would.”

“You’re not Inga. Every girl is an acquired taste. We can talk about it tomorrow. I’m tired.”

“I don’t see why you can’t talk about it tonight. I feel sort of horny after everything that’s 
happened. And I’d be ever so grateful.”

“Nobody ever thinks about me,” I retorted testily. “Why don’t you do it for me for a 
change?

I’ve got a pretty pussy down there the same as you.”

“Oh, all right then, we can talk about it tomorrow as you want,” Mavis said with just a hint 
of anger. “But you’re not going to turn me into some sort of love slave whenever it suits your 
fancy. I’m tired too, let’s go to bed.”

It felt so good to be free and in my own bed. Mavis put her arm around me and snuggled 
close the way we always used to do. I slept like a log, and when I woke up late the next 
morning, there was good old Mavis already dressed and sitting on the bed looking at me.

Sleepily I said, “Hello, Mavis. I haven’t slept like that for ages.” I sat up, bright and cheerful 
for the new day and instantly discovered something wrong.

My wrists were tightly handcuffed behind my back! It took a few moments for the truth to 
sink in. I made the usual few tugs but the cuffs were locked on me tight, tight, tight. Quite 
simply I stated the obvious, “If this is a joke, let’s quite right now. I don’t ever want to see a 
pair of handcuffs again.”

“But you’re wearing a pair right now, dear. And I’m not going to take them off. I’ve 
decided to hold you for ransom. It seems an easy thing to do and pays well.”

I sighed, not yet fully realizing the depths of this new disaster. I looked at the girl who held
me prisoner now and said, in a still hopeful tone, “I think you’re teasing. Can’t we go and 
make breakfast now?”

“You’re going to make breakfast, Patricia, dear, I’m not. You’re the hostess so it’s your job.”

“Well then give me back my hands.”

“You’ve got all the freedom you need to do a simply job like that, darling. I may help you 
wash the dishes but that’s all. We’re going to have a real fun day.”

Mavis was playing with me but there was nothing I could do about it. Since she found the 
handcuffs, she would have found the key with them so there was no chance I could sneak 
away and get free. I realized far too late that Mavis was more sneaky and deeper than I had 
thought. This was probably going to be a dismal captivity.

“So you want ransom? How much?” I inquired.

Mavis pretended to think and came up with, “Well, you gave that other woman a hundred 
thousand dollars American for your freedom. That’s sounds about right.” I took what seemed 
to me a wonderful opening. “So, all right, you’ve got me. If that much money will make you 
happy and satisfied, then you and I can go to the bank and I’ll make the withdrawal. I certainly
can’t go in there naked and handcuffed. It’s me who will walk in there because you’re going to
give me a check. I may even open an account there.

Where’s your check book?”

“I don’t have one. The arrangement with that account is for personal withdrawals only. It’s 
not a checking account. Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I don’t, Patricia, dear. You’ve just tried to trick me. If I’d fallen for it you’d 
probably have me in jail. I’m quite certain that once you have those cuffs off and are dressed, 
you’d change your mind and kick me out. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.”

It had been worth a try. So now to give myself time to think, I obediently went to the 
kitchen and did all the things people suppose a girl couldn’t do with her hands cuffed behind 
her back. It’s actually far easier than you think. It wasn’t long before the coffee was perking 
and the toast popping up. I even managed to spread the butter. After all I had a lot of 
experience.

Mavis was impressed. Suspiciously she examined the handcuffs on my wrists to make sure 
I hadn’t been able to get them off. Anyway she had the decency to feed me the toast and hold
the coffee to my lips. And when breakfast was done she sprang me the proposition I’d been 
fearing. “I don’t know how Bree got away with letting you walk into the bank. But I’m scared 
of trying that, it’s too risky. I’m thinking I may phone Inga and find out what she’ll pay if I 
deliver you back to Hastings. I think it’s a wonderful idea. Do you see any flaws?”

There were no flaws to see. Inga would accept the deal like a shot and I’d end up by being 
once more the Girl in the Iron Shackles. I could almost feel Inga whipping my bottom later on 
today. With a tremendous effort I turned on all the charm I could muster. “Please don’t take 
me back to Hastings, Mavis, dear,” I said in the sweetest voice I could manager. “I remember 
once you said something about keeping me your own prisoner. Why don’t you still do that? 
I’ll be obedient.”

“You’re putting me on,” Mavis said firmly. “And anyway that wouldn’t give me any money.

And I do want money. Inga always seems to have money, so there won’t be any problem 
there. And you won’t be any worse off than you were before.”

Desperately I tried another tack. “You don’t have to phone long distance to the castle,” I 
pointed out reasonable. “David is here in his office. He can give you the money and take me 
down with him after work tonight. It’s your best bet.”

“I’m not buying it,” Mavis sneered. “I know you and men, you’re the loveliest girl I’ve ever 
seen and David is likely to give in to you. He’d let you be running around in no time.”

“He’s never given me freedom before,” I told her. “Why, way back at the start he even 
whipped me when I was bare naked.”

“I’m sure you deserved it.”

I knew I was sunk either way. I would have preferred David to take me back to prison 
rather than to be tied up too tight in a car with this creature I’d been too trusting with. With 
handcuffs clutching my wrists, I was defeated. I might as well go back to where I was before 
and make the best of it. “All right, go ahead and make your phone calls,” I said dismally. “I 
hope they both refuse to pay you a cent. I’ll just sit here and wait.”

“I think I’d better make sure of you, darling,” said Mavis as she produced a length of rope 
which she used to tie each of my bare arms to the back of the chair on which I sat. It was a 
make-shift bondage job but I knew I couldn’t get out. She kissed me as she left but I didn’t 
respond. I wasn’t too happy with her.

Dear Mavis departed in search of a phone, leaving me naked and helpless in that damned 
chair cursing the bits of rope with which my arms were tied. I knew for certain that if it had 
been possible for me to stand and walk, I would have run out in the street just the way I was 
to look for help. I was sick to death of being everybody’s prisoner and having nothing to say 
about it. I reflected moodily about the punishments Inga was certain to inflict, and the only 
bright spot was being owned by her again and the fun we had in bed. After quite a lone time 
my captor bounced back, loaded with exuberance.

“I didn’t bother with David,” she told me. “And I’m so glad I called Inga because she’s 
overjoyed to have you back. And she’s going to pay me lots and lots of money when I deliver 
you, nicely bound and nicely naked, and probably looking as sulky as you do right now. Aren’t
you the least bit grateful?”

“You know I’m not. Can’t you understand what a heart break this is for me, to have been 
free for one glorious day and now you’re taking me back to prison. You surely don’t expect 
me to be happy.”

“You’re terribly hard to please, Patricia. I do my best but get no thanks. It will serve you 
right if Inga whips you after we arrive. In fact, I think I’ll ask her for the privilege of whipping 
you myself. You can wiggled most delightfully and make the most wonderful sounds.

“Well, there’s nothing to hold us here, so let’s get going.”

Mavis had found where I kept some rope and wound it around my elbows several times 
and drew it tight to make me squeal and tell her she didn’t need to be so mean. In fact, she 
didn’t need the rope at all, having me handcuffed would be enough for anyone. But, of 
course, these pleadings didn’t mean a thing. I got my elbows tied good and tight. And after 
she’d done that and gotten me in the front seat of the car, she tied my ankles. And she tied 
them good and tight too, more tightly than she needed to. She locked all the doors of my flat 
and pocketed the key. Then she drove my car out of my garage in triumph. She told me that 
the only reason I wasn’t gagged was because she didn’t want people to see it as we drove by. 
And, anyway, she wanted someone to talk to on the way down. Then, when we’d gotten 
through the worst of the traffic, she turned sweet and a little regretfully.

“I expect I am a bit of a bitch, dear. But I do need the money so bad so I do hope you’ll 
understand and forgive me.”

The olive branch was scarcely worth reaching out for. I told her in a few well-chosen words
what I thought of the whole deal. She ignored that outburst as if I had said something in poor
taste. Then she prodded at me in that sweet and silky voice, “Well, anyway, Patricia, I do hope 
you’re hurting nicely the way I have you fixed. Tell me how you feel.”

“I wish it were you like this instead of me. That’s how I feel. Look, there’s still time to turn 
this car around and take us both back and make a fresh start. I know I shouldn’t have anything
to do with you again but I’m willing to give it a fresh start if you’re willing to be sensible. I’ll 
get you lots of money without you having to send me back to prison.”

We kicked it back and forth. Her damned ropes hurt me more and more, and we got 
further away from where I wanted to be. When we came within sight of Hastings Castle I gave 
a quite involuntary moan of disgust or despair, or maybe simply fear. But Mavis crowed with 
delight and said for the fifteenth time how pleased Inga was going to be to see us. On that we
agreed.

My greeting was everything a roped girl could hope to find -a pair of loving lips and a pair
of feminine arms which hugged me half to death while their owner whispered in my ear, “I’m 
so glad, Patricia, dear. It’s all for the best, you know it is. You’re better off here with me at 
Hastings than anything else you could do or anywhere else you could go. Try and cheer up a 
bit and not look so sulky.”

It gets to me every time. I can’t resist Inga so I wiped the sadness from my features and 
asked hopefully if she would mind untying the rope from around my ankles and the other one
from my elbows. She replied that she wouldn’t do it right now because I looked far too sweet 
the way I was, and she could tell could tell it was hurting nicely, and what a fine job Mavis had 
done tying me up. I let it pass. I was an experienced prisoner and knew when to keep silent. 
With strong fingers clutching me on either side, I was swiftly aided to hop, one jump at a time,
all the way to the room of punishments. By the time we got there I was hurting like crazy but 
was told to stand where I was in the middle of the floor because I was soon going to be 
whipped for being such a naughty girl. I was instantly furiously angry and pointed out that I 
had been kidnapped and hadn’t run away. Certainly I didn’t deserve to be whipped.

“But, darling, when your kidnapper got all that money and released you, the thing to do 
would have been to come right here and give yourself up. Or, when you saw David, arrange 
with him to come here for your punishment.” Inga’s voice was make-believe sad.

“You should never have gone running around as if you were free. And then on top of that 
asking for Mavis to come and keep you company. Really, dear, I’m ashamed of you. I think 
that about thirty strokes should look after this matter quite nicely.”

I was about to become intensely verbal when I realized there was an undercurrent of 
intent not yet disclosed. In wild and glorious hope I wondered if Mavis had been so clever 
after all. Dutifully I kept silent while my mistress busied herself doing a lot of things that didn’t
need doing. Casually she tossed Mavis a pair of handcuffs. “Mavis, dear, would you try these 
on your ankles? I think there’s something wrong with them. See if you can make them work.” 
She continued fussing with unimportant things. She did not even look at Mavis, but my own 
heart stood still as I watched my traitorous girlfriend walk into the trap.

Anxious to he helpful and prove superiority, she fumbled with the steel bracelets to prove 
graphically Inga had been wrong in saying the bracelets were faulty. Flushed with pleasure at 
proving Inga wrong, she stood up and uttered, ‘They work okay, Inga. But I can only get them 
passed the first click. Do you want me to try and get them tighter?”

Inga’s movements were those of a panther. Before she could utter a word more, Mavis was
flat on her face on the floor with Inga kneeling on her back and tying crossed wrists with some
of the cords and ropes so plentifully strewn about the floor. It was not until my mistress rose 
to her feet that Mavis became truly vocal. “What on earth are you doing,”

she demanded. “You’ve got me fixed so I can’t do anything. Inga, this is no joke! Get me 
loose.”

I felt like singing joyously. I didn’t care how much I was hurting because Mavis was hurting,
too. At that moment I became once more Inga’s adoring slave. Once more, bright-eyed and 
bushy tailed, I watched with an almost reverent joy as she told Mavis, “You haven’t been too 
smart about this, dear. When David told me to release you and send you back into town, I 
almost refused. But it was easy to figure exactly what you would do. You would bring Patricia 
back to me and deliver yourself as well. If you weren’t such an unkind bitch, I’d feel grateful. 
Anyway, I’m going to stand you up on your feet just the way Patricia is, and I’ll let you watch 
her being punished before I get around to you. Believe me, Mavis, you are going to be dealt 
with.

I simply couldn’t feel sorry about Mavis as I watched her dragged up to stand on ankles 
joined by handcuffs. When she was standing uncertainly in her new condition, she squealed 
and said her ankles were hurting. Without a word, Inga bent and clicked both ankles one 
notch tighter to evoke further sounds of anguish which I could almost share because full well 
how much pain can be generated by tightly handcuffed ankles when you stand on them. It 
comes from the swell of the tendons as they do their job. But Mavis was not concerned with 
cause, only with effect. “I can’t possibly stand it,” she declared dramatically. “I’m going to fall 
and hurt myself. You’re being terribly unkind.”

My mistress didn’t bother to answer as she pulled down a rope from above and looped it 
in a pretty circlet around Mavis’ neck. “This will help you to stand up straight. I like those 
handcuffs on your ankles. They’re so much better than leg irons. Much shorter chain.”

“They’re awful. They’re hurting me terribly.” Mavis tried to stamp her foot in outrage but 
achieved only a metallic reminder how tightly her ankles were locked by those handcuffs.

She came close to falling and that frightened her enough to silence her wails.

The joys and sorrows of a girl prisoner change rapidly. My feeling of triumph over Mavis’

discomfort was abruptly curtailed by Inga’s hand in my hair and her invitation to hop over 
to where I was to be given the thirty inflictions I did not want. Concern over what I was going 
to get was happily diminished by Mavis’ comeuppance. But Inga’s voice didn’t hold too much 
sympathy, “I’ll steer you to where it will happen. Do your hoppity-hop one more time.”

It was not difficult to figure out what the damn thing was, a post rising from the floor and 
a short cross-piece at it’s top. The whole thing might have been thirty inches high. My bottom
crawled and tingled at the sight of it, especially since just above the floor level another 
cross-piece stuck out to either side with an iron circlet open in invitation. “It’s a neat little trick 
I haven’t used on your before.” Inga released my hair and patted my bottom in what I 
assumed was sympathy for things to come. “It’s about time I put it to use, Patricia, and this is a
wonderful opportunity. I’ll untie your feet.”

It was wonderful to get rid of Mavis’ rope but my poor ankles were not free for long. My 
pussy was pushed hard against the post, and I was told to position my feet within the iron 
circlets which felt as if they had a life of their own. When Inga flipped the circles shut upon my
ankles, there remained a screw device which she happily turned and turned until I squealed at 
the pain of their bite. Once more I knew the feeling of being helpless. And I knew what was 
coming, so when Inga unlocked Mavis’ handcuffs from my wrists, I automatically moved them 
from back to front and watch without enthusiasm as my mistress bound them tight. Without 
being asked, I bent over as though to touch the floor on the other side, thus thrusting my 
pussy hard down upon the short cross-piece of the post. The most prominent thing in my 
view was now the ring in the floor through which Inga threaded what was left of the rope by 
which my wrists were tied. And then laughing she tugged and tugged while, at the same time, 
placing a hand within my open crotch to raise and thrust me forward to gain every inch of 
advantage. When she made her final knot I was stretched over that damned post as taut and 
tight as a bowstring. And when she slapped my wickedly exposed bottom, I got a taste of 
things to come.

My wrists were hurting and so were my loins, but for a girl about to be whipped these 
were minor considerations. “You don’t really have to do this, Inga,” I said dolefully. “I wish 
you’d forget it. Please don’t whip me.”

I got no answer. So, even though I was shockingly bent, I gazed apprehensively from side 
to side. The first thing I saw was good, old Mavis and I know it’s crazy but I felt sorry for her, 
she looked so forlorn, tied up the way she was. And with her neck noosed by the rope, which I
could see was scaring her to death, and with Inga now standing close enough to touch. The 
silly creature probably felt fate was being unkind. When my mistress reached up to clutch 
Mavis’ dress, the poor girl burst into another set of vocals. “What are you going to do? Leave 
me dress alone! Let me loose.”

“I’m just going to strip you naked, dear,” said Inga sweetly. “Just stand still. And don’t 
bother to tell me about how your clothes will tear because it doesn’t matter -you’re not going 
to need clothes anymore. For maybe years and years … I like to keep my slavegirls naked.”

“You mustn’t! You can’t! I’ll call the police and have you put in jail.”

“Don’t be silly. You talk the most awful nonsense. I can do what I like with you and you 
know it.” Inga was carefully and slowly removing her prisoner’s cherished covering. “It isn’t 
long, you silly idiot, since you wanted to sell yourself into slavery just to get money. And look 
at the way you delivered your best friend into bondage by playing a cruel trick. I promised you
payment for her when we spoke on the phone but it’s a promise I’m not going to keep. I’ll 
soon have you bare as well as broke. Stand still if you don’t want to hang yourself.”

Mavis stood still and for once had nothing to say as her dress was tore to shreds, to be 
followed by everything else she wore, including’ a pair of shoes. The things made a pathetic 
little pile upon the floor and Mavis looked down at them in tearful longing. “You can’t possibly
do the things you said, and I’m not going to believe a single word.”

“I don’t mind what you think. But I will say, you do have a pretty pair of breasts, and a nice 
body. I really do adore naked girls. You can now watch me use several cute instruments on 
dear Patricia’s bottom. Make sure you don’t fall over.”

I was resigned and made no complaints, not even when Inga showed me the riding crop 
and length of yellow cane by which to mark my skin. I shed a tear of self-pity and watched it 
splash down upon the rug. I was then made to kiss both instruments of my correction as 
though I loved them dearly. A moment later my bottom exploded with intense pain. All I 
thought of from then on was the awful count as my curves took awful cut after awful cut in 
fairly rapid succession as Inga moved from side to side to make sure each of my bottom 
cheeks got its fair share of punishment. She soon had me wailing and struggling furiously 
against bonds on which I made not the slightest impression. I got what relief I could by 
tossing my hair from side to side while my bottom remained immobile. The force of every 
blow resulted in a pounding punishment of my puss which was carefully placed on the 
cross-piece edge. If I thought of anything at all, it was to debate whether it was the crop or 
the cane which hurt me the most.

Even thought the blows came fairly fast for a whipping, it was a long, long time before the 
half way point was reached. There my mistress stopped the punishment to make me gasp by 
amusing herself with bruised skin and fingering the weals where ever one had fallen on 
another. There was enough of them to keep her occupied during intermission so that my 
moans did not cease, sometimes even turned to squeals of pain as she touched an extra 
sensitive point. Between times I looked sideways to behold Mavis watching my pain with a 
strange mixture of pleasure in what she saw me getting and concern over what would soon be
happening to her. But then the whining and slash began again to make me fight that horrid 
little post with everything I had. The cane and the crop cut at me relentlessly.

I will frankly admit to pleasure when it came to Mavis’ turn. My mistress released me from 
that beastly little post, clipped my right wrist with a handcuff and snapped the other end of it 
to a ring in the wall so I had to stand there with one arm raised to the wall. I was almost 
entirely free to watch my girlfriend get her just desserts. For a little while I forgot my scolded 
seat as Mavis complained loud and long, and put up a huge struggle which was quite useless 
against Inga’s strength and skill. Soon she was securely fastened and neatly adjusted with her 
bottom nicely stretched and ready for the cane. It is not much use repeating all her complaints
nor her threats. I’d heard them all before. Seeing me in relative freedom, she snorted, “That’s 
right, stand there and watch and enjoy while I’m tortured. I always knew you were selfish and 
unkind. It’s your fault I’m in this fix.” Her voice was close to tears.

“But I haven’t done anything. And it’s your fault that we’re both here,” I pointed out as 
reasonably as I could. But any further discussion was terminated by Inga’s riding crop slicing 
neatly across the twin rounds of Mavis’ rump, and Mavis’ cry of anguish against an unjust 
world. By the time she had received half her strokes, I was so horny that my free hand was 
playing with my sex and I didn’t care who saw me. I knew that I would be punished if I was 
caught but I didn’t care. A girl prisoner was not allowed to play with herself unless her 
mistress gave permission. And Inga had made it known to me that she would enforce that 
rule.

Each angry squeal sent tingles of excitement shooting through my pussy. The burning of 
my bottom added its own fuel to the fire in my loins. My free fingers were teasing my clit and 
stroking it. It felt so good that I was almost moaning with pleasure.

Mavis seemed truly convinced she was being harshly dealt with and inserted, between 
cries of pain, her assertion that a young lady of her social status should not be put to such 
demeaning torture. I could have laughed out loud!

I don’t think Inga got a lot of satisfaction out of whipping Mavis’ bottom. I think she really 
believed Mavis had it coming and it was her job to deliver. She certainly did a good job and I 
found myself wincing with every stroke. Then, when the punishment was done, and Mavis 
unfastened, but sobbing dismally, the whipped girl was hustled swiftly from the room with 
Inga clutching a handful of hair. I felt pleasantly happy that Inga had not noticed how I had 
fingered myself to a climax as the last two strokes, extra hard ones, slashed Mavis’ sore 
bottom. She had been too busy untying Mavis and controlling the sobbing girl to bother 
looking over at her other prisoner. With a little luck, I would be over the signs of climax by the 
time she came back.

It was a minute later that I realized that I had been pressing my slashed and sore bottom 
against the rough stones of the wall as I had worked myself up to the climax. The additional 
pain in my bottom somehow added to that of Mavis, and together they brought me to an 
explosive orgasm. I had all I could do to hold in the gasps and little screams of pleasure, least 
Inga hear them.

“That girl’s a pain in the neck,” my mistress said upon her return. “I suppose you know 
what I’ve done with her? She’s in the dungeon with every bit of chain I could get on her.

When I left she was sort of making a speech about how unkind life was to girls who were 
only trying to do their duty as they saw it. She’s probably still talking yet.”

“I could tell you enjoyed watching her get her medicine,” she said to me with a smile. Did 
she know I had fingered myself to an orgasm? “We can forget Mavis for now,” she continued. 
“I may leave her in the dungeon the rest of the week. But meantime you and I will have some 
fun. I’ve all kind of things to do to you. Right now you’re all hot and bothered, aren’t you? I 
can tell without even feeling your pussy. Well, this one time you have my permission to play 
with yourself. Get a proper climax so you can feel good. But remember, dear, it’s only for just 
this once.”

Inga was always so kind to me!

“I’ll be watching and expect a good performance,” she added as she pulled up a chair.

I didn’t know if she was really being kind or if she had seen me out of the corner of her eye
and knew that I had just reached a climax. Unfortunately she did not get her good 
performance. I played with my clit but my body wasn’t quite ready yet to work itself up to 
another climax. After a while I admitted woefully, “It’s no good, Inga, dear. With you watching 
I just can’t. And, besides, I’m too well trained not to.” I looked her right in the eye as I lied, 
hoping to make it sound as honest and sincere as I could.

My mistress laughed. “Well, I know you were excited by watching Mavis’ punishment.

Don’t deny it.” I didn’t. “And it “would be a shame to waste that. So, for this one time, I’m 
going to pleasure you. Goodness knows you’ve pleasured me enough. I owe you one.”

I stood there naked with one wrist chained to the wall as Inga pulled her chair up to me. I 
had thought that I was skilled at pleasuring another girl but my mistress quickly showed me 
that she knew more tricks than I had ever learned. And apparently my body wasn’t all that 
exhausted for it responded to talented tongue of my mistress. I was soon wiggling and 
arching my body to push my pussy hard against her mouth, with many small moans of 
extreme pleasure. She pushed her head between my legs and drowned me in pure ecstasy. I 
heard myself cry out but did not know what I said. The explosion was almost as intense as the 
one I had myself created minutes before.

It was a long time before I returned to earth, panting and sweating.

My handcuff was unlocked and joined to my once free hand. I was hugged and kissed and 
we laughed together. We then went upstairs for coffee.

“Don’t tell me you’re not glad to be back,” Inga chuckled as she filled our cups. “Come on, 
tell me the truth.”

“You never answered my awkward questions, so I won’t answer yours,” I answered 
mischievously.

“You don’t have to, you’re positively radiating happiness. It just shows how right I was to 
give you a good, honest whipping as a welcome home. It erases all the things you were going 
to protest about. Does your bottom hurt?”

“Only when I sit on it.”

“Well, then, come and kneel beside me. We’ll have tea. Those handcuffs won’t stop you 
holding your cup. When I look at you handcuffed, it puckers my puss. I adore you, Patricia.”

Everything fit into place and it was all so wonderful. My lost freedom was forgotten 
beneath the magic of this woman who held me enthralled whether I was chained or not. At 
that moment I wanted only to be her slavegirl always. ‘Tell me some of the things you want to 
do with me,” I said demurely. “And please don’t let Sir Roger have his way with me again.”

“I think you liked that too, only you won’t admit it. Gosh, you should have heard Mavis 
complain when we found you gone and her sitting on Sir Roger’s shaft. She protested 
constantly, even as we let her loose from him. But lets not talk about Mavis. We can think of 
her from time to time, knowing that she is naked and heavily chained down there in the 
dungeon. She can’t get away. I’m sure you remember what that’s like.”

I remembered all right, and could not repress a shutter at the thought. That dungeon is no
fun for any girl, and I could have wished Inga had put Mavis somewhere else. But I wasn’t 
going to get into an argument over a girl who had done me wrong. It wouldn’t hurt Mavis to 
stew a while in chains while Inga and I enjoyed ourselves. I knelt at the feet of my wonderful 
mistress and listened to what she had in store. You might have thought that I was to received 
wonderful gifts as she spoke her thoughts out loud.

“One of your departed relatives was a dog fancier, SW,” she said as if seeing something in 
her mind. “He kept several great big brutes and the old tradition has remained. You might 
have seen them in their cages. Well, anyway, that gave me an idea. I’ll tie your hands behind 
your back and put leg irons on your ankles, and then I’ll push you into a cage and lock you in 
with the dear doggies. If you think a moment you’ll realize how you’ll be the center of 
attraction. They will be very interested in a naked woman in their midst, and one who can’t 
push away their curious snouts. It will keep you busy crossing your legs. Make a nice change 
for you, don’t you think?”

I thought it would be terrible but didn’t dare say a thing. I said instead, “Whatever you 
want for me. Mistress, I’ll try not to complain.”

“That’s good, dear. For our next act, I’m wondering how you would enjoy having a ring 
through your nose? It would hang upon your upper lip and would be convenient to lead you 
around by. How does that grab you?”

“I’m not sure, Mistress, but if it pleases you….”

“Of course, darling, rings are so wonderful and versatile. Apart from the one in your nose, 
I’m sure you can thing of being ringed elsewhere?”

If I hadn’t been handcuffed, I would have covered my nipples. But I held fast to my resolve 
to be a good little slavegirl. “I don’t think I would enjoy it, Mistress. But if it would bring you 
pleasure, I would wear rings gladly where ever you put them.”

We were maintaining the right note splendidly. I was patted and kissed, and my nipples 
played with. Was it a hint of things to come? I was still under the magic spell of being brought
back to Hastings Castle and being whipped in welcome. I expect I would have said yes to 
anything.

“I do want to be original in the things I do to you,” my mistress mused. “I was having in 
mind something with a bit of spice, a bit of uncertainty and suspense for both of us. How 
would you like to be tied to something solid, a tree or a sign post, or a heavy gate, sometime 
after dark, with me hiding close by to interfere in case some does stop. I bet no one even sees 
you.”

“I’d be scared to death. And you know the first person to stop would be a policeman. And 
he’d drag me off to jail for indecent exposure.”

“Well, okay, maybe it’s not such a good idea after all. But we can think about it. What I’m 
thinking about now is that you could be dressed now I’ve got you back again.”

“You mean I’m going to get clothes?”

“Don’t be silly, dear. I mean handcuffs and leg irons.

You look sweet just the way you are right now. But would you prefer to dispense with 
handcuffs and just wear leg irons? I think the damned woman who kidnapped you has a queer
sense of honesty. Those leg irons you had on you when she took you away arrived just 
yesterday with a little note saying she had no use for them but felt pretty sure I would.”

It was crazy once again but mention of those beautiful shackles was another aspect of my 
coming home. I didn’t want those shackles on my ankles but suffered a sort of funny desire to 
wear them again. Like they were old friends. But I was very happy the way I was and said so. 
After a short argument we decided on a compromise that for one week I’d be handcuffed and
then the next week I’d wear the lovely leg irons. That simply solution made me a very happy 
girl.

by that time it was mid afternoon and my mistress exclaimed, “I simply have to do 
something to you, my darling. Didn’t you run into any novel restraints while you were away?”

“No, it’s not been that long and I was mostly free.” I sighed, not to unhappily. “I don’t 
suppose I’ll ever be free again.” I had already had my bottom caned and cropped and said 
that this should surely be enough for one day. But Inga was hungry to do things and I had to 
be flattered by the happiness she found in having me back. We didn’t go downstairs but up 
and up to one of the tiny turret chambers which make Hastings Castle so picturesque.

It was small and stone all around, and in its center there was a steel post from floor to 
ceiling. There was also a locked chest and I was pretty sure I knew what was in it. In sudden 
panic I pleaded, “Inga, darling, couldn’t we leave this until tomorrow? It’s been quite a day.”

It was no use. The chest yielded rope and a lot of other things. I was told to go and look 
out the window because I wasn’t going to have much chance to enjoy the view. I then found 
myself with my back against the post. At the sight of all that rope I had expected to be tied 
but Inga had something different in mind. Beneath the rope was metal bands, each of them 
ending their circle on both sides by diminishing to a short, round prong, rather like an 
ordinary bolt. I got the hang of this innovation by getting the broadest of the bands around 
my tummy with each end fitting into a ready made hole in the post itself. Inga pushed them 
home and somehow they stuck. They were rather like handcuffs, and to make sure she had me
tight enough, Inga keep pressing home one end or the other.

There were clicks, just like handcuffs, and compressed my middle considerably. Breathing 
was a little hard but not impossible.

The next things were tiny bands for my wrists, which Inga lifted above my head to secure 
my hands almost straight up. And she tightened them down very tight, one on each side of 
the pole. The next thing was my ankles and my knees, but the final act, which I liked least of 
all, was a broad collar circling my neck tightly. Inga was careful about that one and cautious 
with her clicks, telling me, with a chuckle, she didn’t want to find a dead girl when she came 
back. But anyway it was a beastly sensation to feel the metal snug around my throat and to 
discover I could not move my head. I had to stare straight ahead at the barred window I could
not get near. Once more I was lovingly kissed and told how good it was to have me back. Inga
then tweaked my nipples and left me alone.

It was a fresh trial, quite different from the bit of rope. I could move very little, hardly even 
my head. Before Inga left, she told me how pretty I looked in restraint. But after she was gone 
I was soon cursing myself for letting Mavis capture me the way she had. From the moment 
she clicked those handcuffs on my wrists while I was fast asleep, my life had changed. And 
apart from adoring my mistress, my only satisfaction was the knowledge of Mavis in her 
chains far, far below.

I had determined to do something beneficially financial for poor, dear Mavis. But after this 
last betrayal, that desired vanished. Not that it mattered much because it seemed possible 
that neither she nor I would ever know freedom again. Desperately I tried to move but was 
laughed at by my bonds.

As I stood there, a prisoner of the post, I reflected ruefully how little I knew of my own 
possessions. I had always lacked the interest in all the holdings of the owner of Hastings 
Castle. The fact was I had been scared and very much in awe of the dark recesses of another 
age. Imprisonment of myself or anyone else never entered my mind. So I had never climbed 
the narrow stairs to discover the room in which I was now held captive. It seemed that for the 
next six months I would have to pray that David would stay with his promise of eventual 
release for me. But I was not a bit sure his will was stronger than Inga’s. Inga’s will was as firm 
as the metal bands by which I was bound to that pole. Once more I struggled but only hurt 
myself within the invincible steel. When I though of how long this afternoon might last, I came
very close to tears.

Inga was mischievous and I was a lovely plaything. I don’t suppose I had been standing 
against the post for more than an hour before she reappeared to speak of other awful things 
she was going to do to me, none of which I believed. But she was in a playful mood and 
amused herself by playing with my nipples until they were rigid. She then took one between 
her teeth and possessed its twin with thumb and forefinger, which left her other hand free to 
explore what she called, “Pretty Pussy.” Under such skilled attention, I blossomed into orgasm 
far more quickly than I would have chosen. While I was still trying to catch my breath, my 
mistress stepped back to properly view my bound nakedness and pay the tribute that never 
ceased to thrill. “You gorgeous, Patricia. I’ve never seen a figure half as good as yours. You 
cheated David of a great deal when you refused to marry him.

I’m so glad he chose to marry me instead. I don’t suppose I have to tell you how 
wonderful he is in bed. If I weren’t such a jealous bitch, I’d let him use you now and then like I 
used to. But I want him and that wonderful rod all to myself. I’ll bet the two of you were a pair 
of tigers between the sheets.”

“Don’t you think it would be a beautiful gift for me to give you to David for one night? 
And after I’ve told you of some terrible punishment you would undergo the next day? Your 
enjoyment in what he did to you would override your concern about being whipped or hung 
up my your heels. And interesting speculation, don’t you think?”

I was almost tempted to exclaim it was something I would love to do, so let’s try it. But I 
was deferred by memories of past punishments. Inga might love me very much but she was a 
stern mistress. I passed it off by saying it was a cute idea but would probably never happen. 
Inga just smiled at me.

“This is becoming very uncomfortable,” I told her. “Could you please unfasten me and just 
let me wear handcuffs? Or leg irons? Do I have to stand here all day?”

“You know you have to, Patricia, my pet. You have to be humble. And, anyway, the picture 
you make as you stand there in those beautiful bands is too beautiful to spoil. Anyway, I’ve 
got things to do so I’ll see you later.”

I mused myself by think of the possibilities of what I might have done had I managed to 
stay free. Quite obviously I should have had nothing to do with Mavis. But strangely enough, 
apart from a longing to be completely free, I could think of no kind of life in which I would 
have found satisfactions. Hastings Castle and the two people who kept me captive within its 
walls had made me a quite different girl from the rich bitch I had been. I suppose some of it 
was simply growing up, but I had the terrible suspicion that Inga’s whip had played a potent 
part. Whenever my mistress had whipped me, I had discovered in the aftermath of agony a 
sort of comfort with myself. It might have been a form of brain-washing but maybe not. As I 
stood rigidly bound to that pole, I would have been hysterical about my fate, but instead it 
was simply just one more day in the power of the strongest, most lovable girl I had ever met. 
As I considered possibilities, I realized that being alone and without purpose in my life, I would
quite probably have drifted back to Hastings Castle with its strange captivity. If I could have 
shrugged, I would have done so. Everything was so utterly bizarre.

Inga let me loose in time for dinner but took the precaution while my tummy was still 
cinched tight against the post of putting what she called “The Pretty Bracelets” back on my 
wrists in front. I was then told I had the run of the castle and could use my own bedroom in 
which to freshen up. There was even time for a bath.

Gleefully I took great, leaping strides up and down stairs and along corridors. It was good 
to have this freedom but it was a freedom which might be short lived. It was wonderful to take
myself back to the days before captivity in my own room and my own bath and possessions. 
Sure, I debated running away but the hazards were a price I did not want to pay. And, anyway,
I couldn’t be a bit sure that free feet might not be a trap. Inga was forever probing my mind 
and sometimes set traps. I remained handcuffed but that wouldn’t stop me making a run for 
it.

My lovely freedom was indeed short lived. As we had our drink before dinner my mistress 
held up something I easily recognized. “I’m glad to get these beautiful leg irons back, Patricia,”
she said as she made a musical play with the dangling links. “They cost a lot of money, and 
maybe I should have the guy make me another pair. They give me almost total peace of mind 
when I have them locked on your ankles. Stand still, darling, and I’ll snap them back on right 
now.”

In a way it was a disappoint but I had to expect some sort of restraint other than simple 
handcuffs. I watched as the beautifully made anklets were once more locked snug and tight 
upon each ankle. I had worn them so long in the past that now when I walked to the dinning 
table, my snubbed steps adjusted automatically. And their music told me for sure I was Inga’s 
slave.





CHAPTER NINE - Rings of Bronze


We easily fell back into my former captivity. That night I shared Inga’s bed and paid homage 
to her wonderful body and the Isle of Lesbos. The collar and chain around my neck were old 
friends. I slept happily in Inga’s arms.

We went happily to breakfast with me proudly demonstrating prowess in handling the leg 
irons, and then over the food with Daisy looking at me in bright-eyed approval. Inga and I 
playfully discussed the punishment I should receive that day, with me opting for retaining only
the metal I wore at that moment, and that I should not make fresh acquaintance with Sir 
Roger. But I had hit upon the very thing Inga had chosen for my day. “We’ve got his heat 
turned on inside, darling, and replenished his stock of seamen and I know you’re horny as can 
be after servicing me last night and getting nothing in return. The little fire inside you will 
grow and blossom when Sir Roger is once again inside you. And I’ll fasten you more securely 
to the old boy this time. Can’t have you being kidnapped right from under our noses again.”

I consoled myself by supposing there could be worse things than heating up a bronze 
phallus within my sex and suffering the mechanical climax. Inga told me the ancient nobleman
had been computerized. I was about to offer the hope that the old boy might have a stroke 
and pass on to the next world for the second time. But you have to be careful what you say 
around Inga because if you talk her out of one thing, you might get something worse.

We did a lot of giggling as, with my arms around Sir Roger’s neck, I lowered myself upon 
his lubricated phallus, and felt it slide higher and higher within my belly until I wondered if 
Inga had changed his tool for one of a larger size. Most certainly I was well and truly shafted. I 
might have guessed what came next because this time there was no rope insight to tie me to 
the statue. There was, instead, another one of those bronze contraptions used on me in the 
turret room. It fitted neatly over the small of my back and the narrowest portion of my waist. 
And this time the two pointed ends were at a different ankle so they could be thrust home 
within the waiting holes to effect a close, tight belting of my belly against the statue. I wasn’t 
too happy about this close association, but what the hell! Inga expressed herself satisfied with 
the shackles joining my ankles but said she should do something with my hands. I made no 
suggestions for at times like that it is best to keep quiet, and to try and show appreciation for 
whatever it was my mistress choice to do. Right then she decided I should continue to 
embrace Sir Roger with loving arms which would be held in that position by locking my 
handcuffs to something she had devised behind his back where I couldn’t see. There was 
nothing about this correctional position that really hurt so I tried to tell myself it wouldn’t be 
all that bad. And aloud I complained my mistress on her ingenuity.

“Sir Roger won’t be pumping himself into you as frequently as last time,” Inga assured me 
with a chuckle. “There’s been some adjustment which make him less sensitive to your heat. So 
I’ll leave you to make love to each other for the day and later you can give me a report on his 
performance. We can always make some more adjustment if you don’t consider him up to 
snuff. My goodness, darling, your beaten bottom shows up nicely in the sunlight.”

There I was, quite alone and likely to remain so for quite some time. I thought back to my 
previous acquaintance with Sir Roger, and everything that had transpired from that first time 
he had pumped his artificial climax inside me. It was now quite easy to keep still so as to not 
excite him. Well, it would actually be my body heating up which he would sense and get 
excited, but it amounted to about the same thing. The belt around my middle kept me very 
close to his metal body in an obscene embrace. Yet, I would be lying if I said that the huge 
metal phallus within my sheath didn’t have some effect upon my body. It had been a long 
time since a real man had rammed his phallus up inside me. And Sir Roger was shaped very 
life-like. A little on the larger size, but still life-like. Well, a lot on the large size. Huge, in fact. 
But pleasing to a woman.

I tried hard to divert my thoughts from chains and ropes and prison bars. Since it would be
unlikely there would be any more chances to escape, it would be better if I were to try and 
prevent myself from becoming morbid. That I should feel affection for the woman who 
whipped and punished me and kept me chained might seem confusing to some. But since my 
adoration for her was so abundantly real, I would be foolish not to consider it on the credit 
side of the ledger. I was being punished right then but when the night came and I was 
chained with her in her bed, I would forget the punishment just as I had always done and find 
only the loving arms and tender lips, along with the hot, vibrant flesh so close to mine. It was 
as I thought those thoughts Sir Roger chose to climax and shot his load within me. I hadn’t 
realized that my body heat was rising until it happened. This time I wasn’t ready and didn’t 
have my own orgasm. And this time, I could have swom that the damn thing moved within 
me, something it hadn’t done before. Computers are wonderful!

Instead of fighting Sir Roger, I tightened my embrace of his neck and began pumping my 
hips as much as I could. Quickly I was working up to a nice orgasm. I could slide my hips back 
and forth just enough to make his phallus move inside me. It wasn’t much but thinking about 
Inga’s naked body and my being chained in bed with her was enough to get me rather 
excited. Soon I was clenching my thighs tightly and gasping as my own orgasm came. Sir 
Roger came yet again at that same moment and we both enjoyed the pleasure.

I rested after that orgasm, wondering how many I could stretch out across the long day. I 
knew there would be only so many in my body then I would be too exhausted to generate 
another one. But how many was too many? I almost laughed at the thought of a contest 
between Sir Roger and I to see who would produce the most orgasms before the other wore 
out. I had little doubt that Sir Roger would win. It was surprisingly comfortable to stand there 
with my arms around his neck. The first time I had been scared and disgusted but this time I 
was used to Sir Roger and it was hardly a punishment. Or maybe I had changed. But whatever 
the reasoning, I knew I would not tell Inga that I enjoyed an afternoon on Sir Roger. First off I 
knew that it would become tedious and uncomfortable as the hours wore on. But the biggest 
reason was that if I enjoyed it, it wouldn’t be punishment And if it wasn’t punishment, Inga 
wouldn’t do it to me!

As I felt myself building up for the second orgasm, I closed my eyes and pretended it was 
David Suffcliff who was filling my pussy with his phallus and later fluid.

by the time Inga came to set me free I had burst into no less than eleven orgasms. I had 
counted every one deliciously.

Our second night in bed in this fresh sequence of my captivity was as wonderful as the first
and the chain from my collar provided a musical accompaniment to every thing we did. With 
my hands handcuffed in front, I could do everything Inga told me to and please her in every 
way. The fire within my own belly had been dampened by Sir Roger’s attentions but I still drew
a satisfaction from pleasing my mistress. In a way, her orgasms were mine. Strange, isn’t it?

When we were both exhausted I happily went to sleep with Inga’s arm lovingly clutching 
my breasts. The nights made up for everything.

When it came time for the next day’s tribulation, I hinted that I wouldn’t mind spending 
the punishment hours once more impaled by Sir Roger, but my hints went without response.

Instead I was led to the fatal room which Inga now playfully called “The Pain Pallor.” I was 
led to where a plank was resting upon a couple of trestles and was about to inquire whether 
my mistress wanted me on my tummy or my back when the hateful gag came into to view and
I was invited to open my mouth. The straps were buckled harshly at the back of my neck, and I
cursed myself for being so damned obedient. It was then I was invited to lay upon the plank 
on my back. Inga tied me down to the heavy wood with a sort of methodical precision and 
tight enough to cause each strand of rope to embed itself within my skin. I was thus secured 
at ankle, knees and waist. At that point I lost my handcuffs but only to have them put on my 
wrists against behind and under the plank. Inga then used straps upon my waist and breasts 
and tugged their buckles so tight beneath the plank that whenever I breathed it was as 
though I fought the constriction of the leather bands. But when I tried to tell her they were 
too tight, I could not speak a word. The beastly rubber was heavy on my tongue and the 
leather crushed my lips together to hold me mute.

I consoled myself by thinking there were worse ways to spend my day. And I suspected my
true punishment was that my head extended beyond the plank and was without support so 
that I had to hold it up with the muscles in my neck or let it hang very uncomfortably 
backward and down. Having got me thus prettily trussed, and my mouth gagged, Inga 
tweaked my nipples, telling me to enjoy myself and then went away. But not before I caught a 
strange smile in her lovely eyes. I did not know what that smile meant.

The plank on which I lay was narrow enough to allow the ropes and straps to neatly 
encircle my nakedness. But the only part of me that had any play was my hands which were 
held only by handcuffs under the plank, and my head which I could raise up to look around 
with an effort.

I was one beautifully secured young lady who had no choice but to wait and see what 
happened. That wait turned out to be much shorter than I would have thought. When my 
mistress returned, she was accompanied by a young man in a clinical white jacket, carrying 
with him a small, sinister black bag. I longed to speak and ask who he was and what he was 
doing here.

They did not talk. What they were going to do was prearranged. I stared in horror at the 
hypodermic needle before Inga grasp my hair to hold my head still while that needle was 
injected into each side of my nose to render the whole area numb. I now knew what was 
going to happen but could not even beg with my eyes as Inga held my head firmly.

I had always supposed the piercing of a girl was done with some sort of blade, but my 
white-coated torturer, who was going about his business in a matter-offact manner, 
possessed some sort of instrument I could only describe as a punch, very much like those 
things they use to make neat holes in leather. It was then inserted carefully into my nostrils. I 
could sort of feel the crunch as it pierced the hole I would have the rest of my life, but there 
was no pain. Inga then released my hair and put a stool and pillow beneath my head to make 
me comfortable for what came next. That climax turned out to be a ring, not of silver or gold, 
but of bronze, reminding me of Sir Roger. Inga explained that silver and gold looked cheap 
and vulgar whereas the bronze ring which was of considerable dimensions was flattering to 
any girl in any place. I looked at the damned thing in bitter hatred before the doctor inserted 
one of its open ends within the hole he had made.

Positioning it to his satisfaction, he clicked it shut whereupon Inga consoled, “It looks 
gorgeous, darling, you’ll be so proud of it. And the nice thing is it can’t be unlocked. It’s there 
to stay. You’re such a lucky girl!”

I was still mute and still trussed tight. If I had been able to speak, I don’t know what I 
would have said against this accomplished fact of the metal violating my nose. It was so large 
that I was sure it would rest against my upper lip when the gag was taken away, and that I 
could probably even easily lick it with my tongue.

I looked up at the man and woman and saw only that the ring would intensify my slavery 
within the confines of Hastings Castle which I was suppose to own. There were smiles at my 
but in pure misery I closed my own eyes.

There were not yet done. I supposed I should have guessed what Inga would do to me 
next. With my head now resting comfortably on the pillow, I could easily see what came next. 
There was the filling of another needle. The thin metal tube pieced my flesh one each side of 
my two nipples and I moaned into my gag, not so much with pain, for there was actually not 
much, but with inner agony over what was going to be done to me. My nipples both went 
numb and the punch was brought into play. The metal punch was positioned around my 
nipple at its base and did its work quickly and without pain. Just as the first thin hole was 
about to be made in my left nipple, I struggled with all my might and screamed into the gag. 
But my body had been bound and strapped down with cruel efficiency and I could do little 
beyond make the leather straps creak with the strain, and clink my handcuffed wrists against 
the bottom of the plank. Inga held my breast in both hands, squeezing so that the nipple was 
standing rigid for the man in white’s attention.

Then he calmly placed the punch against my flesh and pierced a neat hole through my 
nipple. Quickly they repeated the process with my other nipple, ignoring my whines of 
protests as always. I tossed my head in wild negation.

The rings they locked through my nipples were made of bronze to match that in my nose.

Inga held them up for me to see before they were locked into my flesh where I would wear
them for the rest of my life. In their own way they were beautifully but I did not want them 
there. The doctor, or whatever he was, now splashed my wounds with something, nodded 
cheerfully to me, and then, with Inga, left the room. I was left alone with three bronze rings as 
symbols of my enslavement.

Inga did not leave me alone too long. She laughed delightedly as she released me from 
the gag. By lifting the hated ring from my upper lip, she was able to kiss me in a way that 
made me kiss back with everything I had. Incredibly I sought comfort from the woman who 
had ordered my body violated, kissing back with an intensity I found unbelievable. And there 
were tingles of sexual excitement racing through my body, along with a longing for her body 
that was an ache. Our tongues entwined in passion but only our lips and tongues touched. 
She did not touch me and I could not touch her.

For a long time the kiss lasted but finally Inga pulled back. She gently stroked one nipple 
ring with the tip of her fingernail but I felt nothing, the flesh was still numb. She laughed me 
and seemed to enjoy my rings immensely. Then she left me alone for at least an hour, 
ignoring my pleadings as she walked out. When she returned she untied my legs and 
unstrapped my body. The handcuffs also came off so I could leave the plank. She helped me 
to stand on my shackled feet as I stood there unsteadily, looking down at my pierced breasts, 
not quite believing that those rings hanging from my nipples were real. The numbness was 
wearing off and I wondered how much pierced nipples would hurt. And for how long.

As we walked hand in hand towards coffee; a little voice in my mind keep repeating, 
“You’re a ringed slavegirl. You’re a slavegirl.”

The rings had a drastic influence on my life. They were a sort of dividing line between the 
old Patricia and the new. Even thought we both knew I would not run away to display my 
shame to the outer world, Inga still kept me handcuffs. But since the beautiful bracelets were 
on my wrists in front, they caused little inconvenience. The wounds in breasts and nostrils 
healed rapidly, and it was not long before my mistress gave me a dramatic demonstration of 
fresh helplessness. It came in the form of a light leather leash, little more than a slender thong,
at the end of which was a metal snap. When my wounds were not hurting anymore, Inga 
snared the ring on my left nipple and gently pulled to compel me to follow where she led. I 
suppose I could have fought because with my hands cuffed in front I was almost free but 
resistance was far from my mind. I knew the rings had reduced me to nothingness. Anyone 
could compel me to do anything they wished with those rings. In short, their effect was to rob 
me of any wish to fight. Those three rings had me totally subdued.

Having experimented with one nipple, Inga switched the snap to the other and led me 
back over the route, totally controlling me with the slightest pressure on her leash. And then 
the final indignity of being led by the nose with the leather leash forming a bond between 
myself and my mistress, a bond I knew would make me hers forever. I will admit there was a 
thrill in it.

The time came when the wounds were completely healed and I became unconscious of 
the three rings. By that time Inga had removed the handcuffs, relying entirely upon the leg 
irons on my ankles to keep me from doing what she called, “anything silly.” I no longer cared 
about much of anything and felt pretty much as slavegirls must have felt in the days of long 
ago when fetters were first riveted upon their wrists and ankles. It was indeed a farewell to 
freedom. Which, in my case, carried erotic overtones.

I fingered those rings often. In fact, on the first day after loosing the handcuffs, I did little 
else. Whenever I thought of the triple bronze, I could never decide which was the most potent.
Those at my nipples were the most erotic, and could cause a quick arousal of my senses. But 
the ring through my nose carried such connotations of legend and fable that it was the main 
symbol of my enslavement. With a nose ring, a girl was a slave. There was no doubt, no 
wondering, no question. I was a slavegirl. I was owned.

In a month I loved them all. If that was a perverted love, I can only tell you it was very 
sweet.

During this period Inga inflicted upon me very few formal punishments. Sir Roger had to 
do without the heat of my pussy. And for fear of doing injury to the surgeon’s work, I wasn’t 
even tied to a tree. Inga fell back to the commonplace and I was often made to stand all day 
with hands tied or strapped above my head. I could not even touch the rings myself so they 
were safe. Also during this period I was compelled to do bookkeeping for the Estate, with Inga
pointing out that I should become aware of my vast possessions even thought I was not 
allowed to treat beyond the knowledge of being very rich. I didn’t much care about that, 
either. I ceased to care about much expect being possessed by Inga.

For the first few days after being ringed, I entirely forgot Mavis in her dungeon. But at 
breakfast of the fifth day I cautiously inquired where she was and how she was dealing with 
captivity.

“I’m not sure I want the two of your together,” Inga said sharply. “But it would amuse me 
to display you and your rings so Mavis can get a look at what she’s missing. She’s no where as
amusing a prisoner as you.”

“She’s still in the dungeon?”

“No. Since the third day I’ve kept her chained by one ankle to a tree in the park. The 
weather’s been lovely and I allow her a blanket every night.” Inga chuckled. “That girl is really 
for the birds. Whenever I go to have a look at her I get such a stream of complains and beefs 
that I actually find it amusing. She constantly repeats herself and now seems disenchanted 
with captivity. She rattles her chain at me. But she does have one theme which remains 
constant: when am I going to free her and give her a great deal of money.

She doesn’t believe me that it isn’t going to happen. Would you like to take a walk in the 
park?”

I found Mavis hunched against her tree, the chain and padlock around her ankle was a 
prominent feature of the scene. The skin around the chain was chaffed red where she’d tried 
to get it off. She looked so dejected I had to feel sorry for her. Her greeting was about what 
you’d expect from Mavis.

“Oh, it’s you. I wondered when you’d come. I suppose you’re having a wonderful time with
Inga and you want to sneer at the girl she keeps chained out here to a tree. Oh, darling, I’m so
sick of this. Do you have the key?”

Mavis was naked and had not been ringed. When I came close enough for her to see what 
Inga called my “bronze triplets,” she gasped and looked at them in total fascination before 
asking, “Did you ask to be ringed like that? Or was it done against your will?”

“It was against my will.”

“But they’re gorgeous!” She giggled. “Now anybody can lead you around my your nose.

Come closer so I can feel.”

“Sorry, no feel. They’ve only been on me a few days and they still hurt if you touch. If you 
try to grab one, I’ll go away and leave you alone.”

Mavis gave me one of her more superior sniffs. “You’re so damned selfish, you never want 
to share things. Has Inga whipped you lately?”

“Not since that time she let you watch. That wasn’t so long ago.”

“It’s seemed a long time to me.” Mavis’ sniff was now one of self-pity. “She kept chained in
that awful dungeon two days and two nights. I thought I’d die. Now I have to put up with this 
sort of thing.” She kicked her chained foot angrily. “I must have been crazy to bring you down 
here the way I did and get myself made a prisoner. The two of us could have been having a 
wonderful time in town.”

“That’s right, you were crazy. And it serves you right. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be 
wearing these rings. You’ve messed up my life with your silly notions.”

“You don’t seem to have anything to complain about as far as I can see. Those chains on 
your ankles are nothing. Look at the way you’ve been able to walk out her to jeer at me.

Why don’t you walk on out to the road and look for help?”

“Would you want to walk out to a public road, naked with feet chained, and rings through 
your nose and nipples?”

“I would if I got the chance. I’m not as snooty as you. If you don’t want to escape, then you
must like it here.”

There was a great deal more in the same vein, and I have to admit I have a weakness for 
feeling sorry for Mavis. As I walked my hobbled steps back towards the castle, I mused that 
there was something in what she said. I could easily walk in the other direction and found the 
road. And would have run into some sort of human contact either bad or good. I shuttered at 
the thought of being picked up by hoodlums who would enjoy my condition. I continued my 
way back to the castle.

David did not take kindly to my rings. In fact, he blew his top. “What on earth made you 
do that to her,” he demanded of his wife. “It’s terrible to spoil the most beautiful body in the 
world! If there’s a way of getting them off, then do it!”

They went at it, tooth and claw, in a way I’d never seen before. And when I tried to make 
peace by saying I didn’t mind wearing them in the least, I was told I was a perverted little so 
and so who was getting ready for another whipping. David was truly mad and, even through 
Inga was a match for him in argument, I knew she was disappointed by his rejection of what 
had seemed to her a wonderful idea. The result was that on his next visit he brought some 
sort of tool which cut away the ring in my nose like it was a string. But that wasn’t the end of 
the story because he had also brought with him another ring which looked exactly like the 
first except that he could use a little sliver of steel in an almost invisible slit to make it spring 
open. But when locked, it was as solid and secure as if welded on. He said the whole thing 
disgusted him the way it hung down from my nose. No one said a word about those rings on 
my breasts. I had to suppose that some of David’s concern lay in the knowledge that in about 
five months I would complete my sentence and take my place in the world as a free girl. But 
obviously I could not do that with a ring through my nose. That thought was reassuring.

In about five weeks my wounds had healed completely and Inga was able to amuse herself
by playing with my rings whenever she felt like it. At first I was apprehensive and ready to 
squeal at the slightest touch. But it was a professional job and, unless pulled hard or jerked, 
they imposed no pain, but only a stern discipline should I need it. Immediately my mistress 
clutched any one of the three rings firmly, I melted into obedient submission.

By the pressure of a thumb and finger she could force me to kneel and make submission 
to her. From these small beginnings it was inevitable the rings should play a part in my return 
to daily punishment. The first was to fasten me against the wall of the room of punishments 
by a padlock linking the ring in the wall and the ring on one of my nipples.

Since the wall ring took the weight, the ordeal was not painful so long as I kept still. But 
the boredom of standing in this corrective posture was frustrating to the point of almost 
screaming. During the hours I was thus held I shed a good many tears, which, fortunately, I 
could wipe away with hands still free. And from that simple beginning I spent day after day 
fastened by the slenderest of chains and a pair of darling padlocks. It was a lovely new game 
for Inga to play with the girl she kept as a pet. But what else are pet for?

The punishment I liked the least was when a long length of the slender chain locked the 
ring in my nose to anything that pleased Inga’s fancy. These little pleasantries did not demand
the terrifying equipment in the room of punishments. They were effective in the bedroom, 
lounge or out of door. One time, just by way of humiliation, my nose ring was attached to the 
end of the couch where Inga usually sat when entertaining guests. In this case the guest was 
good, old Mavis who had been prettily chained for the occasion by leg irons and a length of 
links rising from them to the handcuffs on her wrists. I had no chose but to kneel in a pose of 
complete submission while Mavis serviced the tea. It was fun to watch Mavis trying to drink 
her tea. She sat in a chair and had to raise up her chained ankles to give the chain enough 
slack to let her hands come up to her mouth with the cup.

She was every bit as humiliated as I. But she was in good vocal form and entertained us by 
with numerous comments about the way we should feel for having done this to her, and 
threats about what would happen to us when she got free. Those were sort of nebulous but 
sincere. Inga just smiled. I knew she was thinking that Mavis would never get free to do any of
those things.

We endured threats of arrest, long imprisonment, and commitment to an asylum for the 
insane. She even suggested a few tortures that we would endure at her hands when they 
weren’t so chained up.

It was amusing that Mavis munched watercress sandwiches and drank tea as she berated 
us and promised dire futures for us.

“I’m keeping Mavis in the turret room, Patricia, darling,” my mistress informed. “It has a 
lovely view and holds so many possibilities for punishing the dear girl in all sorts of ways.

She loves that post in the middle. You do love it, don’t you, Mavis?”

“No, I don’t. I hate the beastly thing. It’s damned unkind to tie me to it as often as you do. 
I don’t know what I did to deserve such treatment.”

“There’s quite a list, dear. To begin with there’s kidnapping. And then there’s the one 
about trying to collect ransom for the kidnapping. And I’m wondering if it couldn’t be called a 
crime to treat Patricia as cruelly as you did the first time you visited here.”

“You’re just being unkind. You know I never did any of those things.” Mavis snorted like a 
horse and helped herself to another sandwich. “You know I’m very fond of Patricia. If you 
didn’t get so snooty about having all that money, I expect we’d still be friends. In fact, I’m 
prepared to be friends right now -if you remove all these chains and give me clothes. I find it 
hard to believe all this is really happening.”

I’ll have to admit I would have enjoyed sharing Mavis’ prisoner for a single day. If she were 
more chained up than I, I could fight her off if she tried to grab my rings. We could talk about 
old times and the fun we used to have. It would be a pleasant change. But I did not ask for 
that and Inga did not offer it. And, at any rate, Mavis was prompted to a turret chamber 
similar to the one in which I was sometimes imprisoned. I gather from what Inga told me that 
Mavis had little opportunity to enjoy the view since she spent most of her time tied to the 
central post or chained to the wall. I know it’s silly of me to feel sorry for her, I made a silent 
vow that, if the two of us were ever free again, I would make it up to her with the cash she so 
ardently desired.

At breakfast one morning Inga broke the news of a second visit by the young man in the 
white jacket. This time his attentions would be devoted to darling Mavis. And since Inga did 
not desire a pair of naked maidens similarly ringed, poor, dear Mavis was going to get a larger
size within her Venus mound with the piercing equalized through both vaginal lips.

The ring would be large enough to permanently hang from her puss, something that 
should not bother the poor girl too much because she was totally devoid of male attention.

But it would be directly centered over her sexual opening and effectively prevent any male 
organ from penetrating her sex. I though it a strange idea that a girl’s sex could be locked up 
that way. Really great way to prevent her from having sexual intercourse, though!

I tried not to laugh but when I thought of what Mavis would say and how outraged she 
would be at this violation of her sex, I had to join Inga in her mirth. Both of us eagerly awaited 
the arrival of the man in white.

I hadn’t seen Mavis for quite a while because she had been imprisoned in the turret room, 
but when Inga brought her down to the room of punishments, beautifully chained and in her 
usual belligerent mood, everything ran true to form.

She demanded of Inga, “Do I have to wear all this metal and hardware? I’m sick of not 
being able to scratch my nose. Take them off and let me be like Patricia.”

“But, Mavis, my pet, Patricia is wearing leg irons and handcuffs.”

“Okay, I’ll settle for that. This business of not being able to get my hands above my belly is
for the birds.” She paused when she saw the plank and the ropes laying around. “And what is 
this? You two are up to something. It’s so unkind that I always have to be the goat.

What are you planing?”

“I’m going to remove your chains and then I want you to lay on your back on that plank.

And I don’t want to have to twist your arm to do it.”

“I refuse to be a party to any of the horrible things you do in this room,” Mavis stated in 
the manner of a declaration. “I won’t have anything to do with your silly games, especially if 
they’re designed for my discomfort. I won’t lay on that silly plank.”

A battle had been certain from the start. When Inga unlocked the chains from wrists and 
ankles, it began in earnest with my old friend making a leap towards the door, a leap which 
collapsed into confusion when Inga grasped a handful of hair and an arm. A few moments 
later Mavis was in the position my mistress desired with Inga sitting astride her belly and 
clicking handcuffs on wrists beneath the plank. The rest was easy and it wasn’t long before our
panting prisoner was firmly trussed. But this time with a difference. With me it had been my 
head that Inga left beyond the plank, this time it was Mavis’ bottom.

Her feet were snared in a loop of rope and pulled out and up in a truly outrageous stretch.

They were fastened in a wide spread “V”.

“This is indecent and makes me terribly ashamed,” Mavis declared. “My pussy is staring 
you in the face. I’m sure it must be wide open the way you’ve stretched my legs apart.

Inga, this is obscene!”

“I wouldn’t say that, dear,” Inga consoled. “You’ve got a really pretty puss.” Inga grasped 
the item in question with a firm grip and palmed it vigorously. “You see what I mean, Mavis? 
It’s a nice pussy. I really should let my husband cop a feel sometime.” Inga gave the pussy an 
extra squeeze before release. “With your temperament, I don’t suppose many men have used 
it.”

“That’s a lie! I … I … Well, never mind.” Mavis’ blush was now creeping down towards her 
breasts which I was eyeing with a view for nice, large bronze rings. But, of course, Mavis would
demand they be gold because nothing was too good for Mavis.

The prisoner on the plank couldn’t move much. She was well strapped down and familiar 
enough with handcuffs to know she could never remove them. Instead she made as much 
noise as she could with them to emphasis a point. The poor dear guessed for certain 
something was about to happen. And no girl likes to be bound down with her most private 
parts wide open and exposed.

It was while Mavis was explaining how useless it was to whip her sex when the man in the 
white jacket came in with his little black bag. He examined my rings with pride before turning 
his attention to the pussy on the plank. By that time Mavis had made a pretty good guess 
what was to take place.

“You mustn’t!” she fairly yelled. “I absolutely forbid. And I’ll have you put in prison if you 
do.” At that point her vocalizations were abruptly halted by the gag which Inga strapped into 
her mouth. Straps were tugged tight and quickly Mavis was silent. I shuttered because I 
remembered how much that gag had added to the helpless feeling when I had been bound 
down to that same plank and about to be pierced.

The surgeon was meticulous in obtaining a perfect incision. With deft fingers he examined 
the vagina, its lips and all around, selecting the perfect position for the incisions. The silly 
thought ran through my mind that this was more male attention than Mavis had experienced 
in quite some time. She bore the indignity with struggling and whining behind the gag. When 
the needle went in to numb the flesh, Mavis screamed. I knew the pain wasn’t much but she 
was letting vent to her anger at being thus treated.

I suppose I should have not watched but I was unashamedly fascinated by an event far 
more bizarre and erotic than even the placement of the rings I wore. Inga and I stood where 
we could get the best possible view and watched breathlessly the placement of the punching 
instrument, this one somewhat larger than the first, and then the swift, sure squeeze. There 
were two tiny circles suddenly where there had been none. Mavis went wild, struggling wildly 
but unable to move her legs or body. I could hear her handcuffs hitting the bottom of the 
plank but knew it would do her no good. I remembered my handcuffs making the same noise 
when the punch had placed its tiny holes in my nipples.

Mavis was screaming into the gag but the screams were muted into impotency.

The ring made me as breathless as the girl who would wear it. This was no copy of mine 
but looked like forbidding black iron. It was probably some sort of colored steel. It seemed to 
me that every time Mavis walked she would feel its presence. It was now deftly inserted and 
closed tight in firm assurance of a job well done. Mavis could not see it but nonetheless 
moaned in desolation as if her world had fallen apart.

After that everything was brisk and businesslike. The surgeon shook hands with Inga and I,
and patted Mavis on her bottom before departing. My mistress accompanied him from the 
castle but was absent only a few minutes, during which I frankly stood between Mavis’

wide-spread legs to look at again and again the black steel ring she would carry all her life.
I sort of envied her but made up my mind never to say so. The critical moment came with 
Inga’s return and the unlocking of Mavis’ handcuffs from below the plank to up front so she 
would be able to finger the new treasure she carried. One by one the ropes and straps fell 
away and then the moment came when Inga and I had to help Mavis to her feet to lead her 
cautiously to the mirror where she could behold the surgeon’s miracle. She stared in utter 
disbelief. Since the gag had been removed, she burst into a flood of typical Mavis complain. 
“It’s awful! I will remove it as soon as it stops hurting. Do you realize the agony I’ve endure?”

“Don’t be silly. We used a local.”

Mavis’ wail rose to a high pitch. “You’re not going to get away with this!” she avowed to 
all.

“I shall go immediately to the police at the first opportunity. I will show it to them. You’ll 
go to prison for this.”

Poor, dear Mavis! We allowed her to rave until she reached the inevitable and asked why 
we hadn’t put rings on her the same as on me.

“If you want one on each of your tits and another in your nose, I can always ask him to 
come back,” Inga asked sweetly. “Is that what you want?”

“No, never mind.” Mavis paused while looking intently in the mirror. “I suppose gold would
have gone with my skin color,” she mused. “Those rings look lovely on Patricia but this thing 
you’ve done to me is horrible. I can’t even walk properly.”

“Mavis, my girl, within a month you’ll be proud as punch of what we’ve just given you. 
Let’s all walk up to the lounge and I promise I’ll put something stronger in your tea.”

Inga and I had trouble coping with the newly ringed maiden who squealed at every step 
and complained bitterly as we held her arms and helped her up the stairs. When we arrived at 
the lounge we force our burden to kneel beside the tea trolley with her knees far apart so her 
new possession could hang comfortably. Inga pointed out that since her only other restriction 
was handcuffed wrists, she could easily look after her own refresliments.

Mavis sniffed and accepted her first sandwich. And since this a dainty little trifle, she 
quickly selected another.

“You’ve ruined my life,” she said between bites. Then she suddenly paused with a sandwich
half way to her mouth. “Oh, my god’ This thing closes my pussy: I mean, a man couldn’t … I 
can’t … Oh, shit!”

We smiled at Mavis’ sudden realization of that meaning of her ring. Normal sex with a man
was now not possible. She looked pale at the thought.

“No man can ever get inside me again. And when this local wears off the pain is going to 
be terrible. Would you please pour me another cup of tea?”

Mavis took a huge gulp of tea and appeared to feel better. I’m ashamed to admit that I 
was like a small girl, so fascinated by the ring which hung so neatly from the sex of this girl.

And I couldn’t help wondering if Inga would one day inflict a similar decoration on my sex.

She read my mind and snapped, “I know what you’re thinking, Patricia. But forget. I intend 
to have you penetrated from time to time, by Sir Roger, and perhaps others. I don’t want you 
with a sealed pussy.”

I went back to staring that the small ring that connected the vagina lips so neatly. It didn’t 
hang down too far, just enough to see it as she knelt there. The idea that it sealed up her 
pussy, even if only to intruding objects, was fascinating.

I was enjoying the day’s events and envisioning Mavis being confronted with a huge, erect
male penis and having to tell the horny guy that she couldn’t take him in! Probably she would 
have to take the weapon in some other orifice but the only two that came to mind would both
be disgusting for a girl like Mavis.

I was getting a nice fire growing in my loins at all this highly erotic sights and thoughts, so 
I asked Inga when one of those penetrations might occur. She laughed at me and said not 
today. I was disappointed but tried not to show it. After all, I was only a slavegirl and my 
mistress decided when I would obtain sexual satisfaction, not me.





CHAPTER TEN - Sold


I’ve always used the word punishment for those disagreeable things Inga just adores doing to 
me. After she and I had hoisted Mavis up to the turret room, and fastened her with a collar 
and quite long chain, and left her there safely locked away, my mistress broke the news that 
she was becoming bored with the absence of my daily punishment, and that the following day
I could expect to return to the routine of punishment. She pointed out that tethering me by 
one nipple or the ring in my nose was amusing but would never be a substitute for good old 
rope and the tied up damsel in distress. As usual I did not argue but simply asked that might 
not hurt too much. Thus it was that after breakfast the following day I was led by the ring in 
my nose to another of the turret chambers. The lovely leg irons seemed a permanent fixture 
on my ankles and it served Inga right that our climb up the narrow stone steps took so long. 
When we got inside the narrow stone prison, I realized it was just one more place I had 
neglected to look at when I was younger and free. Another steel post was there, dead center 
just the same as Mavis’ chamber.

With a word I was thrust backward against the vertical pole and in no time Inga had me 
belted by the waist with loop after loop of rope which, when she drew tightly, left me without 
a tummy and my bottom pressed hard against the steel. As if not satisfied with that tension, 
she then did a cinch job which left me almost breathless. After walking around me several 
times, she actually took the handcuffs and leg irons off to leave me totally free except for the 
bindings to the post. “There, that will keep you from running around, darling.

And you’re free to use your hands and feet anyway you want You look very sweet like that 
and I think I’m being much too kind. I’ll drop in from time to time to keep you from getting 
bored. There isn’t much a girl can say at times like that. So I simply told my mistress to please 
drop in often and maybe next time she came she would loosen the rope just a little because it 
was far too tight. I got my usual kiss and then the door slammed shut and I was alone. I 
immediately went to work and wondered why Inga had been so foolish as to use rope instead 
of chain. With a chain and padlock around my middle I would have been fixed for sure. But 
rope has to have a knot and busily my free hands went in back to search for it. But when I 
found it my hopes died instantly because Inga had sealed the two ends with a bit of twisted 
wire against which my fingers were powerless. Inga never makes mistakes nor leaves anything 
to chance.

Foiled by the knot and the wire, my fingers roved and tested each loop of the brutal rope 
which was cutting me in two. Every one was tight and the cinching strand had been knotted 
somewhere underneath were I couldn’t get at it. I sighed with resignation and settled down to
a long time to be spent with an hour glass figure.

My punishment was not so much being bound to the post but was also a frustration 
beyond words. I had my hands and I had my feet. In that sense I was more free than I had 
been in a long while. To be held captive by a few bands of rope around my tummy was bitter 
gall. But I considered how much worse my punishment could be and how useless it was to try 
to get myself free because I was still locked in the turret chamber and could not get out.

And a partial escape attempt might well earn me a session with the cane or whip. Or, if 
Inga wasn’t in the mood for such, a session riding the “horse”, which was to say a rather 
painful afternoon astride a wooden plank on edge.

The terrible part was that I couldn’t go to sleep, not tied the way I was. Once again I was a 
damsel in distress, awaiting rescue.

There was no rescue. But when Inga visited she was in playful mood and made things 
worse by strapping an anklet on my left ankle, an anklet with a good strong ring attached, and
then, without warning, lifted the whole of my foot and leg higher than I would ever have 
believed possible to snap the anklet’s ring to a waiting rope and hook above. I was instantly 
up in arms. “Oh, Inga, please don’t be so damned mean. This is awful, it’s splitting me in two. 
And I’m sure it looks awful. Please go easy on me.”

“You look very sweet. It’s a novel position which shows your pretty puss to good 
advantage. I’ll see you later.”

It was bad before but this was worse. The hell of it was I had free hands but then did no 
good at all. I could not reach my lifted ankle nor untie my tummy. I reached down to my pussy
and discovered it was, indeed, rather open and, no matter what Inga said, I was sure it looked 
obscene. I no longer bothered to try and get free, I had lost hope. I wrote the whole thing off 
as a bad day.

A captive girl knows that things can always get worse. When my mistress came again and, 
despite all my pleadings, she proceeded to bind my loins in a really brutal crotch tie, I knew 
things were worse. I couldn’t see all of the way she bound me but there were ropes going 
from my tummy ropes, between my legs, and up behind me. And they were very, very tight, 
crushing my poor little tender pussy painfully. I pleaded but was ignored. Then, as a final 
imposition, she put an anklet on my free foot and pulled it up and out until I was in a terribly 
painful stretch, all my weight resting on the ropes around my tummy, between my legs, and 
my ankles. I cried out that it was hurting too much, but that seemed to please Inga. With a 
sigh I keep silent, knowing full well that Inga was accomplishing just what she wanted 
-punishment for Patricia.

“Stop your beefing, you little idiot,” Inga admonished after she was finished. “I’m sure 
you’re not comfortable but that’s the whole purpose. I’ll come back and whip the soles of your
feet after lunch.”

Before I could muster a fresh protest she was gone. The crotch ropes took some of my 
weight but the ropes around my middle took most of it and hurt terribly. I had free hands and
arms but was shocked to discover they gave no help at all. I grabbed at any ropes I could and 
tried to tear them loose, to undo any knot I could find, to rip them from my body.

But I could do nothing.

After a while I settled down to enduring the agony of spread legs and crushed in middle. 
In looking down at my bound pussy, I had to look over my nipple rings. After a while I played 
with them, mostly just to have something to do. Slowly I became aware of a heat growing in 
my pussy and realized that my playing with my nipples was doing things to me that perhaps I 
shouldn’t do. But at least it was something to stop the boredom. One hand went down to my 
pussy to stroke it lightly with fingertips while the other hand continued to play with one 
nipple ring. I was a sad and lonely little girl with only a whipping on the soles of her feet to 
look forward to. The thought of all that tender flesh on the bottom of my feet being cut and 
slashed with leather thongs was terrible and sent a shiver through my body.

But it also added to the fire in my belly. Soon I was fingering my clit faster and faster while 
my other hand tugged at the nipple ring until it hurt. My eyes closed and my breathing turned
to panting as sexual excitement built up to a fever inside my pussy. When it exploded into 
multi-colored sparks, I grunted and shivered all over. For a long time my body trembled with 
the ecstasy of a very intense orgasm.

As I came slowly down, I told myself that I could very well be punished for doing what I 
just did without permission. But I didn’t care. It was somehow very good to be so cruelly 
bound. I was only thankful that my hands had been free to play with myself. If she had 
handcuffed them behind the pole, I probably would have gone crazy.

It was a long time later when Inga came. I did not get my feet whipped and that mercy led 
to my flinging myself to Inga’s knees in gratitude when she untied me from the post. Just 
before removing the ropes, she looked strangely at me and palmed my pussy. Perhaps she 
knew that I had reached an orgasm, but I didn’t care. A girl sometimes has to do what she can
to cope with terrible punishments. I really didn’t think I should be faulted for an occasional 
orgasm when I could sneak one in.

I clung to Inga, wrapping my arms around her knees and pressing my ringed nipples into 
her legs. All I wanted was to stay in abject worship, to pull aside her panties and kiss and kiss 
again. This freedom lasted all through dinner and I have to admit that over the food, the wine 
and the coffee I managed to perk up to the point where Inga once more locked the leg irons 
on my ankles, and the handcuffs on my wrists. I was still hurting from the ropes which had left 
their imprints on my skin. And when Inga took me early to bed and locked the collar and 
chain around my neck, I knew what I had to do and performed that task with such skill that 
when both of us fell back gasping, my mistress, for the first time, cuddled me and whispered 
thank you in my ear.

I regretted not having explored Hasting more as a child. The ancient well was something I 
had never seen and while Inga watched me with amusement, I beheld the renovated bricks, 
the rope and the pail. All were new and I realized, with a thrill of horror, they were designed 
for me.

“It’s not terribly deep, darling, only about twenty feet. And there isn’t any water in it any 
more. It dried up years ago. Don’t you think it’s a wonderful place for you to spend a day?”

“No, I don’t. Oh, Inga, what’s got into you yesterday and today? I don’t deserve any of 
these horrible things.”

Her lips found mine. And after quite a while she whispered in my ear, “Of course you don’t 
deserve them, darling. But it gives me so much pleasure to be a bit of a bitch to you every 
once in a while. And, anyway, this will be a wonderful experience for you. Get up on the stone 
work, put your feet in the bucket, and hold on to the rope. I’ll let you down. I’ve brought the 
riding crop just in case you wish to argue.”

I looked at that riding crop and knew damned well I’d end up doing whatever Inga wanted
anyway. So I said a hasty, “No, thanks, I don’t wish to argue. I’ll do as I’m told.” I said it so 
sweetly I got kissed again.

The job of getting me lowered into the ancient well evoked giggles from my mistress and 
quite a few frightened exclamations from me. My feet with their leg irons were in the big 
bucket while I held on to the rope for dear life, concerned only with avoiding a fall. I looked 
down only once to see the little but a darkness below me. The pulley turned under Inga’s 
control and I was lowered into that darkness. When the bucket hit bottom I actually heaved a 
sigh of relief, even though I had to lift myself out of the bucket and then watch it rise towards 
what seemed a very small circle of skylight. A minute later Inga was peering down and asking 
if I was all right. “I haven’t broken any bones, if that’s what you mean,” I retorted. “But the 
ground is wet and I just stepped on a frog or something. Inga, darling, please get me out of 
here.”

Inga had brought along a sizable bag which she made me carry. No doubt the sandals 
which she now threw down to me had been in there. “Handcuffs won’t stop you putting these 
on, darling. I can’t possibly have you treading on frogs and toads. Isn’t this a lovely idea?”

I did not answer but urgently groped around for the sandals which I lost no time in getting
on my feet. The earth had a damp chill in it and I was glad for the sandals. I looked up 
hopefully at the little circle of sunlight far above but Inga was nowhere to be seen and I knew 
my day of punishment had begun.

I was thankful for my hands even though my wrists were cuffed. I felt around the walls I 
could only dimly see and discovered they were of stone and I pondered how many years it 
might have been since someone shaped and cemented them into this well. I tried sitting down
but my bottom found the earth too cold and I wished Inga had left me the bucket so I could 
sit on that. Hopefully, I looked up often but there was nothing there except the pulley and a 
bit of sky. So all I could do was brace my shackled feet and lean back against the stone. I had 
little expectation I would go to sleep, so allowed my thoughts to roam and fix upon Mavis in 
her turret prison and how she might be coping with her ring. I was in the middle of that when 
Inga’s voice echoed down the well, “I’m lowering the bucket. Put your feet into it and hold on. 
I’ll raise you up. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

It was like emerging from the grave, although I haven’t really ever done that. I was 
overjoyed and contrived to get my feet and their leg irons into the bucket. I could hear the 
sounds of the pulley above as Inga turned the crank. I was soon at the top and Inga’s strong 
arms were aiding me to get my feet back on mother earth. Once more gratitude overwhelmed
pride and I clasp what I could of her to alternately kiss and say thank you, thank you, thank 
you, without even knowing why my punishment in the well had been cut short. Inga refused 
to say a word as she led me back to the castle, but she chuckled and giggled a lot, and told 
me over and over I was in for a shock. It was in a mood of happy anticipation that my shackled
took their last step as Inga threw open the door and I entered her office. Seated at the desk 
was Bree Banting.

Our visitor was becomingly attired, no doubt paid for with my money. Her smile of 
welcome was very real and once more I got kissed and patted, and my rings were marveled 
over with delight. When she sat down I was able to stand in full view and stick out my tits, and
it was at that point the whole affair took on overtones of menace.

“Patricia really does look charming the way you’ve got her chained,” our visitor said to my 
mistress in genuine approval. “I have admire the way you keep her without possibility of 
escape. Do those bits of metal she’s wearing go alone with the deal?”

“I think you’d better tell Patricia, herself, what the deal is.”

“All right. You haven’t said yes to it yourself yet, but I’ll try and bring our chained beauty 
into the picture.” Bree turned to me. “It’s very simple, dear child. I wish to purchase you.”

It’s funny the uncertainty in the way we react. I simply wanted to laugh but, just to be 
polite, I pointed out the obvious, “You don’t buy and sell girls in England, Bree. I’m not for 
sale. And, anyway, I don’t need the money.”

As a quick afterthought, I added. “What on earth would you want me for?”

“Miss Banting is acting as an agent,” Inga interjected. “The offer is about to make comes 
from a wealthy associate who must have more money than sense.” She turned to Bree, “Go 
ahead. Miss Banting, name the price.”

Bree’s eyes were bright as they drank in my nudity. “How would five million American 
dollars sound, dear child?” she asked.

“It doesn’t sound good at all, it sounds silly. I don’t see why anyone would pay such a 
huge sum of money simply for a girl. What’s he want me for? As if I didn’t know.”

Bree allowed herself a giggle. “There’s other things besides intercourse in bed, Patricia. I 
would have thought you knew that by now.”

“It sounds to me as though he wants to whip my bottom, or worse. I think the whole idea 
is crazy. And, anyway, I don’t need the money. I’m suppose to be a very rich woman.”

“You’re a long way from being a free girl, Patricia. You wear those chains nicely but they 
stand between you and freedom, you know that as well as I. Think of it, five million dollars….”

“What good is money to me if I’m still a prisoner?” I sneered. I held up handcuffed wrists 
and rattled the link. “If you put all that money on the table right now, these handcuffs would 
not fall off on the floor, they’d still be locked on me.”

“They could easily be unlocked, Patricia, darling,” my mistress said quietly. “On the other 
hand, the key could be sold along with you as part of the bargain.”

“You see, dear, I don’t think you yet realize what we’re really talking about,” Bree added.

“I’m not offering you five million dollars. I know how useless the money would be to a girl 
kept in restraint. I’m offering the money to Mrs. Suffcliff as payment in full for a pretty girl with
rings through her nose and tits. Actually, dear, you don’t have a lot to say about it.”

It hit me like a blow, and I turned to my mistress in agonized appeal. “You wouldn’t do 
that, would you, Inga?” I demanded. “You wouldn’t sell me like a slave in a slave market.

And, anyway, what would David say. I can’t believe you’re serious.”

“David doesn’t know. And by the time he finds out, you will be long gone. And even I 
won’t know where you are.” Inga sighed. “You see, darling, David and I are not rich the way 
you are. Your estate pays us both a handsome salary, but five million dollars opens up for us a 
whole new world. Can you blame me for wanting it?”

“But I thought you loved me!”

“I do. And always will. But life is not as easy for me as it is for you.”

“All right then, I’ll pay you and David the five million from my estate. I’ll sign whatever 
papers there are to sign to make sure you get it safely.” I laughed bitterly. “Good gosh, I’m 
paying you five million dollars just to keep me prisoner for maybe all my life! It’s crazy. But, 
Inga, please take the money from me. I don’t want to be sold.”

I turned upon Bree savagely. “I suppose you’d deliver me to this horrible man bound hand 
and foot and gagged?”

Bree laughed. “I can hardly expect you to walk to him a free girl, Patricia.”

“But why me! This fellow, whoever he is, hasn’t even seen me. He’d be nuts to pay all that 
money for any female, sight unseen.”

“He relies on my judgment, dear. I’ve described you to him. And because of the ease by 
which this transaction can be brought about, he finds you appealing. We don’t need to worry 
about that, he’ll pay.”

I turned to the girl I still thought of as my mistress. “But, Inga, I’ll pay too. Sell me to 
yourself. Or whatever way you’d like to describe. Please, please, please!”

I hit a responsive cord, and after a few moments of silent thought, Inga turned to our 
visitor. “As far as I know, Miss Banting, the proposition Patricia has just made to me is entirely 
practical. But my husband is an honorable man and has rendered the estate the best service 
he could. Neither he nor I have ever stolen a penny from the estate. So, if you don’t mind, I’d 
like to speak to David before selling Patricia into whatever sort of slavery you have in mind. 
Will you give us a week to think about it and arrange details. If David says no to Patricia’s offer
and yes to yours, I’ll give you a phone call and you can come and pick the dear girl up.”

Bree pursed her lips. “Yes, I suppose that’s only reasonable,” she conceded. “Have you any 
idea which way your husband might go?”

“I’ll admit he would not normally part with Patricia, but your offer would make us 
financially independent and that is something he’ll seriously consider. I shall urge him to 
accept.”

The sale of Patricia Torrence ended as abruptly as it had begun. Bree had probably 
expected some sort of quibbling and shrugged. She handed Inga a card. “There’s my number, 
Mrs. Suffcliff, and I do hope you call me soon. I suppose I should add that just in case I receive
a negative reply, the man for whom I speak may use other means to get possession. And if 
you think this strange, then look at it from his point of view. Here we have this gorgeous girl, 
naked and chained hand and foot. She’s a lovely package, ready for delivery. There’s a 
beautiful logic about Patricia, she’s so delightfully disposable.”

When our visitor had gone I broke down and kneeling at Inga’s feet, buried my face in her 
lap. I sobbed in frustration and felt the tender loving fingers in my hair.

I knelt there between Inga’s feet until my tears were exhausted. My joined hands were 
then pulled above my head and, without a word begin said, I felt the entry of a key and a few 
moments later the lovely handcuffs were beside me on the floor. I was lifted up so that two 
females, one naked and one clothed, could clasp each other in a fresh embrace and once 
more Inga’s whisper was in my ear, “Poor darling, I know how you feel. Probably I shouldn’t 
have sprung that on you the way I did.” She paused for a minute then continued, “If some 
idiot wants to pay five million dollars for you, I suppose we should let him. But I can promise 
you that the day after the money is safely in our bank, I’ll make sure the police make a call 
where ever it is he lives. I would guess that in a couple of days you’d be safely back here with 
me. Cheer up, darling, I’m sure you’d do this for me, wouldn’t you?”

It was a relief beyond words and left me bemused so I had to spell it out “Let me get this 
straight, Inga.” My voice was still half choked with tears. “You want to go through all the 
motions of selling me. You’ll allow Bree to pick me up and pay all that money for me. And 
then, after it’s safely in the bank, you’ll have the police repossess me. And bring me back to 
you. Is that right?”

“That’s it, darling.”

“But what will he do to me in the meantime?”

“I admit I’m not too sure. But you probably guessed it. He probably will use you until he’s 
satisfied. It’s just a rough guess and perhaps he will whip you, too. I don’t think Bree even 
knows what he will do to you. Will you take the chance?”

“Couldn’t you sell him Mavis instead?”

“Don’t be silly. No man would pay for Mavis. With her flapping tongue, she’ll always be a 
freebie. And, besides, Mavis may be pretty but you’re much better quality.”

My love for Inga soared to new heights. And after the first shock I found myself excited by 
a new adventure. If having a strange male inside me was the only price I had to pay to get 
Inga all that money, the price seemed small indeed. I mean, it’s not as though men haven’t 
been there before. David and I slept together every night for a long, long time. There was, of 
course, the chance the man might be cruel but my bottom had been whipped and caned 
enough so I no longer saw the ordeal as the end of life. And at the back of my mind a little 
voice was busy telling me that the police need not return me to Hastings, but could deliver me
to my own apartment. And I would once more be free. The more I thought about it, the better
it looked. But I offered a question, “Isn’t it frightfully dishonest, Inga? I mean to take the man’s
money and then rob him of me? It sounds a bit of a swindle and I doubt if David would go for 
it.”

“Don’t be silly, dear. Any man who would buy a girl for all that money for the purpose of 
keeping her as a slave deserves whatever he gets. And the nice thing is he can’t make a 
complaint, he can’t get you back. He’s done something so shockingly illegal he hasn’t a leg to 
stand on. Stop worrying.”

With Inga in charge, my fears dissolved and the heat within my loins began to simmer 
once again. Bree had said the man who would purchase me was less than middle aged, so 
now I had girlish dreams of him being handsome and probably well hung to give a maiden 
what she wants. And when I was returned to Hastings Castle and Inga’s chains, his male 
attention would leave no shame upon my body. Inga never used my pussy except to tease. 
Everything was beautifully logical, so I told Inga to phone Bree that evening and make a date 
for my delivery. Considering all the possibilities, I was almost inclined to laugh.

Basil Gilbert was in his late thirties and, while not exactly handsome was clearly athletic 
and when he left me from the trunk of Bree’s car, he did with such ease as though I weighed 
nothing. As he did, I distinctly felt the hard erection somewhere below his belt.

We appraised each other with intent interest but I couldn’t say a word because I was 
gagged. The garage was somewhere underground and there was an elevator in which he 
placed me to stand erect and lean against its wall with Bree on one side and he on the other. 
“I own this building,” he said, “so you don’t have to worry about being seen or hope someone 
is going to rescue.” He turned to Bree and added, “Good gosh, Bree, this girl is a beauty, 
indeed!”

We stopped at what I supposed was a penthouse. I was placed to stand on a rug so my 
new owner could sit on the couch a few feet away to make a visual inventory of my assets. 
Bree kept very much in the background.

Inga had corded me tight so I now found it painful to stand. My wrists were tied, my 
elbows were tied, and they were tied tightly together and hurt. The rope at my ankles and 
knees was also tight. With Inga’s own quaint sense of humor, and just to make sure I did not 
move my arms, she had included them in the binding of my crotch so I was belted with rope 
and bisected back and front with the same rough hemp. A strand of that hemp bit tight on 
either side of the Venus mound I could not even see. It was an additional embarrassment for a
girl displaying total nakedness for the first time to a man she did not even know. I longed to 
speak but my mouth was filled with rubber and my lips tight sealed.

So I simply stood there, trying not to fall over, while we looked at each other and Mr. Basil 
Gilbert made comments to Bree about the rings, which he undoubtedly saw as a bonus.

And when he and Bree left the room, perhaps to conduct some of the financial 
transactions involved in the transfer of my ownership, I was left standing there with my mind 
in a turmoil of conjecture. Half of me was wishing I had never gotten into this adventure but 
the other half tingling with feminine excitement.

My new master soon returned alone, saying briskly, “Well, that’s that. Everything looked 
after and shipshape. May I offer you a drink?”

I made noises behind the gag, and he was instantly apologetic, saying that the tight bands
over my lips looked so natural he had forgotten I could not speak. It was only a moment 
before the buckle was pulled loose and I could say everything I wished. At that moment I 
found that I had nothing to say! So I said, “A drink would be lovely, and can I sit down?”

I had hoped to be untied and use my hands, but only the rope from my ankles and knees 
was untied and tossed aside. This left me without arms or hands and with the hurt of bound 
elbows and corded pussy. I was led to the other end of the couch on which he sat, and the 
drink he poured was fed between my lips by his hand. I gulped it easily for I needed a bit of 
courage, and Basil Gilbert was an unknown. When the drink had gone, I said a modest thank 
you and inquired politely what sort of enslavement I might expect, a remark that appeared to 
cause him great amusement.

“Just the usual sort of things a man does with a girl,” she said. ‘To tell you the truth I 
haven’t done this before. You’re the first slavegirl I’ve ever purchased. And I wouldn’t have 
done it but for a lottery ticket I bought in Spain. I would hate to tell you how much money I 
won. Would you like another drink?”

I still did not get my hands free and he moved closer to hold the glass as I slowly sipped.

Cautiously I told him, “Please don’t hurt me more than you have to. I promise I’ll be 
obedient. I’ve been a slavegirl for a long time. I’ve been well trained.”

“Not to worry. I’ll probably hurt you but not more than you’ve already had.” He paused to 
actually blush. “You know this business of owning a girl is in the mind of every man, but I 
doubt if it comes true more than once in a million. I’m damned lucky.” He glanced at me 
shrewdly. “Maybe you’re lucky, too.”

“Thank you, I hope I am. Could I please be untied?”

“No, you can’t. I like you the way you are. Your figure is right out of this world but you’ve 
no idea how it is enhanced by those bindings on your arms. By the way, what’s that rope 
effect down between your legs? I intend to fuck you quite soon, and I can’t do it while you’re 
tied like that.”

“It’s just there to stop me struggling, and to keep me hurting enough so I’ll behave. It 
doesn’t stop me doing anything, except the thing you’ve got in mind. I’d be ever so grateful if 
you’d untie it. I believe the knots are in back somewhere.”

Basil Gilbert grunted, “All right, I suppose I could do that for you. Stand up and turn 
around.”

Eagerly I obeyed. Basil had a good look at my front and he was now getting an equally 
good vision of my back side. I felt him pulling and tugging and then he peeled the ropes out 
of my skin with me gasping at the pain, but managing to voice a series of sincere thanks. 
Examining my back and bottom, Basil exclaimed, “You’ve been whipped, haven’t you? Was 
that part of being a slave?”

“Yes, it was. I hope you don’t have ideas like that.”

“All men have ideas like that.”

Basil laughed and patted my bottom. “I suppose that’s the wonderful thing about owning 
a slavegirl -she has to do or accept whatever you wish. This is pretty heady stuff for a guy like 
me. I’ve always been a bit shy with girls. Now I can fuck you whenever I wish, and whip you 
when I please. Come alone, we’ll go to the bedroom and I’ll try out what you’re like inside.”

It seemed silly to protest. I was bound and helpless and what Basil now proposed was no 
more than a girl might expect. Obediently I allowed myself to be led to the room where it 
would happen, and then placed upon the bed to lay on boun I arms and have my feet 
stretched wide, not only to make easier his entry, but to give him one more chance for a 
damned good look. It’s surprising how few men have the guts to get close enough to inspect 
the thing they most adore. With this first time and my arms hurting, my now owner informed 
cheerfully, “Maybe next time I’ll untie you. We’ll try it with you completely free.”

Basil was large and he was good. He certainly was not shy when it came to penetrating a 
female body and he certainly had good staying power. Since I was sexually excited, I managed
three orgasms to his one. When we lay panting side by side, he told me quietly, “You’re good. 
I’m going to get my money’s worth out of you.” He then untied my arms and wrists and 
exclaimed over the beautiful marks in my skin where the ropes had burned. He massaged my 
wounds with care and then we did it again.

I was a beautiful new toy, and even though it had been wonderful of us both for me to 
have arms and hands, Basil told me to stand up and cross my wrists behind my back because 
he wanted try me out with my hands tight tied. I stood as the cords cut my skin and was then 
subjected to as vigorous a fucking as when we had first started. I began to wonder how long 
Basil’s virility would stand the stress. When we were once more side by side in silent 
communion with my wrists hurting and helpless, I plucked up the courage to inquire, “Are you
always going to tie me up with rope? Don’t you have handcuffs? They’re a lot more 
comfortable and I can never get out of them.”

“Bree left a bag full of that stuff but I didn’t like using them on you right away. I’ll always 
had this lovely vision of you bound and gagged the way you were when she delivered you.” 
Basil paused, and then, in a burst of candor, asked shamelessly, “Would you mind very much if
I whipped you? It’s something I’ve always wanted to do to a girl.”

“Of course I’d mind,” I told him without heat. “But I’ve been whipped often so I suppose I’ll
live. Couldn’t you wait a few days?”

“No, I don’t want to wait. And I don’t want you telling me when and what to do. “There 
was a time when I put up with female caprice the way most men do. Men are a bunch of idiots
who think the girls will love them more if the guy always says yes. Patricia, you’ve no idea how 
wonderful it is to know I can do whatever I wish with you. Are you scared?”

“No, I’m not. I just think you’re letting all that hate to run away with you. I’ve been well 
trained so I’ll go alone with what you want. And with whatever Bree brought you in that bag 
of tricks. But you’ll have to become accustomed to me screaming and shedding tears.

After all, I’m only a girl.”

Basil thought this over while I tugged and twisted at tied wrists. After a while he said 
slowly, “I know where you’re coming from, Pat. That’s what I’m going to call you: Pat.

You’re quite right about all that money giving me a sort of carnal intoxication, but it’s also 
an opportunity to enjoy things other men simply dream about. I suppose you’ll think I’m a 
bastard, but I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with if I had hoped to delay the whip or the 
torture until the police came to take me away. But Basil, in spite of being a nice guy, was also 
determined, and he had made me catch a glimpse of the terrible hunger latent within the 
Male. I liked Basil and his several penetrations of my puss told me what a wonderful husband 
he would make if it were not for all that stuff in Bree’s bag. My corded wrists told me to forget
escape, and work at feminine persuasion for all I was worth. But at that point Basil interrupted,
“So far as the screaming goes, I suppose I could gag you, couldn’t I, Pat? Weren’t you always 
gagged when you were whipped?”

“Not often. I try and control the noise. Like I told you, I’ve been very well trained. If you 
untied my hands now, I wouldn’t give you any trouble. I’d let you tie me again anyway you 
wished.” I glinted at him shrewdly. “Or maybe you’re one of the guys who likes a girl to fight. If
you want me to fight I’ll do my best even through I have to loose. But I can’t fight with my 
hands tied behind me.”

“Let’s do it anyway.” His voice was eager, his fingers swift as he freed my wrists. Then, as 
my contribution to the game, I dashed towards the door but was grabbed half way by a male 
hand at the clutch of which I thrilled but gave Basil his money’s worth by kicking and beating 
at him with my fists, all of which was quite useless. He soon had me laying across his knees 
while he slapped my bottom hard enough to hurt. In between panting and gasping I told him 
that if he let me go, I’d stop fighting. And, please, not to spank me like a small child.

“You prefer to be whipped, Pat?”

“No really, but since I’m at it anyway, I might as well try to get out of spankings too. Please
let me up.”

He actually did as I asked, and once I was up, I sensed him as what my mother would have 
described as a “nice young man.” Seeking to gain time, I asked demurely, “Couldn’t we try it 
once again in bed? You’re quite good there, you know.”

Basil was flattered but firm. He actually kissed the back of my hand before asking, “What’s 
the best way to tie you to be whipped?”

I told him of the different ways I knew, which after all, were commonplace and obvious.

And then, without a word, he tied my hands in front and raised me up to slip my corded 
wrists over a hook to make me hang like a picture on the wall. Like a little boy with new toys 
he then showed me the wickedest riding crop I’d ever seen, and the inevitable strip of yellow 
cane. “I bought these when I knew you were coming. I’d like to follow the fictional idea and 
have you kiss them first before feeling them on your bottom. Do you mind?”

I obediently kissed the beastly things which he held against my lips. I considered asking 
him to allow my feet back on the rug but prudence told me to keep silent. I did so and waited 
breathlessly.

It was the same searing scold, the same agonizing bit at helpless skin. I managed small 
noises of distress and contrived those motions with my legs which give a girl the illusion of 
easing her pain. Basil then struck me hard again. And again. I did some magnificent jerking 
while gasping out, “You’re hitting me terribly hard. Do you really have to?”

“I’m afraid I do,” Basil acknowledged in a quiet tone. “You’re far too tempting a morsel for 
me to deny my baser instincts. But, Patricia, dear girl, I want you to keep me posted and make 
suggestions as to how I could improve my stroke.”

“You’re doing fine,” I muttered. “No one has ever hurt me more with a riding crop. I had 
best warn you I’m going to scream if you keep this up.”

I kicked and twisted through several more blows but there always comes the one a girl 
simply cannot bear. And it was then I screamed, a scream rewarded by the gag, which Basil 
inserted gently enough but then buckled the leather straps with hard, male strength.

Thereafter my sounds were modest, while my legs responded to each stroke of cane or 
crop with such a flurry of motion that my owner cut his crop across the sole of one of my feet 
and told me to keep still or he’s tie my ankles. Shamed and tearful I obeyed while the 
instrument of agony whistled and cut my skin.

He stopped quite suddenly and my lips were quickly freed from the gag. Perhaps he just 
wanted me to tell what it felt like to be a girl and be whipped. I sobbed out words to give my 
master the best show I could contrive of a damsel in distress. Basil listened avidly.

Then, when he told me I would not be whipped again until the next day, my thanks were 
shamelessly profuse.

I was then lifted up and turned around so that my scorched bottom felt the coolness of 
the wall and I could face the man who had beaten me. My wrists were hurting horribly but I 
dared not complain. Then I shuttered when I saw the things Bree had left behind. I’ll be 
damned if the first thing Basil brought out of her bag was a plain old pair of clothespins.

When I told him why they were in that collection, he was immensely amused and insisted 
on trying them out immediately. I knew my rings were far enough back on my nipples so that 
a r clothespin could still be clamped upon them. I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth as 
my owner fumbled with my breasts. The awful pain was as I remembered it as the wooden 
clamps bit at my tender flesh. I was gasping with the pain and opened my eyes to see how 
Basil was enjoying my small torture.

“Damn it, girl, they look really sweet on you,” he chuckled. “It’s amazing what a man can 
do with a girl.” He flipped them both with a finger to make me gasp again. “They really hurt, 
don’t they? How long can you stand it?”

“As long it gives you pleasure,” I whispered. He played with them again but soon lost 
interest. “Makes me feel like a kid pulling the legs off spiders or bugs,” he said with a bit of 
disgust as he tossed them back into the bad.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, “I’m going to fuck you again.” He then lifted me from the 
hook and carried me to the bedroom to toss me on the bed in a manner which evidently gave
him pleasure. He then untied my wrists so I became a girl gloriously free with only a scorched 
seat to remind me of who and what I was. He took me in his arms.

This time we clutched and clung and intertwined in a passion created by my whipped 
bottom. The scorch enveloping my loins was all the stimulus I needed. He was also ready with 
an immense rod standing at attention. My arms were stretched out above my head as Basil 
straddled me. He then reached over and picked up the two clothespins and clamped them 
quickly on my tits. Suddenly he was pushing my legs apart with his and entering my sex. I 
gasp out with pain in my nipples and the pleasure of his huge male shaft driving hard into my 
vagina. It was wonderful.

When we could couple no more, we fell asleep. I will never know what made me come 
awake while it was still dark. I had probably slept several hours and was instantly alert.

Feeling for the familiar collar around my neck, I found it gone and realized I was not in my 
bed or Inga’s. And I was totally free beside a man most heavily asleep. I silently got out of bed 
and headed towards the door, grabbing his shirt and pants on the way. The real miracle was 
that I got within the elevator without pursuit. There I donned the shirt and without a qualm 
stole all the money I could find in his pants. I pressed the button for the basement and 
freedom. The keys also were in his pockets. I knew which car was his. In a few breathless 
moments I was heading towards the ramp and my apartment where I knew I would be safe.

On arrival I made myself coffee and sat down to sip the hot beverage. And to ask myself 
what I should do. Surprisingly I found myself without an answer.

by the second cup I had eliminated some possibilities. Mavis was out, she couldn’t be 
trusted. Besides, the last time I saw her, she was tightly bound to a pole in one of the turret 
rooms, naked and complaining about her treatment. David was too close to Inga and was 
unlikely to get a divorce just to please me. Somehow or another Inga had fallen in my 
estimation by wanting money more than she wanted me. Colin Ruppert wasn’t forceful 
enough for my liking. This left me with a bunch of casual acquaintances and Basil Gilbert.

And Bree, but I was sure she would simply sell me to the next highest bidder and smile all 
the way to the bank.

But I had run away from Basil. And if he were a true master of a slavegirl, he would give 
her a good whipping for that escape attempt if I returned. Just the same I could not help 
thinking how wonderful he was in bed. It had been so long since Inga had allowed David to 
fuck me that I wasn’t sure if he were better than Basil or not. Probably not, my freshly satisfied 
body said. It was at that moment the door bell rang. When I opened the door, Basil Gilbert 
nodded in a friendly manner and walked past me into the lobby. When I had closed the door 
and turned, not knowing what to expect, he said abruptly, “You little idiot, your name is in the 
telephone book. You surely didn’t think you could get away, did you?

I’m here to repose you.”

“Don’t you dare touch me. Stay away.” I was breathless with a mind full of emotions I 
hadn’t time to sort out.

Basil was actually laughing as he grabbed my wrist and flipped me around with effortless 
ease and clipped Inga’s handcuffs on my wrists. “Where’s my pants,” he demanded. “And I 
think that’s my shirt you’re wearing. That fellow who said never trust a woman knew what he 
was talking about.”

I led him to his pants and then had one handcuff unlocked so he could take back the shirt.

But instantly my hands were relocked behind my back and I stood there facing him stark 
naked and thinking of the punishments I would now receive.

“You didn’t really want to escape, did you?” His voice was a statement not a question. “I 
don’t suppose you’ll mind to much if I take you home.”

“You’ll beat me!”

He took my face in his hands, then kissed my eyes and then my lips. He had robbed me of 
my arms so I couldn’t throw them around his neck. Instead he gathered me in his to clutch my
nakedness hard against his male body so I once more felt his hard weapon waiting to 
penetrate my puss. I felt myself flowing on a tide of rapture, no longer caring if I was whipped 
or not. When he got me back to the penthouse, he locked me in a tiny cage he said was used 
for large dogs. It was just girl sized. If the girl didn’t mind not being able to even sit up 
straight. I could barely stretch my legs out straight. When I looked up to him through the 
heavy mesh, he broke the news that Inga’s story about calling the police was false to lull my 
fears so I would walk into a new slavery. As the five million dollar slavegirl of a man I could not
possibly dislike, I felt fear and excitement.

It was a shock but no more than I should have expected. I shouldn’t have trusted Inga.

Basil laughed at the emotions on my face, then said jauntily, “I’m going to make our 
breakfast, sweetheart. I’ll come and get you out of there when I’m ready. Have fun.”

He paused at the door. “By the way,” he added. “When you eat breakfast, you’ll be tied 
with ropes, you elbows together behind your back and your legs together. And very tight. I 
like you that way.”

I sat in my little cage like one of the dogs I was made for. I looked at the padlock and 
knew I could never get out. So I sat in the little cage and pondered whether my new owner 
would truly keep me prisoner and if I would get the whipping of my life after we had 
breakfast. I discovered I no longer cared. Basil has the loveliest haze eyes and always smells 
like wild moss. And when I think of what he does to me in bed … Oh, wow!

I think I’m going like being his slavegirl.


The End
