Golden Wrists
by F. E. Campbell


CHAPTER ONE - Mistress On a Chair 

The manner of my coming is guesswork, I suspect I was drugged and wafted 
across the Atlantic as cargo. I may never see New York again. 

In the first two days of my imprisonment, I lost the two companions who's 
fate had been similar to mine. I mourned their passing and yearned for Ivory 
Blake with a terrible hunger of the heart. Ivory had become the core and 
center of my life but now was gone. I returned to the island of Plessious, 
along with the sweet but omnipotent Naomi Samis. They are gone, gone, gone. 
And I am here alone in the stone prison with its central column to which my 
neck is chained. 

An iron collar is locked upon my throat. From it the chain to the stone 
column allows me to pace back and forth, a good deal of freedom but not 
enough to do me any good. I constantly plead for its removal but am only 
laughed at by those who attend my needs. Sometimes when no one sees. I shed 
my tears in the bitterness of defeat. 

I was cruelly whipped on arrival, my introduction to the ancient house named 
Rockley. I was then sentenced to the condition in which I now am, for seven 
days, only four of which have gone. At the end of it I am to be whipped 
again. How wonderful is the omnipotence of this man I know as Andrew 
Everleigh. 

He visits me each day and I have no choice but to stand naked beneath his 
venerable regard as we discuss the affairs of The Estate, and the 
disposition of my body. Andrew Everleigh may be old but he is very shrewd. 

"That young upstart, Hugo Markham, will be missing you," the man who holds 
me prisoner remarked. "He'd best give up his claim and with you gone, I 
expect he will." 

His regard of my nakedness, which never had been carnal, made me think he 
was faintly aware of me as a human being. "You've only three days to go 
before being whipped again. How do you feel about it?" 

"It's medieval, I can't believe it will happen." 

"It will happen. Do you think the first one did you any good?" That's a 
question I've asked myself again and again in my loneliness. Being whipped 
so terribly made me humble in a way to cause me shame. It is, of course, 
nothing more than a demonstration of how a man's will and a man's strength 
can rob a girl of pride and self-esteem. I had not previously concerned 
myself with breasts and pubes, but I'm now frighteningly aware of these 
female sexual attributes. I do not want to be hurt again, the pain is beyond 
bearing. I hear my voice and am mortified a thousand-fold. 

"I don't want to be whipped again. Please, is there not something I can do 
or say? I am now obedient." 

Andrew Everleigh nodded absently as if my pleading might be taken for 
granted. "As you have been, Diane, you are too big for the role you have to 
play. Whipping will diminish you and make you submissive to my needs. Can 
you understand?" 

"I will be obedient to you now. Please don't have me whipped again." 

He goes away and I sink down upon the stone to lean whipped skin back 
against the pillar which holds my neck by a chain. 

The next day was one more step towards a destination I could not see. 
Fingering the iron band around my neck, I once more stood before a male gaze 
in which there was neither lust nor an awareness of my breasts, Andrew 
Everleigh continued where he had left off the day before, "You are aware of 
the seven days you must serve, my girl," he said as a preamble, "After that 
there will be an eighth day and a ninth. What say you then?" 

"After you've whipped me again I thought you would set me free." 

His ascetic smile comes through thin lips. "You engage in wishful thinking, 
girl. But that is to be expected. I'll not be sending you back to that plush 
New York office and those pampered clients. You are going to serve me here 
at Rockley instead." 

"As a naked slave? Is that what you want of me?" Andrew Everleigh does not 
answer, Instead he repeats the dry chuckled I can't interrupt. He goes away. 
The door slams shut. I was alone with stone walls and a chain. 

I ask of my jailers. I am sure they know something but they do not speak. 
They are polite with their Miss Durrant this and Miss Durrant that. I can 
tell from the way they look at me I have much to learn. They get pleasure 
from examining my nudity, perhaps planning where their whip or cane will cut 
in that time when I would scream again. 

My lonely imprisonment would drag were it not for knowing what will be done 
to me on the seventh day. And the seventh day approached with a speed to 
make me shiver. I told Andrew Everleigh that he has already reduced me to a 
naked nothing, but with this he does not agree. He asked me slyly if I would 
have preferred to stay with Naomi in the whorehouse cage without his ransom. 
Casually he mentions the sum of money he paid for my release. I am appalled 
and envision myself being whipped forever to compensate him for so huge a 
sum. Everything said and done to me here points to my jailer's whips as the 
only valid currency I have left. 

Instinct and my lawyer's training tells me of hope. Andrew Everleigh 
probably sees the second whipping as cutting me down to size, but if it is 
no more than that, there lays behind it a purpose, Andrew Everleigh will 
demand a service from the chained and naked woman he will make grovel at his 
feet. This pathetic hope is all I have in my impotence. 

I hope I appear more courageous than I feel as the last day comes. No one 
mentions what would be done to me tomorrow but it hangs heavy over me. Even 
the old man who holds me captive does not speak of it. I shiver constantly 
but not with cold. 

It will be done to me in Rockley's great Hall, a frightening vastness of 
space in which I will stand alone beneath the cynical eyes of centuries of 
ghosts, Goodness knows what the immensity of stone may once have seen. Today 
it will behold a naked Miss Diane Durrant unkindly whipped at the orders of 
a man who, a month ago, I did not even know. 

The collar I had worn for seven days is unlocked and taken from my neck. One 
of my jailers, Constance, assures me that everything will be okay and I'll 
be all right but I don't believe a word of it. 

I am led downstairs. 

The stark immensity of it is awesome even if I were clothed. 

Naked, it diminishes me to a frightened little girl who's pleas for 
forgiveness and mercy have echoed uselessly against the stone. 
Encouragingly, Constance and Betty tell me that I am to be made ready for 
the grand event but will have to wait a while for it to happen. Silently I 
reflect that if they think making me wait to be whipped is a kindness, 
they're crazy. 

The stop is shockingly dead center. From above hang the two ropes whose 
purpose I can guess. The wristlets are buckled tight, each with it's metal 
ring. There is a heavy crate on which I am told to stand. There is room for 
Constance, too, as she raises my arms one at a time to the ropes she gathers 
from beyond arms length. When I step back upon the floor I am neither 
suspended or stretched as I had supposed but simply stand with hands and 
arms held high and far apart. As the crate is carried away I realize I have 
been fastened in a manner to allow me to jerks and twist and kick to my 
heart's content as leather marks my skin. My two jailers now strew upon the 
stone floor a fine array of whips and canes and crops. They say nothing and, 
indeed, what need is there for words. Once more they tell me not to worry. 
They go away and leave me there to stand. 

I am ten times more naked than I have ever been. The great hall has that 
effect. I see among the whips there is a gag and know I will scream. 

I wonder if there is watcher in the wings but do not care. I manage to spend 
some time in an exploration of what the ropes permit. They prevent me 
leaving the stone on which I stand but allow a twisting of arms and legs, 
and a reaching with my hands to the wristlets and the heavy snaps anchoring 
their rings. It is quite hopeless, I cannot get my hands anywhere near each 
other even though I can tease myself by motions meaning nothing. 

The voice of Andrew Everleigh sounds one more alarm as he circles the 
nakedness he appears to own, "I suppose you know you have a magnificent 
figure. Miss Durrant?" 

It catches me off guard. I blush and hate myself for allowing this man to 
see pink cheeks and disarray. 

"It's a pity you can't enjoy it." I clothed the words in frost. 

"I have an artistic appreciation. I do not drool. You are exquisitely 
fastened." 

"You intend to be present when I'm whipped?" 

"No. I would find no pleasure in such sport. Constance and Betty will deal 
with you. 

Afterwards we'll talk." 

I twisted as I was meant to do against the tethers on my wrists. 

"Can't we talk now?" 

"We could, but we won't. I prefer the aftermath" 

"You want me broken and in tears, is that it?" 

Andrew Everleigh shrugged. "I expect you read that line in a novel. By the 
way, in case you're interested, I've disbanded your office in New York, and 
after you've received the pain I've prescribed for your ill temper, I'll 
offer you a position in my service." His eyes twinkled as he added, 
"Executive rank, what else!" 

Once more I was alone. It was a long time before my jailers returned to 
chose their whip. 

I find myself not wanting to talk of this second whipping at Rockley. Pain 
is a bore and best ignored. I was relieved of the shame of screams by the 
offered gag which I opened my mouth for eagerly even though the strap and 
buckle hurt my lips and cheek For me a gag was merciful. 

I was whipped with great competence and shrewd female knowledge of where it 
hurt the most. 

Constance gently informed my breasts were not required to kiss the thong. It 
was the master's orders. 

When a girl like me is whipped, she goes into another world. 

Maybe some other girl could have stood passively and accepted the pain, but 
I could not. It seemed a pity my audience was restricted to the two women 
who bestowed my pain for I put on quite a show of leaps and twists and turns 
and kicks at nothing. In an abstract way I knew what I was doing but could 
have cared less for I was encompassed by the anguish by which I would be 
made eligible to discuss my future with the man who held it in the palm of 
his hand, the man who had purchased me. 

I had a great need to scream as the leather and cane cut but was 
ridiculously grateful the vocal expression of my anguish was limited to the 
disgusting small sounds vouchsafed by the gag. When Constance and Betty were 
done with me, I was unconscious but hung in limp desolation from tethered 
wrists, glistening with sweat and moaning my way back into the world. They 
left the gag sealing my lips and went away. 

The aftermath is wonderful, knowing the punishment is passed and release 
awaits somewhere up ahead. A girl does not struggle any more but accepts the 
status quo in gratitude. Hours later the man I had come to think of as 
'Uncle Andrew' came to view his broken woman. I stiffened myself for what 
must now transpire but had the nerve to ask if he was satisfied with his 
'broken woman.' "You're not a broken woman, Miss Durrant, I never intended 
to have you broken, I want you intact. And you and I can view what has just 
happened as simple guidance." 

"It hurt me terribly. It's still hurting." 

"Good. That is what I intended. I trust you approved of the gag?" 

"Yes. Thank you." 

"Then may we advance to the next order of business?" 

"I suppose so but I'd be a lot more receptive if I weren't standing naked 
with my arms up in the air. Must you keep me like this?" 

"Yes. I will give you rank but you will be always subject to my will. If I 
want you to stand on your head, you'll do it." 

Wearily, I threw away my pride to say, "Very well. I'm defeated. What are 
the terms?" 

Andrew Everleigh was slow in answering. As I hung without caring, listless 
against the ropes. I cared little for what he might propose. All I wanted 
was to get back to New York and pick up my life. But the way this man had me 
fixed it was pretty much like wanting the moon and the stars. I was still 
getting shivering spells from being whipped and was certain I was an 
unattractive sight for any male eye. Slowly I became aware of Andrew 
Everleigh's scrutiny, seeing my woman's nakedness for the first time for 
what it truly was. Having me whipped filled some egocentric purpose in his 
mind, no doubt a prelude to the incredible proposition he now offered. 

Andrew Everleigh was not a beneficiary of The Estate but the whole damned 
family must have been money makers because I knew him to be wealthy in his 
own right. I suppose if you have enough money almost anything seems 
possible. As he spoke I found myself tensing to stand erect and once more 
take up the instinctive play of my wrists against their fastenings. 

"Constance and Betty gave me this idea, Miss Durrant. I don't suppose it's 
one I would have thought up myself." He paused, his eyes riveted on my pubic 
hair, which I felt positive he was not even seeing. He then struck off at a 
tangent, "I took a fancy to young Ivory - damned nice girl. 

Nothing like the little bitches of her age you meet these days." He raised 
his fierce old eyes to mine. 

"Are you getting my drift?" 

I hadn't the faintest idea what he was driving at. All I wanted was to get 
my hands back and cover myself. But you don't say quiet when Andrew 
Everleigh asks a question. Politely I asked, "Not really, but please 
continue." 

"I know a lot of people, and a lot of them have daughters. But I don't know 
a single one where the girl isn't a trial and tribulation to her family." 
His focus was now on my breasts but he wasn't seeing them, either. "I've got 
this great, big old house which I scarcely use so I'm turning Rockley into a 
place of training for the delinquent daughters of the rich. You've seen the 
headlines in the papers: 'Daughter of Duke's Family Found in Bed with 
Butler!'" He snorted. "Or maybe the damned girl gets arrested when some 
lousy club in Soho gets raided. Or when she pilfers a scarf from a store 
because shoplifting is popular among our kids. Rockley is going to be a 
school for the little dears. Discipline and detention is what it's really 
about. Do I interest you?" 

"I'm sure it would never be issued a permit." 

"The law won't have a thing to say about it. These people are rich or titled 
or both. What they do with their daughters the law couldn't care less about. 
And won't even know." Once more he fixed me with a steely eye. "How'd you 
like to run the place?" 

"It doesn't sound like my cup of tea." 

"You'd be the Headmistress, or Mother Superior, or whatever other title you 
dream up. 

Constance and Betty will take their orders from you, so you'll possess total 
authority. I'll pay you more money than you'd ever make out of that lousy 
law practice in New York." 

"But you can't possibly show a profit from a business like that!" 

"Who said anything about profit? And I'm not sure you're right about that. 
There's fifty of these little tricks who's parents can't wait to ship them 
away. Don't worry about the money" 

"Sounds crazy to me. What will you do to me if I refuse?" 

"You'll go back to the room upstairs and sit on the floor with a collar and 
chain on your neck. 

No whip, no nothing, except a lot of time to think." 

He was a shrewd old bird and knew damned well that sitting chained in that 
horrible prison would drive me up the wall. Suddenly I found myself 
examining the prospect of more or less possessing fifty young women, who 
would have to do whatever I told them to. Fifty pert young bottom, one 
hundred youthful breasts, and fifty pussies! Uncle Andrew discerned my 
interest. "You're something of a bitch yourself, Miss Durrant, you're made 
to order for the job. Don't tell me you're going to quibble?" 

Quibbling seemed less and less sensible. I was still bound and naked and 
would quite probably be whipped again if I said the wrong word. On top of 
this, there was also the prison upstairs with its pillar and its chain. 
Conceding the disadvantages of my situation, I was finding Uncle Andrew's 
proposition more and more attractive, It was utterly bizarre and could only 
happen with a man like him. He had the facilities in Rockley and the money 
to make it happen. 

"You mean I get to wear clothes and won't be chained?" I asked doubtfully. 

"That's right, Miss Durrant, and if you're considering the possibility of 
running away and returning to that city you so adore. I must remind you of 
the ease with which you may be apprehended and returned here for a 
punishment you'll remember all your life. Surely I don't have to tell you of 
the ease of kidnappings?" 

The old bastard, he'd do it too! New York faded to be replaced in my visions 
by fifty young damsels I could personally whip into obedience, respect, and 
goodness knows what else! Grudgingly, I conceded. "I don't have much choice, 
do I! Okay, I'll say yes." 

I got the brief of nods before Andrew Everleigh turned to leave. 

Feeling cheated of detail and longing for release, I demanded loudly, 
"Aren't you going to set me free?" 

Uncle Andrew turned to retrace a couple of steps. The tone of his voice left 
me in no doubt of where I was at. "You have been demanding and 
disrespectful, Miss Durrant. Constance will attend you with cane and whip." 
He turned again towards the door and I knew unhappily that next time I would 
treat the Master of Rockley with all possible respect. 

I went crazy and almost wrenched my arms from the sockets as I tugged and 
heaved against the leather wristlets and ropes. It was quite useless and by 
the time Constance arrived I was close to tears. 

"I'm sorry about this, Miss Durrant," she said with seeming sincerity. "I 
have orders to whip you again... I had hoped we were through." 

I was frantic at the thought of going through all that agony again. 

I made a mistake. "Please don't whip me, Constance." I pleaded like a child. 
"In fact, don't whip me at all. I've got so many marks on me now, Mr. 
Everleigh will never know the difference if we don't tell him." 

"I will tell him of this thought, Miss Durrant. He said you would 
undoubtedly make this suggestion. It earns you an extra infliction of five 
across each breast." 

"What!" I almost scream in dismay. "You mustn't whip my breasts. He didn't 
tell you to whip my breasts, did he?" 

"I fear so, Miss Durrant. With the extra you have just earned, they are now 
to received ten strokes each. I really am terribly sorry." 

"Damn your sorry, it's me who has to feel sorry." I absolutely forbid you to 
whip any part of me. I absolutely forbid you to use any of those beastly 
instruments to mark me up any more than I am now. And, certainly not upon my 
breasts! Not my breasts!" 

It was as though I had not said a word. Miss Constance's voice sought to be 
soothing, "Mr. Everleigh insists upon your breasts. Miss Durrant. And he 
instructed me to have you spread your legs apart so I might pay attention to 
that area. I will begin now, Please feel free to scream." 

The women who was to whip me had no need to order me to open my thighs. In 
my leaping and contortions against agony I served her purpose all too well, 
and she used my movements to score several good hits on my so tender part. I 
could not hold my legs together, the pain when the thong stuck my ass or 
breasts was just too great. Each fresh blow set me jerking against the 
straps upon my wrists. As my breasts were cut again and again, even without 
blood. I vowed I would never cross Andrew Everleigh's will again. Somewhere 
along the way Constance paused for breath to ask sweetly, "Have you a 
message for The Master?" 

"Tell him I will obey. I will obey every word." I rushed out the words as I 
heaved with pain. 

"I will deliver your message. Miss Durrant. I now continue." 

It went on and on. Perhaps the leather thongs invading the privacy of my sex 
or impacting across the softness of my breasts were not as hard as that 
which had marked my back but the pain generated by them was certainly as 
great or more so. As far as I was concerned, this punishment was worse than 
the one administered so short a time before. When Constance was satisfied 
she had done her duty, she freed my wrists, patted my bare bottom with the 
assurance that all was going to be all right, then went upon her way. 

I wept in a desolation of lonely pain. I cared for nothing any more except 
the terrible sensations recorded by my flesh. I lay upon the floor in naked 
misery until I heard the voice of the man I must now call Master. 

"I am glad to see you a free woman. Miss Durrant. Miss Constance is an 
artist, is she not?" 

"Am I really free? Is it all over?" 

"Indeed, yes, but I expect acknowledgment." 

"I will obey you. I will do anything you wish. I will go to bed with you, 
should it give you pleasure." 

"Thirty years ago perhaps... Not now." 

Male gaze prompted me to sit up and dry my tears. I was wonderful to have 
hands. In an excess of submission I mumbled. "Thank you for having me 
whipped, Mr. Everleigh. I'm sorry I deserved it and I'll try never to 
deserve it again." 

"I'm sure you will, my dear. Let us put the past behind us, and, if you feel 
up to it. I will escort you to your new office. Come, take my arm." 

Rags to riches! All in the time it took to whip my breasts! 

Leaning heavily upon male support I became aware I was enveloping us both in 
an aura of female musk and my own personal scent of sweat. I simply did not 
care. 

Strength flowed from Andrew Everleigh in wave after wave to make me wonder 
if he had an erection or would use it if he had. I was thankful not to be 
addicted to male erections, they mess up a girl's body and a girl's life. 
Trying not to talk, I allowed myself to be led into a new dimension. 

It was a beautiful office, totally modern except for the ivy view from the 
large windows. Everything in the room bespoke a comfortable authority. The 
desk with it's chairs must have cost a fortune, and around the walls were 
heavy iron rings, perhaps as hint of possibilities. Hanging upon one wall 
was an array of whips and crops and canes to set my heart to thudding in 
forgetfulness that these things could be used upon me, too. Undoubtedly it 
was a sanctum to daunt a teenage heart. 

"You are a headmistress, Miss Durrant. Try your executive chair." I winced 
on contact, feeling my nakedness against the leather. 

Cautiously I suggested. "This is a place of punishment. Are we to be 
concerned with the academic?" 

"Not at first. Perhaps later we will introduce classes as required. The 
first thing the little hellions need upon arrival is the whip, the pillory, 
or the stocks. I will rely upon your ingenuity for other things." 

"But they're little more than children." 

"That is not the case. A girl has to be well advanced into her teens before 
she demonstrates the qualities which bring her here to Rockley. Judging by 
inquires I've received, I think you may expect a few inmates beyond the age 
of twenty. Lady Mord Carryton, who is known to her associates as "Tuppy", is 
twenty-five. Her parents giving us carte blanche over the correction of her 
faults." Uncle Andrew cocked a sly eyebrow. "I suspect you will enjoy your 
new position, Miss Durrant." 

"Can I... I mean... Am I allowed to remove their clothes?" 

"If you wish, You'll probably find it convenient to strip them naked for 
their punishments. But for the rest of the time you may suit yourself. Keep 
the whole clutter of little hellions permanently nude if you so desire." 

For a few moments I forgot my own nudity in mental contemplation of the 
small army of damsels I must soon distress. By the time Uncle Andrew 
escorted me to my own personal suite, and announced his need to hurry back 
to town, I was in a dither of outrageous excitement. His last act was 
medieval. 

"You will kneel here and now and make you vows to me, young woman. Say what 
you wish but say it well." 

Before I had been whipped the second time I would have retorted with anger 
at his suggestion. But now my knees hit the carpet with a thud and I heard, 
"I will obey you. Master. I recognize your authority and my own dependence, 
I will not run away. I am not so foolish as to believe you could not 
recapture me. I will perform the task for which I am employed and I will do 
it well, Whip me if I fail." 

Uncle Andrew went upon his way and I realized he had faith in my ability to 
perform the bizarre service of his desire. When he was gone I quickly 
considered the means by which I might make good my escape but discarded them 
all in the realization I would be running from my heart's desire. I had 
owned darling Ivory and had exerted authority upon Ava and Wilma Wright. But 
never anything like this! Suddenly I was on Uncle Andrew's side. 

As a test of authority, I summoned Constance and Bullock to the lovely 
office. I quite forgot I was naked but sat in my executive chair as if I had 
all my life. I motioned to them to sit down so I might explore the measure 
of my new authority. I was well aware they could easily overpower me and 
return me to the tower room and the collar and chain. But if it was in the 
cards, it was best I know. 

They were mature and sensible women who knew a good thing when they had it. 
At the end of our conversation I felt several inches taller, I went upstairs 
to dress with an easy mind. For reasons of his own, Uncle Andrew had opened 
the door to my heart's desire. Suddenly I knew happiness. 

The frictioning of my whip marks became pleasurable on my second day. And it 
was then the influx of maidens began. The Rolls Royces and the Bentleys drew 
up to the door and the front steps of the great house with a discrete 
silence and unloaded their frightened cargo, one after another in a stream 
sufficient to keep Constance and Bullock busy. After a while I intruded my 
own presence upon the scene to pick up what I learned were the standard 
protests. 

"Look, I don't care what you do or say, I'm not going up those steps or in 
that door." Or, "I'll bet you this place is some sort 'of lousy school. 
Look, Mother, I want to go home with you! Please!" 

Or, more strongly, "I'm not going to stay in this place, no matter what you 
say about it! I'll go to the nearest village and get on the first bus, You 
can't possibly expect me to stay in such a place." 

Constance and Bullock were marvelous, enfolding each protester in arms both 
protective and authoritarian. It was rather like the collection of some rare 
pieces which were quickly popped into a cage to be examined and cataloged at 
a later time. Little did those girls know what they were getting into! 

By this time I was involved. Had someone offered me a free ticket to New 
York, I would have not taken it. It appeared that Rockley possessed a 
considerable area referred to vaguely as 'downstairs.' And Constance and 
Bullock conferred with me as to the possibility of confining our dewy eyed 
delinquents singly in cells or as a group in one large cage, a facility 
already prepared. For the first time I used my executive chair and the 
lovely new office to hold a conference with these two woman. 

"We have a dormitory ready and waiting," said Bullock thoughtfully. "Each 
cot is equipped with a chair by which a collar, a wristlet or anklet, will 
make sure the girl does not stray. But for the first night I favor 
discomfort on the floor." 

"We can't have them getting morbid on us," agreed Constance. 

"Leave them in the cage this first night. But there is also a compromise in 
the collars and chains already attached to the walls so the young woman will 
not be entirely alone." 

"When they are ready for a second shock, we'll remove their clothes. Since 
they will be frequently punished, it is impractical to have them covered." 

"In your own role, Miss Durrant, we think you should maintain an isolated 
authority for the girls to fear," Constance smiled warmly. "We will bring 
delinquents to you for sentencing, and perhaps for punishment if you should 
so wish. If they do not see too much of you, they will respect your 
authority with a proper sense of awe." 

"You must do exactly as you wish, Miss Durrant, but Constance and I have 
discussed the approach to punishment and decided that something 
old-fashioned and totally without dignity will be the best approach. These 
young trollops have been utterly spoiled and see themselves as colorful 
figures in a colorful world of night clubs, bars, and private parties. For 
them to bare their bottoms for the cane will be devastating." 

It was unreal. The three of us sat comfortably discussing a group of girls I 
had not yet seen but whom we were holding prisoners. I shuddered to think of 
defending such an outrage in a court of law, but my whip marked skin had 
generated a faith in Uncle Andrew and his knowledge of blue blooded 
omnipotence. I still adored Ivory, but when I thought what I could do with 
fifty rebellious little tricks, my heart thudded so loud I could almost hear 
it. Not until that moment had I realized I was still naked. My two aides had 
a knack for failing to see the whip marks on my skin, or the skin itself. 
But it would never do for the head mistress to be seen by her pupils in such 
a state. I terminated our discussion and went to my apartment to make myself 
respectable. 

Rockley had a considerable staff, and all of these servants shared the same 
gift of discretely failing to see whatever might embarrass the power who 
signed their checks. After only partly exploring the sights and delights of 
my private apartment, I was accosted in the passage by a tearful housemaid 
who followed me to my office, radiating sniffles. 

"My name's Amy, Ma'am. And it's that there, Mary, the upper house maid, who 
keeps picking on me. Treats me something awful, she does," Amy viewed me 
with tearful eyes. 

"Can't you cope with being picked on? It's a fact of life." 

"Not with her, I can't, Miss. I does my work real proper but she's always 
finding fault." 

I pressed the appropriate button. When Mary appeared, she turned out to be 
one of those appalling English types who effect a superiority, based on 
nothing more than their desire to improve their social status. I sensed 
sport. 

The dialogue was deplorable and Amy and Mary soon displayed themselves as 
belonging to what the English call 'the working class.' Both got flushed and 
abusive in their exchange of accusations which I soon realized arose out of 
nothing but the boredom of domestic labor. I put an end to it with swift 
decision. 

"You are both being ridiculous. You will accept from me six of the best on 
your bare bottom, or you may seek other employment." 

It was instant shock. Amy stopped sniffing, and Mary clearly saw me as a 
traitor to a social strata she could not reach. I knew they were scared of 
my American voice and stared at each other and me in pure dismay. 

"Six... On my bare skin... With a cane!" 

"Don't tell me you've never heard of such a thing." 

"That ain't done over here, Miss Durrant," Amy provided. "Put a stop to it 
in the schools, they did. Them headmasters were caning girls real bad." 

"This is not a school. I have given you a choice." I had to admit Mary 
showed a touch of class. Without argument she went to the magnificent 
display on the far wall and selected a yellow cane, beautifully polished. 
The sight of it made my heart sing with joy. I accepted the awful instrument 
in regal composure, and said grandly, "I am sure you know what to do." 

Mary knew! In swift motions she pushed her panties down to her knees, leaned 
well forward and flipped her skirt up above her hips to reveal a pair of 
smooth curves upon which I swished the cane with all the vigor I could, Amy 
said a devout, "Oh, wow!" while Mary straightened up to rub feverishly and 
make a small, choked cry before resuming her bent over pose. I slashed again 
and was gladdened to see two thin lines forming scarlet stripes. 

Mary took her six remarkable well. I told her to stay and watch Amy get 
hers. But by this time Amy was quite disorganized and dissolved into tears 
and assurances that she could not possibly stand the cane. By this time Mary 
had pulled up her panties and smoothed down her skirt. I suggested casually 
that perhaps Amy might appreciate my holding her in position while Mary 
inflicted the punishment. 

Once more there was pregnant silence before the sniffling housemaid repeated 
the humiliating performance Mary had carried off so well. The six strokes 
were applied by constant threats to enlist Mary's aid, which apparently Amy 
did not want. I gave her my very best. 

When the job was done, I sent away a remarkably respectful pair of women. 
When they were gone, I sat back in my executive chair and let my heart slow 
down and recalled the two youthful bottoms I had ruthlessly slashed. I 
thought of Uncle Andrew with deep gratitude. 

As I sat there in my chair, reviewing past pleasures and future delights, I 
had to remind myself that in some ways I was as much a prisoner in Rockley 
as the girls downstairs. I could not fathom Andrew Everleigh or any of his 
motives, particularly in regard to myself. It could have been chance or 
design by which I gained the strange power in this prison for girls. I 
tucked away in the corner of my mind the thought of walking out of this 
ancient house and going back to New York to pick up the pieces of my life. 
And give Hugo Markham a piece of my mind for his bungling. Hugo had made 
such a mess of things that, had it not been for Andrew Everleigh, I would 
not have been a stripped naked whore inside a cage of iron bars, a female 
body to be rented by the hour. Or to be bid for in the auctions. 

I had to wonder if Everleigh's power was such as to kidnap and bring me back 
to Rockley should I run. I could well imagine it was something he could do. 
And I knew myself well enough to realize some perverse compulsion might one 
day drive me to make the dash for freedom. For me, Rockley was a prison 
without bars. I could well imagine my spurious freedom getting me into 
trouble. I shivered at the thought and realized Rockley and its owner were 
causing me to shiver far too often. I decided to go downstairs. 

The cage was not really a cage at all but a huge stone chamber enclosed on 
three sides by granite and the full width of the other side encompassed by 
iron bars and a barred door. As yet only about half of the final total of 
maidens had been delivered, and these were dwarfed by the space in which 
they were confined. Mostly they stood in small groups arguing, while two or 
three hopefuls clutched the bars. 

They were all still very much haughty young rich bitches, which was the 
reason most of them were here. 

Upon seeing me, several of them came to the bars to demand freedom and 
protest the treatment of themselves. Intermixed were several threats of 
police action and promises of my soon being thrown into a state prison. I 
was also informed that their parents had certainly never expected the way 
they were being treated. 

I ignored the protests. They were pert little canary birds singing in their 
cage. Most were arrogant and proud but a little afraid. I could see that in 
most eyes. And pure defiance in others. It made my heart glad to think of 
how much those girls were going to have to be 'trained' and punished. 

Seeing that I was not about to reply to their protests, most faded off into 
silence. "Well, aren't you going to do something!" came a firm and very 
haughty demand. 

They were delightful and diverse. I stood drinking them in until I realized 
I should either speak or go away. I left them to their indignation and 
anger. I felt a bitch but I had felt a bitch with darling Ivory, with Ava 
and Wilma. The lord of Rockley had called me that, too. But Ivory had 
attracted me to distraction. 

I slept that night alone. 

CHAPTER TWO - A Plethora of Prisoners 

It took me two or three days to truly believe what I was doing. With each 
fresh grasp of authority there came more assurance until I was back to the 
old New York confidence and a seething excitement. I was soon looking 
forward to the days ahead and counting each new arrival as Britain's 
highborn delivered its delinquent daughters for discipline. The poor, 
bad-tempered little darlings hadn't the faintest idea what they were in for. 
It seemed too good to be true. 

We had now reached a total of forty rebellious but still dewy-eyed little 
darlings behind the bars. More would trickle in as time went by, but I had 
to make a start somewhere so I had Constance and Betty bring them one at a 
time to my office to be interviewed and assessed and given an introduction 
to Rockley I had myself devised. My first was a redheaded, green-eyed bundle 
of sexuality, glowing with indignation. 

I told her to stand before my desk as I completed a descriptive list of what 
and who she was, and where she came from. It was pretty much like extracting 
a tooth but I did wring from her an admission as to the faults which brought 
her to her present plight. Her greeting was forthright, "If you don't let me 
go immediately, I shall phone the police." 

I am a lawyer, I know the pitfalls of chit-chat. My reply was brief and to 
the point. "Remove your clothes." 

"Why should I?" 

"Because I told you to. Do it now." 

"I'm not a lesbian, you know. It won't do you any good" 

"Strip." 

She looked around uncertainly, noticing the array of whips and riding crops 
and the massive oak of a pillory I had ordered installed. Conversationally, 
but with a voice trembling just a little, she quipped, "I see you go in for 
torture." 

"Get those clothes off!" 

"And what happens if I refuse?" 

The three of us had prearranged our response to certain situations. I 
touched a button and immediately Constance and Betty came in to station 
themselves on each side of the girl. Once more, and very politely, I 
requested, "Please undress." 

My two aides make formidable guards, jailers, or matrons. After a shocked 
glance to either side, our first little treasure reached for the zipper of 
her dress. "Oh, all right, if you insist," she muttered. "But you've made me 
sleep on the floor and in my clothes for two nights, and I hope I smell." 

"Her youthful perfume was delightful but this was neither the time nor the 
place. Constance and Betty discretely withdrew and closed the door. Her name 
was Paula Crombie, and she was one of those female creatures for whom the 
wearing of clothes was a real shame, The sons of the nobility always marry 
the most beautiful girls, so it is understandable that their offspring 
should be of centerfold quality. Paula most certainly was. Almost without a 
waist but flaring out below into as cute a bottom as I've ever seen. I went 
to the pillory and raised its yoke, once more wasting no words, "Please 
arrange yourself here, Paula. I'm sure you know how." 

"That thing's a pillory. I absolutely refuse to stand in a pillory. Shove 
it!" 

I was not expecting polished English. I raised the yoke an inch higher and 
asked a patient, "Please?" 

"What do you want me to get fixed in that for?" 

"Never mind, just arrange yourself." 

"Like bloody hell! You stick your own neck in there and see how you like 
it." 

I returned to my desk and was about to push the button when a youthful voice 
exclaimed, "Oh, very well! You needn't call the guards in again. I know 
you've got me. Which way do you want me to face?" 

I wondered if her question bespoke awareness but realized it was sensible 
enough. If we were to converse, she would need to face my desk, since I 
would not wish conversation with her ass facing me. 

Sweetly, I suggested, "That's thoughtful of you, dear, please face the 
wall." 

"That means you're going to do something to me." This girl was sharp. "Could 
I have my back to the wall? I'd feel a lot safer." 

"Do as I tell you." 

Paula Crombie gave the proposition considerable thought. Her final decision 
no doubt was influenced by the presence of my aides beyond the door. In 
ill-humor, she inserted her neck, arranged her hair, and then placed her 
wrists in the neat half circles. When I lowered the yoke, she commented 
remorsefully, "Mother never warned me about anything like this. Are you sure 
you're not going to cane my arse?" 

"How did you guess!" I exclaimed coyly. "Remember, dear, it's because mother 
said so." 

"Mother's being horrible. She's a beastly old fan. Look, Miss Durrant, you 
won't really do it, will you? I mean, you're not really going to cane my 
bottom, are you?" 

"The thought has crossed my mind, dear." 

"But I can't move. Not the way you've got me fixed in this damned 
contraption. If you whip my bottom now, it will be damned unsporting." 

"But most effective?" 

"How would I know!" 

"Are you quite sure you've never been in this situation before, Paula? You 
seem to be much aware of possibilities?" 

"That's none of your business, Miss Durrant. If you put me in the horrible 
thing to whip me, you may as well let me out right now. If you don't, I 
shall go straight to the police." 

"And how will you do that, dear?" 

Poor Crombie burst into tears, tears of frustration, of humiliation, and 
above all tears of defeat. 

Between sobs she said, "I knew I never should have stuck my head in here. I 
knew you were going to do something awful... " Her tone became anxious. "How 
many cuts with the cane do I have to get?" 

I loved her dearly, Undoubtedly this was not her first association with the 
cane. I went to the wall and chose a wicked yellow length to hold for 
Paula's inspection and to inform. "I think you should kiss it, dear, in 
recognition of what it's going to do to you." 

"Kiss that beastly thing! No way!" 

"Kissing is a choice between ten and twenty, Paula, dear." 

Miss Paula Crombie kissed the cane. It was erotically stimulating to possess 
a girl's naked body but not her head or hands. Miss Paula Crombie kicked 
dramatically as I striped the pretty little rump she weaved back and forth 
as best she could. There were the usual vocalisations but I guessed Paula 
was clenching her teeth so as to not give me the satisfaction of a scream. I 
intended only the British "Six of the Best," and after the third had 
implanted its kiss, I walked around to see how the owner of a caned bottom 
was making out. Her sobbings paused long enough for her to say, "You needn't 
think I'll plead for mercy, you... You... " Prudently she shut up. 

It does not take long to implant six strokes of a cane upon a girl's bottom. 
I comforted this wistful thought with reflection on the number of pretty 
bottoms still to be dealt with. When I had set aside the cane to step around 
and dry Paula's tears and kiss her moist forehead, I inquired gently. "I 
suppose you understand why you've just been caned?" 

"No. I don't. I haven't done a thing to deserve it since I came here. You 
haven't given me a chance since I came here, locked up in that lousy cage." 

"Take a guess." 

"Oh, all right. I suppose it's some introduction thing, an awful example of 
what will happen to me if I'm not a good girl." She raised her head to 
stare. "Is that right?" 

"Absolutely. I knew you were intelligent, dear. Now I'll let you out and you 
can return to you companions." 

Poor, dear child. I still had one more shock in store. As she stood 
massaging her whipped bottom, I produced the handcuffs and dangled them 
suggestively. It did not register at first, but when it did her retort was 
predicable, "What do you aim to do with those things?" 

"Lock them on your wrists, dear." 

"Like hell you will! Handcuffs are for criminals, not for girls... Have you 
any idea who my father is!" 

"It doesn't matter who your father is, dear, your father sent you here. 
Remember? Give my your hands." 

Always I was to discover this the most potent motion of all. Each girl in 
her turn saw handcuffs as the ultimate degradation. The cane they 
understood, even the cage. But to have their wrists manacled in the manner 
of convicts and criminals portrayed on television was a humiliation beyond 
bearing. It amused me to record how long it took for the little dears to 
consider the consequences before sticking out a pair of paws for the bit of 
steel. This was the first time and I enjoyed ever moment before Paula 
disgustedly thrust her hands in my direction and looked on in fascinated 
wonder as I clicked the shinning steel cuffs around her wrists. When it was 
done and her hands were firmly linked, Paula Crombie held up joined wrists 
in pure disbelief in what she saw. I enjoyed the moment immensely but she 
did not. I suppose her first retort was obvious enough, "The girls will all 
laugh at me if you send me back like this, all naked and chained up. My 
bottom is marked up. Do you have to!" 

I assured the little darling that indeed I did. I summoned her escort and 
sent her back to the cage as an illustration to approximately forty other 
girls of Rockley's discipline. Gratefully I sat back in my chair and poured 
myself a drink from the bar behind my desk, I was trembling with lust It 
might be easy to say that if you have whipped one, you have whipped them 
all. Avoiding a repetitious account of maiden squeaks and pretty little 
bottoms scored in scarlet, I did not find this completely true. Each girl 
varied vastly in their approach to punishment. There were even those among 
them who wept bitter tears of guilt and repentance when being brought to my 
office for their initial interview. Then there were others who were 
aggressively determined not to yield an inch in their aristocratic 
prerogative of pleasure without pain. Among these was Lady Rose Cressey. 

I ran into Rose during my second day of interviews, My aides and I had 
neatly polished a technique which sent every handcuffed girl back to the 
cage in shameless nakedness to recount her adventures to a breathless 
audience. Lady Rose stood before my desk as though confronted by a leper. 
Her opening of hostilities was instant, "You're American, I know about you. 
You intend to cane my arse, and put me in handcuffs." She took a deep 
breath. "Look, can't we make a deal?" 

"What do you suggest?" I was curious. 

"I'm sure you're a lesbian. How'd it be you keep me for your private girl 
without benefit of cane or any of that other rubbish?" 

"Suppose I double your penalties for such insolence?" It hit her hard. She 
had been assured and certain of results. Eagerly she offered, "Would you 
like me to undress? I have the loveliest body and you're already looking at 
my lips. Please, Miss Durrant, don't send me back to that cage." 

I might have been touched had it not been obvious I was being manipulated. 
However, I might as well avail myself of the opportunity rather than call in 
Constance and Betty. I agreed. "Very well, dear, take off your clothes. Let 
me see what you have to offer." 

A few moments later I was looking at quite exceptional nakedness. Rose was a 
beauty by any standard but was not a Lady. I dropped her title to cynically 
inquire, "My dear young woman, since you have everything figured out. Tell 
me what comes now?" 

"You whip me, of course, Or is it just the cane?" 

"Which do you prefer?" 

I knew I was playing her game but I was curious. 

"I know about the cane and the games you lesbians play." Her voice was 
mocking. "I've been whipped and made love in the forests of pussy curls... " 
Her voice became a sneer, "How do you want it?" 

"That's the classic line of whores." 

"So, okay, I'm a whore." Lady Rose struck a pose, a very sexy and flattering 
pose. "Why don't you take your clothes off, Diane? That is your name, isn't 
it?" 

"You're being impudent," I said severely. "What do you expect to happen to 
you here at Rockley?" 

"Kissing your cunt, is there anything else!" 

"You spoke of being whipped?" 

"Oh, sure, that goes along with the scene. Whip me, I won't howl any louder 
than the other girls." Her attitude became sly, "I'd love to whip you, too. 
Would you like that?" 

It was evident Lady Rose was a handful. Considering those waiting my 
attention down in the cage, I had no time to waste. I went to the pillory 
and raised its yoke. Before she placed her neck and hands where they 
belonged, this brash young woman of nineteen kissed me hard as though to 
emphasize the offers she had made. Then, quite passively, placed her neck in 
the wood and thrust her wrists to where I could lock them tight. For very 
sure no girl beneath my command could be allowed the initiative. 

Beneath watching eyes I selected a suitable whip. 

"The other girls all got caned," came the accusing voice. She actually 
sounded triumphant. 

"Does it matter?" 

"Well, I suppose not. I'm accustomed to being whipped. But the thing is, are 
you taking me up on my offer, Diane? I'll make you terribly happy." 

"No, I'm not. Forget your notions of preferred treatment. You've been bad 
and I'm going to teach you a lesson." I demonstrated by cutting a line 
across the white loveliness across Lady Rose's back on which I now discerned 
the lingering marks of previous inflictions. "I think you're a masochist but 
I'll try my best to change your mind about what I am. You're going to get 
twenty." 

The poor girl dissolved and, as I whipped the back and bottom she could not 
shield, she finally wept amid the cries of anguish. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," 
she sobbed. "Diane, not any more. Please, I can't stand any more! Please 
stop whipping me." 

Thus Lady Rose met my whip. They came in great variety and all were mine to 
do with as I pleased! 

It took me a week to induct them all. During that time I would occasionally 
view them through the bars of their cage, noting the increasing nudity in 
handcuffs and the diminishing ranks of those still clothed who saw in their 
stripped companions their future. As I worked through girl after girl, I 
realized that having them all captive in a single cage robbed their 
interview with me of drama and suspense. Whenever I found a girl blase in 
her knowledge of events. I raised the ante from six to ten, or even ten to 
twenty if appropriate. For the first time in my legal career, I was winning 
every Case. 

Some of my little girls limped back to the cage in a sorry state. 

Twenty strokes across a bare bottom must leave its mark both on the tender 
flesh and their minds. 

These were girls who always had things their own way. They weren't now! 

As I drew near the end of these interviews, I became increasingly aware of a 
willingness to please. The girls who stood before me now had lost a good 
deal of their brazen attitude. There was one exception in the person of 
Elizabeth Lord who I interviewed immediately after she entered the door of 
Rockley. 

She radiated anger and a strength enough to level these stone walls. She was 
a married woman. 

There was no great difference in our ages, perhaps five years. 

Lady Elizabeth Lord stood before my desk in seething anger of a woman 
scorned. Here was no school girl requiring a caned rump. This one would well 
tax my knowledge of human nature to the limit. She did not wait for me to 
speak. 

"I do not wish to be divorced. I value my marriage." She was assessing me 
shrewdly while she spoke. "I can well imagine what this place is and I am 
well prepared to put up with a certain amount of pain and indignity to 
satisfy the idiot who sent me here. Perhaps we may find a mutual interest?" 

"For instance?" 

"If you're a lesbian, I will service you. I am condemned to being striped by 
a whip. You will discover this in the notes I've just handed you, I believe 
I'm also condemned to other things, Herbert was a very angry man when he 
sent me here. But I'm sure you and I can work something out, I don't want 
any of his lousy punishments." 

This one was not going to be easy. To gain time, I casually requested, "If 
you would be kind enough to remove your clothes?" 

She stripped without comment The girl was adult and one for whom I felt 
sympathy. She was victim to a man! 

"I have no choice but to mark your skin," I told her reasonably. 

"If I send you home without whip marks, I betray my trust." 

"Read on a bit, Miss Durrant, I'm not a bit sure you're going to send me 
home." 

She was right! The terms of reference made Elizabeth Lord subject to 
indefinite imprisonment accompanied by most definite punishments. I cringed 
as I read her husband's male fantasies of what his wife deserved, Elizabeth 
was beautiful. Elizabeth was intelligent. I wondered what I would do with 
her. 

"You're wondering if I belong here, aren't you?" she said softly, "I don't 
belong her and Herbert is doing this to me only to humiliate me and break me 
down. I suspect I'm about to join a bunch of frightened little girls?" 

"How did you guess?" I tried to match my tone to hers. "Would you prefer to 
be separated in a separate cell?" 

"Good gosh, is it really that bad!" 

She stood there in her exceptional nudity and gazed askance. "What the devil 
am I up against?" 

I did my best to explain. The youngsters were food for lust but this mature 
girl was something more. 

Desire follows no reason for any path. I desired Elizabeth with ever fiber 
of my being. 

Power and consequence radiated from Elizabeth in an aura I could not deny. 
While I had been in thought, her eyes had roved and lit upon the pillory. In 
laughing unconcern, she stepped across the room to where the grim and ugly 
contraption waited its next victim. She lifted and yoke and left if fall 
again to ask gaily, "Do I have to stand in this? Really?" 

"I'm afraid you do." 

"Well, don't let's shed any tears over it Don't worry about being a bitch. 
I'm actually curious." 

I began to understand why a man might send this glorious creature to 
Rockley, desiring her whittled down to a size he could handle, or with which 
he could compete. I was forced to recognize that from the moment she entered 
my office, she had held the initiative. For a few moments I had a vision of 
her contorting under my whip, I could think of no other way by which she 
might be subdued. But the vision faded without stirring my loins or 
generating the lust of punishment I felt so easily for the teenage flesh 
below stairs. Ignoring the pillory, I took her by the hand and led her 
upstairs to my bed. 

She made no demure, either about her nakedness or my intent She could read 
my mind, and when I, too, had shed my clothes, she acquitted herself with a 
competence and ardor I know I could easily enjoy for a long time. Here was a 
Woman! 

I had forgotten the whip marks on my skin. But Elizabeth now traced them 
with an exploring fingertip with the vivid curiosity I would come to 
recognize was very much a part of all she was. I promised that one day I 
would tell her of their origin, but for the moment she had best keep quiet 
about them, Flippantly I told her they were my 'badge of office.' "Will I be 
marked like that?" she asked in innocence. 

"Yes." She nodded thoughtfully. "I'll hate it, of course, but it's something 
I'll have to know about. That silly man believes it's something that will 
change my personality. Will it?" 

"Only for a little while. It's pretty bad for the first few hours." 

"Haven't you found that being whipped the way you are, all those wonderful 
marks, lessens your authority?" 

"You're the only girl I've showed them to." 

"I know you're finding me difficult." Elizabeth Lord mused thoughtfully. "I 
mean, we're equals, aren't we? I'm not scared of you. There's no need to 
chain me or put me in a cell. If I ran away, I'd defeat my own purpose in 
coming here." 

"But I can't possibly allow you to run around free," I said. 

"Why not! Call me your assistant mistress or whatever you want. I'll help 
you with the girls." 

"How can you help me with the girls if you're standing in the pillory or 
hanging by you wrists or some of those other things your husband dreamed up. 
The best thing is for you to pack up and go home." 

"Do you want me to do that?" 

"Hmmmmm... Not really." 

"That's settled then. I stay at Rockley and you make me scream the way my 
idiot man seems to wish. Perhaps you should whip me tomorrow. Is it much of 
a bother?" 

She was as delicious as possible! I adored every inch of her firm breasts, 
taut belly, and curves. I plucked one of her pubic hairs from it's roots to 
make her yelp and ask, still with interest, "Why did you do that?" 

"Imagine yourself tied down tight with your legs well apart and someone with 
tweezers pulling out your hair, one at a time - does that pique your 
curiosity?" 

"That's nasty and disagreeable. Don't talk about such things." 

"I have to talk about them if you stay here. Elizabeth, you're crazy not to 
go home while you still can. Once Constance and Betty have incorporated you 
into life at Rockley, there's no way I can let you go. If I did, it would be 
one more way to get myself some more of the marks you're admiring." 

"Okay, okay! I've told you I'm not leaving, either now or later on. Do I 
have to be chained in a dungeon or is there some sort of badge I can wear?" 

Elizabeth was going to be a handful, but a handful I didn't wish to break or 
injure. I got a pair of handcuffs and dangled them in front of her nose. 
"How about these?" She was once more avidly curious. Taking my handcuffs, 
she explored their shinning surface almost hungrily. 

"I'd feel silly with these on my wrists," she admitted slowly. "But I guess 
they're what the doctor ordered and I'll wear them with pride. Will they 
defeat those dragons you mentioned a minute ago?" 

"Not really. But if you're very respectful to Constance and Betty, they'll 
do for now. They'll understand your sentiments about staying here because of 
your husband." 

"Marvelous! Put them on." She held out her hands in sweet invitation. 

"Not right now, I'm going to need those hands of yours. Come along." 

Elizabeth's approach to the pillory was one of barely suppressed excitement 
without any trace of apprehension. She might be the lesbian of my dreams or 
a good actress. She might also be a masochist or a girl with a vivid sexual 
curiosity. She had me laughing, too, as I raised the yoke and she positioned 
her neck and wrists as though having done it every day of her life. When I 
lowered the yoke to make her prisoner, I could swear she sighed with 
happiness. So did I. 

I stood back to allow us both to savor her imprisonment. 

Elizabeth was turning her head this way and that even though it chaffed her 
captive neck. Her hands were equally active with the same result. Then she 
remarked, "I can't possibly get loose, can I? You can keep me in this thing 
forever." 

"Do you find it frightening?" 

"Not with you standing by. I'd hate to be alone." 

"Suppose I leave you here for a couple of hours?" 

"I can't argue, can I? But I'd rather you didn't." 

She cocked a laughing eyebrow. "This pillory isn't all... Is it? There's 
something else?" 

I took the yellow cane from the wall and let her have a good look. I flexed 
it back and forth before holding it to her lips. "Kiss it." 

Elizabeth kissed the damned thing as if she were kissing me. It was almost a 
love affair. "You're not going to whip me with that thing." she said. "You 
know. If that's what you've got in mind, I'd sooner pass." 

I wasn't sure the normal 'six of the best' would do much good. I was dealing 
with a female so heavily sexed I'd probably have to strip her a dozen times 
to make contact. Without further conversation I cut with the cane across 
Elizabeth's gorgeous bottom six times as hard as I could. When I came around 
the pillory, feeling a bitch. I saw only a naked girl who had made a 
tremendous discovery. "Darling, I almost climaxed, you should have given me 
a couple more. Be a dear girl and finish me off with your finger? Please?" 

Elizabeth was still in charge. I did as she asked, more because I wanted to 
than by her command. But the command was there and unmistakable. "You've 
only had the beginning, darling," I told her gently when she ceased to pant 
and moan, "I'm afraid there's more to come." 

"You mean you intend to cane my seat some more!" 

"I really think you need it." I patted her bottom. "Somehow I've got to make 
you understand you don't order me around." 

Elizabeth was shifting around against her imprisoned neck and wrists. She 
was also raising and lowering one foot, her voice was heavy with reason. "If 
my seat has to be caned again, I'll climax for sure, Be a darling and watch 
for the signs and sounds and make sure you thrash me as hard as you can when 
the moment comes." Her voice was vibrant with shared knowledge, She was 
utterly mine but I knew also I was hers. I delivered her second six in a 
vicious determination to compel her to see me as I was. But my flesh was 
aberrant and I was compelled to add two truly awful strokes to accommodate 
Elizabeth's twisting and moaning within the pillory. I had given her 
fourteen truly awful strokes across her bottom but was not the least bit 
sure she had felt a single one. At least not in the way I had meant them. 

The aftermath of orgasm is a very private time for a girl. While she hovers 
in the never-never land of ecstasy it is kind to let her dreams come true. I 
slipped away, leaving Elizabeth Lord held tight in the solid oak of the 
pillory and unaware of my going. I decided I would leave her there a while 
and allow her to experience the anxieties of someone thus captive and alone. 
I was all too aware of an attraction between us which might prove an 
embarrassment. Elizabeth was here to be punished and I had little doubt the 
most potent part of that punishment would be to find herself upon a common 
level with the other inmates among whom she would stand out as different. 
Running across Constance, I directed her to release Elizabeth in two hours 
time, handcuff her, and place her in the big cage. Since I was robbed of my 
office with Elizabeth there in the pillory, I went downstairs to extract 
from among resentful delinquents, the next maiden on my list for Rockley's 
unkind attention. 

I have to admit to a breathless delight in surveying the prisoners behind 
the bars. Their captivity, their nakedness, along with handcuffed wrists was 
still new and quite incredible. Only a few of the prisoners accepted the 
shinning steel which joined their hands, most were still tugging fretfully 
in a stunned disbelief, Since they no longer saw me as an avenue of escape, 
they did not bother to approach the bars but stayed exactly as they were, 
sitting on the floor, talking in animated groups, or isolated pairs. 

As a slow introduction to what Rockley held for them, I had instructed my 
aides to use any slightest excuse or expedient to punish and condemn by 
taking the innocent young hands from front to back where they became much 
more helpless. The mixture made a pretty picture. 

Her name was Victoria Ponsby. She turned out to be one of those with her 
hands behind her back. 

When I called her name, her manner said plainly it was about time someone 
gave her proper attention. She stalked to where I stood, and glared at me as 
though I were the reason I was here. "I shall refuse to discuss anything 
with you until you unlock these horrible things on my wrists." she said as 
though dictating terms. "I have never been so shabbily treated in my life 
and I am sure my parents will be outraged when they hear of these 
indignities." 

It was so stilted I wanted to laugh. I said no word but grasp a handful of 
her hair to lead her to a vacant cell where I made her stand to answer my 
questions while I sat on the only chair in the cell and used the hard bench 
as a table. Behind her front, Victoria was scared to death and not yet ready 
to deliver another diatribe. I set the pace. "I have a list of your crimes. 
Victoria, so we need not go into that. Have you ever been whipped?" 

"Of course not! You must be mad." 

"I suppose you've noticed the marks of the cane on the bottom of some of the 
other girls?" 

"It's one of the things I'll report to the police at the first opportunity. 
Please free my hands." 

Victoria was delicious, a perfect subject for anyone wishing to bring a 
proud maiden down to size. 

Undoubtedly her parents knew what they were doing when they sent her to 
Rockley. Quietly I said, "You will not be in contact with the police, 
Victoria, and you hands will not be unlocked." 

"Then, at least give me some clothes, some sort of covering... I am 
constantly ashamed of this nakedness." 

"Don't worry about it. You'll soon be wearing some very pretty stripes." 

She must have known it was coming but Victoria was one of those girls who 
believed bad things happened to other people, not her. "If you are referring 
to corporal punishment, you'd best forget it as far as I'm concerned. I 
would never consent to such an unwarranted outrage." 

Victoria was amusingly predictable, a cliche for every need! But I was in no 
hurry and was enjoying her. Besides, my stock of new girls was running low 
as I had dealt with most of the girls in the cage. 

"Will you bend over to have your bottom caned, Victoria, or would you prefer 
to be fastened?" I inquired casually. "Every girl at Rockley gets her bottom 
caned upon arrival in order to give her a proper perspective on punishment. 
You are no exception." 

Poor child! She was breathing more and more rapidly and obviously less and 
less certain of the sanctity of her skin. She stood before me in the little 
cell, eyes roving in search of possible avenues of escape and finding none. 
She then asserted as if believing every word, "I refuse to submit. I will 
neither bend over nor allow myself to be fastened." After a lengthy pause, 
she added, pitifully, "I want to go home." 

I sighed as though with weariness, even though my heart was pounding in 
pleasurable anticipation. I rose and once more possessed myself of 
Victoria's abundant hair and led her to where the simplest of preparations 
awaited our attention. The rope from above was the correct length and the 
hook at its terminus ideally designed for handcuffs. Seeing her fate, 
Victoria fought and came up with a number of expressions far less stilted 
than her normal speech. But I had no difficulty in raising her arms and 
slipping the chain between her steel-clad wrists within the curve of the 
waiting hook. I stood away and there she was; flushed in the face and 
twisting in disbelief against raised arms and hurting wrists. Her hair fell 
towards the floor as she was forced to bend to a degree she would not have 
chosen herself. 

Amused. I grabbed her waist with an arm and used my other hands to smooth 
and explore the tight, round bottom. 

"Don't you dare, you rotten bitch!" she hollered. "You needn't think you're 
going to spank my bottom and get away with it. If you want to spank an arse, 
use your own!" 

I had not intended anything so juvenile but, since the little madam was so 
concerned over a spanking, I promptly delivered a number of stinging blows 
with my palm. When her twin contours were pleasantly pink, I reminded her 
gently. "This is just a little warming up, Victoria. What I want you to do 
now is ask me respectfully to stripe this pretty little bottom with the 
cane. I am waiting." 

"Drop dead!" 

I had Victoria immobilized and continued the application of my palm on her 
bottom. There is no need to relate her colorful exclamations of distress, 
but their tone slowly waned as her flesh reddened until she asked, "What was 
that you wanted me to ask for?" 

"Six with the cane on your bare skin, dear." 

"I'm sorry, I can't possibly do that." 

"If you don't ask for them nicely, I will increase the number to twelve. The 
choice is yours. 

Victoria, please be sensible." 

I left Victoria to think about her predicament. Time was on my side and all 
I would get from her right now was heated arguments. I purposely slammed the 
cell door. 

I now had a couple of delinquent charges on hold. And, since I was not yet 
ready to release Elizabeth Lord, I left the house to view the garden and 
grounds, which I felt sure offered many possibilities for discipline. The 
area was vast and I had no time to explore all at the moment. When I 
returned to Victoria's cell, I had several new ideas. Miss Victoria was 
actually glad to see me. 

"You've been gone for hours." she accused. "And I've been standing like this 
all the time. It's not a bit fair." 

"Twenty minutes, Victoria, that was all. I hope you've reached a decision." 

It poured from the unhappy maiden in the urgency of terrible decision, 
"Please cane my bottom, Miss Durrant... " She obviously had more to say but 
swallowed visibly instead. No doubt she was afraid. 

The yellow cane was already in hand. I swished it in the air so she could 
hear it's whine before rapping her pretty little butt on which it was about 
to leave its print. I made my voice as gentle as I could, "Hold your breath, 
dear, it won't take long." 

In actual time it took several minutes to plant six strokes across the 
animated flesh. Stroke number one sent my almost helpless maiden into such a 
series of contortions and complaints, I stood and watched her performance in 
a small measure of awe, There was no way Victoria's raised arms could escape 
the hook but she danced and pranced and swirled around. When I suggested she 
resume the proper position, she said she could not possibly offer her bottom 
for me because it hurt far too much. 

When I moved to reach her bottom, she circled around within the small 
distance allowed her by the tether so as to keep her seat of punishment as 
far from me as she could. Unhurriedly, I suggested, "I can strike any part 
of you, Victoria, and it will hurt a great deal more than caning your bottom 
Why not be a sensible girl?" 

"You wouldn't!" 

Victoria's bowed head pointed in my direction so I simply tapped the side of 
her large breast and fear flashed into her eyes. She turned her bottom my 
direction without a word. I slashed the round bottom with the rest of her 
six strokes, then said brightly, "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" 

"It was awful!" 

"Very well, it was awful. But it will serve as a reminder if you wish to 
consider disobedience or insolence in the future." 

I think my inspection by touch of her wounds offended Victoria as much as 
the wounds themselves. 

She winced and moaned, and shifted her feet back and forth, and produced a 
whelp of dismay when I patted the red marks firmly. I resumed my seat. 

There was a brief silence before a plaintive voice inquired, "Aren't you 
going to let me loose. Miss Durrant?" 

"I prefer you as you are, dear. Keep that little bottom of yours pointing in 
my direction so I can admire it and watch the pretty colors change." 

Poor, dear girl. She had to digest everything I said before answering. I 
knew she wanted her arms lowered but was now prudent enough not to order me 
to do that. She shifted her feet and sought some comfort from a position 
that gave very little. I knew I should feel an absolute bitch but was coming 
by the conviction that what I was doing to this spoilt teenager was the best 
possible treatment. Already she had come a little way down from her high 
horse, but the tone still had hints of haughtiness in it. 

"How about letting my arms down? And will you put me back in that cage with 
the rest of them?" 

She made it sound like a fate worse than death. "If you prefer isolation. I 
can lock you in this cell and leave you alone. And I do mean alone! 

Would you like that?" 

"It's a horrible idea. I hate it!" 

"But you could do as you like, no one to bother you." 

"That's what they call being put in solitary, it's a punishment. Thank you. 
I'll go back to the cage." 

"That's not for you to say, dear. We have this lovely cell for you, and 
further down there's a lovely dungeon with some lovely heavy chains. Just 
think, you could sleep the whole day through!" 

"I don't want to sleep the whole day through. I'm sorry, Miss Durrant, that 
I was impertinent. 

I'm going to try and be more the way you want. Please don't punish me 
anymore." 

"I've been thinking it would be nice if you asked me to give you six more 
with the cane - just to show good faith." 

Victoria stood still and stopped struggling. She seemed to be trying to 
consider the impossible. Her voice was meek, 'That's just to humiliate me, 
isn't it? You think I've been proud and this will break my pride." 

"You're very perceptive, Miss Ponsby." 

"I'm also very helpless, and you're taking a terribly mean advantage. 
Please, Miss Durrant, don't make me say that." 

"You must. Or else!" 

Quietly, Miss Victoria Ponsby began to cry. Tears fell to the stone floor. 
Finally she pleaded brokenly, "Please cane my bottom six more times, Miss 
Durrant. I'm sorry about failing to please." 

It was almost too heartbreakingly beautiful to be real. I patted the marked 
bottom before cutting at it again and again with the yellow cane. Victoria 
could not possibly stand still and danced most delightfully. Victoria's 
tears flowed steadily throughout her second punishment, and at the end it 
was I who dried her cheeks, When I took her handcuffs from the hook, she 
surprised me. 

"I think I ought to hate you, Miss Durrant, but I don't. I think it's silly 
but I'm loving you terribly. I want to see you naked the way you have me. 
Please?" 

It was an interesting shock, something I had not seen in this girl. 

But there was about the request the same hint of dominance, the act of 
talking down to a social inferior I had seen before. I refrained from any 
insincere expression of outrage but simply said, "You're asking for 
something you're not ready for, Victoria, nor am I ready to grant your wish. 
You will see me naked in my own good time, but I will always see you naked 
as I see you now. Get used to it." 

"Yes, Miss Durrant." 

I took Victoria's cuffed hands from behind her back and locked them in 
front. I felt actually involved with this girl who, even though taking a 
predictable course, had done so with elegance, Her real punishment would be 
explaining away twelve marks instead of six when displayed before her fellow 
prisoners. I kissed her and locked her inside the cage. 

Upstairs, still locked in the pillory, Elizabeth Lord was waiting. 

CHAPTER THRE - A Plethora of Punishments 

It was a day of surprises, surprises which told me clearly I had much to 
learn about teenage female prisoners. I remembered the Frenchman's bit of 
philosophy that a female is like a fine musical instrument which would 
respond according to the skill one used upon it. The prospect of exploring 
fifty feminine instruments was entrancing, stretching on and on into the 
future. I returned to my office and Elizabeth Lord. 

"Hello. Diana." It was as though I had never been away. I almost gasped in 
sheer ecstasy as I beheld the sight of silken hair falling down beside the 
captive head and the two captive hands hanging limp. Elizabeth's pubic patch 
screamed aloud for an attention I was not prepared to give. I simply said. 
"Hello. Elizabeth, enjoying yourself!" 

"Actually, yes. What I mean is, I have to endure this sort of thing so I 
might as well get all I can out of it. The way I figure it this is a damned 
remarkable experience I wouldn't want to pass up. I hope you're not going to 
let me loose." 

"The thought had crossed my mind." 

"Well, don't do it. Keep me here a while and give me whatever humiliation 
goes along with the treatment." 

Elizabeth still led but this time I did not follow. "You'll have to stop 
telling me what to do to you," I pointed out reasonably. "You're the captive 
here to be punished and I'm the headmistress who does the punishing. Most of 
the time you seem to forget." 

"Yes, Diana, you're absolutely right. Please use that damned cane on me some 
more until you're sure I really am broken and mean what I say. I know your 
position isn't all that easy." 

Good gosh! This mature, lovely girl had been doing some reasoning while I 
was gone. Her conclusions saved me time trying to express my own. I asked, 
"You don't really want me to cane you again, do you?" 

"Yes. I've not behaved well at all." 

I caned the bottom of Miss Elizabeth Lord until she screamed. It took a long 
time. By that time I was sweating just as hard as the naked girl in the 
pillory. Only her sweat was from pain, mine from exertion and pleasure. I 
did not let her free but picked up my papers from the desk and dealt with 
them even though most of my attention was upon the bowed head of a naked 
female I would have to treat with caution. 

Elizabeth was in a strange detachment all her own, almost a trance-like 
state. I knew she was aware of me but only as a part of her dream, the 
experiment she was making of Rockley and herself. I knew also we were 
tremendously aware of each other. Even at a distance I keep picking up her 
scent. 

I worked hard at keeping my mind on the paperwork even though all I really 
wanted to do was watch the captive Elizabeth and wonder about this treasure 
fate had placed within my grasp. Victoria Ponsby had admitted my punishment 
of her fostered only love. I was pretty sure it worked that way, too, with 
Elizabeth. I allowed her to stand an hour in the pillory before I used the 
key. 

Directly I used the key, she clasp her arms around my neck and pressed her 
cheek against mine like a child. Once more I had the feeling I had lost 
control. I wanted this silent communion as much as she but knew that somehow 
I would have to break the spell. Gently. I disengaged, turned the lovely 
nudity around and placed her hands palm to palm behind her back. 

I suppose I chose the binding because of the personal intimacy, something of 
myself Elizabeth must bear, a small but constant nagging pain she would 
suffer as a gift from me. She said no word as I corded her wrists as tightly 
as I dared. Then I compressed her forearms to enable loops of rope to clamp 
her elbows tight. It is not every girl one can do this with but Elizabeth's 
nakedness had a supple flexibility I adored. Strand after strand I wound 
around the unprotesting flesh and drew the strictures tight to make the 
final knot tight and at the elbows where she could never reach. When I 
turned her once again to behold the protruding breasts, it was I who clasped 
my victim in my arms to kiss and kiss again before leading her to the cage 
and inserting her. Our eyes had said everything, we spoke no words. I stood 
entranced as the lush maturity turned to face the stares and walk with 
seeming unconcern to find what fellowship she could among the handcuffed 
beauties who eyed her bonds askance. 

Slowly they gathered around their freshly bound companion in distress and I 
wondered how long it would be before one of them found the courage to untie 
my wicked knots. But perhaps Elizabeth would be as tightly tied tomorrow as 
today. It would be an interesting experiment. 

Uncle Andrew certainly got around. The shock he slipped me the following day 
took the form of a smiling African gentleman with very white teeth and an 
Oxford accent who was securely attached to a mischievous-eyed maiden of 
Rockley age by a pair of handcuffs from his left wrist. Neither seemed to 
notice the connection between their wrists, and once more I had the feeling 
of others playing the lead while I stood in the wings. 

Introductions were instant, the gentleman being Mr. Mandel Matussi, and the 
maiden Miss Phomie Prendella. Arrangements had been made for Miss Prendella 
to enjoy the benefits of the Rockley institute to which Mr. Matussi had been 
delegated to deliver her in good order. Ceremoniously, Mr. 

Matussi handed me an envelope filled with documents and used a key to detach 
himself from the girl. 

Prudently he joined her wrists behind her back with the freed cuff. I sensed 
he was much relieved to be free of her. 

"Miss Prendella has a tendency to run away and get in trouble." he 
explained. "She needs constant supervision and discipline." He smiled 
brightly. "You will find in the envelope full permission from her male 
parent to whip her daily and administer any other punishments you feel 
appropriate." 

He sighed. "Miss Prendella has been a great trial and anxiety to all 
concerned." 

I offered him sherry which is a terrible British expedient by which they 
avoid offering you a cup of coffee or pouring a decent drink. Mr. Matussi 
shared the couch while sipping ritualistically while Phomie stood 
respectfully at the end of the coffee table, hands behind her back, and all 
the mischievousness of Africa in her dark eyes. I was told her behavior had 
been deplorable in her almost constant desire for male attention. From the 
way Mr. Matussi eyed his ward, I had to wonder if he had provided some of 
this male attention himself. Phomie radiated that intense female aura which 
left no doubt she could accommodate the male population of any country 
between her thighs, I sighed in resignation and admitted to myself she would 
be a pleasant change from all that blue blood in the cage. 

Mr. Matussi presented me with the handcuff key and made his departure. My 
latest girl and I viewed each other calculatingly. I sensed intelligence. 
Phomie's voice was richly colored. "He's such a funny little man," she 
confided as though we'd known each other for years. "I don't mind having to 
wear handcuffs but now he's taken his worries back to our country, you might 
as well give me back my hands. I'm not going to run away immediately I've 
arrived." 

Phomie bounced to where I sat, turned her back, and wiggled two hands 
securely locked in steel. I knew this magnificent moppet was taking the 
initiative and I should not let her. But I was curious. I used the key and 
put it with the handcuffs in a draw while Phomie rubbed her wrists and said 
thoughtfully. 'Thank you. Miss Durrant. Oh, by the way, my Daddy says you 
may whip me anytime you wish." 

Even with her clothes on, Phomie was a dish, a dish piled high with the 
assurance just delivered. I felt certain whipping Phomie's bottom would be 
an event, a happening, which she might easily forget but one I would 
remember all my life. 

"I met Mr. Everleigh at one of the Embassy cocktail parties. And when he 
told me about Rockley I knew I absolutely had to come." She beamed 
gratification. "My Daddy is an absolute dear and doesn't mind who whips my 
bottom so long as he doesn't have to do it himself. Mr. Everleigh fixed 
everything and here I am." She bathed me in the radiance of a smile in which 
mischief was nicely blended with serious intent. "I really am a naughty 
girl, Miss Durrant. I won't pretend I'm not. 

But being naughty is so delicious, don't you think?" 

I would never be sure of Phomie, and she knew it. Everything she said might 
be a smoke screen shielding her inmost self. Or she might be simply naive. I 
would find out. 

For the moment her roving eye had come to rest upon the oaken Pillory in 
which so many girls had been introduced to Rockley. 'That's a pillory, isn't 
it, Miss Durrant! You lock girls like me in there and we have to stand until 
we cry or ask forgiveness and promise never to be naughty again. Will I have 
to stand in it?" 

"You can stand in it right now if you wish." 

"Well, perhaps not right now... Would you show me around Rockley. I'm 
tremendously curious." 

"That would amuse me, too, but Rockley insists upon a special uniform. I'm 
afraid it's wearing nothing at all. Does that bother you?" 

"Goodness no! When I go traveling with Daddy at home I always wear what the 
local girls wear. That's usually just what you've described, I expect you've 
seen our pictures in the National Geographic? Would you like me to undress?" 

Phomie was still miles ahead but I comforted myself with the knowledge I 
could bring her back to heel with the ancient remedy of pain. But this I did 
not want to do. It would be far more fun to allow her the rope by which she 
would later hang. I stood in awe as I watched the baring of black beauty 
beyond any I had ever seen. Phomie's skin was like satin and had a radiance 
all its own, and a texture I would wish to touch. Miss Prendella also 
possessed and exhibited with pride a well-whipped bottom. 

She explain it was evidence of her latest naughtiness with a junior embassy 
official now sent home to Ugammi in disgrace. With the final shedding of 
clothes and shoes, she raised her arms above her head, turning slowly as she 
flexed her contours for my approval. Phomie was something else! 

Had Miss Prendella wished to fight the handcuffs, I could not have handled 
her sleek, young strength. 

But I need not have worried. When I produced the shinning steel bracelets, 
her only demure was to ask if I minded using the pair in which she'd been 
delivered. I gather there was some sentimental attachment I would hear about 
in time. 

This glorious daughter of Africa held out her wrists and sighed gently as I 
locked the circles tight. 

Testing as though to make sure they would not come loose, Phomie giggled, 
"They're so useful when I meet boys because they think they make me 
helpless. I only have to struggle the least bit to get them tremendously 
excited." She sighed happily. "And they're so wonderful to remind me to 
behave myself." 

"You don't consider sexual intercourse with a man as something bad?" 

"Of course not! It's such lovely fun." She chuckled in pure joy and raised 
her hands so I could see the shinning silver bands she wore as bracelets, "I 
mean like it's not bad like borrowing the car, or getting home late. Or 
being rude to Mommy." Brightly, as though bringing stupidity up to date, she 
added, "Everybody does it, you know. Or else none of us would be here." 

"There's no men to do it with at Rockley." 

"Yes, that's what they told me. That's the real punishment in coming here, 
isn't it? But I'm sure you'll lend me one of your dildos... You will, won't 
you?" 

"I don't even have one to lend." 

"Then I'll bet you have fun with us girls." 

"That's none of your business, young lady. You'd best watch what you're 
saying." 

"Will you do it with me, Miss Durrant? Or let me do it to you?" 

I refused to be provoked but led Miss Prendella to view the delights of her 
future home. I dwelt at length upon the dungeon's doom and gloom, and made 
her lift the weight of chains she would have to bear should her behavior 
warrant. I felt only a small twinge of defeat when she bubblingly proclaimed 
it the most exciting place she'd ever seen. The cage intrigued and she 
implored me to put her inside with all the others. But her indoctrination 
was not yet complete, so I took her back to my office and the waiting 
pillory. 

"I'll bet you're going to lock me in that thing and cane my bottom," she 
said as though it were her idea. "My poor bottom's been caned a great deal 
lately, Miss Durrant. Perhaps you wouldn't mind caning me somewhere else." 

"For instance...?" 

"I couldn't help noticing all those other girls in the big cage, and all 
those marks across their bottoms. Perhaps, if it's all the same to you. Miss 
Durrant, you don't have to cane me at all because it's already been done." 
She gave me an understanding smile. "If you put me in among all those other 
girls, they won't be able to tell if I got these marks today or yesterday." 
She grinned. "I'm not all that keen on getting caned there where I sit down, 
it hurts terribly. So if you wouldn't mind...?" 

The little so and so was echoing my own thoughts. I had no wish to add 
stripes to youthful contours already marked up. But it's not practical to 
use a cane upon a girl's back. And I certainly was not going to use it on 
any other part. I lifted the upper yoke of the pillory and said, crisply, 
"Get yourself inside here and stop telling me what to do." 

There was only a momentary pause, and, even though she could have gotten the 
best of me in a struggle, Miss Phomie Prendella arranged herself neatly 
within the spaces only just big enough to accommodate girlish wrists and 
neck. 

Obviously she felt no ill. "I thought it best to try. Miss Durrant. I do 
understand your position. If you've all the other girls, you absolutely must 
cane me, too. Please don't feel guilty." 

I felt guilty as hell and snapped the yoke down hard and let Phomie hear the 
click of the padlock which meant she could stay there forever if I so 
desired. "Six strokes on your bottom," I snapped at her in an effort to 
maintain control. "Scream all you like." 

Phomie did not scream even through I must have hurt her brutally. By now my 
aim was quite remarkably accurate, and I planted the cane only on those 
areas not previously scored. My African beauty made no sound, her only 
recognition of the punishment was the shifting of her feet and tensing of 
her arms as I added six more ridges upon her flesh. I left her there to 
stand while I returned to my desk to make believe I was dealing with bits of 
paper that really mattered. The scent of Africa filled my room to make me 
long to take this girl to my bed. 

When I had dealt with Phomie's introduction to Rockley, I tied her wrists 
and elbows in the same manner as with Elizabeth Lord. I noted that as my 
cords looped and bit deeply into her skin, her breathing increased along 
with mine. In self-defense I hurried with the most unkind binding there is 
for a girl, clamping Phomie's elbows tight and knotting viciously, while at 
the same time explaining to her that she would find another girl in the cage 
tied the same way. And that, if either of them could get the other free, 
they were at liberty to do so. When I opened the cage door and thrust the 
black girl inside, I was conscious of casting my bread upon the waters in 
the hope it would return to me ten-fold. 

Approximately fifty young women would yield obedience. They were mine! 

Her reaction to the neatly spread out tunic was instant. "I stopped wearing 
those silly things five years ago and I'm not going to start wearing them 
now!" 

"Would you prefer twenty strokes with the cane, dear?" 

Cynthia was undeniably shocked and seized upon the only deficiency. "There's 
no panties and no bra, the whole thing's indecent. It's worse than being 
naked!" 

"You may have both bra and panties, dear, if you don't mind them being lined 
with stinging nettles." 

We allowed the awful suggestion to hover above our prisoner. "You wouldn't!" 
Cynthia stared in wild disbelief. 

Possibly I should explain that the English stinging nettle is like the 
American poison ivy. Any girl who had to wear undergarments lined with that 
plant's leaves would soon be itching and burning something fierce. Cynthia 
considered the possibility and extended a pair of maiden hands in meek 
surrender. "If you'll take off these handcuffs, I'll dress the way you 
wish." 

Rockley held all the cards so the end result was always the same. 

After a while we tired of the individual sport, and with a dozen school-clad 
maidens among their fellows in the cage, dumped a pile of tunics inside the 
cage with instructions to have them on or face the cane. I had never 
unlocked so many handcuffs in my life. The one exception was Elizabeth Lord. 

Elizabeth was a beautiful woman and wore her nakedness with nonchalance. As 
usual, she spoke first. 

"I've wondered about this school girl thing. Half the girls have to tug and 
stretch. You're going to have a lot of ruptured seams." 

I unlocked one cuff and clasped it with it's fellow on her left wrist as I 
motioned to my desk on which reposed a waiting badge of shame. "Try this 
one, Elizabeth." 

"I'm going to look silly." 

"Put it on anyway." 

She shrugged, her raised eyebrow could have meant anything. 

When she had tugged the white blouse into place, she laughed. "These things 
are for girls who don't have breasts. Good gosh, look at mine!" 

It had the effect I desired. I did not want Elizabeth simply one of the 
girls, I wanted her as Elizabeth. 

And she would evoke either giggles or awe, When she saw the corset she 
exclaimed, "You can't possibly mean this. Miss Durrant! If I cinch that 
corset around my middle. I'll be honestly ashamed." 

"Do it!" 

I had caught her interest. The corset intrigued, it was a pretty thing and 
would be cruel in its clasp on any maiden above the age of twelve. To do it 
right, Elizabeth removed the blouse she had just donned to fit the 
waist-cincher around her already flat tummy for good effect. She had 
obviously had a previous acquaintance with such an artful constriction but I 
said nothing of my suspicion. When it was fitted in place to her 
satisfaction, she turned and thrust the deadly laces to my attention, while 
placing her free hands upon the top of her head and saying, mischievously, 
'There you are, Miss Durrant, do your worst." 

I didn't do my worst but took my time. Little by little I constricted an 
already narrow waist into the remarkable effect of flared hips and an 
upthrust bust. The effect was breathtaking and as far removed from school 
days as a girl could get. The white blouse now bulged delightfully, showing 
taut nipples beneath the silk. I handed my prisoner the blue serge. 

"I suppose you realize I can scarcely breath." Elizabeth said in unconcern, 
"And you've had this tunic altered to fit no girl that ever was... Holly 
cow!" 

The effect was gorgeously erotic - almost no waist at all but plenty of 
breasts and hips! In pure mercy, I allowed her to sit while I tugged on the 
bobby socks and shoes. I was nervous as to what might happened if she bent 
down. 

When I had once more cuffed her wrists, and led her to my room and the big 
mirror, before which we stood in mutual admiration of a contoured creation 
of beauty. I then made her sit while I converted the loveliness of her hair 
into a couple of school girl pigtails with wide blue ribbons at each end. 
Not until them did my constricted captive ask, "But what's it prove, Miss 
Durrant? Except to make me feel silly and a sex object every girl is going 
to giggle over. Or is this only a prelude to publicly caning my bottom?" She 
laughed delightedly. "If I can manage to bend over for it, of course!" 

Mindful of my weakness where Elizabeth was concerned, I put her back in the 
cage and stood watching long enough to hear the oooh's and ah's, and watch 
the cluster of schoolgirls form around this one who was one of them and yet 
not one of them. I went back to my office to do some thinking. 

The obvious way to derive maximum impact was to tease and torment one girl 
at a time. But my naked nymphets were far too numerous and would compare 
notes when placed back in the cage, I hit upon a treatment they must dislike 
intensely, but one far more in keeping with their dress and simulated youth. 
Talking about it with Constance and Betty, we agreed it was probably the 
English atmosphere and the pert impotency of handcuffed teenagers which 
provided the true inspiration. We decided on instigation the following day. 

The store house of Rockley came up with the right equipment, as usual. Fifty 
collars, delightful metal circlets which locked with a loud snap and 
provided a ring at the back of each girl's neck. Rockley scored again with 
its immense Great Hall which accepted my fifty captive school girls in a 
circle around its walls. Before relieving them of handcuffs, we ran the 
long, long chain of previous acquaintance in a continuous thread through the 
rings of their collars, so that, even if completely free, there was nothing 
they could do beyond cause their companions distress, then get their own 
neck tugged and jerked in return. Their initial attempts to escape their 
bondage were amusing but they soon realized they weren't going anywhere and 
quickly settled down. They were all baffled by what came next. 

As an American, I was forced to be amused by the English reverence for The 
Cane. It starts them out quite early in life, and I understand that even at 
advanced ages, elderly gentlemen hire commercial ladies for the express 
purpose of having her slice away at them in nostalgic memories of younger 
times. It was the cane I would have Constance and Betty use today, but not 
upon bottoms already marked by its sting. Today was to be a festival of 
'hold out your hand, you naughty girl.' Well aware of my ignorance of such 
corporal absurdities. I had Constance attend me in the office, directing her 
to cane the experimental palm I held out in order to fully understand the 
quality of the cane I was about to impose upon delinquent hands. Constance 
was dubious. "It's going to hurt a lot more than you think. Miss Durrant. 
Most of these girls have probably been caned before at school, and have some 
idea. For them there will be no shock. The pain may seem truly awful. 
Frankly, Miss Durrant. I would rather not inflict it." 

"Thank you, but do it and get it over with." I extended an uninformed hand, 
palm up. 

Constance was right. The cut of cane was so bloody awful I could scarcely 
believe it happened. 

Uncaring of dignity I clasp my hand under my armpit in an effort to absorb 
the agony. Constance watched with sympathy. "I told you so, Miss Durrant. 
Caning their hands is far worse than striping their little bottoms. I 
suspect we are going to have fifty very obedient young ladies by the time we 
are through. Do you still wish to have the young ladies received this 
punishment?" 

Reluctantly I straightened up and tried to ignore the burning pain. 

I had never previously experienced such throbbing pain and could well 
believe it was swollen twice normal size. But when I looked at it, there was 
no evidence of agony other than the red mark. I was stuck with a dilemma of 
my own making. "You are right. Constance," I said, "it hurts terribly. But I 
want each girl to receive what you have just given me. In that case, it will 
be a stroke across each hand. If we fail to make an adequate impression, you 
and Betty can advance that number to two or three. Let us begin." 

Once more I felt a bitch. Not so much over the pain my little darlings were 
about to endure but over the whole erotic scene Uncle Andrew had made 
possible. I was positively on fire in my desire to see the manner in which 
each maiden would cope. At the back of my mind was a vivid speculation about 
Elizabeth Lord. 

Rockley's girls stood around the wall as I mounted the small stage and faced 
the class. I tried not to look at Elizabeth, who stood out from the rest 
like a bacon on a dark night. She was entirely glorious and was offhandedly 
fingering the metal collar on her neck. For her, the thing about to happen 
would be infinitely worse than for the rest. My pulse raced. 

From the slight height of the stage I surveyed my captives who stared back 
as though I were the angel of doom. "Your punishment today is appropriate to 
your dress," I began. "You will feel the punishment unjust but it matches 
your behavior before you came to Rockley. I want each one of you to kneel 
where you now stand. Come, no dawdling." 

They were baffled and paused to stare at each other in dismay. 

But if one knelt, her companions must also. The result was a pleasant 
clatter and clink of chain as they assumed their new position. As I observed 
Elizabeth Lord kneeling humbly with her teenage companions, my nostrils 
flared in joy. 

"Your hands are about to be caned," I told them in my most authoritative 
tone. "Some of you will have enjoyed this experience in school, the rest of 
you will have heard of it. When your turn comes, extend your right hand with 
open palm, and watch while it is done. There will be no closing of eyes or 
turning away. You will repeat this as often as required. There is no need to 
panic, you will not die." 

The girls were exquisitely controlled, the collar and linkage imposing a 
compulsion they could not contest. Constance, Betty and I had agreed to 
share the task of using the cane, while, at the same time, keeping an eye on 
the long line of darlings. First on the chain was a fierce-eyed daughter, 
intelligent enough to realize her helplessness, but unable to control her 
anger. "I do this under protest, Miss Durrant. At the end of my time here, I 
shall make quite sure my parents and the police take action against you." 
Her voice lost something of its arrogance as she added. "Please don't cane 
my hand too hard. I'm only a girl." Bravely she extended one bare arm. 

I made the cane zing. The eyes of number one almost jumped from her head in 
shock. She stared at me in horror before thrusting her punished palm beneath 
an armpit with an moan of misery. My own gasp was one of joy. 

Number two was frankly scared, a lissome little sweetheart with dark brown 
hair and pert cones for breasts. She put her hands behind her back and said, 
apologetically, "I'm sorry but I can't possibly. I can't stick my hand out 
for that pain. And I can't look at you while you cut it in two." Her voice 
was choked with emotion. 

Without a word I allowed the quivering tip of my instrument to friction the 
young breasts, making a bland assurance, "If you do not extend your arm, and 
do as you're told. I will cane these twin delights until you do." 

No arm could be extended with greater speed or palm offered with more 
appeal. My cane cut the air with a wicked song while the girl stared in 
wide-eyed horror. With a choking sob and tears, she nursed her wounded hand 
while I tapped the bare shoulder of number three. 

The cane was the baton of a sympathy of gasps and sobs and tears. Most 
girls, when their time came, stared defiantly as their sacrificial palm 
awaited the fatal cut. Always the injured hand fled to the soft refuge of a 
girlish armpit. But there were those who bore their pain with remarkable 
fortitude - after all, their blood was blue! 

The disturbance came while I was dealing with number twelve. 

An angry redhead across the wall scrambled to the her feet, dragging her 
companions with her, to cry aloud in anger and authority, "Don't be such a 
bunch of sheep. There's only three of them! Come on, rush them all 
together!" 

There was a startled hush, girl looked at girl while nervous hands fingered 
collars on slender necks and the chain Even my aides and I were startled 
into silence, but that was momentary. With purposeful strides. Betty seized 
the rebellious hair to shake a rebellious head vigorously before handcuffing 
the wrists behind the girl's back. She then unlocked the collar and led the 
would-be leader of insurrection to the center of the hall in full view. In 
that center there rested a sinister black box from which she immediately 
extracted panties and bra and, despite struggles, clothed rebellious loins 
and breasts. But here was not the svelte symmetry of girlish lingerie, the 
panties and cups of the bra were well padded in a manner to make me long to 
laugh. Having got these garments properly in place. 

Betty donned rubber gloves and began to stuff a supply of stinging nettles 
within each cup and the panties. She seemed to be stuffing more into the 
girl's crotch than there should be room for. She then roped the cuffed hands 
high from a noose around the rebellious neck, closed the lid of the box, and 
resumed her former position. The rebellious girl was left standing stricken 
and helpless as an example for all go see. 

It was beautiful to behold. The girl, her name was Amy, stood for a moment 
stricken in disbelief and gathering her thoughts as her shoulders weaved 
uselessly against the binding by which Amy's hands were prohibited from 
reaching her garments. The poor, dear girl shook herself violently as might 
a dog to rid itself of fleas, shaking and twisting against the bit and sting 
of nettles plastered against her skin in her most tender places. There began 
then a performance to hold every maiden eye spellbound. 

With a sob of outrage. Amy lowered herself to the floor and rolled and 
contorted in anxious motion by which she no doubt hoped to rid herself of 
this hateful infliction. All could see the agony in her face and most knew 
to some degree the flaming sting that she felt so privately. Failing to gain 
relief, she now knelt beside the big black box to twist and trust against 
the lid to try and rub off her bra or panties. But they had been place on 
tightly and all her efforts failed. Scrambling to her feet, Amy devoted all 
her efforts to freeing her handcuffed wrists from the rope around her neck, 
but this, too, was painful and unrewarding. Eventually she stood before us 
all, suffering a punishment we could not see. Her breasts heaved as her 
breath came fast in total frustration and defeat. Amy looked around the 
circle of teenage concern as if in search of aid. But then, with an 
inarticulate cry, fled from center stage to fall kneeling at my feet. "I'm 
sorry, I'm sorry! Please forgive me. Miss Durrant, I promise I'll behave. 
Please, please, please!!!" 

She was very sweet in her progress, her repentance was real. I could well 
imagine what the nettle leaves were doing to her. With some compassion I 
told her she must return to the center of the hall and stand there for ten 
minutes before her neck would once more be collared to the chain. No doubt 
Amy computed odds and realized my offer was as good as she would get. With 
one more sweet little cry of despair, she fled back the way she had come to 
stand in the center of the huge room. Her feet were rooted to the floor but 
the rest of her was in constant motion as she twisted and contorted in fiery 
agony. The distress was beautiful on her face. I loved the way she jerked 
and pulled on her wrists in an uncontrollable effort to use her hands. The 
steel edges of the handcuffs bit into the flesh in a lovely infliction of 
additional punishment. 

All the girls watched and learned their lesson Disobedience would earn them 
all this torment, and they didn't miss that point. 

When Amy's sentence was served, she was taken back to her former place, her 
neck locked in its waiting collar and her hands once more freed to enable 
her to with swift and savage motions to rid herself of punishment panties 
and bulging bra. She hurled the bra and its awful contents as far a she 
could. When her turn came to extend a bare arm and palm, she did so in meek 
obedience and nursed the resultant wound in the same manner as all the rest. 

My main concern was, of course, Elizabeth Lord. Elizabeth's eyes had become 
sultry, lush lips swelling at the approach of the cane. I had previously 
arranged it would be I who would inflict Elizabeth's punishment. I was 
aflame with desire, and gazed down at her swelling breasts, rampant nipples, 
and cinched waist with a hunger I did not bother to conceal. When our eyes 
met, it was she who was in command. "You wish to cane my hands, Miss 
Durrant?" Her husky voice held no tremor. 

"You know I do. Elizabeth. Hold out your hand." 

I realized it was not because of my command that her eyes clung avidly to 
mine as the lovely bareness of her arm offered me an open palm. I struck it 
savagely. Nothing happened! It was several moments before Elizabeth 
retrieved her punished palm in a manner of someone forgetting it was there. 
Slowly she allowed it to fall passively to her side. Equally slowly her 
other hand came up. Never did her eyes leave mine. "You may as well cane 
both of them, Miss Durrant. You do it wonderfully well." She was mocking me. 

Damn the woman! I wanted to take her to bed, not bruise her, flesh. But with 
every girl watching, I struck again even harder, a wicked stroke Elizabeth 
accepted calmly. Her voice was even. 'Thank you, Miss Durrant." It even 
sounded of real gratitude. 

I could not let her get away with it. The performance had been superb, 
absolutely breathtaking, and I knew every maiden in the place was envying 
her control. Casually I suggested. "Perhaps your right hand again, 
Elizabeth?" 

There was a flicker of the eyes but that was all. The scarlet palm was once 
more there, awaiting my cane. I longed to shower it with kisses but knew I 
must show no weakness. Once more I cruelly cut the palm. The blow got a 
noticeable wince out of the gorgeous girl. But, as though by previous 
arrangement, her left hand replaced her right and her eyes mocked mine 
again. Delivering Elizabeth's forth stroke and sensing rather than hearing 
the choked back cry of anguish, I broke the lock which held our eyes, and 
moved on to the next girl. That girl extended her palm as if mesmerized. 

Victory was Elizabeth's. 

CHAPTER FOUR - Naomi's Discipline 

Betty and Constance were a tower of strength. Without them I would have been 
lost. They were beautifully methodical in the manner by which they never 
gave any girl freedom long enough to get ideas. Our pretty maidens were 
taken from bondage to bondage and punishment to punishment without the 
faintest opportunity to run, or fight, or effectively argue. Arguments were 
arbitrated by the cane, or, in more difficult instances, by a whip. By the 
end of the second week, we had a cage full of the most obedient young ladies 
in the United Kingdom. The school uniforms, having served their purpose, 
were stripped away and stored for future use. Nakedness was the true 
condition for the girls of Rockley, and I made sure they were constantly 
bare. After the canning of hands, I allowed a couple of days to pass before 
having Elizabeth Lord brought to my office in all the glory of breasts I 
could swear had swelled an inch, and a forest of pubic curls I could swear 
had grown even more. Prudently, I had ordered her wrists crossed and bound 
with thin twine behind her back. 

We went through the meeting of our eyes and the challenging wait for the 
other to provide a clue. It was Elizabeth who broke the silence. "Why don't 
you strip naked, the same as me, Miss Durrant? We both know what you want to 
do. Okay, okay, don't get snooty, it's what I want, too." 

I could not control laughter. She was a joyous creature and full of sap. Her 
husband was undoubtedly a clunk. I could think of nothing relevant to say 
except, "Are you hands still hurting, Elizabeth?" 

"Not as much as my wrists are with this damned thin stuff you've had them 
tied with." 

"That's good. Elizabeth, why do we beat around the bush? You want something, 
what is it?" 

"You know what I want, you idiot! I want sex. But after watching the way you 
flounder around. I want something more. I want to see you exactly as I am 
now. One day I will." 

"What would you do with me?" 

"Thrash you and love you. What else is there!" 

I laughed with pretense. It was good to be with Elizabeth. 

"You're dreaming, Elizabeth,' I told her flippantly. "You'll never get to 
thrash me, but that reminds me of why I had you brought here. I suspect it's 
time I thrashed you. If you wore britches, I'd say you were getting too big 
for them." 

"Damn it, Diana, you don't have to be the omnipotent goddess with me. And 
you needn't think that caning of my hands didn't hurt. It was the worse pain 
I'd ever known. If you'd given me a couple more like that, I'd have broken 
down. But you know that." 

We laughed away my wry admission. "I can't have the girls regarding you as 
an invincible leader," I told her soberly. "It's natural they should look up 
to you but that performance you put on with the caning of your hands left 
all of us gasping. They worship you." 

"Okay then, whip me until I grovel at your feet." 

"I don't want to do that." 

"Okay then, take me up to bed. You don't have to untie my hands. I can 
manage." 

"I can't do that, either. Elizabeth, you're impossible! I don't want you 
groveling at my feet but somehow I've got to make you cry Uncle and do it 
while those pretty little dears in the cage are watching. Sorry!" 

"That sounds like the prelude to the whip. Are you going to have me flogged 
while forty nine teenagers busily secrete?" 

"I've thought of it, of course. But whipping a naked girl is passe, even 
though it is basic." 

"If you whip me. I promise I'll scream. And I'll kick and twist like crazy 
so the little dears will know I'm hurting. But, please don't whip my 
breasts... Please?" 

Elizabeth Lord was altogether too much. I took her to bed. 

It was several hours before we bothered to talk, but eventually Elizabeth 
came back to a subject which held a fascination, and which I suspect she was 
deeply afraid of. Once more her approach was flippant. "If you really want 
to shame me in front of them all, Diana, why don't you have me hung up by my 
heels with my legs far apart so they can all see everything I've got. You 
could have me whipped in that beastly condition. I'd be so ashamed, I'd 
cry." 

"Why tell me?" 

"Well, I know you're going to do something to me, and I know you have to. 
We're sort of boxed in on account of our age. If I was nineteen. I wouldn't 
be noticed." 

"If you had those breasts, you would!" 

A long silence drifted deliciously. Elizabeth had made me very happy, even 
without the use of hands. 

She constantly complained of the cutting of the twine, but I paid no heed. I 
was a trifle scared of Elizabeth. 

"Darling, you really should consider what I've suggested. You and I should 
change roles. You have trouble bringing yourself to punish me. But I 
wouldn't have a bit of trouble punishing you. All you have to do is give 
Betty and Constance orders. How about it?" 

"It's a crazy idea. I'm no way submissive." 

"But with me you wouldn't hate it. I suspect you'd adore everything I did to 
you." 

"I ought to gag you, you're a menace." 

"And don't you love it, darling!" I loved it. The next day I had Elizabeth 
whipped. She and I knew it was in self-defense. 

Somehow I had to assert myself as mistress of Rockley. I had no idea of the 
degree in which the involvement of Elizabeth with myself was known or 
understood by the rest of the girls with whom she spent her time in nude 
captivity. But I knew the little darlings well enough to be pretty sure they 
would sense the way things were. I combined Elizabeth s erotic notion with 
my own. 

Our audience was intrigued but none more so than I as my cohorts extracted 
Elizabeth Lord from among the naked girls. Of their own accord the girls 
stepped back towards the wall as though knowing instinctively center stage 
would be exactly that and the star was Elizabeth Lord. With me as director 
and my two aides as executioners. 

Elizabeth probably guessed what we were about to do to her but her only 
glances were for me in her usual amused challenge of the eyes. Relieved of 
handcuffs but with wrists crossed and unkindly tied behind her back, she 
stood for all to see, the girl about to be punished. 

In a matter of minutes the woman I hungered for lay upon bound arms with 
feet spread wide and raised high enough to proclaim her sex to every 
watching eye. She tested this fresh infliction of bondage but discovered she 
could move very little. It was an unusual situation in which a girl about to 
be whipped would look up along her belly to see the part of herself destined 
for punishment Elizabeth was secreting outrageously but so was I! 

Constance had concocted a solemn declaration of sentence, which she read 
aloud to proclaim the sin of pride and the manner in which it must be 
punished. From somewhere she and Betty had discovered a whip I recognized, a 
wicked looking thing which would not hurt half as much as watchers might 
suppose. It was ideal for the cleft between Elizabeth' s thighs and the 
breasts she could not conceal. 

When Elizabeth looked at it, the sunlight ceased to shine in her eyes. 
Elizabeth was scared and I was glad. 

"Fifty strokes." I heard my voice proclaim the sentence. Fifty was a 
terrible punishment but I was placing my faith in the whip of Constance's 
choosing and the knowledge the girls were being deceived. The whip would 
hurt as it sought the most intimate creases of that lush and wonderful body, 
but would be no more than Elizabeth Lord could bear. I could only pray she 
had the wit to put up a good simulation of utter agony. 

My aides took turns, and from the very first Elizabeth picked up her cue and 
screamed lustily as the thongs slapped cruelly within her cleft, expending 
their venom on her most secret place. First her crotch then her breasts, 
back and forth in a slow but steady beat of correction - I loved that word, 
correction! 

When we had punished Mrs. Elizabeth Lord, we left her where she was to enjoy 
the sympathy of forty-nine girls who could not raise their arms enough 
behind their backs to set her free. No doubt they had much to talk about and 
most certainly Elizabeth's thighs and breasts were scarlet enough for any 
doubter's eye. Before leaving the collection of them. I proclaim aloud that 
if any maiden held doubts about what Elizabeth received, she had only to say 
so and I would order her to undergo the same treatment No one said a word. 

The days passed. Supposing there was an obligation on me to adequately 
punish these girls, and not allow my sympathy for their delightful curves to 
intrude upon judgment. I kept Betty and Constance busy with the disposition 
of feminine bodies. One day all the little darlings, and they weren't really 
all that little, were tied tight to trees around the park. The next day they 
shared the darkness of a dungeon and its chains. I stood them in pillories 
and stocks, and hung them by their pretty little wrists from the limbs of 
trees. They were not bored. At the start Elizabeth Lord shared theses 
indignities, but, after all. 

I was mistress of Rockley, so had her isolated in a cell and allowed only 
myself to visit her. Loneliness is a terrible punishment and before long 
Elizabeth was greeting my arrival with delight. Sometimes I taunted her 
through the bars and went away. But mostly I unlocked the barred door and 
entered her prison, an barren little stone and steel place which sent 
shivers up my spine, always Elizabeth's hands were bound or chained behind 
her back. And always she was compelled to wear a collar around her neck 
attached to the wall by a chain long enough to give some freedom but not 
egress from the cell. I often left her door open as temptation, knowing she 
could not use it In this cell with these precautions against Elizabeth's 
escape, we became the females we truly were. 

"I suppose you're not allowed to tell me how long my sentence is, how long I 
have to stay in this beastly place?" It was Elizabeth's favorite theme. 

"I don't even know and I wouldn't tell you even if I did,' I said crossly. 
"Tell me which of us is mistress?" 

"I am, of course." Elizabeth stared in rueful defiance. "But I can't get off 
this cords from my wrists or this collar from my neck, so you can go against 
nature, darling, and do whatever you want with me." She pursed lush red lips 
to invite a kiss. "But We both know who the mistress really is, don't we?" 

It was a delicious game and I played it to the full, keeping Elizabeth 
always under control but allowing her the fantasy of possessing me in chains 
and suffering beneath the whip. There was no possibility of this fantasy 
coming true but I thought of it often and wondered at its appeal and the 
tingling it generated in my sex. If Elizabeth became too insistent in this 
demand, I punished her by something she disliked, clips upon her nipples or 
her vaginal lips. Or being forced to stand in immobility by ropes. There was 
also the stocks and pillory and other disagreeable machinery by which a girl 
could be secured and punished. 

I suppose it was inevitable that after a passage of weeks I would start 
think of New York and my abandoned law practice there. Controlling and 
punishing so much teenage flesh began to pall. I think that had there been 
only one or two girls my interest would have diminished less than with a 
herd of fifty. I went down to stare through the bars of their cage and 
wonder what to do with them next. I did the same with Elizabeth, keeping the 
bars between us as we talked, feeling her longing for freedom as if it were 
mine own. Unable to ignore mutual attraction. I often took her upstairs to 
my bed. At such times her hands were tied behind her back but that was all. 
It would have been nice to have them free for full expression in what we 
shared but I was frankly scared of the dominance in that woman and the 
smoldering in her eyes. Having her naked without hands beside me on the bed 
was a constant thrill and I felt gratitude to Uncle Andrew for making me a 
gift of so much loveliness beneath which was a female vulgarity to ad spice 
to our relationship. Finally the moment came when Elizabeth accused, "You're 
bored stiff with this whole silly business, aren't you? I don't mean you and 
me but all those girls." 

Elizabeth was right! Boredom had crept upon on me and caught me unawares. 
"I'm not bored with you," I said defensively. 

"Of course you're not, darling, we two are made for each other." 

Mischief danced in her eyes. "What you say the two of us escape?" 

"That's silly, I can't possibly let you escape, and there's nothing for me 
to escape from. I'm in charge." 

"Andrew Everleigh is in charge, darling, not you. There's probably a lot I 
don't understand about Rockley and the Estate, and those girls you've told 
me about on their Greek island. But anyway you look at it, you're wasting 
your time. Untie me and we'll make a run for it!" 

"You're a married woman, Elizabeth. Your husband would just send you back 
here." 

Her voice was something intense, "Look, you beautiful idiot, I'm sick to 
death of Herbert and his money. I've got money in my own right and it's very 
much accessible. It can take you and I pretty much anywhere we want to go. 
Untie me. Please...?" 

Elizabeth knew me better than I knew myself. I was suddenly on fire with 
longing. It would have been so easy to untie Elizabeth' s hands and the two 
of us run back to my former life, but I remembered Uncle Andrew's warning. 
"It wouldn't work." I told her. "In my own way, I'm as much a prisoner here 
as you. Andrew Everleigh foresees everything and he's promised me that if 
ever I got the notion to do as you suggest, he'd have me kidnapped within a 
few days and right back here where I started from. It's no use, dear, he's 
far too powerful." 

We looked at each other soberly but the check on Elizabeth's enthusiasm was 
momentary. "That's supposing he knows where you are. But suppose he 
doesn't??? I've thought of the perfect place." 

"I don't know. I don't want to be brought back to Rockley in a wooden box," 
I said. 

"You're being morbid, darling. Our ideal hideaway is that island you've told 
me about - what's it's name? Plessious? He wouldn't dream of us being there. 
And even if he did, that girl you've told me about would hide us, wouldn't 
she?" 

Elizabeth's excitement was infectious and I was beholding visions. "I don't 
know how Naomi would feel about it. She's a good deal influenced by Uncle 
Andrew, too. And he actually is her uncle, and he actually is a power in the 
handling of the Estate. Naomi was a prisoner here once, the same as you, and 
got herself well whipped and sent back to Plessious with stern warning to 
behave. But it's a lovely idea." 

"Let's do it then. You'd be going to friends and I couldn't be much worse 
off than I am here. 

Think of it, darling, the Grecian sun and azure seas. And there's those 
three other girls beside Naomi. 

Please take me there, Diane darling. Take me in handcuffs if you want but 
I'm bound to get possession of you sometimes. You can't tell me I'm not 
getting you interested." 

Elizabeth was right, I was interested. But too cautious yet to untie her 
hands, even when she turned her back and wiggled captive fingers. Once more 
I was annoyed by the tingling up and down my spine by her suggestion of her 
possessing me as I now possessed her. There was still the question of 
boredom, and I was still the Mistress so clung to my authority. "I'm going 
to have you whipped, Elizabeth, just to teach you not to dangle temptation 
in front of my nose. You're a menace." 

"But a lovely menace, darling." Once more she pursed her lips. "Twenty 
strokes," I said decisively. Elizabeth stuck out her tongue at me. "You're 
only having me whipped to salve your conscience. You think Uncle Andrew is 
looking over your shoulder and it's something you have to do. 

Sure, I'm tempting you, and it's a gorgeous temptation you can't resist." 
She laughed in my face as if the threat of twenty strokes with the whip was 
a mere nothing. "After you've had me all marked up you'll feel sorry for 
being so mean to someone you love - see if I'm not right." 

I did not have Elizabeth whipped but I personally locked her back in her 
tiny cell and snapped the metal collar around her throat. I hurried away 
before becoming prey to more outlandish temptation. 

For two days I let her sit in chained solitude, expecting the whip but not 
getting it. She would be, I hoped, somewhat more tractable. Finally I could 
resist her no longer and took her back upstairs to bed. It was as though the 
two days of solitary confinement had not passed. Elizabeth Lord was 
irrepressible. 'Thank you for not having me whipped, darling. I really 
thought you might. I would have hated it and I wouldn't have talked about 
our escape for several hours afterward. I thought of the two of us a lot 
while you keep me locked down there. Diane. I love you." 

I sighed. 'Then stop nagging at me to set you free and run off someplace 
like a couple of kids." 

"I won't do that, darling. Whip me all you want. Both of us will still know 
my idea is perfect. 

You can't poke a hole in it." Once again she turned her back to me, wiggled 
bound hands invitingly. 

"Untie my wrists, Diane, I want to see what it feels like to have hands. 
I've almost forgotten." 

I was enchanted and bewitched. For very sure I was utterly besotted by this 
captive beauty I adored. 

Elizabeth's crossed wrists so tightly and expertly bound held potent appeal 
as though they cried aloud, reminding me of love. Savagely I found scissors 
and cut and cut and cut until the many strands of twine fell shredded to the 
floor and she who had been my prisoner turned swiftly to envelope me in 
ardent arms. It was a long time before we spoke again. 

Apart from the first swift dash to Elizabeth's bank, we made our flight as 
leisurely as plane schedules permitted. Once well on our way, I realized how 
absolutely right Elizabeth was, I owed nothing to Uncle Andrew and Rockley, 
and couldn't spend my life whipping the bottoms of girls. Elizabeth Lord was 
all the female I would ever want! 

That night in our hotel room, we scattered our sparse belongings into draws 
and on the dresser. While placing her things, Elizabeth casually placed a 
pair of handcuffs where I could not fail to see. Her explanation was typical 
for her. "I picked them up at Rockley, darling, a little memento I knew 
you'd love." 

"I don't love such things," I said crossly. "Drop them in the trash or out 
of the window, get rid of them." 

"Darling, they're not for me, they're for you!" 

How can I explain the tingling nerves up and down my spine and the surge of 
excitement in my sex! 

But Elizabeth was being all too much Elizabeth all too soon. I picked up the 
shinning circlets to say. 

"You're dreaming. Elizabeth, there's no way I'm having these things on my 
wrists. Get rid of them." 

"If you hate them so much, why are you holding them like that, darling?" 

Hastily I put them back on the dresser as though to rid myself of 
temptation. Striving to keep alive the atmosphere of fun. I offered, "I 
refuse to have them on me anywhere, but if you want to sleep tonight with 
handcuffed hands, I don't mind a bit. You look sweet when you're 
handcuffed." 

Elizabeth sighed as though bearing a great burden. "I know you have to put 
up a defense, darling, you can't possibly just stick you hands out. But 
you're going to be handcuffed whether you think so or not." 

"If you think you'll get the best of me, you 're crazy." I responded. 

"I couldn't possibly use force on you, darling." Elizabeth's eyes were 
glowing as she beheld my nakedness. "I can't possibly throw them out of the 
window, darling, and I'm sure you don't expect me to. Leave them there on 
the dresser. I'll find a use for them." 

"I bet you will!" I agreed without feeling the least bit angry. "I know what 
you intend, you'll wait until I'm asleep. Then when I wake up they'll be on 
my wrists. I wished to goodness you'd left them at Rockley." 

Elizabeth pouted prettily. "Spoil sport!" She laughed at my dilemma. "I'll 
get you handcuffed one of these days, darling. It's something nice for both 
of us to look forward to. Stop worrying about your precious little hands." 

Suddenly inspired. I grasp the metal restraints and clicked both cuffs tight 
around my left wrist. 'There, that's the best place for them," I said 
triumphantly. "I honestly don't trust you." I held up my steel encircled 
wrist. "This is all the handcuffing you're ever going to do with me." 

"But I've got the key, darling... " 

"So what! I'll wear them as lovely, heavy bracelets." 

It was a gorgeous, wonderful game that left us laughing and in each others 
arms. I forgot the handcuffs before they'd been on my wrists ten minutes. If 
knowledge of Elizabeth's possession of the key sent the familiar tingling up 
my spine. I saw it only as a bonus to everything else we shared. 

Airports are wonderful. You forget all about everything and luggage and the 
time. No one noticed my handcuffed wrist. I used the journey to tell 
Elizabeth about Naomi's island in the sun, about Honey and Thea, and my 
beloved Ivory. As I tried to tell Elizabeth what to expect I realized how 
little I actually know about the island, which the Estate so casually owned, 
and on which Naomi reigned as Queen with her three darling captives in as 
strange and bizarre a Court as the world had ever seen. 

Elizabeth listened avidly, eyes shinning and breathless with curiosity to 
make the steel upon my wrist weigh with a hot insistence I found intensely 
pleasurable. Knowing full well I would have allies in Naomi and the girls. I 
could have cared less. 

"No men at all?" Elizabeth could hardly believe. 

"Only Thorpe, the butler, and Blandish, the gardener." I assured her 
joyously. "Isn't that enough?" 

"Gosh, yes!" Elizabeth was thinking hard as the plane droned its way towards 
a female paradise. "It's lovely not having to worry about men, and what they 
do, and what they want. But these three girls... Can I cane their bottoms?" 

"Of course not! You'll be a guest." 

"Well. I've been a prisoner so long, darling, it would be nice to sample the 
other side. You mean they wouldn't stand for it?" 

"Ask them when we get there. Goodness knows what Naomi and her three 
handcuffed maidens get up to. You can find out for yourself." 

The closer we got to Plessious, the more I remembered Hugo Markham. He had 
retained me in New York to press his legal claim for a share of the Estate. 
I told Elizabeth about him, also, and voiced my curiosity as to where he 
was, and the things he might still do. Since he was male. Elizabeth showed 
no interest, leaving me wondering what sort of cad Herbert had to be. 

It was not until we were on the last lap of our journey, the supply ship to 
Plessious, that the full enormity of what we were doing struck home. Naomi 
and I had previously been on opposite sides of a legal fence, and the 
defeats my client, Hugo Markham, and I had suffered had rankled me a long 
time. I had to wonder how much of our battles might still irk the 
uninhibited creature we were about to visit. When I spoke of such sentiments 
to Elizabeth, she waved them aside with an imperious hand, and told me to 
leave everything to her. And wouldn't it be best to unlock the handcuffs 
from my wrist in case they gave a false impression. Doubtfully, I agreed. 

Blandish was on the jetty to look after whatever business the supply ship 
might have with Naomi's island. Nothing every surprised Blandish but his 
sense of what was proper prompted his query, "Shouldn't you young ladies be 
taking your clothes off? If I had known you were coming, I would have 
brought handcuffs." 

"We brought our own," Elizabeth assured him in the same spirit of doing the 
right thing. "I think I should leave myself clothed until I've meet Naomi. 
Diane can do as she pleases." 

Mischievously she placed a kiss upon his cheek, and thereafter, I knew 
Blandish was on our side. Thus we arrived at the big house which was a 
replica of the old and bore the same name of Rockley. My heart was thudding 
hard because I was about to see Ivory again. 

It was Honey of the platinum hair who took the mail from Blandish's hands 
and viewed me doubtfully. She, herself, was as naked as they come and wore 
her handcuffs in front with the unconscious grace I remembered so well, and 
envied so much. Naomi's three naiads were something for the book. Honey 
surveyed Elizabeth with somewhat more favor than reserved for me, Led by the 
golden skinned beauty, we marched to Naomi's office. 

The sudden appearance of Elizabeth may have been a delight but the advent of 
myself was not. 

Naomi listened politely to what I had to say, and as I said it. I realized 
how poor our story was. What it amounted to was our asking for refuge for a 
relative of Naomi's. Honey discreetly stood to one side and said no word but 
was obviously there as a safeguard in our intrusion. Having listened to all 
I had to say, Naomi inquired, reasonably enough, "What on earth are you 
going to do here!" 

"Enjoy sun and freedom." said Elizabeth promptly. 

"Why didn't you phone first?" 

"I wasn't sure of our reception," I admitted. "Look, Naomi, we're in trouble 
and we need help. 

Please let us stay." 

The air was suddenly tense, and a silence lengthened until Naomi said, "Of 
course you can stay. I'm not going to cast you to the wolves. But you know 
how we do things on Plessious, are you sure that's what you want?" 

It took a little while to sink in. Having had a good look at Honey. 

Elizabeth caught on instantly, but I was slow in observing the principle 
behind her statement. "I think you're saying you want us to take our clothes 
off and be handcuffed," Elizabeth said cheerfully. "You want us the same way 
as Honey is. I don't mind a bit so long as whatever you do to me you do to 
Diane." She turned the radiance of her smile upon both Naomi and myself and 
I knew for certain I was lost. 

Naomi did her best imitation of The Sphinx and I knew for sure we still had 
a little way to go. "What we've just determined is routine," she said 
evenly. "You can't expect to come here and not conform. 

But what I'm concerned with now is your sincerity. You're both adult and 
you're taking a lot for granted, including me. Would you be willing to 
accept a test?" 

Elizabeth instantly exclaimed, "Of course we would! Honest, Naomi, this is 
serious for both of us." 

I longed to tell my companion to keep silent but it was too late, Naomi knew 
she had a good thing going and, ignoring me, asked Elizabeth. "Supposing I 
asked you both to accept a quite severe whipping as proof of all you've told 
me, what would you say?" 

I was, not surprised, Elizabeth was. But she was on the uptake with laughter 
as though Naomi had said something funny. "Everyone connected with your 
silly old Estate has the fixation about whipping girls. I'm surprised you 
don't all get whipped regularly before breakfast." She smiled at Naomi and I 
brightly as though inviting comment. 

The lawyer in me said "shut up" so that's what I did. Elizabeth would get us 
into trouble but would be equally gifted in getting us out. I wished I 
hadn't had that trouble with Naomi long ago. Things now began to get worse 
instead of better. "Well, anyway, it's silly to whip both Diane and me, so 
why don't you just whip Diane. I understand you're not in love with each 
other?" 

Elizabeth made it sound like the solution to everything. "I think that's a 
lovely idea," said Naomi sweetly. 

I was outraged, They were both looking at me expectantly so I said the 
obvious, "Forget it. A stay on Plessious is not worth a marked up skin. 
You're both being offensive." I looked straight at Naomi. "I'd be grateful 
if you'd call that water taxi service on the mainland to come and pick me 
up." To Elizabeth I said, "You'd be wise to come with me but suit yourself." 

Nobody did anything. Naomi and Elizabeth sat like a pair of cats, while I 
knew myself blushing and out numbered. Impulsively I reached for the phone 
but Naomi pulled it back. 

"Do you always wear handcuffs on one wrist, Miss Durrant?" 

Honey asked. 

I felt a fool, even the truth would sound silly but I told it anyway and 
knew I blushed some more. 

Naomi asked the obvious, "But why not unlock them, surely you have a key?" 

"No, I don't. Elizabeth has it." 

"And she won't let you use it?" 

"No. Look, never mind my bracelet. Will you make that phone call for me or 
would you prefer I did it myself?" 

"If I use the phone it will be to tell Uncle Andrew where you are. If you 
don't like the rules at Plessious. I think that would be the best way out. I 
would have preferred the sunshine here on Plessious, even with a whip marked 
back, to the dungeon at Rockley. But there's no accounting for tastes." 

I could feel the trap closing. The supply ship that brought the mail was 
still a week away. Crossly, I said to the girl I adored, "Elizabeth, why 
don't you grow up? If Naomi gets you naked and handcuffed, there's no 
telling when you'll be free again, if ever! The same goes for me. We'd best 
both go down to the jetty and stay there until some sort of ship gets near 
the island. Perhaps we can signal it." I turned a venomous glance at our 
hostess, "Naomi, I think you're being a bitch. Please phone for that water 
taxi thing. We'll get right out of your hair." 

"I've told you. Miss Durrant, that if I phone at all, it will be to Uncle 
Andrew." 

I stood and held out my hand to Elizabeth. I could tell she was disappointed 
over the way things had gone but would not betray me. She grasped my hand 
and the two of us marched from Naomi's office and the big house so much like 
that other Rockley. When we were beyond it's gardens, Elizabeth tried to 
make amends. "I really am sorry, darling. Gosh, what a blooper I made! This 
seems a glorious little island but with you and Naomi being enemies, we 
should have stayed away. It's all my fault. 

Oh, damn!" 

"Do you really want to see me naked and chained and whipped? Elizabeth, I 
love you." 

"And I love you, darling. But I'm still a beautiful bitch with a fantasy. 
You're my fantasy, and you know what I want. Sorry, sweetheart, but I guess 
I'm just a plain bad girl." 

I could never be mad at her for long. And my spirits were raised by the 
stand I had taken in Naomi's office, and the fact that Elizabeth and I were 
both fully clothed and still free of the Plessious handcuffing of girls. We 
would get off the island anyway. I could go to New York where I could once 
again be a self-respecting member of the legal profession. Suddenly I felt 
better. 

The jetty had lonely isolation. Elizabeth and I set down our suitcases and 
searched the ocean for a sign of life. There was none and my spirits fell 
accordingly. But Elizabeth was as ebullient as ever. 

"We couldn't expect one to be waiting for us, darling," she pointed out 
reasonably. "We'll probably have to sleep under some bushes tonight and 
spend tomorrow looking out to sea." She sighed in mock dolor, "And just to 
think that I could be sleeping comfortably in the guest bedroom in the big 
house. 

With you beside me in the bed!" 

"Likely with me locked in a cage or dungeon, or a chain and collar on my 
neck somewhere." 

I retorted. "It's all right for you, darling, but I should never have come 
here." 

"Maybe I'd be in a cage with you. That would be nice." 

"Elizabeth, for pete's sake, stop being silly! You'd hate being locked in 
anything and so would I." 

Elizabeth wasn't listening. Something had caught her attention. 

"What's that little shed over there?" 

"I haven't the faintest idea. I expect it's for storage." 

The shed had a sturdy lock and key but was empty. It was illuminated by a 
couple of porthole effects. 

Thoughtlessly I went inside. 

It was my own fault, of course. Elizabeth's closing of the door and snapping 
of the lock told me all I needed to know of a hazard I should have foreseen. 
Her laughing features were soon at one of the small windows which I could 
open from inside but which were no way big enough to provide exit. 

"Nice little prison, darling," she said happily. "I think you're in 
trouble." 

The sea air flooded through the porthole and improved the stuffiness of the 
shed. But what I was more interested in was Elizabeth who peered in at me 
happily to remark. "You sort of walked into this one yourself, darling. I 
suppose you know what you have to do to get out?" 

I could guess but said with all the authority at my command, "Don't be a 
bitch, Elizabeth! Let me out of here, this isn't giving me a sporting 
chance." 

"You can't possibly expect a sporting chance, darling. Would you like me to 
dictate terms?" 

"Don't bother. But I'd like to know which side you're on and what you' d do 
to me if you got me helpless." 

"You mean, after you're nicely naked and properly handcuffed, dear?" Her 
tone was as a parent with a child. 

I was breathing heavily in alarm. Elizabeth was unpredictable and had found 
on this lovely island an atmosphere conducive to fantasy. I was afraid of 
Naomi, but Elizabeth was not. I had been able to discern some sort of pixie 
rapport between them back in the office. I was the odd girl out, a discord 
in Eden. Snappishly I said, "All right, what do you want?" 

"Darling, you know what I want. Strip yourself naked and pass everything 
through this window to me. I'm so glad the window isn't large enough for you 
to try and slide through, you can't possibly but it's perfect for everything 
else." 

"And if I refuse?" 

"You can stay here, dear, while I go back to the big house and tell Naomi 
how difficult you are." 

"All the thanks you'll get for that is a good whipping. Let me out of here, 
Elizabeth, and somehow or the other we'll get off this damned island." 

"I think it's a lovely island, and I think you're being silly. We know the 
way it is with Naomi and her girls, and if she wants us the same way. I 
can't see any harm in it. We can have the most glorious vacation before 
someone catches up with us." 

I sighed and felt deflated. Unwillingly, I asked myself what harm it would 
do to give Elizabeth her way and share her fantasy. We loved each other and 
surely she would allow no harm to come to me. 

All I'd have to put up with was a great deal of humiliation. But even there 
it wasn't as though I'd never been naked and handcuffed before! But no 
matter what my reasoning. I loathed the thought of being led back to Naomi 
in that condition... I'd be so damned ashamed! 

Elizabeth was equal to the occasion, and, because she either didn't care or 
didn't believe Naomi, she was thoroughly enjoying this possible fulfillment 
of her own dream of possessing me. Reasonable, she pointed out, "Diane, 
darling, don't let's go in for that silly business of pleading and 
threatening or appealing to reason, and all that stuff. It will be so much 
nicer for both of us if you simply take off your clothes and shoes and hand 
them out to me. Honest. I'll love you to bits." 

The nice thing about Elizabeth and I was always knowing each other's 
thoughts. And I knew damned well I might as well surrender now instead of 
making an idiot of myself with pleadings and threats. 

Obviously it wouldn't kill me to be in the same condition as Naomi's three 
girls, even if I was almost twice their age. There was also the matter of 
the familiar shivering up and down my spine as my eyes met those of the girl 
on the outside. My fingers were strangely eager as they reached for the 
fastenings of what I wore. 

How the mighty have fallen! 

CHAPTER FIVE - Indigo 

If this had been my first time, I couldn't have handled it so well. But with 
Elizabeth watching through the port, my spine and sex responded in an 
excited approval of my surrender. As I stripped. I was further shamed to 
find myself fighting down the first stages of an orgasm. When I passed the 
bundle of coverings out beyond recall, I supposed I had reached a nadir of 
shame, but I'd forgotten the handcuffs. "Give me your left hand, darling," 
Elizabeth commanded, her voice loaded with sexual excitement. 

Once more I knew the futility of argument. That's the trouble with being a 
lawyer, you see things too clearly. Without a word of protest, I stuck my 
arm out of the small, round window. 

Elizabeth unlocked one cuff and tightened the other a single click. "There's 
a box in there you can stand on, darling, so you can raise both your hands 
up in back so I can attend to them." Her voice was sweetly soothing. 

"Elizabeth, please! Not behind my back!" 

"Yes, dear. They'd scarcely bother you in front at all, they'd just be 
pretty bracelets. Come along, you have to." 

My spine was dancing sarabands in the moonlight. My sex was juicy and 
telling me to do as I was told. Betrayed by my flesh. I stepped up on the 
box, leaned forward and thrust my hands as close to the porthole as I could 
contrive. Elizabeth reached inside and a moment later I felt the loss of 
freedom within cold, steel circles around my wrists. I stepped off the box 
and thrust it angrily aside with a bare foot. 

The opening of the door got me back into sunlight where I could feel 
Elizabeth's vibrations and her lush red lips upon mine. I was working busily 
against the handcuffs but knew this an instinctive act only. There was no 
real hope of gaining freedom. Without feeling the anger I should have, I 
said tonelessly, "You finally made it, you've got me helpless and naked so 
I'll have to do whatever I'm told I hope you're happy." 

There could be no doubt of Elizabeth's happiness. I was clasped and kissed 
in more places than one, and fondled quite a bit. At that moment it was 
exactly as I would have wished. I needed a mistress dreadfully, and most 
certainly had one! 

It took the two of us a long while to sort ourselves out. Our feelings were 
so intense we sought a patch of grass and there made love. It was quite the 
most beautiful moment. I no longer cared about being handcuffed and naked, 
all I knew was the feel of Elizabeth's arms and Elizabeth's lips. I don't 
know how long it was we twisted and cavorted, gasping and moaning in 
pleasure, until a male voice inquired, in heavy sarcasm, "You two girls need 
help?" 

It was Hugo Markham! I was consumed by shame. No lady lawyer wishes a client 
to see her naked, handcuffed, and making passionate love with the most 
beautiful girl in the world. But Hugo was seeing me now in all my glory and 
all my shame. We had missed seeing his tiny craft in our survey of the 
ocean, and he had cautiously drifted into the jetty in silence. No doubt he 
had used a telescope and seen Elizabeth and I at play. Automatically I 
exclaimed, "Hugo! Go away, leave us alone." 

Elizabeth helped me stand. She was as naked as I, for these games are not 
played while wearing clothes She had never met Hugo Markham and was busily 
striving to cover what could not be hidden, until she defiantly allowed her 
hands to hang passive at her side to provide our visitor with a full frontal 
view of all her charms. Hugo was not sure which one of us deserved his 
attention so his gaze flitted back and forth. 

"Well, I'll be damned!" he exclaimed happily. "I never expected this." 
Sarcastically he gave me his full attention. "Would this come under the 
heading of 'Torts'. Miss Durrant?" 

I remember telling him to drop dead and making other, similar suggestions, 
to which he paid no heed. When Elizabeth hastily started to dress, his voice 
became imperiously male. "Drop it. No clothes for you, my girl. I want you 
both exactly as you are. Anyone got another pair of handcuffs?" 

Elizabeth stopped dressing. I could be no help in a struggle in which male 
strength must prevail. 

Acidly, but with evident interest in our visitor, she snapped. "No, we don't 
have another pair of handcuffs. The only ones we have are on Diane, and 
there they'll stay." 

I could tell she was uncertain of Hugo's status or possibilities. 'Hugo, 
take us back to the mainland, and I'll give you whatever you want," I said 
urgently. "You've walked in on an unusual situation which I'll explain on 
the way. Please stop looking between my legs." 

"What, sweetheart? I'll look where I damn well please. I seem to have struck 
the jackpot. 

Who's the glorious creature?" 

We sorted each other out in a nice, civilized sort of way which prompted me 
to innocently inquire, "Will somebody please unlock these handcuffs?" 

It appeared both my companions were deaf. Hugo was surveying the two neat 
piles of clothes lying innocently on the jetty. From them he extracted a 
full length nylon and ordered Elizabeth, in a male authority, "Back up here 
and cross you wrists behind your back. And don't argue:" I fully expected 
Elizabeth to slap his face or at least make a run for it. But there were 
still depths to Elizabeth Lord I did not know. With a strange little smile, 
she shrugged and did as ordered in a docile fashion. She winked at me. 
Before I could protest or utter a warning, the nylon had sealed her wrists 
and was then wound and knotted in a manner I knew for certain she could not 
break. Mrs. Elizabeth Lord and I were the prisoners of Mr. Hugo Markham. 

It was an interesting situation, a pair of naked females with their hands 
securely fastened behind their backs, and a male. Testily. I demanded, 
"You're being an idiot, Hugo. What do you intend to do with us." 

"Use you carnally, of course!" He cocked a sarcastic eyebrow. "I trust my 
terminology is legally correct?" 

"So is the word rape." I assured him. 'Surely you've something more sensible 
in mind?" 

"I'm thinking about it, sweetheart, but there's the matter of my claim to a 
share of the Estate which you haven't done too well with to date. Perhaps if 
I whipped you every day for a week, you might get down to the real nitty 
gritty, and produce results." He turned to Elizabeth. "As for you, Mrs. 

Elizabeth Lord, I presume your husband would be happy to pay some fine, 
round sum to have you delivered back into his loving arms... Or perhaps 
returned to Rockley?" 

Hugo had seen instant possibilities, probably he would think up others. But 
at that moment, Elizabeth commanded, "Diane, you run one way and I'll run 
the other. He can only catch one of us." 

We broke apart and fled in opposite direction. Hugo cursed and wasted two or 
three moment choosing his prey. I suppose formal association prompted his 
decision to pick me. But I ran towards what I hoped was freedom. I was 
following a path leading from the jetty towards the house. There was an 
exhilaration in flight such as I had not known in years. I loved every yard 
and gave it everything I had. But I suppose the result was inevitable. Hugo 
was a male and free, and I was female with hands locked behind my back. 
Within a hundred yards he had a handful of my hair to bring me to a pained 
and panting halt. I was quickly thrust against a sapling and my handcuffs 
tied to it with his necktie. Leaving me disgustedly conscious of female 
helplessness against the Male, he diverted his attention to Elizabeth. 

At such times our minds become computers and we obey. I could help no one or 
nothing. Although captive to the little tree. I fought furiously against the 
knots in his necktie. It was not the least bit easy because the knots were 
behind the trunk while my hands were not. I lunged and pulled and strained 
and was still thus busily employed when Hugo returned to view, propelling 
Elizabeth forward by a handful of her hair. Failing to make me aware of any 
regrets she might be feeling, Elizabeth was smiling brightly as if this was 
all one really fun game. 

"Don't worry, darling, the men always win the first battle. But it's us 
girls who win the last. 

Let's do what he tells because he's actually had the gall to threaten to cut 
a willow branch and whip my bottom... Isn't this fun!" 

I had to discount Elizabeth's help. I stood captive to my tree while Hugo 
looked around for some manner of making us even more captive. He untied his 
tie from my wrists and used it to join Elizabeth's bound hands to mine, 
compelling us to walk awkwardly to his command. Thus we returned to Rockley. 

Naomi was not pleased to see Hugo but was certainly pleased to see us, 
especially in the condition we now were. Had I not been well passed the 
tearful age, I would have wept in bitter chagrin. Nothing had gone right 
since we had landed on this damned island. In Naomi's office, the authority 
of Hugo's voice was slightly diminished. "I intend to take Miss Durrant back 
with me and whip her until she comes up with something constructive in the 
matter of my claim. I will use Mrs. Elizabeth Lord as a lever upon your 
Uncle Andrew, who must be shockingly embarrassed by her disappearance, to 
further press my demands. I refuse to be put off further." He focused on 
Naomi. "Or would you, at the this time, be prepared to make me some sort of 
acceptable offer?" 

"You'll get no offer from me!" she countered. "These two females you appear 
to have captured provide no leverage whatsoever to the Estate. Do as you 
wish with them, I could care less." 

I felt like a nothing. Even Elizabeth's radiance was diminished. 

She inquired instantly, "Don't you want to keep Diane and I to play with, 
darling. Weren't you going to whip us?" 

Naomi waved the question of whipping a pair of innocent and naked young 
women into limbo. "Of course I'll whip you both, but that has nothing to do 
with the question Mr. Markham raises now." She turned her full attention to 
the waiting male. "I am indebted to you for bringing the two of them to me 
in this condition. But you didn't come to Plessious for that. What did you 
have in mind?" 

"I came to tell you I've become aware of what you Uncle Andrew is doing in 
that big house of his in Dorset. I was wondering if you would care to help 
my cause if I keep quiet about something that would create a major scandal 
if disclosed." Hugo was certainly feeling his oats. "I know Uncle Andrew is 
not a beneficiary but he has tremendous influence on everyone and on the 
Estate, itself. My source of information tells me your Uncle Andrew was 
mainly concerned with these two ladies who stand naked before us now. I'm 
not sure of the connection but it's there, and I suspect he would be glad to 
have them back. Think about that, Miss Samis." 

I actually felt sorry for Naomi. The poor girl had to cope with too many 
unknown factors to make a reasonable judgment. Irritably she suggested, "If 
you're in the kidnap and ransom business, Mr. 

Markham, I would suggest that you take these two naked and pretty young 
ladies back to where ever you came from. Do as you please with them, they 
have no interest for me at all." 

It was now Hugo's turn to have me feel sorry for him. He stood there 
deflated and angry while I computed possibilities. I would be whipped for 
sure regardless, but I figured Hugo Markham offered my best changes of 
escape. I had not the least idea where he would keep us safe, but at least 
it would not be on an island. I was pretty sure Naomi would keep me heavily 
chained. I could feel Elizabeth's heart beat against my bare skin as we 
stood so closely bound, and I could feel pretty sure her fate would be as 
painful as mine. Even without motive, people do seem to enjoy whipping 
pretty girls. It would be easy for Naomi to keep us captive forever, but 
with Hugo we would be a burden. Excitedly I told him, "Hugo, I want to be 
back in New York just as much as you. If you'll take me there, I'll give you 
my promise to go with you willingly and won't make a fuss on the plane, and 
I'll allow you to make me prisoner again on our arrival. Take me with you 
now." 

"Me, too." Elizabeth added quickly, taking her cue from me. 'There you are, 
Mr. Markham, you've got everything on a plate," Naomi said cheerfully. "Let 
me wish you a pleasant journey and goodbye." 

Hugo was baffled, his tone was sour. "I'm not falling for this promise 
stuff. You'd kiss me goodbye whenever it took your fancy. And, as for you 
Mrs. Lord, you're too hot to handle." His tone became flippant as he looked 
at Naomi. 'They're all yours. Miss Samis. Aren't you lucky!" 

Hugo Markham was half way to the door when I called after him. 

"Hugo, stop. Don't leave us here. If you'll forget this prisoner business 
and simply take us back to New York with you, I'll fight your case forever, 
and pay all expenses." 

Hugo halted and turned. "All right. I'll take you but you alone. I can't 
afford Mrs. Lord." 

"I won't go anywhere without Elizabeth... Please, Hugo!" 

Hugo left and slammed the door. Elizabeth and I stood there, still tightly 
bound with Hugo's necktie and very nude. Mainly I thought of our clothes 
back on the jetty and wondered if Hugo would throw them in the water out of 
pique. Naomi was very much in charge. "It seems I've inherited you," she 
conceded without concern. "I've come to rather like the idea. A pair such as 
you will give the girls some fresh interest. I'll keep you heavily ironed, 
of course, until Uncle Andrew makes up his mind. I really must phone him and 
break the news." 

Elizabeth was intrigued. "And... You mean like hundreds of years ago?" 

"More or less, dear, except what you'll get now won't be rusty." 

I was instantly alarmed. "Look, for heaven's sake, don't turn me over to 
Uncle Andrew!" I pleaded. 

"He'll whip me to death, and toss me in that rotten dungeon." 

"No he won't, Diane. Uncle Andrew won't whip you any more than I'm going to. 
And he won't make you any more a prisoner than you'll be with me. You know, 
dear, you really are the most irritating female I've ever met. I hate 
lawyers, and ever since I first met you I've been longing to give you a 
course of treatment." 

I tried not to show how scared I was. Except for the girl to whom I was 
tied, I seemed to have no friends at all. With more feeling that I should 
have, I demanded. "Very well, I know I'm in for it but, Naomi, you don't 
have to be mean to Elizabeth. If you're going to have her husband take her 
back, you need only keep her handcuffed. You can give her the run of the 
island with the other girls." 

"Whatever you get, Diane, I get too." Elizabeth said firmly. 

"That takes care of that." Naomi said instantly. "You're both of an age I'll 
enjoy punishing. It will be a pleasant change to my darling girls who I 
hardly ever punish at all. They'll love watching you whipped." 

I could think of bitter things to say but what was the use? 

Elizabeth was shinning eyed and curious about everything. I could sense her 
eagerness as we stood skin to skin, and realized that for her, Plessious was 
infinitely preferable to the Gothic imprisonment at Rockley. But I wished we 
had never come to Plessious. 

I am in the much hated little hut or little prison or little box, or 
whatever you wish to call it. I know about it from previous acquaintance, it 
holds me now. Naomi has given instructions that its door be left open to 
admit light and air. But a metal collar is snug upon my neck and from it a 
lengthy chain trails to its ring bolt in the wall. Elizabeth's handcuffs are 
still on my wrists in the manner in which she clasped them when achieving 
her heart's desire. I am very helpless. Often I stand up and take the 
several steps my chain permits towards the open door and sunlight. It is 
nice to know it's out there and that someday, I am to be out there too. Good 
gosh, what a spot to be in! 

Naomi visits me. At first I thought she came to gloat and keep my hyped up 
with promises of things to come, But now I realize her lonely authority on 
this island makes her glad to have an adult like me to talk to. She is with 
me now. "I've decided to have you whipped tomorrow, Diane dear I've kept you 
in suspense long enough. Elizabeth has asked to be whipped at the same time 
and I see no reason to refuse. Okay by you?" 

It is as though she speaks of walking in the woods. The 'okay' business is a 
touch of sarcasm at which I nod in mute agreement. Damn it, she doesn't need 
my agreement about anything. She can do whatever she likes with Elizabeth 
and I, and I suppose the other girls, too. Naomi is queen on Plessious and 
can hand out her royal sentences as she may please. She sentenced me to be 
chained in this little hut with its open door. I expect she would like me to 
beg and plead but this I have not done even though I am scared of being 
whipped. The pain will do things to me I will not like. She makes me kneel 
while she stands and we talk. The kneeling is symbolic to emphasize my new 
condition. If my legal clients could see me now, I'd die. 

Reflectively. Naomi says, "You've got the most beautiful breasts, Diane. 
Aren't you scared I'll whip them?" 

"Of course I'm scared. I'm scared of everything you'll do to me, and then, 
when you've done your worst, I'll have Uncle Andrew to contend with. I don't 
have much of a future." 

The stone floor was hard on my knees but I dared not ask permission to sit. 
Everything now carries a penalty. Naomi was interested in Uncle Andrew. "I 
don't know what he'll do to you, Diane. I never knew what he wanted you for 
in the first place. Except maybe as companion to Elizabeth. I suppose her 
husband's a friend of his and they hashed the whole thing up together. You 
may both be very sorry girls by the time they're through with you." She 
added, "Elizabeth's breasts are gorgeous, too. I'd almost be willing to keep 
the two of you prisoners permanently if Uncle Andrew would allow" 

"Would you! I wish you would. Naomi, I really am frightened of being taken 
back to England, drugged in a box, and waking up in a dungeon. Or a rotten 
little cell. Please, Naomi, keep Elizabeth here if you can." 

"You prefer being chained in here like this? You're crazy." 

"Well, at least you leave the door open so I can see the sunlight. When 
you're taken downstairs at Rockley, there isn't any sunlight and you know 
you're in trouble." 

"But you're in trouble here, darling. I'm going to have you whipped!" 

"Oh, for Pete's sake. Naomi, don't harp on it. I know it's coming and I'm 
trying not to plead or beg or be silly about it. But if you think I'm not 
frightened, you're nuts. Being whipped is awful!" 

Naomi laughed, amused by my dejection. "Have you forgotten, darling, both of 
us were whipped a long time ago, strung up by our wrists, if I remember 
correctly. I thought you handled yourself rather well." 

Naomi has a gift for making the incredible seem entirely possible. Having a 
practicing female lawyer whipped naked didn't seem anything out of the way 
or worthy of discussion. "I think we should stop worrying about what's going 
to happen to you tomorrow," she said cheerfully. "There's a lot of other 
things I'd like to do to you, if I have the time, before Uncle Andrew shows 
up. You mentioned being hung by your wrists. I'll try and fit it in 
someplace." 

It was just that simple for Naomi, just make a list of tortures and then do 
them to the helpless girl. But she was as much a part of Plessious as the 
sunshine or Ivory and Thea. And, of course, the girl with all the blonde 
hair. If she actually did succeed in keeping Elizabeth and I captive on the 
island, she had a herd of girls, a group of beauties that would drive any 
man wild, to say nothing of a woman! 

Here I was chained in a condition no one could possibly believe. I even 
stayed kneeling long after she had gone. Sure it hurt my knees, but pain can 
also be a companion in the awful boredom of imprisonment. 

I didn't sleep well on the cold stone of the floor. In trying to avoid 
thinking about being whipped, my mind dwelled instead on Elizabeth. I wanted 
her terribly but I was pretty sure I'd never be given her again. It was 
ironic that at the very moment of capturing me and making me helpless as she 
did, we both lost our freedom, and now were thrust into a condition in which 
we might never love again. It was the story of me and Ivory all over again, 
I actually shed a few tears in this contemplation of my lot. 

In the morning it was darling Ivory who brought me the breakfast I could not 
eat. Without words, we clung together, in remembered love and said nothing 
about anything except ourselves. I knew I would never get Ivory back, any 
more than I would ever get Elizabeth, and I wondered if Naomi had sent her 
just to tease me. Ivory said she had only five minutes and then must report 
back to the house. She carried my breakfast away and that was that! I had 
even forgotten to ask her the time I would be whipped. 

Alone I stood and leaned against the wall. My hands were still fastened 
behind my back and I was shivering with fear at the sentence I had yet to 
serve, the punishment still to mark my skin. It was a horrible impotence 
with the open door and sunshine beyond mocking me, In anger at myself and 
everything else, I sought what relief I could find in motion, gathering my 
chain in handcuffed hands. I clutched it's links and lunged back and forth 
in a futile hope of finding a weakness in the tether. It was quite useless, 
there was no liberty for Miss Diane Durrant. Panting, I finally desisted and 
resumed a pose of dejection to await my summons to the whip. 

It is so easy to control a naked girl. Naomi unlocked my collar and she and 
Honey each took one of my bare arms and led me to the place of execution. I 
could do nothing, my hands were still handcuffed behind my back as I 
stumbled forward on the path I had no wish to travel. The two of them spoke 
brightly of the weather and the dinner menu for that evening. Our 
destination turned out to be the big tree with wide spread boughs most 
suitable for the tethering of girls. Darling Elizabeth was already standing 
naked with her hands roped high above her head. She greeted me cheerfully 
enough but I could tell she was also scared. It is easy to make fun of being 
whipped but another thing when the moment comes and you stand helpless and 
naked, knowing yourself about to be hurt, your courage leaves you. Ivory and 
Thea had handled Elizabeth, and in a few minutes I, too, was relieved of 
handcuffs, my wrists corded, and my arms drawn hard until I stood ten feet 
from Elizabeth to share her agony. Our eyes sought each other's constantly, 
but in love and not in hope. 

"Come along, girls, we'll let them stand a while. Suspense will do them as 
much good as the whip," Naomi said cheerfully as she gathered her girls and 
led them from the place of punishment to leave my love and I in a fearful 
isolation. 

Our arms were spread wide as well as high, but Elizabeth and I were not 
really stretched. Our heels were still upon the soil. Our punishment was to 
be the leather thongs and not the pains of suspension. 

"Well, anyway, once we get this over, we can enjoy the island and the 
girls," Elizabeth said bravely, "But, gosh, I never thought I'd be this 
scared. It's creepy being tied like this, I seem to be all armpits and 
breasts." 

Poor darling Elizabeth! She was dreaming if she thought good times were 
ahead. Remorsefully I reminded, "Even after we've been whipped, we'll still 
be prisoners, darling. Naomi will never give us any freedom. She will simply 
amuse herself with us as a pleasant change from the teenagers she owns. 

I'm tied tight, I can't get loose, How about you?" 

"Not a hope, Diane, I'm fixed for sure. There's butterflies in my tummy and 
something crawling up and down my spine. Oh, damn, I wish we could talk our 
way out of this!" 

"All you need, girls, is a good, sharp knife." The male voice was laughing. 

Hugo Markham stood surveying our nakedness with masculine approval. Hugo had 
never been my idea of a knight in shinning armor but that's the way I saw 
him now. I did not know or care how he had come, but he could not fail to 
know my thankfulness. "Oh, Hugo, thank you. I'm so glad you came. Cut us 
down quick." 

Hugo did nothing except provide an even wider male smirk. 

"Give me time to look at you." 

"We're going to be whipped. Please hurry before they come back." 

"How much will you pay?" 

"Hugo, don't joke. This isn't funny, if you don't hurry up, you'll have four 
young women to deal with, and they might just happen to get the best of you. 
You won't be welcome." 

Hugo was making no pretense of being a gentlemen. Casually he went back and 
forth between Elizabeth and I, and, without shame, enjoyed what men call 
'feeling us up.' He gave careful attention to everything female we 
possessed. Standing while playing with my breasts, he reminded, "Lawyers 
charge a pretty penny for everything they do. You can't expect me to rescue 
you for nothing." He pinched my nipples to emphasis his point. 

"All right, anything you want! But cut us down!" 

"Does that 'anything I want' include total obedience, doing anything I want, 
being a humble little slavegirl?" 

"Yes. Yes! I really will be anything you want if only you'll free us. And 
get us off this damned island." I was desperate. 

"My, my! You don't look the least bit like a lawyer, Diane, And aren't you 
forgetting I'm going to whip that nice skin of yours the same as you're 
waiting for here. If I take you away, you can't be the least bit sure I'm 
doing you a favor. I want to be fair." 

I went into a frenzy of tugging and pulling and kicking, "I don't care, I 
don't care about anything except you cutting these ropes and taking me away. 
Hugo, can't you see that I'm frightened? You wouldn't want this to happen to 
you! Stop being so beastly and smug." 

Hugo's knife was sharp, I was suddenly free, While he went to obtain rope, I 
rubbed my chaffed skin and then, on his return, turned my back and crossed 
my wrists as commanded, With the prospect of getting off Plessious I wasn't 
arguing, Even when he used the quite thick rope to bind my elbows as well as 
my wrists, I made no complaint. He grasped my bound arms and was suddenly 
deadly serious. "Come on, we had better make a run for it." His grasp was 
commandingly male. 

"But you haven't freed Elizabeth!" I was suddenly afraid. 

"And I'm not going to, dear girl. Your precious little friend can stay right 
where she is, as far as I'm concerned. I'm not setting myself up against 
that rich husband of hers or Uncle Andrew. Diane, don't start giving me 
trouble." 

I, was helpless. Hugo transferred his grasp from my arm to my hair and shook 
my head vigorously to remind me what I had become. As we started to run, I 
could manage only a quick glance back at the still-bound beauty under the 
big tree. Hugo savagely tugged my hair again and I had to concentrate upon 
running. 

It was the strangest flight! I was leaving the woman I adored and running as 
hard as I could towards a fate unknown. It is difficult and strange to run 
with your elbows roped hard behind your back and I was conscious of 
out-thrust breasts bouncing in unison with my pounding feet. Reaching the 
jetty. I saw the boat Hugo had used before. Saw, also, the pathetic little 
piles of clothing Elizabeth and I had shed. Hugo picked up the one to which 
I pointed with a bare foot and a moment later I was in the little boat and 
we were speeding out of the only harbor on Plessious. 

I sat where I was told and Hugo surveyed his prize in evident satisfaction. 
"You know, Diane, a couple of years ago I wouldn't have dreamed of doing 
this. But there is something about that island, and that Rockley place, that 
gets to a man. I'm not a bit sure that the way girls get handled on that 
island isn't a damned sight more sensible than the rest of the world." He 
gave me a grin. "Look at you now, I've got you and there's no way you're 
getting loose. That damned Estate is giving me a dividend without even 
knowing." 

"Congratulations." My voice was cold. Hugo shook a finger at me. "And I 
don't want sarcasm. As of this minute, you'll stop being the bitch you've 
always been, and instead you'll treat me with respect and a touch of 
humility. Understand?" 

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir!" 

Once more the warning finger. "And I don't want any of that stuff, either." 

"All right, Hugo, I'll try and be what I promised," I said as sincerely as I 
could. "None of this is easy for me and I'm sure you know that. Please untie 
my elbows." 

"Why would I do that!" 

"Because they're hurting and because it's not serving any useful purpose in 
this boat. I'm certainly not going to jump overboard." 

"They'll stay tied, Diane, it has a damned nice effect to your frontal view. 
I'll untie you and let you dress after a while so we can arrive in 
civilization more or less respectable. Are you going to run away immediately 
we land?" 

"No. I won't run away. I'm dependent on you, Hugo, regardless whether you've 
got me tied or free. I made a promise. I'll keep it." 

Hugo's every word and motion told me what I had become. Bound or free. I was 
his prisoner and would remain so until I was once more established in my 
office and apartment in New York - if that ever happened! In the meantime, 
my best bet was to be nice to him and do as I was told. I knew myself a very 
different girl from the woman who had come to Plessious for the first time 
long ago. My roped elbows were hurting horribly but I made up my mind not to 
nag at this man. In any case, I did not wish to humiliate myself with 
pleading. Trying to give my captor his money's worth. I carelessly allowed 
my knees to fall apart to provide a view I was certain he would enjoy. Hugo 
found a pleasure in everything girls had. 

I could not avoid elation when I was untied and told to dress. It was the 
first time I'd been free since Elizabeth had put her handcuffs on my wrists. 
And every motion I now made had the delicious warmth of normalcy. The 
handcuffs had thoughtful been clasp upon my arm above one elbow, more or 
less in storage to be available when needed. I had expected Hugo to use them 
in place of the ropes. 

But when I was dressed and he discovered the metal circlets were covered by 
my sleeve, he said they could stay where they were unless I preferred to 
wear them as a bracelet on my left wrist. I chose the wrist and was thankful 
to discover he had a key. Soon the metal bracelets were upon my wrist and, 
from most angles, actually had the appearance of a bracelet. I doubted they 
would cause either of us embarrassment. Thus I stepped from the boat onto 
the soil of Greece. 

Hugo was not a brute. He blandly pointed out the hazard of leaving me alone 
where I would have too much opportunity to think and maybe panic. He gave me 
the option of being handcuffed in the hotel room or going around with him on 
his errands. I chose the errands. I was beginning to enjoy myself. Hugo knew 
his way around. We purchased the plane tickets and he then took me to lunch 
at one of those cute little places a girl loves. I got the tiniest of 
thrills in knowing he did it to please me. 

Back in the hotel room I started to pay my dues but I had expected to part 
my legs for piercing and played the whore with much skill and abandon. I 
enjoyed it all myself. I would not have returned to Plessious for anything. 
I continued to pay my dues through most of the night. Hugo was young and 
very vigorous. Had I been a bride, I would have been pleased at my bargain. 
But as it was. I counted the pleasure I received as an unexpected dividend. 
I slept with one wrist handcuffed to the bed. 

The plane was so beautifully normal I could have cried with joy. 

The stewardess admired my bracelet and asked where she could get one. The 
effect of clothes and freedom was wonderful! I was soon animatedly talking 
with Hugo about his claim on the Estate. For the first time I found myself 
truly interested in getting him at least a small portion of all those 
millions and billions of dollars. Normally I would have suggested I visit 
Uncle Andrew and discuss the whole thing with him anew. But I was pretty 
sure Uncle Andrew would love to get a hold of me, and it wasn't to discuss a 
law suit. I'd end up in a dungeon and would probably stay there in chains 
for a long, long time. I told Hugo I would explore every legal possibility. 
Perhaps the courts would respond far more favorably than Uncle Andrew. It 
was in this bit of friendship and a great thankfulness for the familiar 
sights and sounds of my home town that Hugo and I signaled a taxi. But it 
was Hugo's address, not mine, to which the driver took us. I never said a 
word. 

I have to admit to quivering with excitement as we stood in the little 
hallway of Hugo's modest house. 

Our journey was done and whatever Hugo intended for me I would now find out. 
If he had told me to undress or hold out my hands to be handcuffed. I would 
obey without demure. Instead of that he took me to bed and, what with jet 
lag and my payment of some more dues, we slept late into the following 
morning. Hugo even forgot to handcuff my wrist to the bed rail, an omission 
for which he apologized as though it really mattered. At breakfast he was 
businesslike. 

"Look, Diane, I have your word and I suppose you'll keep it. I have work to 
do and so have you, so I want you to spend the day opening your office and 
doing whatever else you have to do. We will have an early dinner at 
Donatelli's and then come back here. Fair enough?" 

It was more than fair but I had to ask, "What about my apartment?" 

"Keep it. Make sure the rent is paid." Hugo say the uncertainty on my face. 
"I'm giving you a day's freedom," he said jauntily. "We have to look after 
business and I can't send you to your office chained or with your hands tied 
behind your back." He gazed at me searchingly and held my arms to emphasis 
his point. 'This freedom changes nothing, I'll still expect the obedience 
you promised before I cut you down from that tree." 

"I will do as I promised. Hugo, I really am grateful. If it wasn't for you, 
I'd still be chained somewhere on Naomi's island. I'll be a good girl for 
you, and a good lawyer, too" We went our separate ways. It was a joyous day 
of fresh discovery, of a realization of possessions and of purpose. I paid 
accumulated bills and disposed of phone calls. I knew business would be 
pending but forget to ask Hugo's wishes. Yet I knew I would come by a better 
understanding of my new condition by the time we had finished dinner in the 
evening. I constantly spread my arms out wide in joy that they were not 
joined. The shinning, heavy bracelet on my left wrist was a reminder, but 
that was all. It was a normal and very happy day, and New York embraced me 
lovingly. I completely forgot Uncle Andrew's promise to have me kidnapped. 

I had to wonder if Hugo was rich enough to afford Donatelli's but was 
grateful for being thus wined and dined. I was positively seething with 
feminine curiosity and thrill Hugo and I had reached a sufficient rapport to 
excuse me being female. I broke in on his lectures about the stock market. 
"Never mind the market, Hugo, but, for Heaven's sake, tell me what you're 
going to do to me. The suspense is killing me." 

It must be wonderful to be a male and have total ownership of a girl. Hugo 
oozed total power in a way to make me cringe. "Tomorrow you belong to me, 
you sweetheart," he affirmed grandly. "But I guess you knew this, or guessed 
it. There are those vows you made." 

"For instance?" 

"I'm going to take you downstairs, tie you, and cane your bottom. There's 
also a nice riding crop I'll try on you. Why not try the lobster bisque?" 

I ordered the lobster bisque. I also wondered if I'd gain anything by having 
Hugo whip my bottom as opposed to Naomi whipping my back. I decided I had to 
be a bit ahead and then made myself feel a lot better by looking around 
Donatelli's and comparing it to being collared and chained in Naomi's little 
hut. Holy cow! 

"I'm becoming quite fond of you," Hugo confessed, offhandedly. 

"You're quite good in bed, and I do have to admire the way you adjust from 
hard authority to soft obedience. As a slavegirl you'll make an interesting 
study. Looking forward to the crop?" 

"No, I'm not. I won't ever pretend I like being whipped or that I'm not 
scared of it. I don't care if It's a cane or a crop or some leather thonged 
horror, I abhor them all. Now you've explained what I can expect in the 
morning, could we please go on to some other topic?" 

"You'll spend the day in bondage." I took a deep breath but bondage might 
not hurt. 

Hating to spoil our dinner. I inquired no more. Hugo was in a reflective 
mood. "You really did introduce me to a strange new world," he confided 
warmly. "I mean, take us right now. Look around the restaurant and who is 
there who could perceive the relationship we share. If you told anyone of 
them that tomorrow you'd get your bottom caned, they'd suppose that either 
you were vulgar, or they might want your phone number. Our waiter has taken 
note of your bracelet." 

I did not care who saw my handcuffs. They were the only part left of the 
girl I loved. I'd made up my mind to go alone with Hugo with everything he 
wanted. He was a client who had a lot of money and a justifiable claim. If 
he gave me enough freedom. I could re-establish my law practice. Perhaps he 
would only demand my surrender on alternate days. On those days I would be 
his prisoner and I would do as he told me. I had a wry memory of him 
promising to whip me everyday until I made some progress with his case in 
court. I wondered what the judge would say if he knew I had a striped bottom 
that burned every time I sat down. I would not be bored. 

I wondered about that crop. 

CHAPTER SIX - The Flaming Flesh 

I actually ate breakfast. Everything was so different from being chained in 
the hut on Plessious. Hugo and I had made love repeatedly through half the 
night, then slept late and found other things to talk about over coffee, 
quite apart from the pain I was about to suffer. Since it was understood 
between us that I was Hugo's slave for the day, I listened respectfully to 
his male superiority. Today I was a nothing and had better damned well like 
it. 

"I want you to address me as "Master," Hugo said first off. "That 
establishes our relationship and tells us both where we're at. What you say 
we alternate the days. Right now you belong to me but tomorrow you'll be a 
lawyer and as free as the air. Okay?" 

"Okay by me... Master." 

"I really mean that, Diane, about whipping you should you fail to make any 
progress on my case. I don't think you were really trying up to now." 

"Very well, Master. I expect you're right. I won't complain about being 
whipped or caned should I fail to produce results." I found it hard to 
believe what I was saying. 

"What I have here is a small conceit all my own," Hugo said proudly. He 
produced an expensive looking box. "Only the judge uses them in the good old 
USA, but if we were in England or Canada you'd have to wear them every time 
you entered the court room. You're free and naked and I want you to put this 
on." 

It was a Barristers Gown in the best tradition. I could tell it was 
expensive. When I clasped it at my neck, it enveloped my nakedness like a 
tent. Hugo, walking around and around to get the effect, seemed pleased. I 
consoled myself with the thought that at least I was covered up. 

It's amazing how many houses have a downstairs. Hugo's downstairs provided a 
room expressly designed for the unhappiness of girls. It took him only a 
very little time to have me fastened in the manner in which he had found me 
on Plessious, my wrists tied high and far apart. He walked around a few more 
times before producing a safety pin and raising the back hem of the gown I 
wore to uncover my bottom but stop short at my waist. The safety pin to 
secure the gown so raised. I saw his point. Here was a contrast I could not 
fail to feel! 

"Nice idea, don't you think?" he inquired. "Yes. Master. It's making me 
shiver." 

"I was wondering whether to bother with the cane, it's a juvenile sort of 
instrument. This crop is the whippiest thing I've ever seen. Have you a 
preference?" 

"The cane, please. Master." 

"Okay, if that's what you want. I'm not sure you're making a good choice but 
you'll have plenty of opportunities to form an opinion. I thought twenty 
strokes would be about right for this first day?" 

"It seems a lot. Master." 

"I suppose it is. But, Diane dear, you do have to realize this is the 
beginning of a new association. The only reason I'm caning you is to get you 
into a proper frame of mind to reinforce your vows made when you wanted me 
to cut you down. Get the idea?" 

I got the idea, all right, but I'd be damned if I had an answer to it. 

I could even see a certain logic in what he proposed. But when I thought of 
it, I had little doubt that when my bottom had been caned twenty times. I'd 
see our new relationship in the way Hugo wished. 

I was about to be conditioned. 

"I have you very prettily fixed up, Diane, and I want to leave you a little 
while to sort of let things sink in. Get what I mean?" 

"Yes, I get what you mean. But, Hugo, I wish you'd whip me and get it over 
with. This standing and waiting is the very devil. And I won't pretend I'm 
all that brave. Please...?" 

But Hugo was gone. My master had things beautifully figured. 

He had me exactly as he wished and I had to wonder what the court system of 
New York would say about a female member of their association submitting to 
such a strength of purpose. More importantly. I was wondering about how loud 
I'd scream. Or if I would scream at all! 

I'm sure nature designed the place on which females sit as the place on 
which their master's cane or crop should cut its wicked strokes. I had 
pleaded that twenty was far too many and more than I could bear, but Hugo 
was deaf to this feminine plea. I tried to cry but the tears would not come, 
something which goes to prove the female can be betrayed by her own body. As 
Hugo sliced at me with his cane, I knew for certain I should have stayed on 
Plessious. 

When the cane cut at me the second time, I'm sure I made a diverting picture 
for my master. I tugged and squirmed and even kicked as though to rid my 
flesh of pain as if by simple motion. But I did not scream, and for that I 
was proud. The damned cane was worse than I'd expected, but it was being 
wielded by a male arm and impacted my soft flesh with male authority. I 
wondered if Naomi would hurt me half as much! 

"Am I getting to you, sweetheart?" Hugo inquired pleasantly. "You're killing 
me, if that's what you mean. Oh. Hugo, please stop!" 

"Give me a good reason?" 

Number three sent me into a frenzied dance. I was desperate. 

"You don't have to do this at all," I quickly spit out. "And you're only 
doing this because you once promised it and now you feel you have to follow 
through." I no longer cared what I said. 

Dancing around as the cane beat steadily, I could only plead, "Oh, Hugo, 
please stop, please stop! 

Would you settle for ten?" 

"We're nearly there now, sweetheart, and you're in great shape. Here's an 
extra hard one just to keep you interested." 

It was a truly awful stroke and lit my bottom into flaming agony. 

But it did point out that I was not being caned nearly as hard as possible. 
In response to the extra hard one, I actually lifted my feet off the floor 
and kicked wildly at the agony. We had now reached number ten and I heard 
myself pleading earnestly, "Not twenty, Hugo, oh please not twenty! I can't 
stand that." 

I got the twenty. But, in spite of the number, I knew that Hugo had been 
merciful. That one awful slash that had crossed my flesh told me all too 
well that the other nineteen had been no worse than I could bear. As I 
sobbed and panted in the aftermath. I drew some comfort from this thought, a 
comfort soon denied when I realized that what had been done to me now could 
be repeated every second day. Abjectly, I said, "Thank you for caning my 
bottom, Hugo. I'm sorry to be such a nuisance." Gosh! How humble could I 
get! 

In the approved manner, the master left me alone with my pain. I wasn't 
sorry to see him go because I wasn't in any mood for conversation. All I 
wanted was to wait for the burn and scorch of my beating to go away. In the 
course of my beginning to feel better, I now became aware I was still 
wearing the ridiculous legal gown and it was still pinned up on back to 
expose my burning bottom. I felt untidy along with hurt. I hung there, 
looking and feeling like a scarecrow, and disgusted with myself. The only 
comfort I could think of was that, had I stayed on Naomi's island, I'd be in 
pretty much the same fix. But here with Hugo Markham I'd be a free girl 
tomorrow. 

Hugo showed up to see how I was doing, and I was hating the gown more than 
the burn. I though I would get my hands back now but Hugo had been doing 
some thinking and didn't reach for my bonds. 

"I suppose you've been thinking about yesterday and tomorrow," he said. "I'd 
be crazy if I didn't realize you can easily walk out on me, and renege on 
our agreement. I don't think you will, but are you tempted?" 

"Of course, I'm tempted. But I'll live up to my promise. Don't worry, Hugo, 
you've got yourself a slave." 

Hugo held me tight and we kissed. And he did what I longed to do myself, ran 
exploring fingers across my weald and beaten bottom to make me gasp. 
"Sensitive, heh? I have to be honest, Diane, and admit I loved every stroke 
I gave you with that cane, It's too bad you couldn't see yourself, you put 
up a magnificent performance. " 

"Thanks a million." After a second, I added. "Hugo, be a dear and take this 
gown off. It makes me feel horribly unattractive." 

He actually did as I asked to leave me standing nude and very helpless with 
my arms above my head. He then did his customary inventory of my interesting 
parts, his voice still thoughtful. "I expect you'd like me to untie your 
wrists and let your arms down. You must be sick of standing like that." 

"I sure would!" 

"Trouble is, I don't know what to do with you then. There's something nice 
and positive about whipping your bottom but I never was into this sort of 
thing, and I don't have much knowledge of small tortures. Could you give me 
a pointer or two?" 

Hugo was not teasing, he was deadly serious about his lack of expertise in a 
field no university covers with a course I shifted unhappily against my 
ropes while exclaiming, "Hugo, don't be silly, no girl is going to ask for 
pain for discomfort. Or any of those awful things you read about in history 
books. 

What I want right now is for you to hold me close and make me feel warm and 
wanted." 

"But I just did that." 

"I mean with my hands down, not tied up in the air the way they are." 

"Think you could hold out until lunch, sweetheart? I know an interesting 
little place." 

My heart leapt joyfully. It might still be a long way until lunch time but 
I'd willingly endure if a nice lunch in a nice restaurant was at the end of 
it. I wondered what the hidden kicker had to be... "You really mean you 
won't make me wear handcuffs or a collar around my neck?" I asked 
cautiously. 

"You see, you've come up with some excellent suggestions. But I wasn't 
thinking of things like that. Watching you sit on your sore seat was about 
all I had in mind Would your conscious be happier if I put some sort of 
bondage around your body under the clothes?" 

"No, thanks! Dh, Hugo, you've made me so happy!" 

"Good gosh, with just lunch!" 

"Well, it hasn't exactly been a fun day so far and I have to feel grateful 
for the break. How much longer do I have to stand?" 

"Just an hour or two, honey. Look, I'll go and do some phoning while you 
stand here and meditate. By the way, I should tell you what a magnificent 
body you've got. And how grateful I am to get a good look at it. Be seeing 
you." 

I felt absurdly happy. Goodness knows I was naked and tied up the way I was 
and shouldn't have much to be happy about. But there it was! Hugo would have 
been well within his rights to make me uncomfortable right on through the 
day but he wasn't doing this, and from this fact I drew fresh hope. 

In spite of a burning bottom and the shame of my condition, I kept my 
thoughts busy with the Estate, Hugo's claim, and a few other related mundane 
affairs. I even stopped trying to free my hands. 

When I was dressed and ready to go, Hugo insisted on the bracelet for my 
left wrist. I held out my hand and watched the two steel cuffs made snug 
upon my skin. I had become almost fond of the shinning steel, which reminded 
me of Elizabeth and which had been my companion for so long. 

Hugo had allowed me to back up to the big mirror to admire my wounds. What I 
beheld in the glass made me nervous at the prospect of sitting down, but I 
knew this was to be Hugo's reward for lunch and whatever period of rest he 
might be willing to grant from my day of slavery. I refused to allow the 
scarlet and purple lines to dampen the lovely, warm feeling of being taken 
to lunch by a handsome male. 

Hugo watched intently as the waiter pushed my chair against the back of my 
knees. I clenched my teeth as I sat and hoped only Hugo saw the pain on my 
face. It was my first sit down since being caned and cropped, and for 
several moments I was breathless and wondering if it got better or worse 
than that. My scolded rump was a presence not easy to ignore. 

"Not too bad?" Hugo inquired. 

"Terrible!" 

"Good. I expect that's the way it should be. I'm having the Dover sole 
today. How about you?" 

"How about a painkiller for my bottom instead of fish?" 

We both got a laugh and Hugo shook his head as if puzzled. 

"Damned remarkable situation we've got ourselves into." He mused a few 
seconds. "I enjoyed this morning but I'm damned if I know what to do with 
you this afternoon. There's a post in one room downstairs I could tie you 
to. Would that about look after things?" Hugo's naivete was genuine. He 
would have been lost in Rockley, although no doubt intrigued by so many 
breasts and pretty bottoms. 

I could make a shrewd guess that he and I were where we now stood, simply 
out of his frustration with my failure to promote his Cause, plus a 
genuinely erotic curiosity about everything he'd learned on Plessious. If 
only I could handle him gently... ! 

Trying to sound truly interested, I asked. "That post will look after me 
fine for this afternoon, but any suggestions as to how I get tied to it?" 

Hugo sighed admiringly. "You do enter into the true spirit of things, don't 
you. Hell, I can keep you safe all afternoon by handcuffing your wrists in 
back of the pole. You wouldn't go anywhere." 

I shrugged and twinkled. "If that pleases you, Master." 

"It pleases me, but don't overdo the 'Master' bit. Let me get used to it 
gradually. I'm thinking of you and the pole. I like it." 

I liked it, too. At least if he had to do something to me, it was about as 
good as I could expect. I wondered if after he had fixed me and gone away, I 
could slip down and sit on the floor with my back against the post with not 
much discomfort, at least not much more than I suffered now. And perhaps 
because of it. I voiced something I knew I'd have to tell Hugo sooner or 
later. "Have you realized, Hugo, how it's going to tear me apart to be an 
attorney at law one day and a whipped slavegirl the next? I'm handling this 
okay but there's tomorrow and tomorrow. And I don't think I can handle that. 

Want to talk about it?" 

"You're trying to fox me into saying you don't have to bother any more?" 

"Anything I say had the savor of that," I replied, realizing I'd hit upon a 
profitable vein. "Can't help that, it's not intentional. I'm still prepared 
to live up to my word and yield myself to you every second day. But please 
thing of the emotional upheaval I have to cope with. I hurt where I sit, 
you've got this on me," I held up my left wrist, loaded with handcuff. 
"Tomorrow in the office I'm not going to be normally adjusted to the work I 
have to do. Hugo, I really am trying to get some substance behind your 
claim. But right now I don't care about your claim or my office. I can't 
think of much at all besides being your prisoner. See what I mean?" 

Poor Hugo! Hugo was not a complicated man, and long ago at the start of our 
association had been scared of me. Back in those days I'd been something of 
a bitch, but a lot had happened since then, and he and I were now on a quite 
different footing. 

"Sure I can see your point," Hugo said in a friendly manner. "But aren't you 
forgetting this imprisonment of yours lasts only until my claim is 
recognized. It won't be forever. How long will it take?" 

"I'll get out the statement of claim tomorrow and get it on the court 
docket, but actual appearance in court may be weeks away. If you whip me 
every day. I won't have any skin left." 

Across the table, Hugo gave me a wry little smile. "So, okay, everything 
you've said is duly noted and I won't expect a miracle overnight. But I'm 
going to whip you enough to keep you on the ball. 

Lawyers live by procrastination and I've had a belly full. I'm not idiot 
enough to whip you every second day but I'll think of some other things. 
Let's talk about something else." 

I loved this restaurant, with its atmosphere and sense of wealth. I adored 
being waited on and treated as Hugo's girl friend or wife. For a few moments 
I toyed with thoughts of being Mrs. Hugo Markham, but that was too absurd so 
I switched speculations to the coming afternoon. I didn't have long to wait. 

The pole, post, or torture, according to one's point of view, was, in a 
large storage room littered with the things a storage room would like. The 
pole was of metal and I suppose was about four inches in diameter and 
painted the same dull green as the walls. It was not an inspiring room or 
post. But the pole and I had a date and I could swear it had been waiting 
for me personally. To others it would appear an innocent vertical support, 
but for me it was like an introduction to a sinister stranger boding me no 
good. Innocently I inquired, "You won't want me to undress for this, will 
you, Hugo?" 

"Diane, you know perfectly well you remove your clothes. Get with it." 

"You want me naked just to stand against a pole... ? Really!" 

"I want you stark naked, sweetheart, and I want you to stop quibbling." 

I sighed but took off my clothes and kicked my shoes along with them. 
Without being asked. I backed against the pole. 

The scenario had already been discussed. Hugo unlocked the handcuffs from my 
wrist and I put my arms back around the pole and wiggled my hands invitingly 
to demonstrate good intentions. Warm steel bit and tightened. Hugo played 
around to get the proper tension. He then came around to admire my breasts 
and pubic patch, a small pause in anything we did, My female attributes 
seemed to have an unending fascination to this man. Hugo kissed my forehead 
and went away, not bothering to close the door. Why the hell should he! 

Right away I discovered something wrong. During the ordinary exploration of 
new bondage I discovered that while my hands were secured in the manner we 
discussed, they were also subject to an additional restriction. I could 
neither raise nor lower them more than an inch or so. Frantically I called 
after my retreating master and, luckily, caught him in time. I heaved a sigh 
of relief. I went straight to the point. "Hugo, this isn't the way we said 
it would be. I'm handcuffed but I can't move my hands, you've got them fixed 
somehow. Would you mind?" 

"Would I mind what?" 

Hugo pretended to be obtuse. "Unfixing whatever it is you've fixed up. This 
is going to be miserable for a whole afternoon." 

"Isn't that the idea, sweetheart?" Hugo laughed knowingly. "You were 
figuring on sitting down after I'm gone, weren't you? A quite comfortable 
afternoon. Sorry!" 

It was exasperating and I wanted to keep to my promise not to plead or beg 
or demean myself in Hugo's eyes by complaining about every punishment when I 
know perfectly well I was suppose to be punished. Punishment was the name of 
the game. Stiffly, I retorted, "Sorry to have bothered you. I simply hoped 
you were being merciful, but never mind. I'll stand here all afternoon and 
think about the nice time we had at lunch. Goodbye, Hugo." 

It was the right approach. Hugo muttered something under his breath but I 
felt his hands on the pole. 

This time, when he hurried away, I was neither kissed. I discovered 
immediately I could raise and lower my hands and thus could slid my arms 
down until my punished bottom could reach the floor. 

But with feminine inconsistency, I simply stood and played with the 
handcuffs I could not see. It was almost an hour before I gingerly lowered 
myself to the floor, leaned back against the pole, and stretched out my legs 
in an effort to get comfortable. It wasn't all that good. 

I guess if my bottom had not been so severely whipped I would have come out 
all right. But the concrete floor did nothing to soothe my burning skin. It 
was not long before I was feeling sorry for myself. And if I'd been a 
naughty girl in the first place, I would have been vowing never to be 
naughty again. But this was pure fantasy, and the simple fact was the 
concrete chaffed my caned bottom so I struggled back to stand erect, a more 
difficult task than I that though. Then I stood there wondering if Hugo was 
laughing up his sleeve at the female who was so totally his on every second 
day. I hate to admit it but having to stand there all afternoon, I actually 
generated a few tears I was thankful no one could see. 

Handcuffs are an insidious compulsion. Because they don't hurt you feel 
quite sure you can deal with them and probably slip them off your wrists. I 
suppose it's this ridiculous notion that drives a girl to twisting and 
tugging against the steel. Anyway, that's what I did, and when Hugo returned 
at early evening he found me with chaffed wrists and an almost indecent 
anxiety to please. Boy, did he possess me but good! 

"You look a little sad, Diane?" 

"Yes, Master, that's the way I feel." 

"We might then say the pole was potent?" 

"Yes. Master. Please get me away from it." 

"But you make such a pretty picture there. Diane. If I could paint in oils, 
I could make a masterpiece out of that beautiful pose of dejection. But I do 
have a camera. Would you like me to take a snap?" 

"No thank you, Master. I don't want to see what I look like. All I want to 
do is walk away." 

"Boy, sweetheart, you must have had a bad afternoon!" Hugo's tone was pure 
admiration. 

"Are you telling me you'd be happy to walk away from that pole with your 
hands still behind your back?" 

"Yes, Master. I'd be very happy." 

Hugo sighed, prolonging the agony. If ever a man was in the catbird seat, it 
was Hugo right now. 

Hugo had me for sure! As though to clinch my claim. I said. "I've even been 
crying - in case you're, interested, " Hugo was drinking in every word as 
though it was the sweetest nectar a man could ever sip. "Aren't you 
overdoing this a bit, sweetheart? I admit I like it but enough is enough." 

"I'm only telling it as it is. You've got me and you can do what you like 
with me. You're my Master. I can't even walk away from this damned pole... " 
I allowed heart-break to enter my voice. 

"Please use a key, Master." 

Hugo, no doubt feeling absolutely omnipotent, used the key and a few moments 
later I stepped away from the pole. Hugo had still got my hands handcuffed 
behind my back, which in my present frame of mind was a mere trifling 
inconvenience. "Thank you, Master. You've no idea how good this feels." 

"I'm sure it does. Go ahead, walk around. Everything you do, Diane, teaches 
me something. 

You're a beautiful subject and from now on through dinner I want you to stop 
calling me master. I know I can do what I want with you but there's no need 
to belabor the point. Right now you can kneel and make your vow." 

The vow was one of the things we had created together in the lighter moments 
of my captivity. If Hugo wanted it, I was prepared to deliver, so slipped to 
my knees, which isn't all that easy when you have no hands, and sincerely 
intoned, "You are my Master. I belong to you totally. On every second day I 
will deliver my body to your pleasure. I am your slave." 

I could tell Hugo was moved. I knew for sure I had done a good job of verbal 
abasement. I made sure my knees were well apart and my head properly bowed. 
My captive hands behind my back were still and resigned to the clutch of 
steel. I belonged to Hugo Markham as no girl had ever done before. 

"I find you utterly fascinating." Hugo was helping me up. Face to face we 
kissed with an intensity to leave me wondering about my handcuffed wrists. 
Feeling I had to say something, I spoke, "You spoke of dinner, Hugo? What 
did you have in mind?" 

"Bathe and dress, then I'll pick the place." 

"I can't bathe and dress unless you give me my hands." 

With another mutter, Hugo produced his magic key. My heart sang with joy as 
the twin cuffs were once more locked upon my left wrist. As I bathed and 
dressed, I found myself singing those small, sad songs of unrequited love. 

Once again the magic of a restaurant in which money did not matter wafted me 
from the clutch of restrains and the bite of the whip. Hugo Markham can be 
an amusing companion when he chose, and I found myself enjoying his every 
quip. The first thing we knew we were both laughing as though our situation 
was entirely normal instead of being about as bizarre as any could be. Hugo 
exerted himself to make me happy, and I really and truly was happy in 
forgetting tomorrow. 

A cloud crosses the sun, and for several moments we become conscious of 
mortality. It was that way now, and when Hugo and I looked up in surprise at 
the intrusion, we beheld a female far too beautiful for her own good, or for 
the welfare of mankind. She was looking at my left wrist and, as though from 
old acquaintance, said with deep sincerity, "I know about that thing on your 
wrist. I know about you and what you are." She looked at Hugo. "I offer 
myself, do you want me?" 

Poor Hugo, he wasn't ready for it, and I bristled with hostility. But Hugo 
was a gentlemen. "Would you care to join our table?" he asked politely. "I 
don't believe we've met?" 

"I don't want to eat or drink or sit down." our gorgeous interloper said 
without emphasis. "I want you to take me home with you and deal with me in 
the way you deal with her." She made a contemptuous gesture my way. "If you 
care to dispense with her. I'll take her place. I'm probably the most 
beautiful girl who will ever make you such an offer." 

She sat, taking Hugo's glass and quietly sipping while Hugo and I stared in 
wonderment before he signaled a waiter for more drinks. My feminine 
hostility simmered as I examined the intruder. The damned girl had it all, 
and was well aware of having it all. She even quietly apologized for 
draining his drink. "I'm not a drinker, but what I'm doing now is not that 
easy." She smiled at both of us. "I expect you know all about making 
contacts and how impossible it is, my first worthwhile opportunity. 

And I won't just walk away from it." 

"But you're not the type, you're no sweet, little submissive!" I burst out 
angrily. 

"Did I say I was!" Her eyes stripped me bare, still with that faint 
inflection of contempt. "There wouldn't be any point in what I'm asking if I 
was one of those, what do you call them, submissives? I wish to be broken. I 
want you to break me." 

"You're taking a great deal for granted." Hugo said. He was intrigued but 
cautious. "You're reading a lot into a pair of handcuffs on a lady's wrist." 

"It's not what I see but what I sense. The vibrations from you both are very 
clear." Margo Hammil was almost panting. "Look. I'm a beautiful bitch who 
wants to be broken by a man and genuinely enslaved. I'm real! Can't you 
understand!" 

It was obvious our beauty in distress had little interest in me, she wanted 
Hugo. She was probably seeing him as a dominant force, breaking maidens to 
his will. I looked down at the shinning steel encircling my wrist and got a 
thrill out of my own handcuff. I could well imagine what it would do to a 
girl aware of its intent and purpose. I began to view Margo Hammil with a 
more kindly eye. 

"Miss Durrant and I have an arrangement satisfactory to ourselves. I really 
don't know where you'd fit in. You'd probably hate it anyway," Hugo said 
patiently. 

"I would hate it. That's the whole idea. I don't even know what you would do 
with me or to me... I don't even know what games you two play. I'll resent 
and rebel and you really will be compelled to break me down into obedience 
and humility. And I warn you right now, I'm not a humble girl. What should I 
expect? Chains and ropes and whips...?" 

With the arrival of the soup our proud beauty consented to eat with us, I 
could tell Hugo was thinking hard what to do, so I spoke for him, "Mr. 
Markham is not the whip-wielding monster you seem to think. The relationship 
you find us in is by mutual consent. He's right, you know, you wouldn't like 
what I have to put up with one little bit." 

"Let me take your place. If it hurts, it hurts!" 

I looked at Hugo and shrugged helplessly. Hugo must have been feeling out of 
the conversation and now took command in one of those authoritative moments 
of which he was entirely capable. He motioned to my much-discussed left 
hand, "Give it to me." 

Two females watched him use the tiny key, both of us a bit breathless. While 
I massaged pink skin, my owner barked at the intruder. "Stick it out!" 

At first I was miffed at seeing my own personal handcuffs on another woman's 
wrist, but in that moment there was such an intensity of feeling between the 
three of us I saw only Margo's enraptured face and a sudden vista of 
advantage: Whatever venom Hugo expended on this willing recruit might easily 
mean fewer stripes for me. Perhaps if I played my cards right... ! I nursed 
the thought in growing satisfaction. 

We got her story. Her name was Margo Hammil, she was alone, and her main 
problem seemed to be a husband she had just divorced. "I really did love the 
guy," she explained earnestly. "But he loved me so much he let me have my 
way in everything. He wasn't a wimp but I found myself making all the 
decisions while actually longing for him to knock me around a bit and make 
me pay attention to him as a man. She sighed, "I suppose the whole trouble 
was he loved me far too much and didn't know a damn thing about girls. Even 
when we made love, he was so damned careful and considerate I could scream. 
I know it's silly but that's where I'm at right now." She raised her left 
wrist to examine the shinning chrome now locked on her, a grateful smile on 
her face. "You've no idea what this means to me, I owe you both a hundred 
thank you's." 

We took her home with us. Hugo did not abandon me for his new possession. 
Once inside his house, he lost no time in unlocking one of the cuffs from 
our visitor's wrist and snapping it tight to one of the rings in the living 
room wall. He then grasped my arm and led me to his office. The backwards 
glance I took showed me an absorbed woman who would stand exactly where she 
was until Hugo used his key, a delighted young woman playing with a new toy. 

The first thing Hugo said upon reaching his office was, "Take your clothes 
off, Diane, remember this is still one of your slave days." 

I stripped myself bare for my master's pleasure, thinking all the time of 
the girl downstairs. To be naked before a man no longer bothered me. In 
fact, I was discovering a lot of advantages to being naked. It simplifies so 
much. In the rapport which had grown so strong between us, I turned my back 
to him and crossed my wrists. Neither of us had said a word or spoke while 
he knotted the thin cord again and again to rob me of my arms. When I was 
effectively his prisoner, he waved me to the chair to make me a naked client 
neatly bound while facing her owner across the desk. It all seemed very 
natural and very comfortable and I knew I would not want to part with it. 

"What the devil am I going to do with the damned girl!" Hugo actually 
sounded unhappy in the face of such good fortune. "Should I take her 
seriously?" 

"Use that riding crop good and hard on her bottom and send her back to her 
husband." 

"But they're divorced." 

"That may be, but send her back to him anyway. If you make her seat as sore 
as you've made mine, she'll be a changed woman. And if that idiot husband 
can't read a message out of the way you'll mark her skin, he has to be 
hopeless. I hope you enjoy having me tied this way." 

"You know I enjoy it. Don't be pert. Hasn't it occurred to you I might as 
well expend my energies on our pretty prisoner instead of on you. This would 
leave you free to really apply yourself to my claim. You don't really enjoy 
getting your bottom cropped, do you?" 

It was my own thought exactly. Margo Hammil had arrived with almost perfect 
timing to make me free, free, free! I wondered why I didn't feel happier but 
put it down to female jealously. She was wearing my handcuffs and I wanted 
them back. 

I think girls sometimes loose their wits. Without any great show of 
enthusiasm. "Are you offering me freedom? My vow is canceled?" 

"That's right, sweetheart. You're my lawyer, not a bottom to be cropped 
every day. Aren't you pleased?" 

"Of course I'm pleased but it seems too good to be true." I twisted against 
Hugo's twine which seemed unusually tight. Then I made the craziest 
admission of my life. "I'm going to miss the things... The things we've done 
together. Please don't let that girl steal my handcuffs." 

I sat there, naked, my hands behind my back, like an unloosed flower. Hugo 
was suddenly eyeing me with an interest he had never previously shown. He 
laughed. "'Then don't say anything is forever. 

Tomorrow is you day at the office - no beatings, no bondage. I'll amuse 
myself with our lovely new plaything while you get busy against the Estate. 
The day after you can either go to the office or offer your wrists to be 
handcuffed. Think about it, sweetheart, I'll be amused at what you come up 
with." 

I wished now I'd been quiet, but that was to be expected. Hugo was being 
generous but only because of the girl handcuffed to the wall downstairs. But 
anyway I looked at it. I came out the winner, and a whole day for Hugo to 
play with his now toy and for me to discover myself must surely bring the 
two of us safely over the hurdle of indecision. I allowed myself to be led 
to our bedroom where I accepted the collar and chain on my neck without 
demure and watched my master go to deal with that incredibly lovely and sexy 
woman downstairs. 

For the first, and perhaps the last, time in my life I enjoyed bound hands 
and collared neck. I told myself crossly it was only because I knew I would 
soon be free of them. But I knew it more than that. 

Everything that had happened to me since my first visit to Plessious had 
changed me. And I was glad. 

I sat on the side of the bed, dangling my legs like a little girl awaiting 
the arrival of authority. I had no need to test the length of my tether for 
I knew it already. Knew, also, that I could never free my hands so might as 
well enjoy the firm, warm indentations of my master's twine by which my 
hands were held. Something nice was about to happen. 

Margo's hands were still handcuffed behind her back in my handcuffs when 
Hugo thrust her into the bedroom. He closed and locked the door. Margo was 
now an anxious and probably frightened young woman who was wishing she had 
more sense, but who could not give voice to her misgivings. Hugo had 
installed on her the most horrendous gag, it filled Margo' s mouth, sealed 
her lips and locked behind her neck with a padlock quite needlessly huge. 
When her eyes met mine, I read in them a conviction as to what Hugo would do 
with his two women, but I don't think she was all that thrilled by the 
prospect of sharing a male phallus with the slavegirl already firmly secured 
to the master's bed. 

She need not have worried. 

"Over here beside the bottom bed post," Hugo told her as he took her bare 
arm to steer her where he desired, for a purpose I was uncertain about. 
Margo was twisting feverishly at handcuffed wrists, but since she was 
getting exactly what she wanted, made no motion of revolt. What she actually 
did get was something she did not want at all. He simply chained her right 
ankle to the lower bed post. The poor girl probably could step within a four 
foot radius, but stood there as if expecting something else. She got that, 
too. 

"You expect to be naked. I hope," Hugo asked his new slave. "In this house 
no female wears clothes. He produced scissors and barked, "Stand still," at 
the lovely girl. 

I had no idea what Margo's feelings about nakedness might be, she was eyeing 
the scissors with an element of disbelief. But the things that happens to a 
girl when she becomes a slavegirl are always something of a shock. I sat 
there, happily dangling my legs when she made frantic motions with her head, 
indicating a desire to speak; a desire totally ignored. The stripping of a 
girl is always exciting. 

You never know how she will react or what will be disclosed. Either she did 
not wish or dared not move as her personally chosen master snipped away at a 
dress which probably cost a lot of money. 

When the new slavegirl was down to panties and bra, she was panting and I 
could well suspect she was torn between conventional modesty and pride in 
what would be revealed when the last of the clothing came off. When that 
moment came, Margo was disclosed as an unusually beautiful girl who's body 
was every bit as beautiful as her face. Hugo had himself a winner! And I 
wondered if he knew how lucky he was. I suppose I could have asked but was 
quite content to be a spectator in this small drama of a maiden's loss of 
freedom. Hugo said it all with remarkably few words, "You can sleep on the 
floor, Margo. Diane and I will make love but you haven't yet earned that 
privilege. You can stand or sit as you please, but if you wish to sleep, it 
will be on the rug. You can stop making those motions with your head because 
I have no intention of taking the gag from your mouth. You have nothing of 
the faintest interest to say, and slavegirls have to ask permission before 
they speak. 

Amuse yourself." 

Poor Margo! I'm not sure this was what she wanted. But if she truly wished 
to take my place, she was getting no more than a taste of things to come. 
Hugo tossed his clothes aside, pushed me back upon the bed to lay upon bound 
arms, and then possessed me while Miss Margo Hammil watched in a mixture of 
emotions she could not voice. As my master pleasured me. I was aware of her 
testing her tether with a step this way or that. But finally in disgust, or 
perhaps distaste, she sat upon the rug, leaned back against the bottom of 
our bed, and tried to ignore what was taking place between my master and me. 
After a while I forgot she was there. 

I have spoken of change, and probably the most drastic one was my avid 
acceptance of Hugo's repeated violation of my loins. Hugo possessed me 
utterly and I loved every moment of it and his mastery. I never even tried 
to keep count of the orgasms he extracted from my female flesh but was 
grateful for each. I was a slave. 

Hugo Markham owned me utterly. 

CHAPTER SEVEN - Whips & Girls & Things 

I never found it easy to adjust myself to being alternately a lawyer and a 
slavegirl. The two do not mix, although I am sure they provide erotic 
contrast for the male who calls the shots. I have often wondered why I did 
not break my promise, but this was something I wanted to do, In the morning 
my hands were still tight bound behind my back and the collar tight locked 
on my neck. But at least I could go to the bathroom without hindrance. Which 
was a damned sight more than Margo could. 

She was still gagged so we could not compare notes, but she had surrendered 
to her chains and slept upon the floor as best she could. Today I would be a 
lawyer while Margo Hammil remained the plaything of the man who was our 
master. Hugo was deliberately mean in delaying the release of her chained 
ankle. When I came out of the bathroom she was gone, and since Hugo had 
vanished; too, and had, most honorably, set me free, I dressed in my clothes 
and went to the kitchen to ensure coffee. 

My office enfolded me in a familiar warmth. I applied myself vigorously to 
the various channels by which Hugo's claim to the Estate might be pursued. I 
didn't even bother with lunch and received no male invitation to partake, a 
factor which left me more miffed than I cared to admit. It was not until 
close to quitting time that I allowed myself the luxury of envisioning 
Margo's torments throughout the day. I turned the key to Hugo's front door 
in pleasant anticipation. 

Margo was waiting, her ankles leg-ironed, her wrists handcuffed. 

As I enter the hall she knelt in greeting and to pay homage to a female who 
was free while she was not. Kneeling there in meek humility, she made as 
pretty a picture as I have ever seen. The gag was still locked tight across 
her lips. But by motions and funny little sounds she led me to the lounge 
where Hugo and I enjoyed our cocktail before dinner. It was a cocktail 
prepared by a girl in chains for the first time in her life. Hugo was in an 
expansive mood. 

We accepted our drinks before the Master spoke. I was still a free girl for 
the rest of the day but Margo knelt before us in mute submission she could 
do nothing about. Margo had undoubtedly had the course! 

"I haven't whipped her yet. I'm saving that for tomorrow and you." Hugo 
explained grand unconcern. "She's been obedient so far but I've told her 
what to expect. She hasn't made too much fuss about it because I've kept 
that gag locked tight over her mouth. Want me to relieve her of it so she 
can talk?" 

"Relieve her of it anyway, Hugo. It's a beastly thing to have to suffer, I 
should know." 

Hugo actually followed my request. A girl can never be quite sure what Hugo 
would or would not do. 

I think he wanted to hear what Margo had to say as much as I. She took my 
drink in chained hands to moisten her mouth so she could speak. She spoke 
directly to me, "Our Master says I am to be whipped tomorrow, along with 
you. Is this what slavegirls must expect?" 

"Of course. And we're not supposed to complain." 

Margo responded, "Very well. I asked for this and mustn't complain. Will you 
be whipped, too?" 

"Quite probably." 

"Our Master has explained the terms of your indenture." She was giving me 
her full attention. 

"I'm not sure I understand it, but you seem to be acting most honorably." 
She turned to Hugo. "Am I behaving as you wish, Master?" 

Considering she had not yet been whipped, Margo was doing remarkably well. I 
could feel pretty sure I was stuck with her the next day, and being given a 
whipping with her. But after that I could see light and hope ahead. With 
only the faintest trace of sarcasm, I told her, "Don't worry, darling. I'm 
sure I'll scream every bit as much as you. Being whipped isn't the least bit 
nice but men seem to think that's what girls are for. Don't worry, darling, 
we'll both get plenty of bondage afterwards, probably a lot more than we'll 
enjoy. Being a slave is wonderful." 

"Diane, you and I are going out to dinner." Hugo was enjoying his twin 
possessions. "Margo hasn't earned the privilege, so she'll stay at home. 
Nicely secured, of course. That please you, Margo?" 

I saw the flash of hurt. The poor girl could probably have used food and 
gaiety after whatever Hugo had been doing to her through the day. Her tone 
was no longer submissive. "I would have hoped to be included. Frankly, I'd 
enjoy going out to dine. Please take me with you." 

"Request denied. Slave girls never get anything they ask for." 

Hugo was feeling his oats. 

I saw the kneeling girl wince, saw, too, the rebellious tug a the handcuffs. 
But I also realized that there was some sort of rapport between these two 
and could not be sure what was real and what was feigned in this 
master/slave relationship. I refused to think of tomorrow and was well 
content to watch what now took place. I could tell Margo was as surprised as 
I when the omnipotent Male unlocked both leg irons and handcuffs to leave 
her standing free. Margo looked from on to the other of us in uncertainty, 
giving me time to once more admire the exquisite contours of her femaleness, 
and to see the rebellion in her eyes. If Hugo had taken steps to break her 
spirit during the day, I expect it was about to flare anew in feminine 
indignation. But flight or fight was soon nullified by Hugo grasping a 
handful of slavegirl hair and shaking it vigorously to admonish. "I know 
what you're thinking and I know what you'd like to do. Forget it! Come 
along." 

"Let go, you're mussing my hair. Where are you taking me anyway? Look, I 
want to go with you and Diane to the restaurant. Stop yanking my hair, it 
hurts!" 

"Downstairs!" 

I followed the master and his slavegirl down the fateful steps. I hate 
having my hair dragged around the way Margo's was, it hurts and makes a girl 
terribly helpless. When we reached the little cell with it's barred door, 
Hugo used no key but thrust his captive against the bars. "Stand still. 
Margo, this is where you get tied." 

Once more I could not be sure of them, but with her hair free, Margo reacted 
instantly. "You can take your lousy master business and shove it," she 
retorted tartly, while, at the same time, aiming a bare heel at Hugo's 
groin. "If you think I'm taking this kind of treatment...!" 

It was as far as she got. Hugo neatly sidestepped her kick and grasped her 
ankle to leave her hopping on one foot in defeat. To keep herself from 
falling, Margo hopped back against the bars, which she clutched with 
outstretched arms. She glared angrily and demanded. "Let go of my foot! 
Don't stand there holding it like a dummy!" 

"Nice way to keep you under control, sweetheart." 

It must have been one insult too many. Thrusting herself from the bars, 
Margo actually managed to jerk her foot free and head for the stairs. She 
got only four paces before her hair was once more in a strong male hand and 
she was cruelly jerked back to the spot where Hugo intended her to spend our 
dinner time. He demanded, "Tie her waist back to the bars, Diane, she's a 
handful." 

Feeling a bitch, I did as I was told. Margo was amusing and whether her 
fight was real or make believe, it provided entertainment. I slipped several 
bands of rope around her narrow waist and the bars behind and cinched it 
very tight indeed before stepping back to watch the rest of Margo's bondage. 
Girl smell was heavy in the air. And I was pretty sure that if I tested 
Margo's private place, I would find it juicy and ready. While our captive 
tugged vainly at my ropes now holding her, Hugo tied her feet in similar 
fashion to inhibit the kicks which were now Margo's only weapon. I was 
surprised how he took the trouble to tie them far apart to obtain the 
maximum exposure of the struggling girl. It was easy for him now to noose a 
wrist and drag it out and up to be tied against a waiting bar, and to have 
it's twin similarly bound in stretched helplessness on the other side. Margo 
was now a lovely naked butterfly, secured against the bars of her cell, 
breasts heaving and her skin wet with sweat. 

Hugo and I watched our captive's struggles in pure rapture. The poor girl 
couldn't move much at all, but did her best while muttering savage curses 
and protests in our direction. 

"Isn't this what you wanted?" Hugo asked pleasantly. 

"I wanted to go and dine with you." Margo appeared to have a one track mind. 
"You could have tied me up when we came home if that what you wanted to do. 
And if I didn't decide to pack the whole thing up and walk away. I think 
you're being terribly mean." 

It was a beautiful job and Margo soon stopped struggling. 

Satisfied at her helplessness, Hugo examined each one of her bonds, 
tightening where ever possible before producing the hated gag and a short 
length of chain. "You don't dare put that damned thing in my mouth," Margo 
said heatedly. "I could scream my head off down here and no one would hear. 
I don't want to be gagged!" 

"That's why you will be." Hugo held up to view the leather and steel 
punishment. "Open that pretty mouth." 

Poor Margo, I knew how she felt! But after initial resistance, she accepted 
the inevitable and allowed her mouth to be filled with the hateful wad and 
her lips sealed. The strap was unkindly tight around her head. It should 
have been enough but Hugo was taking no chances as he circled a bar with the 
short length of chain to gather the end links within the grasp of a truly 
awful padlock which was used also to seal and secure the straps of Margo's 
gag. "You can't trust a girl," Hugo said cheerfully. If she gets the rest of 
herself loose, she won't be able to do a thing about that. Rather neat, 
don't you think?" 

The last I saw of Margo before we went away was a tear slowly making its way 
down one lovely cheek. If that tear came from hurt feelings or the defeat of 
tight bondage, I was not to know. 

That night my only bond in bed was the collar and chain, Hugo being nice 
enough to explain that he had something else in mind that required my hands 
not be tied. He then inflicted a night of pure frustration upon a young 
woman who was getting everything she was asking for, her hands being tight 
joined by thumb cuffs and her big toes similarly locked. Hugo thoughtfully 
looped a length of chain between my legs and locked each end to a side of 
the bed to leave me the freedom of floundering around as much as I pleased. 
But I could go nowhere. Never had I been held by so little steel. 

As I lay there in my minimal but very secure steel cuffs, I had to give a 
thought to poor Margo downstairs in her cell, still bound and gagged. She 
must certainly be getting used to that gag. And I wondered, as Hugo spread 
my legs and entered me, if Margo was jealous over what she knew was going on 
in our bed while she spent a lonely night. 

As owner of two female slaves, Hugo proved impartial. For Margo, her second 
day of captivity was pretty much a mystery but the tone of his voice as he 
told me I was to be whipped left no doubt that I was to be used as a 
demonstration for Margo's benefit, but also, as Hugo insistently hinted, to 
hurry me up in getting results on my master's claim. I couldn't relax and 
enjoy it but did my best simply to relax. 

Two naked girls with arms wide apart above their heads, their wrists 
strapped tight! I am sure we made a pretty picture of feminine helplessness 
and acute anxiety. A girl never really gives up hope of escaping a whipping 
until the first stroke burns across her skin. The fastening of Margo in the 
same manner as myself had caused our master a good deal of trouble and his 
slave a good deal of discomfort in the jerking of her hair. The threats of 
what would happen if she failed to stand still helped. 

"I'm going to whip Diane first so you can get the hang of it, Margo, and see 
how she behaves," Hugo explained helpfully. "I do hope you girls get 
something out of this. I know it keeps Diane on the ball in the work she 
performs for me. And for you, Margo, it's the start of an education. 

There is a belief that after a whipping has been done to a girl, she's never 
the same again. I'll be glad of your opinion." He chuckled gleefully. "You 
have to stand there for now, not knowing when the whipping will start. 
That's part of the suspense. And the punishment. It gives you a chance to 
chat. I should gag you but I won't. You did spend the night gagged, you 
remember?" 

He left without waiting for an answer from Margo. This was old hat for me 
but for Margo it was discovery. She was still panting from the struggle. She 
voiced her puzzlement, "I still don't understand why you do this, Diane, the 
allowing him to make you prisoner every other day and punishing you so." 

"No crazier than you, darling. You wanted what you're about to get, so stop 
worrying. Relax and enjoy." 

"That's not funny. If I could walk out of here right now, I would. Is he 
serious about it? I mean, does it hurt real bad?" 

"He's serious, and it hurts terribly." 

"Well, don't sound so damned smug about it. I'm glad you're being whipped, 
too, Diane. If you can stand it, I suppose I can." 

"You think you're going to die but you never do. Honestly, Margo, is this 
what you wanted?" 

"I suppose it goes along with what I wanted," Margo conceded. 

"When I used to dream about it, it was always of ropes and chains and iron 
bars and things. I never dreamed of being whipped, but I can understand how 
it sort of fits." 

Margo was obviously doing some thinking. "I'll admit that the way he tied me 
to those bars last night thrilled me to bits. I hated being left behind when 
you went to dinner. And when you two were having all the fun in bed. But 
that sort of added a spice while I was left alone. I spent many hours trying 
to get loose but I never did. But I'll also admit to an indecent sort of 
thrill in having my pussy so exposed. 

Gosh, I'd never have believed!" 

"Does being fastened the way we are now hit you the same way?" 

"Sort of... But it's overshadowed by knowing what's going to happen. I mean 
the whip. I'm scared." There came an awkward pause. "Diane, dear, do you get 
all juicy at times like this? I'm being positively indecent." 

"Oh, sure. It's part of being female. I was ashamed of it myself at first 
but now I don't even think of it. If a girl was really frigid, I suspect she 
could be cured by having someone fasten her the way we are and giving her a 
good whipping." 

Margo was taking all my words very seriously and constantly stepping from 
foot to foot. She also looked up often at her strapped wrists as though she 
needed reassurance of her helplessness. There was a tinge of embarrassment 
as she inquired. "Can you stand still, Diane, I mean, are we expected to be 
stoic and stand still while we get whipped, or do you dance around? You know 
what I mean." 

"I usually manage to stand still for the first one or two, but after that I 
just loose control and behave disgracefully. I've never pretended to like 
being beaten. Don't worry about behaving, just do what comes naturally and 
don't be ashamed of anything, even pleading for mercy." 

"Gosh, you sound as though you know it all, Diane. I envy the way you're 
handling it. Is Hugo really this mean a man?" 

"No. He's a nice guy. And the way he got started on this slavegirl kick is a 
long story. I suspect most men would like to do what he's doing to us now. 
It's easy to analyze their feelings if you want to bother. But everything 
will hurt just as bad after you've figured it out, so what's the point?" 

Hugo gave us an hour in which to shiver and struggle at our bonds. Even 
though I knew all about it, it was just as potent as back that first time, 
and I knew it always would be. When out master returned he spread on the 
floor between us an array of whips and riding crops and some wicked looking 
straps. 

"Nothing like a bit of variety to keep you girls on your toes," he remarked 
as he picked up a supple length of leather which I think used to be called a 
flagellum in ancient Rome, and let me have it with the full strength of his 
arm across both cheeks of my bottom. I wasn't the least bit prepared and 
squeaked and danced and kicked at a new and awful pain as the impact spread 
itself across my previous punishment. As I panted and contorted I was well 
aware of Margo's interested eyes and of Hugo's enjoyment of his work. 

"That's not fair!" I protested when I caught my breath. 'That's not like the 
last time. It's terrible." 

"I thought it might be," Hugo said casually. "If you don't like it where you 
sit, would you care to suggest some other portion of your person?" 

"No, I wouldn't! I don't want to be whipped at all, and I don't see why I 
have to be whipped." 

"You wouldn't want to cheat Margo of an interesting introduction to 
punishment... Would you?" 

"Yes, I would! She'll learn all about it the same way I did." I turned my 
attention to the instruments of punishment which were tastefully arranged 
for inspection. They all looked deadly, so I asked pathetically like a 
little child anxious to please, "Perhaps if you whipped my back with 
something that's not too unkind...?" 

Hugo chose another strap, a lighter one, and I tensed for new and different 
pain. Beneath its shock I lifted myself from the floor and kicked wildly. I 
guess the second strap was kinder than the first but applied resoundingly 
upon my back and curling beneath my breast it felt no less terrible than the 
one he had used across my seat. During the following five snapping and 
cracking strokes, I managed to scream only twice before standing limply 
while my master decided what to use on me next. I made no suggestions. 

For the life of me I could not fail to watch each selection chosen to impact 
my skin. If they were wickedly severe, I expect Hugo held his arm. For the 
rest, he let me have it full force. It was a different instrument for each 
of the next five strokes, which he delivered slowly to give me time to do my 
dance and kick savagely at the air as though it was the source of pain. I 
screamed each time he struck me, half in agony and half in anger that I 
should thus so needlessly suffer. As blow followed blow, I knew for sure 
that even if I had to move mountains, I would do something positive to 
further Hugo's claim. 

Here and there, as crop or cane or whip bit at me, I managed a small smile 
towards the girl who's turn was coming. As though to live up to my own 
prophesy, I heard my own voice weakly plead, "Oh, Hugo, please stop! Don't 
hurt me any: more. Hugo, I'm asking you, please stop!" 

"I don't see why I should stop, Diane. And do you usually address a Master 
in such terms?" 

Hugo was in his element. 

"Please stop whipping me, Master. Please stop." 

With a double-thongs quirt, Hugo started to whip me once again, I got what 
seemed a regulation twenty, I did not count them but was told afterwards of 
the count. By the time Hugo was through with me, I glistened with sweat and 
smelt outrageously of musk. My wrists were still as tightly strapped as 
before the first blow. Slowly I panted my way back to where I dared meet 
Margo's horrified regard. 

I'm sure it was a vivid tableau, myself, the sweating punished girl, Hugo 
standing midway and smiling at us both as he chose the instrument he would 
use on Margo's virgin skin. And Margo, who had no doubts about helplessness 
and vulnerability, gave voice to conviction, "I don't want to be whipped, 
Master. I know I could never stand it the way Diane did. Please don't whip 
me. I'll promise to do anything and everything you ask. I'll be the humblest 
of slaves. But please don't mark my skin with those horrible things." 

She paused, visibly trembling, while her master paid no heed and made his 
choice. Without preamble he dealt with his new slavegirl in the same manner 
as he had dealt with me. That awful leather was lapping from hip to hip 
across the lovely contours she could not hide. I watched unwillingly but 
utterly fascinated. 

It was really something to see and left me gasping in disbelief. 

After the frightful crack as leather bit at flesh, Margo neither moved or 
spoke but turned to gaze back over a bare, raised arm to the man readying 
himself for another stroke of the limber leather. "Is that the best you can 
do, Mr. Markham," she inquired carelessly before turning away to stare into 
some horizon of her own, I was appalled! 

It was a beautiful, courageous assertion of feminine pride, something Margo 
had to do. Hugo stood admiring the single wound. No doubt he understood 
Margo's defiance but gave it no sympathy. His second blow was every bit as 
wicked as the first. It stung Margo into a silence from which she emerged in 
a pealing scream of agony and outrage, while her naked loveliness proclaimed 
an outrage of its own in a series of jerks and a little dance upon air. 
While she was thus frantically engaged, Hugo struck again and then again 
until his leather had planted itself five times upon female contours no 
strap should ever touch. He then ceased to inquire pleasantly, "Was that 
what you expected, Miss Hammil?" 

"Oh, damn you to hell!" Margo got the words out with difficulty between 
gasps and moans. 

"You don't have to hit me so hard, you don't have to do this at all. Please 
don't whip me any more. 

Please stop... Master?" 

"You only just remembered that 'master' bit at the end, didn't you?" Hugo 
inquired. "I must find a reminder." The captive eyes followed ever move. 
Breasts heaved and she panted. When the strapped girl beheld Hugo's choice, 
her cry was piteous. "Not that! Oh, Master, not that! I saw what that did to 
Diane, and I know I can't bare it. Please, please, please!" 

Hugo sliced the virgin back five times with the chosen but fearful 
instrument. I know he was not applying it as hard as he might have done, but 
Margo evidently could not tell for her performance equaled my own in its 
intensity of feminine surrender. 

I had to hand it to Hugo that he whipped us only from behind, leaving our 
breasts still virgin. It's bad enough for a girl to be whipped on her back 
and where she sits down but there are other far more intimate places into 
which or across which a leather thong might impart its venom. Actually, I 
suppose both Margo and I were that day treated with male mercy we did not 
realize while it was taking place. Suddenly two naked maidens were alone and 
panting in our bonds while drops of sweat trickled from our bodies. After a 
while, my companion ventured timidly. "Is it really over?" 

"I think so. He's leaving us to stand like this just to make sure we think 
about the punishment. 

Like when he left us before the whipping." 

"Are you quite sure, Diane, he won't come back and whip us some more?" 

"A girl can't be sure of anything while she's fixed the way we're fixed. 
That damned man can do anything he wants to us." 

Hugo must have been doing some thinking while he was gone for when he 
returned he tied my left wrist to a ring in the wall overhead, then did the 
same for Margo's right, making sure we were well apart to make his next 
little trick possible. He crossed my right ankle over Margo's left and tied 
them tight before raising them up to attach them to one more ring, just high 
enough to assure discomfort and placing them out of-reach of our hands. 
Noting the instability of our posture, he most kindly cinched our waists 
back to one more ring in the concrete wall in a fashion to give us support 
from which we would have no wish to free ourselves since it was the only 
help we were getting in a damnably horrid posture. He stood back to admire 
his work, "You make a really lovely pair," he enthused with genuine 
enjoyment of our feminine exposure. "I like the raised leg effect. It shows 
both of you to good effect. And you tied ankles make a nice communion, don't 
you think?" 

I didn't dare complain, it could be worse. But Margo apparently did not feel 
the same. "It's horrible," she said with real feeling. "It's an absolutely 
indecent exposure, I don't like this. Do something else." 

Poor girl, I wondered if she really believed we had anything to say about 
our punishment. Hugo kissed us both, Margo too startled to protest, then 
went about his own affairs, leaving us to stand like a couple of storks. It 
wasn't a good situation for two naked girls. 

We each had a free arm and hand and looked at them in doubtful speculation. 
Our first act was to a make a dive for our fastened feet but our other tied 
hand were too high and wide. Our fingers could get nowhere near the ropes 
tightly knotted on our ankles. We might have gone to work on the ropes 
around our waists but that would rob us of stability. 

"I don't believe this!" Margo cried. "Is this the sort of thing he does all 
the time?" 

"I think he wants us to enjoy communion," I suggested. "Mostly you get tied 
to a tree or a post or chair, or spread-eagle on a bed. But Hugo does really 
try for innovations. I'll be he's watching somewhere through a peephole to 
see if we play with ourselves. I don't see why else he'd leave us this one 
hand." 

"I never play with myself," Margo affirmed proudly. "A girl has to be in a 
damned bad way before she resorts to that." 

"We are in a damned bad way, and he's made it so very easy" 

"You can do it if you want, I'll look the other way, I wouldn't have thought 
it of you. And you a lawyer." 

"Don't worry. I won't. Can you think of a way to get us free?" 

"I'm working on it. What about you?" 

"I never bother. Once a girl's been tied by an expert, she might as well 
save herself the trouble and a lot of chaffed skin. Margo, we're here to 
stay and we might as well make the best of it." 

"But I'm already tired of standing on one foot, and I'll be more tired every 
minute." 

"That's the way he wants it, dear. I recall you telling us you wished to be 
broken? A few hours of standing like this will at least get you bent." 

"A few hours!" She turned to me in pure horror. "He wouldn't dare!" 

"Why not? He owns us. If we get too abusive when he visits, he can always 
whip us again. He can make most effective use of one of those whips with us 
tied this way. I'm sure you can guess how." 

"You mean my pussy and my breasts! Oh, come off it, Diane, he wouldn't do 
such a thing." 

She pouted for a few seconds, then added. "Would he?" 

"Why not? It's probably the reason he keeps us the way we are. My pussy 
screams aloud for attention the way we are, and I expect yours does, too. 
Hugo has been damnably clever in leaving us this one hand and I'm damned if 
I know what to do with it." 

"Can you reach...?" 

She held out her hand invitingly. I tried but fell inches short of her 
fingers. 

"The best thing we can do is think of something we can talk about. We can't 
get loose. Come on, dear, think of something." 

We stood, raised wrists hurting, and the one leg on which we were forced to 
stand getting more and more tired of the weight it must bear. If we kicked 
our other leg, all we did was upset the one our ankle was tied to. We 
constantly reached around with our free arm in a quaint belief that surely 
there must be something we could reach or do. If there was, we never found 
it. After a while Margo fell into a trance-like introspection, and withdrew 
into her fantasies, while I thought of my office and being a lawyer. A 
lawyer stripped stark naked and bound against a wall with her leg pulled 
high to reveal her sex. Hugo returned sooner than I'd dared hope. 

My master and client probably has a foot fetish. Or next ordeal was to stand 
strapped as if to be whipped but with an ankle roped to its companion, so 
that Margo and I were still standing on one foot. The indecent exposure was 
the same as before and evidently pleased Hugo immensely. And I was not a bit 
sure about Margo's protests. I suspect she was getting a great, big charge 
out of the whole thing. I realized I would never be completely sure of 
Margo. Perhaps Hugo, too, would never be certain what went on inside her 
pretty head. Anyway, the two of us stood there with hands tight strapped and 
a single tied ankle, We simply had to endure this fresh bondage, since we 
could make no progress at freeing ourselves. We tried to be content with 
standing as a stork. Hugo's first visit proved unwelcome. 

Our master was all smiles as he surveyed his dual prizes, paying close 
attention to the area now exposed between our legs. He affected to sniff the 
air inquiringly before ceasing to be a gentleman. 

"You two girls stink to high heaven," he told us. "I absolutely have to do 
something about it or you'll chase me out of the room." He went outside to 
return almost instantly with a hose. I don't know where it was attached to, 
but when he turned it on, the water that came shooting out proved to be 
cold. 

He washed our naked bodies, paying serious attention to getting our exposed 
pussies very clean. The water was cold and the spray hard against our soft 
skins. I had wondered why there was a drain in the middle of the floor but 
just assumed it was a normal part of this basement. 

Hugo said little as he cleaned us. But what was there for him to say? He had 
come up with a new punishment, one that came under the category of 'good, 
clean fun.' Probably because he didn't want us to stand there dripping wet, 
he then fetched towels and rubbed our bodies dry, paying extra attention 
with the rough towels to our breasts, sore bottoms, and pussies. 

Then he left us still bound and standing nakedly exposed, and alone again. 

I will have to admit that my body responded to the toweling and the strong 
male hands on those erotic parts of my body. But I didn't admit that to 
Margo. I suspect she felt the same, to judge from the look in her eyes and 
those erect nipples sticking out. Strange how such rough treatment can 
excite a woman's body. 

Our master was in a mischievous mood and showed no hint of leaving off the 
punishment. When he returned his voice was thoughtful. "How about a nice 
spring clip on each of those pretty lips you're displaying? It would be a 
nice topic of conversation." 

It took me a moment to realize that he was talking about putting a metal 
clip on the very tender lips of my pussy, and that sent a shiver down my 
spine. I was pretty sure Hugo was teasing but behind the tease was a deadly 
possibility we might easily provoke. I though longingly of my office and the 
work awaiting me, and asked myself bitterly what a lady lawyer was doing 
naked and exposed like this. 

Somehow this had to stop. But for sure, that termination was not to be 
today! 

Hopelessly I said, "What you're doing to us now is bad enough. And remember 
we've both been whipped. Couldn't you go a bit easy?" 

Unpredictably as always, Hugo shrugged, kissed us both, and went away to 
leave a pair of nude females heaving vast sighs of relief. But we also had 
to be wondering what he might think up next. 

Margo's ankle and mine, tied together as they were and no way able to reach 
the floor, were a constant torment. The single foot on which we stood 
constantly hurt. Margo's own beef, when she came out with it, was a 
surprise, "Diane, do you remember that first evening in the restaurant when 
I asked to be broken? I said I was in no way a submissive but wanted the 
very thing most girls would hate - a cruel male hand?" 

"I remember" 

"Do I seem sort of silly to you now? Half the time I want to murder Hugo but 
the other half adores everything he does. Am I weird?" 

"Probably a case of too much too soon." I suggested cheerfully. "But it will 
sort itself out because freedom and you are going to be strangers for a long 
time. And whatever Hugo wants to do to you, he most certainly can, he's not 
likely to break bones or do the hot iron thing, but can certainly make us 
feel less self-reliant and certainly hurt us." 

"I've never been a submissive," I continued, "but if Hugo walked in here 
right now and offered to release us, I'd kneel and kiss his feet. I'm sick 
to death of having to stand the way we are." 

Margo sighed and shifted as much as straps and rope permitted. I forgave her 
for tugging at my bound ankle. "I don't think I could do what you just said, 
but I'd like to get out of this." Her voice suddenly changed. "But I love 
him as much as I hate him." 

"I know that feeling well." 

"I'll take your word for it, Diane, but please give me a bit of help. What 
am I?" 

"Just a girl who couldn't find anyone to play with. But finally you found 
Hugo. But I'll warn you straight, there'll be plenty of times you'll wish 
you hadn't. For instance, right now. Or isn't this bothering you?" 

"Not as much as I think it's bothering you. But I'm thinking, beyond now. 
Hugo and I haven't talked about time, but do you have any idea how long 
he'll keep me prisoner?" 

"I don't see why he'd give you back your freedom so long as you give him 
physical pleasure and are good to look at. I'd say at least ten years" 

"Ten years! It doesn't seem possible. But I can easy see how he can keep me 
as long as he likes. I've been watching for chances to escape but he's never 
given me the hint of one. He keeps me foxed one way or the other all the 
time. But there's another thing." She gave me a girl to girl glance. 

"He's sleeping with you right now, but when will he sleep with me? I haven't 
enjoyed lying in chains on the floor while you two make love. Honestly. I 
think you've got it good, Diane." 

The thought had never occurred to me. I'd yielded myself to Hugo's phallus 
and Hugo's whip because of an obligation I'd entered into. But the way Margo 
presented it made me think. For sure I wasn't enjoying what I was enduring 
at that moment, but there had been other things... ! I set that speculation 
aside to demand, "You don't really want to get free of Hugo, do you. Margo? 
If he pushed you out into the street right now, you'd feel let down." 

You can only bat eroticism around just so long until you find yourself going 
around in circles. I've long known it was just a case of men doing things to 
girls in order to find a prolonged pleasure not usually attendant upon the 
sexual act itself. For most men the act of sex is a brief ecstasy, easily 
spent and regretted. But to have a girl prettily bound and to whip her to 
your hearts content produced all the same sounds and emotions which extreme 
sexual satisfaction and excitement extracts from girls, Men with money are 
fortunate because if they don't get the thrill from us in one way, they do 
in another. 

Margo and I kicked the whole scene around while standing on one leg. The SOB 
made us stand like that for hours until we both shed tears of self-pity and 
were so glad to see him when he finally showed up that groveling on hands 
and knees would' have been a pleasure. At least it would have been for me! 

"May I ask both of your to join me for dinner at The Wharf?" he inquired in 
greeting. 

I said an immediate yes, but Margo simply stared. "You mean you'd let take 
me out in public?" she asked in disbelief. 

"Of course, why not?" 

The poor girl swallowed a couple of times before proving her innocence. "But 
I could run away, you'll lose me. Is that what you want?" Her voice was 
vivid with hurt. 

"You won't run away," Hugo said with assurance. "You'll return here with me 
and Diane and you'll ask me for your chains." 

In a belated realization of the chance being offered, Margo said a hasty 
yes, and added a thank you. I reserved judgment, knowing there had to be a 
hidden kicker in this somewhere. I was bound with more than chains but Margo 
was not. Our master took his time about freeing us, and we had to endure 
some more pussy frictioning before the return of hands and feet. We were 
sent upstairs to bathe and dress and do the things girls do before the 
temptation of a flirt with freedom. 

Margo and I bathed together, I had evidently earned her trust for she told 
me without shame of her intention to use this dinner date as an opportunity 
to escape. She had had enough, and Hugo's methods were either too harsh or 
her own tolerance too weak to continue on and make a career of being a 
slavegirl. I simply shrugged. It no longer mattered and my mind was 
engrossed with thoughts of a freedom of my own. 

My chance came sooner than I dreamed. 

CHAPTER EIGHT - Scarlet & Purple & Gold 

Everything was wonderful! The Wharf imposed it's magic and our master was in 
rare form as a host. 

I think even Margo forgot her resolve beneath his charm, the music, and 
food, and the subdued excitement forever seething beneath the surface of 
such ultra expensive restaurants. But when she went to the restroom and 
failed to return. Hugo shrugged without concern and sent me in search. I was 
still his slave until midnight and did as I was told. 

Margo was killing time in front of the big mirror. I sensed relief in her 
greeting. Clinging to me, she implored, "Oh, Diane, darling, tell me what to 
do. I got all ready to slip out the back way and go home when all of a 
sudden I wasn't sure I wanted to. Am I going crazy?" 

Hugo had given me handcuffs, the ones I loved. I took them now and 
possessing Margo's right wrist, clasp first one cuff and then the other 
snugly tight upon her skin while she watched without a single peep. When she 
stood looking at the shinning metal she could not escape, she accused, "You 
want me to go back to Hugo, don't you? Do you really thing it's what I ought 
to do? Diane, I'm lost!" 

I led her back to our table without saying a single word. To Hugo I remarked 
carelessly, "These are my handcuffs on her wrists, please don't forget." 

At the end of a long evening we returned home happily to our chains. It is 
said girls are crazy. 

As always, my office was a vast relief, and I determined to have a showdown 
with Hugo including a bold request to be released from my promise. Hugo now 
possessed another girl who was probably capable of far more amusing 
reactions than I, and he would lose nothing but a sulky girl who could serve 
him better as a lawyer than a slave. I was determined to do this in a 
friendly manner, if possible, but to do it anyway I had to. Margo served the 
dual purpose of taking my place and salving my conscious. I went to work 
with vigor and the vision of a fresh start all around. 

In the afternoon it happened! Andrew Everleigh did not bother to knock but 
walked in and took the client's chair with a casual assurance which told me 
I was in for trouble. He smiled in greeting and went straight to the point. 

"Miss Durrant, you're making a nuisance of yourself." 

My heart was thudding painfully. Visions of chains and dungeons were vivid 
in my mind. I could feel the force and power of this man. His attitude was 
calm and benign but there was strength and authority underneath the smile. 
With a levity I did not feel, I shot back at him, "Lawyers are supposed to 
make themselves a nuisance. Mr. Everleigh. Especially when their efforts for 
an out of court settlement are ignored." 

Uncle Andrew cocked an amused eye; after all I was only a female who had 
been a slave who, when given authority, had scorned it and took flight. I 
wondered if I was on the verge of being kidnapped once again. 

"You're a good girl and not a bad lawyer," he ventured. "Constance and Betty 
both like you, and Elizabeth Lord phones my secretary every day, hoping 
you'll return. You're in demand." 

He was up to something and I had the feeling I'd find out what very soon. 
Striving for composure, I asked, "Did Elizabeth return to her husband or 
have you got her in a dungeon?" 

"She's back home and thinks she's won the toss." Uncle Andrew chuckled. "Her 
old man has a few things up his sleeve for her she doesn't know about. So 
have I. Your beloved Elizabeth is marking time until your return," He gave 
me his familiar searching glance. "How about this afternoon?" 

Fear clutched at me like a live thing. I cursed myself for a fool to ever 
believe Everleigh had forgotten me, or would let go of his hold. I hardened 
my voice and tried to keep the trembling out of it. "I'm through will all 
that, Mr. Everleigh. You can't walk in here, like that and whisk me away. 
The only business you and I have is Hugo Markham's claim." 

"Damn it, girl, I like you! I'd describe you as a mixture of the stuffily 
erotic, mothballs in one hand and a horse whip in the other. Will you come 
quietly or do I have to take steps?" 

"I've no intention of going anywhere with you, Mr. Everleigh. Now, about the 
claim...?" 

Uncle Andrew was never dull. What he took from his pocket now widened my 
eyes - a pair of golden handcuffs. "Left wrist, Diane." he said calmly, 
"Stick it out." Even as I obeyed I knew myself a fool but there was 
something hypnotic in Uncle Andrew's eyes and his billions were an invisible 
presence, like a ghostly army of armed men. "Had these made expressly for 
you, Diane. Nicely feminine but fully functional. You'll enjoy the way they 
feel." Carefully he fitted a golden jaw around my wrist." 

Everleigh was right. The jaw closed with almost soundless clicks to invade 
me with sensations. The metal was smooth as silk and fitted my wrist to a 
perfection ordinary handcuffs never achieved. They were warm from Uncle 
Andrew's pocket, and when the second cuff followed the first, a sensual glow 
possessed my being. Striving hard to remain a lawyer unaware of heat within 
her loins. I icily inquired. "Aren't you being childish, Mr. Everleigh?" I 
got no answer. Sarcasms ran off Uncle Andrew like water off a duck's back. I 
was aware of disadvantage and retrieved my gold-encircled wrist. 

"It's not pure gold, you understand," Everleigh apologized. 

"There's special steel beneath that pretty surface. Gold is a rather soft 
metal and we can't have you getting them off without permission. When you 
want to wear them properly, let me know." 

Aware of being played with. I nursed my gold and felt a fool. I tried not to 
think of wooden boxes equipped with straps such as I think I had made my 
last trip to Rockley in. "Surely you don't expect me to walk around in 
public with those things on my wrists, do you?" I asked bluntly. 

"You're forgetting I have a private car and a private jet," Everleigh said 
gently. "The people who will see you once those things are behind your back 
could care less." 

"Behind my back!" 

"Certainly not in front, can't have you making an unseemly fuss." 

Once more the fear. It would be so damnably easy. Andrew Everleigh's vast 
wealth would capture me and make me a prisoner with an ease to make me 
shiver. But my tone was sulky, "You've just lost a pair of handcuffs, Mr. 
Everleigh. Unless you wish to take them off right now?" I offered my 
gold-encircled wrist. 

"I've got a place in the Bahamas where I intend to keep you prisoner, Diane, 
my dear." Uncle Andrew was patient. "I could take you back to Rockley but 
that's a too familiar scene. What you're going to find in the Caribbean is a 
return to the old days of slavery on the sugar plantations with the rolls 
reversed. It's you who is going to be the slave and cut the cane." 

"You're dreaming. But please don't let me interrupt." 

He was enjoying himself and continued his discourse in a cultured Scottish 
voice. "There's everything there to revive the ancient days. Your jailer 
will be a mulatto and I'll put Constance in residence to look after things 
between my visits. I'll be regarding this as something of an experience so 
I'll keep an eye on you. When I think you're sufficiently abject. I'll take 
you a step further." He spared a truly warm smile. "The question is. Diane, 
do you come willing or do you insist I use force?" 

"The whole thing is too ridiculous to consider." 

"I would like you to walk willingly into this new segment of your life 
clothed in nothing but those handcuffs. Even if I am long in the tooth. I 
still have an eye for a beautiful naked girl in chains. 

I know you understand." 

"Could we return to the legal business of Hugo's claim, Mr. Everleigh? I 
find your fantasies distasteful." 

"Ah, yes, business! That poor boy's claim and the nuisance you've been 
making of yourself. As a concession to you personally, Diane. I'll make Hugo 
Markham an offer of one hundred thousand dollars." 

"That's in insult." 

"If you willingly yield to my car and plane, I'll raise it to a million." 

I tasted victory but was still a lawyer. "Two million is the barest minimum. 
And that's only a fraction of what he claims is his right." 

No one could win with Andrew Everleigh. From an inside pocket he withdrew 
some folded papers. "I have everything here, ready to sign. I figured on the 
two million, so everything is in order. It will need Markham's signature." 
Everleigh spread the papers out flat on the desk and looked me squarely in 
the eye. "I'm not really settling a claim, Diane. I'm buying you. These 
documents won't get my signature until I have you safely handcuffed and 
firmly committed to being once more my prisoner. What do you think of that?" 

"It's crazy! No lawyer would sell herself into slavery to settle a client's 
claim. Mr. Everleigh, please give me a break." 

My plea was waved off. "We all know the unusual circumstances relevant to 
what we are about to do." Uncle Andrew said, evenly. "You're probably half 
in love with Hugo Markham, but remembering when you were at Rockley, I'll 
make a shrewd guess you're getting hot between your legs. Now about that 
situation in the sunshine I've just offered... Believe me, it has intriguing 
possibilities for you. And let's not call it slavery but a special vacation. 
And you're not my prisoner, but my possession. I value you, Diane." 

"I sell myself without receiving a penny!" 

"You'll have no need of money, not ever again." 

What a package, the most incredibly messed up situation any girl could face. 
I knew Uncle Andrew was easily reading my mind, knew also it would be 
useless to protest, but I was still female. "What you've told me of this 
'situation in the sun' sounds horrible," I said. "Would you care to tell me 
more? 

Something that might intrigue me just a little?" 

"You're already intrigued, my dear. No, I'll tell you no more, you'll have 
to take me on trust, the same as at Rockley. But get this straight, Diane. 
I'm offering you a deal. Two million for the settlement of Markham's claim, 
and I'll sweeten the pot with a trust fund of a million for yourself. I 
don't know when you'd ever use it, but in your state of mind it will give 
you comfort." He winked a wise old eye. "Money cures everything for 
lawyers... Doesn't it!" 

I sat there stunned, gold on my wrist and a million dollars hovering before 
my eyes. I'm only human and I am female. When Uncle Andrew pushed the papers 
at me and rose to leave. I felt a feminine anxiety. "You can get Markham's 
signature on these. And when you're ready to yield yourself to me and wear 
those handcuffs properly, you can give me a call at the number you'll find 
on the letterhead. 

When you hands are safely locked. I'll hand you the trust company's 
certificate for your million. But I'm damned if I know what you'll do with 
it." 

Uncle Andrew raised my golden hand and kissed it and then was gone. 

For long after my would-be owner closed the door I sat in dazed elation. 
Even though the price might be my freedom, I had obtained for Hugo his 
heart's dearest wish. With my own bribe, I had won three million dollars for 
us both. And for the life of me, Andrew Everleigh's outline of his Caribbean 
island and my place thereon simply was not real. Somehow the absurdity would 
iron itself out with Andrew Everleigh proving himself an English gentleman 
and keeping me as his guest, perhaps prettily retrained, in some ancient 
estate for a month or two or three... What did it matter. I had a million 
dollars!" 

In this state of euphoria I phoned Hugo. I expect I was incoherent for he 
arrived in record time and the first thing he said was, "What the devil' s 
that thing on your wrist?" 

I told Hugo about the whole thing and showed him the papers. 

We read the papers carefully and found them in good order. There was nothing 
cheap about Uncle Andrew. No matter how I tried to keep them out of sight, 
the golden handcuffs constantly intruded until Hugo produced the universal 
key. He unlocked one cuff and swiftly fastened it again on my opposite 
wrist. "If that old bastard thinks he's going to steal you away, he has 
another thing coming. If it means parting with you, I don't sign a thing." 

"Two million for you. Hugo? One for me; It's very handsome" 

"Piss on Everleigh's millions. He thinks he can buy anyone and do anything. 
He's not getting you, and if we loose the millions, so what!" 

Hugo was always surprising. His declaration now sent a wave of heat 
throughout my body. We had never spoken of love but had fallen into an easy 
friendship that was warmer than I had realized. But while this left me 
wildly exhilarated on one hand, it deflated my enthusiasm with Everleigh's 
millions on the other. Breathlessly I suggested, "Let's get the money, Hugo. 
And let him play out his fantasy with me. If I'm not back in three months; 
you can do something. I'll leave you my million to look after expenses, if 
there are any. I won't be having pockets or handbags." 

"You mean that old fool wants you naked!" 

"Well, yes. Let's go along with him for the three months. Or if you don't 
like the three months, make it two. Anything you like." 

"You're getting horny just thinking about it. You want to go." 

Hugo was hurt. 

It's difficult for a handcuffed girl to hug a man but I did my best. I was 
beginning to feel like the most wanted girl in the USA but I was torn 
between loyalty, love, and dollars and cents. When Hugo led me from my 
office, I did not resist. It was one of those times when a girl is thankful 
for a man knowing what to do. When he got me home, he stripped me bare and 
cuffed me by one wrist to a ring in the wall. Hugo decided to go and make 
coffee while I did what he described as 'think it over'. 

I didn't want to think, what I wanted was a terribly expensive dinner in a 
plush restaurant to clear my mind of millions, Caribbean prisons, and the 
question of what to do next. I had stood there several minutes before 
realizing Hugo had relieved me of decision: When I absent-mindedly started 
for the bar to mix a drink, I was abruptly reminded of my status as a slave 
girl It was a very gorgeous feeling of belonging to Hugo and hoping he'd 
keep me locked up and safe. After the restaurant, of course! 

"Get any ideas," Hugo asked when he returned with coffee. 

"No, I'll leave the whole thing to you. May I please sit down?" With an air 
of long suffering. 

Hugo took me from the wall but locked both my hands behind my back. All I 
had gained was the privilege of sitting beside him on the couch, but I was 
grateful for even that. He helped me with the coffee while thinking aloud. 
"I don't see how that old devil dare kidnap you. He knows I'd raise a 
stink." 

"You wouldn't do that if you thought he'd take it out on me. Hugo, dear, 
let's be realistic. And, please, may I have my hands?" 

"The idea of him holding you like that is preposterous. The whole thing is 
preposterous. And, no, you can't have your hands." 

"Where's Margo?" 

"I've got her tied to the pole downstairs. A few hours of that won't do her 
any harm. Look, sweetheart, if this old Scottish bastard wants a girl to be 
mean to, let's give him Margo?" 

"He doesn't really need girls, Hugo. He's got a prison loaded with them in 
Rockley. For some reason of his own. I've aroused his erotic instincts and 
he wants me and no one else. Hugo, I'm scared." 

"So you want to sell yourself for three million bucks? Is that it?" 

"Not really. But I thinks it's best if I go with him. If I don't, he'll take 
me by force and I'd hate to be strapped up tight in a crate or getting a 
needle jammed into my arm and waking up goodness knows where. Just two or 
three months...?" 

"No. You belong to me. We'll show this old goat there's something he can't 
buy. But can't we show Margo to him, he might like her?" 

"Go ahead, Hugo, introduce them but you're running the risk he'll take her, 
too. There's nothing cheap about Uncle Andrew." 

"I'd phone the old fart if I didn't think he was bluffing. But if he's 
playing it straight it would tell him where you are. In your frame of mind, 
I can't trust you, Diane. You'll stay the way you are. I like it." 

"But, Hugo, you've got me naked and helpless. Don't you understand it makes 
me a package ready for picking up if he or some of his boys broke in here." 

"That isn't going to happen. But if it did, they'll have to kill me first. 
And then take you anyway. The worst enemy is yourself and this erotic dream 
he's planted in your mind. That's what I have to protect both you and myself 
against. If I take you out to dinner, will you promise to come back here 
like a good little girl afterwards?" 

"Of course, Hugo. I'd love that. But are you sure you don't want all that 
lovely money. I mean, I will do all you tell me but it seems to me a shame 
to pass up three million dollars." 

"Damn it, girl! I'm no slave trader. I'm not selling you or any girl for 
cash. Can't we take my claim to the courts and get the money that way?" 

"That's still uncertain, Hugo, dear. But I think it would be less uncertain 
indeed if I allowed Uncle Andrew to get possession of me." I bestowed a sly 
glance of assessment. "I don't think we have to call it 'selling me'. 
Couldn't we sort of think of it as renting me out? Or, better still, renting 
myself. 

I'd love you to have all of that money... Master?" 

Hugo was only slightly mollified. He kept my hands cuffed behind my back 
until it was time for me to dress. And even then I knew he hated to free me. 
I was not allowed to have a look at Margo, she was not included in the 
dinner plans. For a girl who wished to have her spirit broken, she was 
getting her money's worth. 

Considering I was a girl contemplating indefinite enslavement, I enjoyed 
dinner very much. But Hugo was morose and was having a hard time sorting out 
three million dollars, his integrity and the possession of my person. The 
hell of it was I couldn't help him but had to be touched by his evident 
concern for my welfare. He kept muttering about me being locked in dungeons 
or being beaten half to death and then being handed over to a bunch of 
blacks for their enjoyment. I told him he'd been reading too many novels. 
And there we stuck. 

Everything had changed. Or should I say Uncle Andrew had changed everything! 
I no longer wanted to sever my ties with Hugo. In choosing between the two: 
Hugo or pending enslavement. Hugo won hands down. He had me and he could 
keep me so far as I was concerned. If he didn't want his two million 
dollars, that was his affair. It sounded simple and logical but I knew it 
wasn't. Hugo might truly believe he could best Andrew Everleigh, but I knew 
if it came to a tussle of wits, or money, or sneakiness, he didn't have a 
chance. I didn't bother to ask myself what the hell I really wanted myself - 
I didn't know! 

Hugo's male ego insisted I be naked and handcuffed on our return home. And, 
if that pleased him, I wasn't going to argue. The golden handcuffs had taken 
my fancy and felt good upon my wrists. I had missed them at dinner and felt 
sure I would recapture their magic when they bit again. I went straight to 
the lounge to undress and pour the brandies while I still had hands. But 
once inside the door I stopped in my tracks in surprise. 

Margo Hammil stood against the wall, her wrist was locked to the ring in the 
manner by which slavegirls were parked. I had never seen her more radiantly 
happy. 

Sitting comfortably upon our couch was Constance and Andrew Everleigh. They 
had found the brandy and seemed well content. Hugo went straight to the 
point, "Get the hell out of here!" 

"Don't be angry," said Uncle Andrew soothingly. "We've only just arrived and 
had a pleasant chat with the young lady over against the wall. This brandy 
is not at all bad, and, in case you're interested, I have a key which fits 
most doors. Please do sit down." 

Hugo could probably have made mince meat of Uncle Andrew but that would 
solve nothing. I smiled at Constance who, smiled right back, but it was to 
Uncle Andrew I spoke. "Mr. Markham doesn't want to accept your offer, and he 
doesn't want me to, either. The papers will be returned to you. I'm terribly 
sorry." 

Uncle Andrew sipped the brandy with appreciation. I dragged Hugo to a chair 
then sat on his knee and put my arm around his neck in a way I had never 
done before or even thought of doing. It's strange how you can sleep with a 
man without really becoming intimate. Uncle Andrew was not fazed. "I suspect 
you're doing that for my benefit," he suggested slyly. "I was young myself 
once but look back on it as a bit of a bore." He looked at us mischievously. 
"Oh, by the way, there's been a change of plans." Hugo's tension eased 
somewhat. "I've come here." continued Uncle Andrew, "to take delivery of 
Diane Durrant. But when we looked around we discovered Miss Hammil tied to a 
post downstairs. She explained she is partial to such treatment so I've 
decided to divert her to my castle in place of Miss Diane Durrant. I'm sure 
you approve?" 

We approved but dared not say so. There are times when fate is just too 
kind, and you wonder if the axe is still about to fall. Hugo asserted his 
position as a host with a declaration, "I'm glad you made that decision, Mr. 
Everleigh. I had considered that possibility myself. Miss Hammil is a most 
charming woman, appreciative of any kind or length of rope. But so far as 
Miss Durrant is concerned, she is my property and I intend to keep her" He 
sounded a bit pompous but the speech went over well. I refilled glasses and 
good will flowed. 

Darling Margo was given a half glass of brandy which she immediately drank 
down on an empty stomach, ignoring the possible effect. "It's a nice idea to 
leave a slavegirl with one hand free to do the chores and look after 
herself. Margo behaved delightfully and did not even ask to sit down. She 
was excited as all get out." 

"I am taking Miss Hammil to the Caribbean to fill the position intended for 
Miss Durrant," said Andrew Everleigh calmly. "I contemplate a mutually 
satisfactory association." 

"I hope you'll be very happy," said Hugo. 

"You really don't mind?" I spoke directly to Margo. "Gosh, no. I can hardly 
wait!" I suspected the brandy was beginning to take affect. 

"Constance will make sure she will not be whipped beyond her capacity," 
Uncle Andrew said regally. "Should you wish to visit, please feel free to do 
so at any time." I shivered as might a maiden delivered from a snake-pit but 
inquired. "There was the matter of money, Mr. Everleigh. What are your 
feelings on this matter?" 

The ancient billionaire was in a benign mood, probably due in part to Hugo's 
brandy, partly to the beauty and incredible figure of Miss Hammil. He said, 
"If Mr. Markham will be kind enough to sign the documents. I will attach my 
own signature and the transaction is complete. You will receive your check 
within a few days and may I wish you every happiness." He mused 
thoughtfully. "Should your conscience bother you about Miss Hammil, please 
feel free to visit my estate and satisfy yourselves her chains are not 
heavier than she can bear." He smiled lovingly. "You may also inspect the 
other delights to which she will be subject. With all the money you'll 
receive, you may wish to fill in a bit of time in your retirement." 

I suddenly realized I possessed hands, and with breasts and other parts 
still covered. I got off Hugo's knee and knelt in front of the man who held 
us all in the power of one hand. I couldn't make much of a speech but said, 
"'Thank you, oh, thank you!" over and over again, and meant every word until 
Constance interposed. 

"I'd be glad for a length of rope, Diane, if you've got one handy. I like to 
tie a girl's elbows tight behind her back when she's in transit. The poor 
darlings get such silly notions of escape." 

As Constance went about her task, I watched in a fascination prompted by 
memories of biting rope, shinning steel, and the delightful pain that comes 
from extremely tight strictures. If Constance's predication about Margo ran 
true, she would have fought, but she did not fight. Instead she stood very 
erect as her wrists were locked behind her back and her elbows bound in what 
I knew had to be a most painful constriction. When she asked for one more 
brandy, I wasn't sure whether to give it to her. 

But Andrew Everleigh nodded and I held the glass to her lips. She gulped 
down the potent liquid and I knew that, at least for the first part of her 
journey, she would be feeling no pain. In fact, she looked as if she would 
be enjoying the experience immensely. 

Uncle Andrew took the floor, "This whole business of possessing slavegirls 
is extremely basic and its origin is way back in history. Possessing a 
slavegirl, or several slavegirls, is a desire inherent in every male. Every 
home should have at least one, or perhaps more according to the man's 
substance. At home, at Rockley, I have a considerable collection in a cage. 
I am sure Diane has told you of it. A strange facet of this wish is that no 
matter how many we have, we are always prepared to purchase one more. I seem 
to recall that King Solomon owned three hundred of the little dears, or was 
it a thousand. I forget. It is a precedent we should no ignore." 

"Look here, Sir, you don't intend to be cruel to this girl, do you?" 

Hugo was once more being Male. 

"Don't disturb yourself. Mr. Markham. Slavegirls enjoy a certain amount of 
cruelty and despise a master who never uses a whip. I am sure Diane will 
acquaint you with female inclinations upon request. But I suspect you have 
already dealt with this subject. I have little doubt her skin is marked." 

I suggested we retire to the office and sign the papers, mostly to inform 
Hugo that we should quit while we were ahead. Uncle Andrew couldn't be on 
his way too soon. If I hadn't known Margo was in her heart's delight, I 
would have tried to do something, but what the hell can you do for a girl 
who would fight you if you tried to free her? Margo was still tight bound 
against the wall with a slightly silly smile on her face. I could tell that 
she was getting high on more than just the brandy and envied her such a 
great love of pure bondage. I mean, I like being tied, but she adored it! 

We signed the documents with a fine flourish of satisfaction and Uncle 
Andrew and Constance departed with their prize. It was the biggest sigh of 
relief I'd ever heaved. 

"Good gosh, that was a streak of luck!" Hugo said happily. 

"Damn it, this is a lot better than I'd ever dared hope. Sweetheart, are you 
okay? I mean your conscious doesn't bother you about anything?" 

"Only about Margo, but there's not much we can do about her. She sold 
herself." 

"Don't let's drink too much of this stuff, Diane." Hugo's suggestion was 
close to an order. "I don't want to get looped because I'm feeling the 
strain of all this emotion and tensing myself up tight for your honor. Or 
something... The way I feel right now... " 

"I am sure I know the way you feel." I was way ahead of Hugo. 

Emotional trauma always makes a man long for intercourse, or to whip a 
girl's bottom. Usually it's both. "Okay, I won't complain. Should I strip?" 

I stripped, then held out my hands to be bound. I was excited and under 
pretty much the same influence as my master, the man who now owned me 
safely. But Hugo waved away my passive wrists and, grasping a handful of my 
hair, propelled me downstairs to whatever fate his male caprice might favor. 
I was meek as a lamb. 

"You know I want to whip you?" 

"Of course! I'm your property." 

Hugo fixed my hands above my head, well stretched but not too high. I would 
be able to kick and struggle to my heart's content as he appeased his demons 
with weals upon my skin. When he strapped my wrists far tighter than there 
was any need. I found myself enveloped in such a flood of sensuality as to 
cause my breasts to heave and my lips to gasp in a totally illogical ecstasy 
of pure lust. I was every bit as bad as Hugo! 

I had expected to be savagely flogged but in this was wrong. 

Hugo was in a conversational mood to say nothing of having a huge erection 
which explained his fingering and palming of my pussy. The whole thing was 
delicious, and I refused to think of pain to come or how I would behave. I 
had put such maiden modesty behind me long ago. 

"Are you happy, sweetheart?" Hugo asked. It was a ridiculous question but he 
was sincere. 

"I'm so happy I want to cry," I told Hugo without a single tear. 

"It's knowing you want me the way you do that makes me feel this way. You 
know I hate being whipped, but I want it right now in a way I've never 
wanted it before. Don't bother about my screams." 

My nakedness was suddenly enveloped in Hugo's hot embrace. I could feel his 
phallus longing for my sheath but contentedly knew it would be waiting when 
all else was done. I was the luckiest of girls! In a ridiculous mood of self 
immolation, I asked, "Are there other things you'll do go be besides the 
whip?" 

"Like what, for instance?" 

"Well, a girl can't ever be sure. Maybe stringing me up by my thumbs? Or 
making me sit on the edge of a plank the way you've told me about. I don't 
want it. I'm just asking." 

"That's where you're wrong, sweetheart." Hugo bit my ear and thrust hard at 
my bare belly as my breasts rubbed against his shirt. "You've never wanted 
anything more in your whole life than what you know you're going to get. I 
expect we should both thank Uncle Andrew for this moment. Are you ready?" 

"I've been ready for a long time. Please whip me, Hugo." 

Hugo whipped me with five swift, wicked strokes as if he could not contain 
himself. I knew he was thinking of Margo and wishing he had not so easily 
surrendered a guiltless girl to Andrew Everleigh's tender mercies. If my 
pain eased his, I was content. I tried desperately to tell him how I felt 
but could only get out gasps and moans as I dealt with the pain as best I 
could. After the fourth stroke I began screaming. 

It was a wonderful beginning. 

"I've marked you enough, Diane," Hugo said regretfully after the eight 
stroke across my burning bottom. "This is the third time you've been whipped 
in a few days. We're going to have to seek fresh ground. Spread your legs 
apart." 

I wondered if I should be grateful. It had never been Hugo's idea to whip me 
now, and when I had asked for it, I had also forgotten how severely marked 
up my bottom already was. What he was about to do to me probably made good 
sense, but as I widened my legs apart, I felt ten times more naked than 
before. When I had got my legs as far apart as strapped wrists permitted. I 
asked timidly, "Is that okay?" 

"Splendid, really splendid! You're a wonderful girl, Diane. Look, if you 
want me to stop right now. I will." 

"No, go ahead." 

The first upward cut between my thighs told me I should have stopped while I 
was winning, I knew Hugo would not stop now, having once given me the 
opportunity to retreat. I whimpered distressfully as this fresh burn spread 
venom through my secret place and beyond. The temptation to close my legs 
tight was almost irresistible, but I forced myself to stay wide and open. I 
coped with the agony by tugging with the straps and moaning. 

"Pretty bad?" Hugo inquired sweetly. 

"It's bloody awful but don't mind me." I held my breath for thong's second 
delivery of pain. 

He gave me five swift, hard strokes up inside with a small whip he said was 
made especially for that purpose. I took his word for it. That little 
instrument punished me with an almost personal viciousness. 

At the end of five, I had screamed a couple of times and was sweating. I was 
given permission to stand straight for a short period of rest, during which 
I failed to think logically of anything expect the fire Hugo had created 
within my crotch. Once more I was comforted by male arms and male lips, and 
a punished girl's hope of a speedy end. When Hugo did his familiar cupping 
of my pussy with his hard male hand, I went absolutely wild. "Sweetheart, 
you can't possibly get away, you know," he reproved gently. 

"I know I can't. I'm sorry Hugo. Jeepers, that hurts!" 

"Spread them again. This time you'll know what to expect." 

I did as I was told. What the hell else could I do! By the end of the second 
series of five, during which I screamed lustily, Hugo came around to stare 
at my sweat drenched breasts and scarlet thighs. 

"Haven't you had about enough, sweetheart?" 

I had had enough and was suddenly and unexpectedly freed of the straps and 
being carried up to bed. 

If I had harbored doubt about the ability of my poor, beaten pussy to 
perform the sexual act, they were scattered to the winds in a surging flood 
of sensual joy beyond any response I had ever given any man. If the fire had 
burned low in the night. I would have asked to be whipped again to make its 
flame flare. There was no need. In the morning I spent time before the big 
mirror admiring myself like a peacock. Scarlet and purple were much in 
evidence arid I did not have much desire to sit down. 

Hugo shared my pleasure, and it was not until after we laughingly argued 
about who mixed the pigments and applied them to my skin that we suddenly 
realized I was not handcuffed and bore no bonds at all, an omission 
instantly corrected by the golden handcuffs I was beginning to adore. 

Happily, we went to breakfast to talk about our three million dollars. 

"I owe it to you, Diane," Hugo said earnestly. "Whatever Everleigh's 
interest in paying me may have been, without you being who and what you are 
it would never have happened. Look, sweetheart, you're a wealthy girl now, 
and I'm wondering if you want your law practice or to be my prisoner?" 

"I don't see why we can't continue as we are, with me being your prisoner 
one day and your prisoner the next. Remember, you've lost Margo. You don't 
want to lose me, too." 

"Damn it, you know I don't. But I can't go on whipping you every other day." 

"I could probably heal swiftly enough to cope with five strokes on alternate 
days, Want to try?" 

"Okay, it's a deal. But, Diane, what about the rest of the time? Won't it be 
a frightful bore to be handcuffed or tied to the wall?" 

"Until it happens. Hugo, I really don't know. I know what it's like for a 
few hours or a day, but you and I are now talking long term. In a way, we're 
planning a marriage." 

"You want me to marry you, I will?" 

"No. Hugo, don't be silly. Getting married would spoil the whole thing. Wait 
a while. If I get bored with the things you do to me. I'll tell you fast 
enough. But it should be understood that won't mean you have to stop. If it 
happens, it's a problem I'll have to cope with myself." 

It was delightfully intimate sitting there over breakfast. I made as much 
play as I could with the golden handcuffs on my wrists and knew the costly 
circlets were getting us both excited. 

Hugo had a problem he had to voice. I had come to know him pretty well, and 
when Hugo had something on his mind. I could sense disquiet. I sensed it 
now. 

"I've been thinking about Margo and old Andrew Everleigh." he admitted. "I 
should never have allowed him to take her away, any more than I could let 
him grab you. I let him jump to a false conclusion." 

"'But, damn it. Hugo. I've never seen the girl happier. Why worry about 
her?" 

"Uncle Andrew thinks he's got himself a delightful nymphet who will glow and 
twinkle and wiggle in his ropes. And he has. But I discovered something else 
about Margo he probably won't like. 

Whenever she gets her hands and feet free, she puts up the damnedest battle 
to escape. It's for real and she almost has to be beaten into submission. 
You and I know that's what she wants, but Uncle Andrew doesn't and that's 
what bothers me." 

"Don't worry, Hugo. Constance can deal with her. She dealt with me without 
any trouble." 

"Margo wants it done by a man. She doesn't want a mistress, she wants a 
master. You know that. What's going to happen is the two of them will be at 
cross purposes. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if he brought her back 
and wanted you instead. It's you he's always wanted." 

"Hugo, stop worrying." I raised my hands and clinked golden bracelets. 
"You've got me and we're going to have ourselves a wonderful time. Damn it. 
Hugo. I've made you a millionaire, so stop worrying about a girl who doesn't 
know what she wants" Hugo brightened up, got himself another cup of coffee, 
and then started off in another direction. "It's damned rummy, Diane, the 
way you and I have started off in this business of ropes and whips and 
chains. Not too long ago neither of us had heard of such things. And we 
would have scorned them. 

But everything thats been happening to us has gradually made us addicts." 

"I like it. Stop worrying the same way I've stopped worrying. Let's talk 
about buying me a pillory and a set of stocks, and when I'll get whipped 
again. Real fun things!" I sparkled at my master imploringly. 

We tossed worry to the wind and became a very happy couple. But Hugo had 
planted a seed of unease in my mind. I was scarcely conscious of it then but 
it was to grow and flourish. I wore the golden handcuffs all that day. 

CHAPTER NINE - Prisoner of San Jancith 

It is hot in the slave pen. During mid day I seek refuge in a tiny bit of 
shade afforded by one concrete wall. There is the strangest smell about the 
place but since I perspire almost constantly, I am wondering if it is not a 
relic from the days when fifty chained woman might be locked in this 
enclosure, and I can well imagine what the smell was like then. Like Uncle 
Andrew said, this whole place is a relic of ancient times. 

If I had my hands I could probably climb out of this enclosure but I do not 
have my hands. I don't even have those lovely golden handcuffs, but instead 
my hands are tight bound with some kind of rawhide strip and I've chaffed my 
wrists almost rare with my futile twisting and tuggings. But what the hell, 
there's nothing else to do! 

The walls of this enclosure are part concrete, part stone, and a lot of 
stout timbers spaced enough apart to give no chance of wiggling through. 
There is also a latticework of rusted iron and an iron-barred gate with a 
fresh, shinning new large lock. I am a prisoner for sure. 

The name of my female jailer is Juanita, she is stronger than I and can 
handle me easily. Constance doesn't bother much, I think she is ashamed of 
seeing me in this condition. There is also a grinning and amiable black man 
who will rivet heavy irons upon my limbs when the time comes. I am given to 
understand there will be a sequence of ordeals such as the one I endure now. 
No one will tell me what the end of it may be. 

Needless to say, I am naked. It's a blessing I have been naked as much as I 
have for the sun would burn to a crisp any girl who's skin was freshly 
stripped of covering. The name of Uncle Andrew's tiny island is San Jancith. 
There are other similar little rocks sticking out of the water, but here on 
this bit of rock, he owns he has all the privacy he wants. I don't have a 
hope. 

I haven't even seen Uncle Andrew this trip. After issuing the order by which 
I am now his captive, he went about his affairs and left Constance to do his 
dirty work. I think I have been cheated and swindled, but until I can talk 
to Uncle Andrew I can't be sure. Constance says the least I know, the 
better. 

Even this enclosure is better then the dungeon I was briefly shown, I think 
they wanted it to be a warning, along with the pile of rusty chains which 
would have held an elephant. At least here there is open air and I can see 
though the various slots what goes on outside, and sometimes Jacob passing 
on his errands. Sometimes he even says a few cheerful words. Juanita is 
cheerful enough, but she goes around naked to reveal her magnificent curves 
and wears a belt from which dangles a wicked looking quirt. 

This whole thing stinks and I have to feel bitter and betrayed as I seek a 
bit of shade and press bound arms against stone. The walls are at least 
seven feet high and I look at them in longing and in a fury of anger that I 
cannot free my hands. Juanita must have faith in her knots, which I suspect 
are wired, since my wrists are the only restrains she has imposed. But even 
if I could climb the wall, I'd still be on an island, and I'd probably be 
given a very bad time for trying to escape. I'm up the creek for sure! 

When I sit in the hot shade at noon, I think back to how this all happened. 
It repeats over and over in my mind in disbelief at the defeat right on that 
first day when Margo walked back into my office after a five day absence The 
poor girl had proved unworthy of Uncle Andrew's chains and was thus sent 
home in disgrace. Her first question was if she could go back to Hugo 
Markham and be his slave forever. There was a letter from Uncle Andrew but 
Margo knew the terms anyway and was all too willing to provide graphic 
descriptions on request. The letter was simple and direct. If I didn't 
immediately get on a plane and go to San Jancith, I would be kidnapped 
within twenty-four hours and would make the journey strapped within a stout 
wooden box. Poor Margo was frightened of the man. I wrote a brief, 
heart-broken message to Hugo and went straight to the airport. If I was 
chicken, then okay, I was chicken! 

I had never been to Hemingway's 'Island in the Gulf' and would have been 
thrilled to death had I not been going to my imprisonment. I had Margo's 
fervid assurances of kindly treatment with maybe a week or two's captivity 
and one real, honest-to-goodness whipping before being sent back home. I 
think she believed this but I did not, so I've only myself to blame for 
being naked in a slave pen with my hands tied behind my back. Oh, shit! 

I think of Hugo a lot and feel I've let him down. Hugo would want to fight 
Uncle Andrew but I know better. My meek surrender to his ultimatum wasn't 
being weak, it was simply a choice between going in a box and making the 
journey comfortably in a first class cabin, the ticket for which he had 
thoughtfully included with the letter. The ticket was for one way. 

It was a let down finding Uncle Andrew gone but Constance was kind. "I'm 
afraid he wants you as a prisoner, dear," she explained with seeming regret. 
"There's no use telling you to go back home before you get fixed so you 
can't go anywhere. This is an island and you're here to stay. I hate the 
things you'll have to put up with and it's Juanita and Jacob who will follow 
their orders and make your life uncomfortable. But they're an amiable couple 
and won't hurt you beyond whatever instructions Mr. 

Everleigh has left with them. You're a most courageous girl. If I'd been in 
your place, I would never had come here willingly." She shrugged. "But you 
are here so that's the end of it. Mr. Everleigh has left a program of 
punishments I'm afraid you'll have to endure until he comes again." She 
suddenly clasped me to her and kissed me warmly as though I was a relative 
going far away. "I hate the things Juanita has to do to you but there's 
nothing I can do about any of them. Forgive me if I don't see you too 
often." 

I suppose that was the beginning. Juanita had taken charge of me. 

She stripped me naked and tied my wrists the way they still are tied. She 
then took me to see the dungeon, and anther equally horrifying stone room in 
which there were all sorts of horrible devices for punishing a girl. If they 
were not actually ancient, a simulation had been artfully achieved and I 
noted with cynical suspicion that every orifice was small sized and would in 
no way accommodate a male. 

The slave pen was actually a relief when she pushed me inside and closed the 
gate. Wanderings within the mind keep prisoners from going nuts. I keep 
thinking of Hugo and the golden handcuffs, and of Margo, who would certainly 
be tightly bound at that moment. And she would be getting a fine, wet snatch 
out of what is not really punishment at all. I hope Hugo knocks her around a 
bit, it would serve her right. As for myself. I don't know if I'll be moved 
on to my next ordeal tomorrow or left in this enclosure to rot a few more 
days. I wonder what Andrew Everleigh gets out of treating me this way. But I 
suppose he occasionally thinks of me tied in here like this, and feeds his 
ego by knowing he can keep me thus or turn me loose. Such power should not 
belong to any man! 

Juanita is probably as bored as I. She decides my hands have been tied 
behind my back long enough and I deserve a change. She unlocks the gate and 
leads me to where Jacob and his tools await. I am still bound and she guides 
my steps by grasping my hair and shaking my head to tell me I must behave. I 
remember Hugo using this trick on Margo not long ago. It is wonderfully 
effective. 

Jacob is waiting with his hammer, his anvil and rivets heating in the fire. 
I get carefully fitted with an iron belt just a little too small, and then 
held down to enable a glowing rivet to be thrust through waiting holes in 
the brutal iron and hammered flat. It is the beginning of a fresh control of 
a young woman who used to be Miss Diane Durrant, a lawyer. 

At the back of the iron belt there is a ring and through this ring there is 
a chain. And at each end of it is a shackle for my wrist. Once more I am 
pushed and twisted into a desired contortion. Once more a glowing scrap of 
metal is thrust through waiting holes and I cringe as the hammer strikes it 
flat. The same thing now is done to my other wrist. When I am allowed to 
stand free. I discover that I can pull one hand up enough to scratch my nose 
but the other hand is then pulled up tight to that ring at my back. I can 
feed myself with a painful indignity. San Jancith is certainly striving for 
a historical atmosphere. These iron shackles are certainly not the same as 
smooth, efficient handcuffs. 

"You is nice and comfortable, missy," Jacob assures me earnestly. "You not 
get loose but you do not hurt." 

"You'll probably wear then until the Master returns," Juanita explains. "I 
think they're cute and you look nice in them. Miss Durrant. Nice and tight, 
heh?" 

They are indeed 'nice and tight.' The snug grip of the irons falls just 
short of pain. Remorsefully I explain, "You don't have to keep me ironed 
like this. I'm not an animal, and I can't possibly get off this island." I 
hoped my voice sounded close to tears. 

"We can make it much worse for you, Missy." Juanita assures with a smile. 
"Would you like Jacob to iron your ankles and maybe rivet a collar around 
your neck?" Her tone is sugar sweet. 

I hasten to disclaim desire for additional iron, and assure them both of 
gratitude for the way I am now. Good gosh, if I was once a lawyer, no one 
would know it now. 

I get put in a different pen. I think Juanita is trying to be kind within 
the limits allowed my Uncle Andrew's wishes for my discomfort. This pen is 
pretty much the same except a tree grows in one corner. But this tree will 
be a real boon at mid day. I have to feel I have met with approval and am 
moving up the ladder in some one's approval. After Juanita has locked the 
gate and left. I went to the wall to experiment to see if my new bondage 
will permit me to climb. It won't! No matter how I pull and tug my chained 
wrists back and forth through the ring. I cannot get the use of both my 
hands to attempt a climb. I am as foxed as ever. But if it was not for the 
terrifying solidity of hot rivets hammered flat, I could feel better off 
than with my crossed and bound behind by back. I go and gratefully sit in 
the shade of the small tree and wonder what will happen next. I don't have 
to wonder what I will do. I can't do anything! 

A few hours later Juanita tells me it is time for change and I follow, her 
hand grasping my hair. Once more it is to the smithy and I am devastated by 
what the fact portends. "But I haven't done anything!" 

I cry aloud. "I don't deserve to be punished any more, or have to wear more 
chains. Juanita... 

Please!" 

"You are not to worry. Missy." Juanita assures with an easy confidence 
because she knows it is not she who will be hurt. "It is believed what you 
suffer now will make you very good girl." 

"But I'm already a very good girl. I haven't given you any trouble!" 

"That is true. Please do not complain. I will punish you. It is something I 
am allowed to do." 

She thrusts me towards the anvil and Jacob's waiting smile. 

The bondage now grasping my middle and hands would have defeated me for a 
hundred years but swiftly falls victim to Jacob's hammer and cold steel 
punch. My chains are taken off, but my freedom is short-lived as Jacob 
places on the anvil some heavy, rusted shackles. I am invited to kneel and 
place my wrists within the awaiting jaws. Juanita grasps my arm and I kneel. 
But I ask plaintively, "Do you have to use this miserable rusty iron on me? 
Haven't you anything that isn't a couple of centuries old?" 

No one answers. Since my wrists are now where they belong and I kneel humbly 
to await the hammer, Jacob closes the tiny but wickedly solid shackles 
around my wrists, and pounds happily away while I wince with ever blow and 
long to cry. When my second wrist joined to my first by only a couple links 
of ancient iron, I know myself well constrained. It is only a beginning. 

Since I already kneel, it is convenient to deal with my neck next. 

The collar is the right size for my neck, although snug. I am now even more 
frightened of the hammer blows which rivet this circlet. It seems so 
permanent to have cold iron hammered on, knowing that there is no way I can 
ever free myself from it. I notice a ring is firmly attached to the collar 
at the back and my spine goes cold at the possibilities inherent in that. My 
ankles are treated in the same manner as my wrists. I am given a box to sit 
on while my feet go up to the anvil. I see everything and hate it all. To 
make sure I don't get too far up the wall, my ankles and wrists are joined 
by other chains that keep my hands from raising above my waist. The sheer 
weight of what I must now carry is daunting. 

It is now difficult to walk and I am terribly helpless. Chain seems 
everywhere upon my nakedness and I make a frightful clatter as Juanita leads 
me to what comes next. I have already guessed what that is. 

Juanita did not call it a dungeon. But it was a stone chamber beneath the 
surface of the land and it's small amount of light came from a couple of 
tiny windows high on the wall. I was led in to where a heavy ring was set 
into the wall with heavy chain trailing from it on the floor. The end was 
now padlocked to the ring at the back of my neck. I was now so ridiculously 
constrained that it might have been laughable. To an observer, perhaps, 
certainly not to me. 

The door would have held me safe. The rest of the metal was pure punishment. 

"Maybe not for many days," Juanita encouraged before she left. The weight of 
links I was forced to carry caused me to sit against the wall where I could 
hold them. The iron was a real drag, particularly that on my neck, the 
collar with its chain falling to the floor was heavy enough to compel me to 
grab whatever of it I could to ease the stress. Comfort was not possible but 
I finally arranged my array of irons to make them bearable. With nothing 
else to do I counted the links as a nun counts her beads. Uncle Andrew was 
being a real ripe bastard! 

I was left alone and even while it was still day the ghosts crowded the 
hateful place to make me realize I could be left there forever. I tried to 
think of cheerful things and to assure myself of early release but the 
chains and rivets and appalling weight of iron mocked optimism. I cried a 
bit and forced myself to get up and walk whatever steps the chain to my 
collar permitted. It was generous in its length but what good was that? 
Always I was back there to my seat by the wall, wondering why the hell I'd 
been such an utter fool. I countered this dismal reflection with the 
knowledge Uncle Andrew would have had me kidnapped anyway and I'd still be 
right here, secured as I was. I hope my shockingly marked skin would absolve 
me from the whip for at least a week. 

I had a strong suspicion Uncle Andrew phoned daily to have Juanita tell him 
of my ordeals and the way I behaved. I knew there were a lot of men who 
would get a big charge out of that but wondered if Uncle Andrew was too much 
of a senior citizen to be one of those. But you never know, even with men 
possessing a lot of gray hair. And Uncle Andrew would not have surprised me 
had he taken me to bed and proved himself as potent as the rest. I was 
infuriated by the thought of my providing one of the richest men in the 
world with a little sexual titillation at long distance. 

There's something truly frightening about irons when they are riveted on 
your ankles and wrists. The knowledge that only a smith can free you from 
them gives you a cold feeling in the pit of your stomach. As the beastly 
dungeon grew darker as the day faded, I remembered all those tales of men 
and women imprisoned for life in a place like this, and weighed down with 
chains. But I was positive I couldn't handle it. I would die or go crazy. 
Already I longed to scream against the ghosts hiding in the shadows. I was 
the saddest and most frightened girl in the world. 

Juanita came just before it became pitch black. I could tell by her manner 
she was anxious as to how I was handling my frightful solitary confinement. 
Anxiously she asked, "You okay. Miss Durrant'!" 

"I suppose I'm okay, but I wish I was dead." 

"You like to get out of here?" There was mischief in her voice. 

"You know damned well I would like to." I retorted. "Juanita, these chains 
and this place will kill me in short order." 

"If you ask me nicely to whip your bare, skin. I'll take you to Jacob right 
now and get rid of all this iron. Would you like that?" 

There it was again, the same old theme! But even if the whip killed me, it 
would be better than remaining where I was. I wasn't sure about Juanita's 
humor, so said unhappily, "I've been whipped almost to bits. I'm covered in 
whip marks. I shouldn't be whipped again so soon." 

"There's always room for a few more marks on a girl's skin," Juanita 
suggested cheerfully. 

"And, anyway, there's most of your front that hasn't been touched yet. And 
there's always the soles of your feet. Cheer up, Miss Durrant, if you ask me 
nicely I'll have you out of here in no time." 

I refused to think about the screams and scorched skin, and dutifully in 
shame, came out with. "Please whip me, Juanita, whip me anywhere you wish if 
it will buy my release from these chains and this prison... Please?" 

My shameful begging for something I did not want evidently was considered 
'nice.' I was helped to stand up and my jailer kindly carried a part of the 
weight of my chains as I was led back to the magic anvil. I forgot all about 
the whip, and where it might be used on me as I watched the striking hammer 
and punch. In disbelief I soon stood totally free with Jacob admiring my 
nakedness and Juanita telling me how brave I was to keep so still. I could 
have run away but what was the use! 

What happened then was one more surprise. The lovely chains now produced had 
modern locks and sheen of bronze. They weighed far, far less than the awful 
irons Jacob had just struck from my nakedness, and the collar that went with 
them was not hard to bear. The shinning links at wrists, and ankles made me 
feel like floating on a cloud even though they held me as securely. 

"But shouldn't you have whipped me first," I blurted out. "before putting 
these on?" 

"I am a tease." Juanita sparkled at my surprise. "You do not get whipped 
today at all. And not even tomorrow, Miss Durrant. I was having fun with 
you." 

"You won't put me back in that dungeon?" 

"No, you are free. You can walk out of this house and anywhere you want upon 
this island. 

These chains make sure you cannot swim and make it easy to fetch you if 
needed." She raised my shackled hand and kissed it. "The night is warm, 
sleep where you please." She thrust me towards the passage and the door. 

It was always too much, too soon. I tinkled and clattered as I walked, my 
ankles snubbed constantly by their chain, but walking was possible. I felt a 
tremendous exhilaration as I wandered out into the Caribbean moon and warm 
night. My hands had been chained in front and, even though the links were 
few. I was not nearly as helpless as before. My heart sang in gratitude, 
which was sort of silly considering the way I was restrained But the island 
of San Jancith was beautiful in the pale moonlight and the phosphorescence 
of the surrounding sea. I tripped constantly but couldn't have cared less. 
My thankfulness for being out of that blasted dungeon was intense. 

I clinked my way around in the magic night of San Jancith. I followed one of 
the foot paths to a ridge which I climbed with difficulty but was rewarded 
by a truly gorgeous view and a comfortable place to sit. I arranged my 
nakedness and chains to cup my hands beneath my chin and gaze longingly 
across the silver sea to where other islands were plainly visible. If boats 
traveled these waters, I suspected they stayed well clear of Uncle Andrew's 
island. I hated to leave the loveliness on which I gazed but it would be 
there tomorrow and the day after, so I found a collection of fallen leaves 
which I gathered into a pile to give some comfort to my contours, and went 
to sleep. In the morning I was ravenously hungry and, since the ancient 
house with its dungeon and goodness knows what else, was the only source of 
food, I returned and sought Juanita and Constance who shared the breakfast 
table with me as though I was an honored visitor, making no mention of my 
chains. After the final cup of coffee. 

Juanita unlocked the shackles from my wrist and told me we would go for a 
walk. 

I pointed out I couldn't walk very fast with joined feet, but she laughed 
and said it didn't matter, we had lots of time. Constance didn't say 
anything. 

Juanita held my arm, as much to keep me from falling as to keep me moving in 
the direction she wished. She chatted busily about how she admired Uncle 
Andrew and Constance and loved the tiny, rocky island. We followed a 
different path from my journey of the night before. It led us to a pleasant 
little green area shaded by widely spaced trees, a little glade in which it 
would be easy to hear the pipes of Pan, and the laughter of the maidens he 
pursued. Dead center there remained a grim reminder of human hand, an 
ancient pillory. A small green vine wrapped around the heavy vertical post, 
giving the appearance of age. Like other things I had seen on this island, 
it was just girl sized. 

Juanita detected my distaste and the slowing of my steps. Her voice because 
a soft authority. "It is desired for you to stand here for a period of time 
I cannot tell. If you do not wish to help me fasten you, I will get Jacob 
and Constance to help me lock you safe... Please. Miss Durrant?" 

What the hell could I do! I could fight and get fixed anyway or be a good 
little girl. It was Uncle Andrew's ultimatum about a kidnapping all over 
again. I understood now why my hands and arms were free. I raised them 
disgustedly to place my wrists and neck where the pillory would hold them 
fast. I could not fail to note the clean and shinning surface in the holes 
in the wood. I wondered if this had been done on my account or if other 
girls had recently stood in this pillory to appease Uncle Andrew's quaint 
sense of humor. I did not ask, but arranged my hair to the best advantage 
along my cheek. 

"Is this the way you want me, Juanita?" 

The answer was instant. The upper yoke was carefully lowered upon my waiting 
neck and limbs where it fitted perfectly. I turned sideways to watch Juanita 
click the huge iron hasp and huge padlock. 

I was fixed for sure. 

"I expect you would now like to scratch your nose, Miss Durrant." My jailer 
laughed. It is the first thing a girl wants to do when she is fastened as 
you are fastened now. I will do it for you and then go." Her fingers were 
soft upon my skin. 

"How long do I have to stand like this?" I asked unhappily. 

"I have told you. I do not know. Miss Durrant. But there are worse things 
then standing as you are now. The worst part of it is to be left alone, and 
so I say goodbye." She tilted my chin and kissed me on the lips. 

The sound of Juanita's retreating steps soon vanished. I soon felt like I 
was the only living thing in the world. The glade was pretty and very still 
but offered very little in the way of a view. Since I couldn't stand fully 
erect. I could see only the grass and shrubs close by. I had to suppose the 
reason for placing the pillory in this isolated place was to give a girl the 
shivers in a constant bout of apprehension as she stood awaiting the touch 
of unseen hands. It was a lot better than the dungeon but I was fixed so 
firmly as to be frightening. My hands mocked me in their helplessness. 

It was probably a couple of hours and I was becoming tired and a little 
scared when I heard footsteps behind my naked back, and Constance came into 
view. She looked at my condition approvingly, then kissed my forehead with 
genuine warmth before finding a chunk of wood on which to sit. Her greeting 
was forthright. "I'm glad you're out of that dungeon, dear. If Juanita had 
kept you there much longer, dear. I would have had to do something about 
it." There came a long pause. "But I don't like the way you're being treated 
anyway. I suppose Mr. Everleigh had his reasons but he's a strange man and 
treats his females in strange ways. Honestly, I don't like to see you locked 
in that pillory the way you are, naked and with your feet chained. And I'm 
sure you're imagining all sorts of horrors about to happen." Looking at me 
earnestly, she added. "I really have to do something about it." 

"You mean you're actually going to let me loose?" 

"I can't do that, dear. You have to be punished, and this is about as mild 
as punishment as you're likely to get. I'm afraid you'll have to put up with 
it. I'll make sure Juanita doesn't leave you here all night. What I want is 
something more constructive, so I've phoned that nice Mr. Markham and told 
him where you are and how to get here. But he's not likely to get her until 
late tomorrow or the next day because of the connections he'll have to 
make." 

I was enveloped in a flood of gladness and showered my, benefactor in 
thanks. 

"I like you, dear," Constance continued in explanation of her acts. "I liked 
you back at Rockley with all those silly girls we had to look after. By the 
way, the girls are still there. Why don't you ask Mr. Everleigh to give you 
back your old position there. I understand Elizabeth Lord is scheduled to be 
a prisoner there again, you liked her, didn't you?" 

"But won't you get into all sorts of trouble if you let me free? If Andrew 
Everleigh discovers it was you who told Hugo where I am?" I shifted 
anxiously against the pillory. 

"Mr. Markham would have discovered where you are anyway, it would simply 
have taken longer. I can't tell what sort of pickle Juanita will have you in 
when he arrives, but I'll guide his steps some way or other. And no one will 
ever know you were not rescued by your knight in shinning armor." 

"But if Hugo gets me off this island and back to New York, Uncle Andrew will 
just have me kidnapped again, or give me another of those propositions where 
I can come quietly or else. I won't come here quietly again, I just won't! 
Oh, Constance, you're being so kind." 

"I really don't know about him kidnapping you again," Constance admitted 
slowly. "I do know you've got under his skin some way, quite probably no 
more than some minor thing you've done. Or it could just be he likes the 
idea of having a lady lawyer naked and handcuffed for his amusement. I 
wouldn't worry too much about it, dear, because I've seen him interested in 
a lot of girls he soon forgets. Usually he sends them away with a nice 
check. I don't know why he sent the two of us here, but I suppose it's some 
sort of fantasy he has. If Mr. Markham comes to rescue you, you'd better run 
and don't stop until you're far away from here." 

"You can count on it. But, in the meantime, you sure you can't let me out of 
this beastly contraption?" 

"It wouldn't be wise, dear. You can put up with it for a few hours. Look, 
Miss Durrant, it's time I was back at the house. And, anyway, you're 
supposed to be left alone. And try to stop worrying." 

She kissed me gently and vanished beyond my range of vision. 

Solitude returned like an ancient enemy. Once more I went through the 
fruitless exercises of looking at my hands, trying to twist my neck against 
the hard wood, and gazing as best I could at my limited view. It was a 
delightful view I was in no condition to enjoy. I kicked one chained foot 
fretfully against the other, and relapsed into a state of helplessness. 

It may have been an hour or perhaps two before I heard the sounds to send 
shivers up and down my spine. Someone was coming, someone I could not see, 
but someone I instinctively felt would bring me no good. The steps were 
bold, there was nothing small about them. When I knew their owner was 
standing close behind my pilloried nakedness, I had no time to ask a 
question before my head and shoulders were enveloped in a sizable square of 
cloth. Even though it failed to blind me totally, it did prevent me from 
seeing what now took place. There came the unmistakable fitting of the key 
in the padlock, followed immediately by the lifting of the heavy metal hasp. 
Still in sinister silence, the cloth was whisked away by a hand behind my 
back to leave me blinding in amazement and hear running footsteps 
retreating. I stood tense and waiting and not instantly aware of 
possibilities. 

It was a breathless moment when I tried to move but felt defeat when my tugs 
and twistings discovered the pillory as solid as ever. It was another minute 
before I realized that I had pulled instead of lifting. It was not easy 
pushing the heavy wood upward with the backs of my wrists but I managed to 
lift it far enough to get one hand turned around. Then it was easy to lift 
it the rest of the way and find myself standing there, arms and head 
completely free. 

I didn't run, my feet were still chained, and, anyway, there was nothing 
from which to flee. I stood there, happily rubbing wrists and neck, and 
examining the ridiculously large lock in which some friendly hand had turned 
the key - or was it a friendly hand! Enveloped in a joyous feeling of relief 
and release, I clinked my shackled steps to the bit of wood on which 
Constance had sat while we talked. I sat there too. 

I had hands and arms and about half use of my feet. But even though almost 
physically free, my mind was a turmoil of confusion. Not so much over who 
had set me free, but why? And what to do now? I was still a prisoner on the 
island, and any exploration I was to do would have to be done with short 
steps. Chained feet prevented me swimming and the obvious thing to do was to 
make my way back to the lovely old house, which for me had not been lovely 
at all. Whenever I thought of it, I saw only that damned dungeon and those 
beastly chains. I might be driven there eventually by the need for food, but 
until that time I would explore the shoreline in the hope of finding some 
sort of boat, even a rowboat. Or perhaps waving at any vessel that should 
venture close enough to see. If someone on the island was watching and 
laughing at my plight, they were welcome to look. I had little doubt I was 
the focus of an experiment, but with a tremendous sense of adventure, I rose 
and kicked angrily at my chain. 

It was not the first time I had walked with shackled feet, but I had ever 
become used to it. At least I did not fall on my face. Resigned to my 
metallic handicap, I clinked my way towards the sea. 

It was very beautiful but very hopeless. I actually discovered a small jetty 
to which was attached a motorboat. Unfortunately the boat was attached to 
the dock with heavy chains and padlocks, no doubt placed there for the 
express purpose of preventing just what I was planning. 

I may not have been able to use the boat to escape, but exploring the cabin 
brought to me a small fridge in which I found a couple of sandwiches and a 
chunk of cake. I devoured them hungrily. 

Feeling better, I continued on my search. 

It was quite useless. I found no rowboat, nor were there any craft out on 
the ocean. When night came I still feared a return to the big house and 
consigned myself to sleep beneath a bush. In the morning, while I was still 
rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the awfulness happened. Something was thrown 
over my head and shoulders by an unseen hand. It's drawstring was drawn 
tight while someone thrust me to the ground, knelt on my back, and proceeded 
to bind my hands and arms. My wrists were crossed and corded tight in a 
manner I knew all too well. This done, and with me floundering helplessly, 
swift fingers unlocked the fetters from my feet. I was hauled erect and 
strong hands propelled me forward toward a blind destination I could not 
guess. 

The whole thing had been done in silence. Now, as I was forced to walk to an 
unknown fate, I pleaded and questioned to no avail. By the sound of the 
ocean I assumed I was being taken to a boat. 

Hot sand under my feet told me we were walking over a sandy beach. We 
stopped within the sound of surf while hard male hands positioned me to some 
sort of male pleasure. Suddenly my ankles were looped with rope. 

I couldn't do a thing except complain and question and twist against bound 
wrists. The cording of my ankles had been swift and deadly. They were tied 
to something that was solid and unmoving, about a foot apart. Hands steadied 
me as I teetered in this new bondage. Then, with me standing helpless, those 
hands explored my breasts, finally moving down to take possession of my 
defenseless sex. This male mauling was of short duration in what I had to 
suppose was carnal enjoyment of my charms. 

Suddenly the hands were gone and I heard the sounds of feet running back 
towards the island. I stood alone. 

It was strange and frightening to stand as I now stood and wonder what came 
next. It was almost a minute before I realized the drawstring of the 
blindfold was loose and it took me another couple of minutes of tossing and 
twisting my head to get rid of the bag. Blinking in the brilliance of a 
sunlit stretch of sand, I looked down to where my ankles were tied tight to 
an ancient rusted anchor no one had found interesting enough to haul away. 
It weighed a ton and held me as firmly as it might once have held a ship. I 
twisted tied wrists but soon gave that up as hopeless and took a wider view 
of my surrounding. 

I was tethered on one of several such beaches on San Jancith. 

No human being was in sight, and I scanned the tree line in a certain 
conviction that someone was watching. No doubt my behavior in this bound 
solitude would prove of interest to a watcher I could not see. Since I was 
evidently here to stay for a while, I gauged the possibilities of sitting 
down but was frightened to take the chance for fear of breaking an ankle or 
being unable to get back on my feet. 

The safest thing was to stand and become a well behaved but tired little 
girl. I guessed that was the purpose of the exercise, but my guess was 
wrong. 

The sea was the sea, and I had no reason to hope for a rescue from the wave. 
I had stood in blatant bare exposure for an hour before realizing the import 
of the tide, the lapping and receding wavelets were now far closer than 
before. My heart contracted in fear as I read the message in the contours of 
the beach, mostly the line marking the highest intrusion of water upon the 
sand. The sharp slope on which I stood bound would insure my becoming victim 
to the rising tide. I screamed for help. 

Reason told me I would not be left to drown, but right then I wasn't much 
concerned with reason but only with the surge of surf as each wave thrust 
its dark water and foam higher on the sand. Now, with me all too conscious 
of my fate, the water's advance was more rapid. Soon the first wavelet 
lapped my toes and I knew myself fastened thus to drown. Again and again I 
screamed for help, my voice lost in the vast ocean and long beach. None 
heard my cry. 

I was alone. 

CHAPTER TEN - Lost Liberty 

It was not long before my roped feet and the rope itself were below water, 
making the binding doubly terrifying as though my feet were in the grip of a 
marine monster. Bound wrists forced me to stand while the water rose higher 
along my legs with each new surge. I searched around but found no one. 

It seems useless to recount the agonies I endured as saltwater engulfed my 
knees, crept relentlessly up my thighs. By the time it took possession of my 
sex, I was a sorry girl indeed and could feel, or imagine, numerous small 
sea creatures exploring my flesh. I tore constantly at the binding on my 
wrist to no use. I stood there, a jerking, naked offering to Neptune, 
fearfully conscious that some beastly undersea creature would insert itself 
within my pussy lips. I had never felt more female! 

Soon my belly and bound hands were taken by the tide, and almost instantly 
the cords upon my wrists seemed to shrink and bit in an ever-tightening 
embrace. As an extra strong surge of surf wet my breasts, I screamed and 
screamed without ceasing until a cheerful West Indian voice reassured, 
"Don't take on so, Missy Durrant. You is in good hands, and I soon get you 
back them pretty feet." 

There was a splash as Jacob dived and then a knife was busy at my bounds. In 
a moment I was able to step back from the iron anchor to face my grinning 
rescuer who led me to dry ground but made no effort to free my hands. I did 
not care. I was so damned thankful I could have cried. 

You can imagine my feeling as I beheld Uncle Andrew comfortably seated in a 
deck chair high up on the beach, viewing me through binoculars through which 
he must have viewed my whole ordeal. 

Jacob brought me to stand before the Master like a wet felon before a judge. 

The tone of Andrew Everleigh's voice was conversational enough for an 
English rose garden. "I don't suppose you'll ever forgive me, Diane," he 
said gently. "But I simply could not give up the opportunity to watch you 
cope with the Caribbean. You put on a marvelous show." 

Suddenly I was on my knees, head bowed, weeping bitterly and uncaring of the 
words fighting for expression within my lips. The whole thing was 
involuntary to leave me without shame but knowledge of being possessed by 
this man with his power to sit quietly and survey a poor, wet, broken female 
as she though she was about to die. My relief and gratitude was beyond 
expression. But I had no doubt another ordeal was already planned. 

After allowing me to sob myself out. Uncle Andrew wiped my cheek and raised 
my chin to plant a warm kiss upon my forehead. Thus encouraged. I asked 
meekly, "Could I have my hands, please? I feel an awful mess." 

"No hands for you, my girl. You make a beautiful picture the way you are. 
Right now you'd be a glorious subject for a camera. Don't you dare get up." 

I didn't want to get up, I didn't want to move at all, but was content to 
kneel as if in homage to the man who's eyes, less fierce than usual, was 
devouring my nakedness, the nakedness which I could not hide, and which, no 
doubt, belonged to Andrew Everleigh. I asked weakly, "Please don't have me 
punished anymore. I've had enough." Once more I bowed my head. 

A silence grew, a silence in which I could feel Andrew Everleigh's 
satisfaction with my condition but saw within my own mind a vision of my 
nakedness stretched tautly for the whip and several other assorted horrors. 
At that moment I would have found the solitude of the dungeon and chains a 
merciful blessing. I never wanted to see a man again. 

"I intend to marry you, Diane," said Andrew Everleigh. 

I was jolted! I heard a voice from far away say, hopelessly, "You can't 
marry me, I'm going to marry Hugo Markham." 

"Like hell you are!" Andrew Everleigh did not even raise his voice. 

"Hugo and I have had an understanding for a long time. I thought you knew." 

"Understand, my arse!" Everleigh said coarsely. "That boy has never owned 
you the way I own you. Don't tell me you've failed to guess why I bothered 
with such a contentious bitch?" He eyed me. "I'm not sure I understand why 
myself. You need your ass whipped at least once a week to keep you from 
reverting to torts, and statements of claim. But that can easily be 
arranged, along with any other disciplines you earn. I hope you're 
flattered." 

Damn this impossible man! I actually did feel flattered in the way he took 
for granted. Married to Andrew Everleigh, I'd become one of the richest 
women in the world. I could well believe a multitude of young women would 
gladly suffer the permanent pains of sitting down as a small price to pay 
for the privilege of being rich. In evasion, I demanded, "Do you have to 
keep staring at my pubic hair?" 

"It's not your pubic hair, my gal, it belongs to me, and I'll look at it as 
often as I like. I'll keep you naked after our wedding long enough to get 
you properly adjusted to me looking at any bit of you I want. Is that 
clear?" 

"I don't believe any of this, it can't be happening. If you ever did get me 
to the altar, you'd have to tie me tight and whip me into saying yes. I'm 
sure that won't happen." 

"It can be easily arranged, if thats the way you want it." Uncle Andrew 
chuckled. Then his voice became less stern, "But that's not going to happen 
tomorrow. I've got several jobs for you to do first." 

Any bit of euphoria I felt vanished right there. Uncle Andrew's 'little 
jobs' would almost certainly be painful, and the last thing I wanted at that 
moment was any more of the outrageous notions men have about what they want 
to do to females. When I was much younger I used to suppose a girl's 
ultimate joy or degradation lay up inside the soft spot between her thighs. 
But Hugo and Uncle Andrew had shown me this was but a prelude to the main 
events, the last of which had placed me here upon my knees in shameful 
humility. I asked. "I don't see why you bother with me. You've got a great 
big cage filled with girls much younger and more beautiful than I, and 
there's those other girls on Plessious I expect Naomi would allow you to 
play with, should you chose. Compared to those little tricks at Rockley. I'm 
ancient." 

Andrew Everleigh heard me out, his voice became more reflective and 
tolerant. "You sell yourself short, Diane. When I first met that lady 
lawyer, all I wanted to do was cane her rump. Every action you took on 
Hugo's behalf made me want to do it more and more." He laughed down at the 
anxiety my face betrayed. "But the Estate got you involved in things you 
never dreamed of. You got yourself involved in all things which benefit a 
wench like you. You've been punished, imprisoned, shamed, and broken, and 
the effect of it all has been to put beauty in your face, and finely hone 
that lovely body into a man's desire. Diane Durrant, you're a beauty!" 

I was mollified and wondered if what he said was true. Anytime Andrew 
Everleigh said something kind, I got shivers and thrills up and down my 
spine to a degree I despised. But the feelings came from someplace deep 
inside. I was still wet and messy from my trauma on the beach and said 
sulkily. "So, okay, you find me attractive, and you want to marry me and 
whip me the rest of my life. Does that make sense?" 

Everleigh waved our discussion into limbo. Jacob helped me to rise then fell 
back respectfully as we made our way to the house. I felt shockingly untidy 
in front of this man who I knew I had to please, and who I wished to please 
if it didn't hurt too much. Longing to tidy my hair, I asked, "Are you sure 
you wouldn't like to untie my hands? I sure could use them." 

My plea was ignored. Uncle Andrew did not believe in females possessing 
their own hands unless performing chores. I was handed to Juanita who bathed 
and attended to me prior to delivery at the dinner table where Uncle Andrew 
sat in State. I was forced to my knees beside his chair, a leather collar 
strapped around my collar, and from it a leash attached to one leg of the 
table. It was a very short leash! My master thrust food into my mouth 
whenever the thought occurred, and as we ate he talked. If I would have had 
a tail to wag, I would have made the perfect pet. 

"This young buck. Hugo Markham, he's a bit of a nuisance," my master said. 
"According to the advice I'd had, he's due here this evening, probably after 
dark. I expect he has a plan to rescue you." Uncle Andrew chuckled. "He'd 
call it a rescue but it's pure theft. He'd be stealing my property." 

"You're not going to hurt him, are you?" 

"Just send him away with his tail between his legs, I'll allow you time 
together if you wish." 

"Yes, please! I want that, I want that very much." Kneeling, tethered beside 
his chair I dared not disturb the great man as he enjoyed his food. He 
passed me enough to keep me munching. There was a hidden something in his 
voice as he spoke of Hugo and I, but I knew it useless to ask. I'd find out 
soon enough, whatever this extraordinary man had up this sleeve. After 
dinner we took a brandy in the lounge with me still kneeling at his knee and 
sipping as he might choose. My master steered the conversation from 
dangerous ground to subjects which held my interest until, as darkness fell, 
Jacob came to politely inform, "All is ready, Sir. It is the time." 

The servant observed my plight with deep approval. The night air was warm as 
Jacob led me from the house and down the fine flight of stone steps to where 
massive stone pillars stood like sentries guarding entry. They were all five 
feet high, and to one of them was attached something I recognized all too 
well. Once again Uncle Andrew was going to score. 

Jacob carefully clicked the collar shut around my neck. It was plenty tight 
and from it trailed the inevitable chain, just long enough to allow me to 
either stand or sit He felt called upon to explain, "Is special steel. 
Missy, very strong!" 

"I'm sure it is, Jacob. Anything else?" 

"No. Missy, you just enjoy the starlight and maybe go to sleep." Alone, I 
tested my tether. It's anchor was a solid ring about half way up the pillar, 
thus enabling the short chain around my neck to reach down far enough for me 
to sit, or up far enough for me to stand. But I couldn't walk away. 

Disgustedly I sat, not bothering to think of escape. There would be no 
escape for Diane Durrant until her master chose to turn a key. For a few 
moments I considered trying to fray the cords around my wrists by rubbing 
against the comer of the stone but simply didn't bother. What the hell was 
the use! 

It was an hour before I discerned Hugo striding towards the house in the 
starlight, obviously a man with a mission. 

I stood erect at his approach and, with his first exclamation of surprise, 
turned my back and flapped bound hands in a silent plea. When the cords were 
cut away, I turned and threw my arms around his neck, and whispered between 
kisses. "Thank you, thank you, thank you. I knew you'd come." 

"What's the silly old twit been doing to you now!" Hugo demanded angrily. 
"Don't tell me he keeps you like this all the time!" 

"It's just a collar and chain, Hugo, dear. And, of course, tied hands. Uncle 
Andrew is a great believer in tied hands behind a girl's back. You got 
Constance's message?" 

We exchanged our news in hurried whispers as if it mattered. Uncle Andrew 
was probably watching us out a window, so what the hell! It was not long 
before Hugo said, "Let's get you free of this damned chain. There has to be 
a way." 

I didn't answer but my heart was beating fast and hard as male fingers 
explored the metal by which I was held captive. "I figured on something like 
this," Hugo said. "I've brought along a pair of bolt cutters. I'll soon have 
you loose." 

The bolt cutters Hugo had were impressive, magnificent steel jaws and long 
handles. I began to hope as I thrust myself against the pillar to hold tight 
while he snared the topmost link of my chain. I heard him grunt as he 
exerted all his strength. Nothing happened! 

"I'm afraid it's some sort of special steel, Hugo," I ventured timidly. 

"I don't care what it is, I'm going to get you loose." Hugo readjusted the 
bit of jaws to the other end of the chain. "The dirty old son of a bitch!" 
he exclaimed as this effort proved equally without result. "I'll see if the 
damned thing protrudes the other side of the pillar. Just hold your horses." 

It was all quite useless. Hugo tried every way there was even to the point 
of having me lay down and endure the pain of inserting the blade beneath the 
collar. The collar defeated him as did the chain. 

That effort broke the handle of his bolt cutters, leaving him cursing and me 
fingering the sore spot on my neck. If Uncle Andrew was watching, I was 
certain he would be laughing. 

I suppose I'd never expected Andrew Everleigh to let me get away. 

My disappointment was only half of Hugo's anger. He threw the broken bolt 
cutters to the ground. 

"There's nothing for it but the police. I'll get back to the mainland and 
lay a charge against this old bastard and put an end to this damned fool 
slavery business for end. I've allowed it to continue too long already. 
Look, dear, if I leave now I can get back before daylight. Can you hold 
out?" 

Poor, dear Hugo! I felt terribly sorry for him in his male impotence. He was 
seething with fury. With my arms once more encircling his neck, I whispered, 
"Hush, darling. It won't do a bit of good to go to the police. They'll never 
act against Andrew Everleigh, and he's capable to turning them against you. 

Just let things drop and stay the way they are. He won't keep me chained to 
this stone pillar too long. 

And, anyway, it doesn't hurt and I don't mind." 

"I've got to get you away from here somehow!" Hugo's ego was fighting hard. 

"All we need is to be patient. Hugo. I think Everleigh is going to take me 
back to Rockley, and I'd be surprised if I can't slip away somewhere, 
sometime. What he's doing with those girls and with me is utterly 
impractical. Please wait a little while." 

"Damn it, this is unreal! I have to leave the girl I love standing against a 
block of stone, collared and chained! I can't believe it!" 

Hugo ranted and raved while I did my best to try and make him understand 
everything would be all right. I wasn't sure myself about everything being 
all right, but what could we do! After a while I managed to calm him down 
until he strode dejectedly away with my promise to join him forever as soon 
as one of my jailer lowered his or her guard. I wasn't all that happy myself 
but felt guilty over being able to watch Hugo's back vanish into the night 
without being torn in two with longing and regret. I knew I should be as 
angry as he, and even angrier with Uncle Andrew for watching out of the 
window as I was sure he was doing. Hopelessly I fingered the steel around my 
neck and knew myself a slave. 

I fell asleep crying tears I could not wipe off. Silently on the ground 
beside me lay a broken pair of bolt cutters. 

The penthouse of Mrs. Valerie Latimer spelt money. It also spelt isolation. 
No one would hear my screams. I took a deep breath as, clutching Uncle 
Andrew's letter. I stepped from the private elevator to whatever fate I was 
now consigned to by Uncle Andrew's mission. I was scared. 

Svelte was the word for Valerie, an ageless beauty with sharp, shrew eyes 
and sensual lips. Her hair was drawn severely back to focus attention on 
finely chiseled features. Her greeting was impersonal. 

She read the letter then tossed it laughingly aside to say. "I suppose you 
know you're a bribe?" 

"Yes." 

"I can do Everleigh a favor so he does one for me. I'm a lesbian and 
something of a bitch. But in between us, we'll probably enjoy ourselves. 
Let's drink to it." 

This woman was simple and direct. I wished I were there to do business 
instead of offer my 'nakedness for whatever pains she might impose. Uncle 
Andrew had been brutally frank. 

"She falls short of being a sadist, Diane, but she loves hurting girls, 
especially ones like yourself who are out of their teens. I've told her of 
your legal background so she can enjoy getting back at a lawyer the same way 
I enjoy it. I don't know how much she'll hurt you but that may pretty much 
depend on how you handle her. If you can handle her at all." 

Valerie Latimer said without emphasis as she poured drinks. "I wish to see 
you naked." 

Valerie was wasting no time but I knew it would come sooner or later and 
stripped myself naked without comment. Posing to show off my equipment. I 
was subjected to the closest scrutiny my nakedness usually enjoyed, almost a 
male's curiosity even though there was nothing male about Valerie Latimer. 
She motioned to an armchair. "Sit facing me. Diane, keep your legs well 
apart. We can talk while I look at you." 

So far so good, it was pretty much routine. And I didn't give a damned if 
this woman did find sexual interest in what I had to show. 

"You've got a nice body," she said sincerely. "You know I'm going to hurt 
it." 

"Of course." 

"I'm puzzled you'd walk in here like this. Bribes usually have to be 
delivered bound and gagged. And come up the freight elevator." 

"I'm paying off an obligation." 

"Well, that's your affair. I think I'll enjoy you. Old Everleigh is a crafty 
bastard and stands to pick up about seventy million out of something I can 
do for him if you please me. But remember, the first time you act sulky. 
I'll thrash your bottom and send you home. You've been well whipped so I 
don't have to explain what that means to you." 

The drink was potent and I could feel its fire in my belly. Oddly, I was 
both scared and a little excited at the thought of what this woman would do 
to me. 

"I haven't known Andrew Everleigh all that long and I won't pretend to 
understand him," I ventured cautiously. "I don't believe he's interested in 
the things he does to girls, not sexually. I think his interest is more in 
the girls themselves. His thing is to put us in situations and watch us 
squirm. I've always believed him more interested in me as a person, the 
ropes and chains and whips being simply a means to an end, Just an opinion." 

"The old boy's probably impotent. And those are the ones who think up these 
strange notions. 

And get more enjoyment out of them then they ever did from impaling a girl 
on their shaft. I don't notice tendencies of submission in you?" 

"I don't see them in you, either." 

"They aren't there to see. I have to admit, though, that when I'm hurting a 
girl, I do have a curiosity as to what it would be like to take her place. 
I'm not going to tell the old so and so, but if he asked me to submit to him 
for an afternoon, I'd be inclined to say yes just to get a good look at his 
technique." 

"He'd probably turn you over to an underling. He might not even watch." 

"If he watched, it would be good enough. I'd pick up his vibes. But that's 
not going to happen so let's drop it. If you're thinking I might let you 
have a go at me, forget it." 

I sipped in growing content. My flesh was heating by the intensity of 
Valerie's regard as much as by the potent drink pouring down my throat. She 
approved of Uncle Andrew's gift, an approval to send shivers up my spine in 
foreknowledge of pending pain. The voice of the Mistress was brisk. 

"Are you schooled to submission, Diane, or do you struggle when you're hurt? 
I don't mind either way because I know a few tricks and can easily get the 
best of you in a fight. If you want to test this out, by my guest." 

I nodded, not much caring either way. "I'm not submissive but I play the 
role. Let's say I'm obedient." 

Hopefully I added, "I hate being whipped." 

"If that's a hint, Diane, you can forget it. I'll whip you as often as I 
wish and as hard as I please. Run back to Everleigh if you're scared, it's 
your last chance." 

I accepted a second drink, feeling pretty certain I'd need it. She continued 
warmly, "I've got three play room, we'll have a look at them when you finish 
that drink. And I, suppose we might as well get started." Valerie Latimer's 
grin had a quality of friendship. 'This need not be our last conversation, I 
enjoy a good talk with a girl I'm hurting. A bit of pain brings out all 
sorts of moments of truth." 

There was something tongue-in cheek about this whole thing. I could not be 
sure of Valerie Latimer and considered it would be wise to turn and run but 
the hold Andrew Everleigh had on me was a powerful force I could not deny. 
And there was curiosity that told me I should see what was going to happen, 
even if it meant getting hurt. 

We both rose and I felt very conscious of my naked skin contrasting with 
Valerie's very sleek dark blue velvet dress. I followed her to something I 
could feel sure I would not enjoy. 

The big room was unexpectedly bright and bare, but in the center was a 
box-like affair upon two trestles, disturbingly like a coffin. "Just step up 
and sit down inside, Diane," Valerie invited disarmingly. "You'll find it 
doesn't hurt a bit." 

Figuring I'd passed the point of no return, I obeyed. The box was a pretty 
piece of work with nothing cheap about it but from which I could get no idea 
of its purpose. I sat upright with feet extended which just about took up 
its entire length, the box itself raising above my hips. Valerie Latimer was 
smiling. 

"I feel an absolute fool," I admitted, feeling the need to say something. 
"This is something new." 

"Apart from whipping you, Diane, I will strive for innovations. Hold still 
while I fix a couple of things." 

The 'couple of things' proved to be my ankles. They were slightly raised and 
clamped to the sides of the box by a couple of 'u' bolts which slipped into 
small holes in the wooden side. There was a clicking as each slid in, much 
like the clicking of a pair of handcuffs. Quickly my feet were securely 
fastened to the side of the box. 

Next my knees! Steel encircled each in the hollow above the knee itself, 
clamping them to the wood walls. It was a bit of an uncomfortable stretch as 
my thighs were forced apart to allow the knees to be secured touching the 
sides of the box. Evidently Valerie Latimer maintained an interest in 
keeping a woman's private parts open and exposed. I couldn't have gotten out 
of that damned box if I'd tried. 

She could have kept me as I was and held me safe enough. But a neatly shaped 
and fitted lid now slid smoothly in groves to cover my imprisoned limbs and 
loins, encircle my tummy and lock it tight back as though I were a woman 
sawed in half. This whole trick reminded me of that ancient hoax seen often 
on the stage. Next it was my hands, drawn down on either side against my 
hidden hips. 

Once more there were clamps. I was now held helpless by steel at ankles, 
knees and wrists, but the show was not yet over. A stout upright timber slid 
easily into sockets to press against my naked back. 

To this and joined by but a single link, was fastened a metal collar 
instantly snapped around my neck. Fingers rearranged my hair. 

Mrs. Latimer stood back and I could not be sure if she was examining her 
handiwork or Me. "You look absolutely charming, dear," she praised 
sincerely. "I expect you're curious." 

"Of course I am. In case you're interested, I can't move anything that 
matters." 

"Of course not, Diane, helplessness is of the essence. Have you ever been 
kept immobile for any length of time?" 

"I'm afraid not. Is that what happens now?" 

"I'm going to leave you now for a little while so you'll have a chance to 
adjust. You can picture all sorts of horrors still to come. You're not 
hurting, are you?" 

"No. Except for my knees which you've stretched unnaturally apart. I can't 
call it pain." 

"I'd like you to struggle, if you don't mind. See what you can shake loose." 

Struggling wasn't any crazier than the rest of the whole damned thing. I 
gave it all I had but managed nothing except to move my elbows a bit and 
make the one link, to my collar laugh metallically. "It's no use," I 
admitted, "you've got me foxed." 

For once being alone wasn't all that bad. For all I knew this could be what 
she considered punishment. And if I were left long enough, I suppose that is 
what is would become. In the meantime I tried to figure out her next move. I 
cringed at thought of my breasts now on display and beyond my ability to 
protect. My arms had been drawn back just enough to make my favorite twins 
shockingly available. 

My new owner did not leave me long alone. When she returned she was carrying 
something I at first mistook for a kitten but which turned out to be an 
active and affectionate skunk. 

"Don't be alarmed, Percy's been deodorized. I'll just pop him inside the 
little trap door you didn't notice at the far end. He makes wonderful 
company." 

My stomach tied itself in knots of apprehension as I felt the furry tail and 
snout begin its first explorations of my person. Its owner went to the 
adjoining room wherein she keep the instruments for a maidens discomfort to 
return with a chair into which she carelessly reclined. "I'm going to sit 
and watch your face, dear," she explained. "You've been an absolute delight 
so far. The last girl I fixed the way you're fixed had to be beaten into 
submission. I want to see how you make out with Percy. If you feel strongly 
on the subject, I could exchange him for a few mice? Or a pet rat? Don't 
bother to thank me." 

I gave no thanks, scarcely hearing her mockery. I could imagine the small 
wild thing with which I shared the box slowly exploring closer and closer to 
my private places. I also was speculating wildly on what he might do when he 
got there. Girls fear mice because of a silly notion they may get up inside 
us. But Percy was too big for such a notion, but had claws and a snout and a 
tongue, I suspected he had been used thus before because he took his time 
sniffing my legs and thighs on his way up. Realizing my features mirrored my 
thoughts, I gasped protestingly, "This isn't punishment, it's just plain 
horrible. Please, Valerie, get that thing out from between my legs." 

"You will address me as 'Mistress'." 

"Please, Mistress, get that little beast out from between my legs. Please, 
please, please!" 

"Don't be silly, he likes it in there. Think of it, he's got a lovely warm 
girl to himself." 

"Valerie... I mean, Mistress, I'm frighten! He'll eat me alive." 

"Struggle, dear, I love to watch you do that." 

For a while I forgot about Valerie as I concentrated against an enemy I 
could not see. I didn't struggle because I'd been told, my struggles were 
terribly real but ineffectual. I was so damned helpless, the clamps and 
collar held me almost motionless. But in my struggles my breasts jiggled in 
a manner that I didn't like but I'm sure was an interesting show. 

"I'm so glad Andrew sent you to me. I can always rely on Andrew for 
something interesting. 

Please don't feel I'm punishing you like a child today. Tomorrow I'll whip 
you like an adult." 

By this time Percy had discovered the obvious. His first nuzzling brought 
froth a wail of anguish I could not contain. Once more I went into a frenzy 
of struggling that only made the steel by which I was held dig into my 
flesh. 

I know nothing of the mating habits of the skunks, but my mind was vivid 
with imaginations about the half of me locked within the box and totally 
available for anything the skunk might want to do. As Percy thrust his snout 
against my sex, I screamed and screamed in horror, while Valerie Latimer 
watched and listened, loving everything I did. 

It was a shrewd and clever torture, extracting the reactions of a girl who 
knew nothing of true possibilities. It was not until after my release that 
wounded wrists told me of just how hard I had fought. As Percy amused 
himself. I pleaded with agonized gasps, "Get me out of here! Whip me 
instead. Anything you want. He's eating me alive!" 

"I'm going to get a cup of coffee, dear, and I'll bring you one." 

Valerie kissed my cheek and went away. It should have been worse but wasn't. 
Without watching eyes, I felt much less shame. But there was still Percy 
inside my box. By that time I had come to the hope that he would not eat me 
alive but content himself with sniffings and proddings with his snout. There 
were some tiny nippings and I could occasionally feel his tiny claws against 
my skin. I could not control the spasms of my flesh against this invasion, 
the limits of which it did not know. My sex proved to be his main interest, 
and he was soon licking parts of it with his tiny tongue. By the time 
Valerie returned I could show her only heaving breasts as evidence of what 
was going on below. 

As Valerie held the coffee cup to one set of my lips. I could feel Percy 
shoving his snout between the lips of my sex. 

"He enjoys your secretions," Valerie said. "Enjoy him, he's a real friend." 

Valerie kept me fastened as I was until Percy went to sleep. But before that 
his tiny tongue had found my most sensitive place and given it a good 
licking. It was a licking that created reactions in me I did not wish to 
have. My breathing became heavier, my breasts rose and fell with the 
panting. Little moans of pleasure escaped my lips as the excitement rose 
within my captive body. Finally I had to close my eyes to shut out the 
smiling face of Valerie Latimer. Even though I fought it. I was soon gripped 
by an orgasm of considerable proportions. With one loud cry and a stiffening 
of my body, I trembled into an unwanted and extremely shaming orgasm. 

Percy must have been satisfied, too, for he curled up between my legs and 
went to sleep. Valerie was grinning when I opened my eyes again. 

"I expect that's all we're going to get out of Percy for today," she said 
consolingly. "I could get the mice or the rat, but I think it would be 
pretty much the same thing and I wouldn't want you to be bored or think I 
was running short on ideas. I'll let you loose." 

The lid of the box was withdrawn and Percy picked up, petted, and placed on 
the floor. My wrists were freed but only to pull them behind my back to lock 
them in the familiar grip of handcuffs. "I won't trust you from now on," 
Valerie explained. "I expect you're obedient enough but why take chances! 
It's nice for you, too, because it saves you from wondering if you should 
make a break for it or obey. I'll get another chair and I'll get you a fresh 
cup of coffee before we go on to number two. I might as well use you while 
I've got you. I'm pleased with you. Diane, you're beautifully sensitive." 

Before I sat for coffee, my owner grasped a handful of my sex. I jumped. 

"You don't need to keep me handcuffed, Mistress. If you will let me have my 
hands, I'll promise to be good." 

Valerie rose and looked down at me in grave appraisal until finally she 
smiled and used her key to free my wrists from the steel. I accepted a cup 
of coffee gratefully. 

"He's got you trained, hasn't he?" she said with a touch of admiration. "I'm 
going to enjoy you. Your obedience is actually a new dimension I'll explore. 
You do understand I'm going to punish you again?" 

"Yes, of course. But first let me finish this coffee?" 

She gave me lots of time to drink. When I was done she watched as I examined 
my pussy to make sure there was no damage from Percy's teeth and claws. I 
was pretty much used to being seen naked by now and didn't mind much. 
Fleetingly I wondered if my enslavement would ever end. 

I was in no hurry to go on to number two and sat contentedly enough while 
Valerie Latimer told me of things she had done to other girls at other 
times, tales of horror or levity which I listened to in a mixture of 
laughter and shock. I wasn't even sure she was telling the truth. Percy 
curled up on the floor and slept. 

Valerie must have spent a lot of money. All her heavy stuff was on castors 
and could be wheeled back and forth with ease. I helped her roll Percy's box 
into a store room and replace it with a massive "X" affair I didn't like the 
look of. 

"You can figure this one out ahead of time," Valerie said as she busied 
herself with straps and the placement of an initial step on which I was told 
to stand. "Up you go, dear. I'll strap your wrists first and then the rest 
will be easy." 

Standing on the step I watched with interest as leather straps bit snugly at 
my wrists and were buckled tight behind the stout timber. First one and then 
the other of my hands were immobilized. And then the straps did the same 
service for my elbows. Every bond was neatly contrived to be fastened out of 
sigh leaving only the smooth band of leather deeply indented within my 
flesh. When a broad width of leather buckled around the narrowest portion of 
my waist, I was fixed for sure! 

I made an involuntary cry as the step was jerked away from my feet, to leave 
me suspended in the clutch of the cross and bit of straps. But, so cleverly 
were the straps contrived, that my weight was equally carried everywhere 
except on my legs. First my left ankle was tugged out to one side, strapped 
there, and then my left knee strapped to that member of the "X". Then my 
right, leaving me with legs widely spread and a pussy wide open for 
inspection or anything else. I looked at the sleeping Percy and wondered if 
he could be invited to climb my legs. I could not move. 

"It's an interesting bit of bondage," Valerie commented casually. 

"You do have the most delightfully shaped sex, neat and tidy, and very, very 
female. Let's see how it's reacting to the stretch." 

There was nothing I could do to prevent the palming and kneading of that 
portion of myself. I was evidently reacting satisfactorily, for when she 
held her hand for me to see, it was wet. Miss Valerie Latimer compelled me 
to lick it dry. "If Percy enjoyed it, why shouldn't you?" Her voice was 
deliciously mocking. 

With my mistress once more reclining in her chair to once more focus on my 
sex, and whatever else there was about me she enjoyed. I began to feel in 
luck. Being bound as I was was severe and I was helpless, there was also the 
knowledge that my widely stretched legs were going to hurt before too long. 
I could already feel the stress in my legs. Her majesty began to chat, her 
tone pleasantly informal as though I, too, were reclining in a chair instead 
of being tautly stretched upon a massive wooden frame. "I want you to think 
about tomorrow, Diane. I said I'll whip you, and I will. Is it traumatic for 
you or something you can cope with?" 

"I manage to live, if that's what you want to know," I said without 
enthusiasm. "Every time I'm whipped I know I'm going to die, but I never do. 
I suppose I've never been well and truly flogged, that would be traumatic 
for sure! Mistress, please don't whip me." 

"Well, well, you really don't like it! Are you sure you don't secrete for 
the first few strokes? I'll bet you do?" 

"Well, all right, so I secrete before I start to scream." 

"Tell me the various ways you've been bound for your whippings. I really am 
interested." 

Valerie was a sleek cat, hungry for eroticism, seeking the pain of girls. 
She had shown me a streak of kindness in between and I could not be sure 
what was the dominant factor in her temperament. I was about to tell of 
being strung up by my wrists when something truly awful happened. The cross 
to which I was tightly strapped suddenly made a ninety degree turn to leave 
me fastened horizontally instead of upright. I cried out in alarm but was 
soothed by Valerie's amused explanation. "The axis is control ed by a motor 
and a timer. It will flip you every so often, I won't tell you how often. 
But it will be something for you to look forward to. Eventually you'll 
rotate around and come up to where you started. After that you start another 
revolution. Naturally, I intend to watch." 

"It frightened me. And don't you realize the next flip will put me upside 
down! I'll die!" 

"That dying bit is a fallacy, Diane. It might kill a seventy-five year old, 
but you could stand it for an hour or more. I left one girl strapped upside 
down an hour and a half once. There were no ill effects." She laughed at my 
visible apprehension. "And how do you know you will be upside down? 

The mechanism is set to sometimes tilt you the opposite direction from the 
last time. It' s a beautifully versatile ordeal, particularly adapted to 
young ladies who have their sex stretched wide open in full view. Gosh, 
you're delightful!" 

Valerie was undoubtedly sexual and I was half expecting the insertion of a 
dildo within my pussy which must indeed seem to plead for such attention. 
Mistress' reflections continued as though everything was normal "I've got a 
compact model of a rack in the storeroom, dear. The name has a fearsome 
sound and evokes most appalling visions. Mine works electrically the same as 
the machine you're fixed to right now. Perhaps we should try it sometime. 
Not enough to dislocate anything but to give you a chance to boast to having 
been on the rack. A girl changes shape entirely when she's on it. 

You'll see what I mean. By the way, did you ever read the story of Beatrica? 
The poor girl fell pray to the Italian Inquisition and was questioned under 
the influence of the what they used to call 'the cord'. 

They simply tied the poor creature's hands behind her back and raised her up 
by them high enough so that when they suddenly released the rope she fell as 
a dead weight which was suddenly stopped short to cause her arms to be 
dislocated from their sockets and for her to hang suspended in what must 
have been considerable agony. The story had it that a doctor was in 
attendance and when she was released, he relocated her shoulders so it could 
be done to her again on the following day. And the day after that... Would 
you like to try that?" 

"Please don't talk, of such things. I don't believe you're like that at all. 
And anyway it would make such a mess s of a girl you wouldn't enjoy her 
afterwards." My heart was thumping hard at the pictures she evoked. 

Whatever it was my mistress said next was lost to me because the damned 
machine flipped me again and I found myself well and truly upside down, my 
hair falling towards the floor and my strapped feet upward. I was gasping 
for breath in disbelief. Being strapped upside down like I was is hard to 
describe. Everything is absolutely wrong. I don't suppose I hung much more 
than right way up, but I thought I did and that's what counts. I tried hard 
to struggle without success. I even tried to touch the floor with my hands. 
And I realized just how much my open pussy was exposed. It was perfectly 
positioned for any attention Valerie might wish to do to it. 

Carelessly Valerie Latimer rose and walked to me. First her fingers teased 
my pussy, thrilling and exciting nerves all along my most sensitive parts. 
Then her fingers stroked my clit, lightly, just enough to evoke the most 
delightful shivers down my spine. Suddenly her head was bent over me and her 
tongue lapping my wide open sex. 

Quickly she brought me upwards towards a climax, expertly toying with my sex 
while her strong hands gripped my bottom cheeks and dug their fingernails 
in. Her work was quick and sure and I was soon teetering on the brink of an 
intense orgasm. 

As suddenly as she had begun, she backed off and resumed her seat. I 
strained my body, aching for the return of that velvet tongue. But it did 
net return and I ached in frustration. It was truly amazing how fast I could 
work up to another orgasm after having had one in Percy's box just a short 
time before. But I've heard that some women can hit multiple orgasms, one 
right after another. Anyway, her leaving me so close to the pleasure of 
satisfaction but not allowing me to reach it was torture of a different 
kind. I was thankful, after I cooled down a bit, that Hugo and Uncle Andrew 
were not inclined to such tortures It was very frustrating and shaming. I 
had never been driven so close to an orgasm by another girl's tongue before. 
It was wonderful and terrible at the same time, I found myself wishing she 
would shove a dildo inside me to finish the job her tongue had begun. 

"Please... " was all I whispered but that plea was ignored. 

Valerie continued watching the contortions of my face. I hated my hair 
hanging down and the strange shape my breasts assumed under the wrong 
influence of gravity. I could well believe a girl would die if held like 
this long enough. I said so but was soothed by Valerie's silken voice, 
"Don't' be silly, Diane. I've already told you of the experiments I've done, 
and I wouldn't do this to you if it was dangerous. It's simply something for 
you to suffer and a delight for me to watch. If you keep on complaining. 
I'll whip your upturned pussy. Of course," she mused, "that would probably 
drive you right into a climax, but we all have our little crosses to bear." 

It wasn't until a long time later that I realized she had made a pun. 

"Don't you realize you're beautifully stretched little pussy cat is 
positively begging for the lash? 

I have the nicest leather whip made just for that place." 

I shuddered. I was trembling in fear and getting small comfort from 
Valerie's reassurances. I tried hard to not think of a whip crashing down 
between my thighs. I longed most ardently that the damned machine would give 
me one more flip. When it finally happened, my position wasn't upright but 
horizontal and much better than being upside down. When the flip after that 
arrived. I found myself upright again and very thankful for it. I could have 
cried with gratitude, but my mistress had something else to say. 

"You've had one full turn, dear, so you know there's nothing to be scared 
about. I'm going to leave you alone for a while and I want you to count the 
turns you make while I'm gone. I want you to count every one and thank me 
for them when I come back." 

Strangely she kissed my nipples and went away. For a while I could swear my 
breasts were burning from her lips. 

It was a hateful punishment, nothing to be thankful for at all, even during 
those times when I was vertical I was still a helpless prisoner anticipation 
the next flip. It was horrible but I will have to admit I did not suffer a 
single hurt. Only some bad times. 

"I've been thinking about that obedience thing of yours, it intrigues me," 
Valerie Latimer said as she set me free. "Anyone is foolish to believe a 
mature mind can fail to savor the agonies of decision you must endure every 
time you do as you are told. What you say we both go out to dinner?" 

Once more Valerie was being kind amid the cruelties. But I said, "Yes, that 
would be lovely." By that time I'd grown up enough to acquire a captive's 
realization of the benefit of half a loaf as opposed to no bread. If I could 
get an hour or two of happiness in a public place instead of being chained 
or locked in a cage, or tightly bound with hurting ropes, I'd be crazy to 
refuse. I really was grateful. The afternoon hadn't been all that much fun 
and tomorrow was tomorrow and far away. As though to reassure myself, I 
asked. "You'll let me be really and truly free? Not even handcuffs?" 

"Not unless you ask for them. Diane. I had a girl once who did. She said she 
felt naked unless her hands were joined. Would you like the handcuffs?" 

"No thanks, but I'll let you lock them on me anytime you want. Taking me out 
is really nice, a treat I could certainly use. Thank you." 

Valerie laughed at me and told me I was entirely welcome, and promised to 
resist the temptation to tell me what she would do to me after she got me 
home. The way she said it left me wondering if we'd be looking at TV or I'd 
be tied up in a cell. I didn't ask, I didn't want to know. 

Valerie's personality had pretty well erased Uncle Andrew from my mind. The 
restaurant to Which she took me was gorgeous and reminded me of Donatelli's, 
and that reminded me of Hugo. Amidst the glamour and noise and good wine, I 
was suddenly aware of having made two promises, one of which I could not 
possibly keep. In that sense, the restaurant was a mistake. Valerie should 
have kept me securely bound back in her penthouse. Once a girl starts 
thinking irrationally there's no telling where it will lead. Andrew 
Everleigh's hints about marrying me now seemed like nothing more than 
whimsy. But I had made him a promise and I couldn't forget the huge amount 
of money he'd handed over not so long ago. But memory instantly took me back 
to Hugo, the broken bolt cutters, and a collar and chain for which only 
Uncle Andrew held the key. Belatedly I remembered my promise to Hugo to slip 
away at the first opportunity and join him in New York. I'd been so positive 
the opportunity would occur and I would simply walk out. But now, as I sat 
across from Valerie in the candlelight, I realized I held freedom in my 
hand. I could simply walk away and she couldn't stop me. From that point I 
had to be concerned about Valerie Latimer and wondering if my pledge of 
obedience was actually a promise, a promise I'd be a bitch to break. I was 
suddenly confronted by promises in all directions. 

"What's bothering you, Diane," Valerie asked shrewdly. "As if I didn't 
know." 

"Freedom!" I admitted frankly. "I don't know if I can handle it." 

"I thought we handled that back at the beginning. I want to watch you torn 
in two by indecision! The things I'm going to do to you tomorrow won't hurt 
half as much as now." 

"I didn't think I'd feel like this, Mistress - or may I call you Valerie in 
public?" 

"While you belong to me, you've got two choices: don't call me by any name 
or call me 'Mistress'." She bestowed the sweetest of smiles. "If you want to 
run away, now's your chance. If you don't want dinner, get up and go." 

Valerie's magic brought me at least half way back to where I wanted to be. 
Of course I wanted dinner! 

"I'm grateful for you bringing me here, but this place and everything around 
is so normal that it's hard to believe you're going to take me back to the 
penthouse and whip me." 

"You should be able to cope with it, Diane. Parole was a well established 
custom years ago. 

Captured soldiers often gave their parole in order to gain time or get a 
favor. I don't suppose it was ever easy for any of them to go back and be a 
prisoner again. The same with you. I love it!" 

I don't know what triggered the act but suddenly I was on my feet and 
saying, "Goodbye, Valerie, and thank you for everything." 

I walked away. I think it was instinct, for I had no plan. But a phone call 
and I'd be safely on a plane, heading toward Hugo. 

I used a side door and was running towards the glitter of the main street 
when I bag went over my head, handcuffs clicked behind my back, and I was 
tossed into the back seat of a waiting car like a bundle of merchandise. I 
suppose that's what I was. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN - Lesbian Interlude 

I hurt. I was spread tightly between two bedposts at the foot of Valerie's 
bed. My captors stripped me bare and bound me thus under the direction of 
the woman I'd betrayed. My outstretched arms are secured by wrists alone, 
wrists that are tightly bound in soft bandages to let me know I'm intended 
to be suspended thus a long, long time. My feet are roped wide apart to 
leave me once again in the position of the "X" frame of bitter memory. But 
this is worse for my nakedness is without support other than my wrists. When 
Valerie goes to bed, we would be face to face. 

Miss Valerie Latimer sat on the side of the bed and surveyed me with an 
amusement I did not share. 

"Silly girl!" she said quietly. "I suppose you know what to expect." 

I longed to be freed from the appalling fix but instead said quietly. "Yes. 
I'll be terribly punished." 

"Well, that looks after that, you little idiot." Her voice held hints of 
laughter. "If you're curious as to why you got picked up so swiftly, it's 
because I judged you by myself. In your shoes I would have run away just 
like you. A precaution seemed sensible. Welcome back!" 

I could think of nothing worthwhile to say and kept silence. 

Valerie was surveying my nakedness with every evidence of pleasure. 
"Hurting?" 

"Horribly. My arms are being dragged from of their sockets." 

"No, they're not. You just think they are. You'll still be on one piece by 
morning." 

"If you leave me like this, I'll be dead." 

My mistress laughs. "You overstate a bit, Diane dear. And a lovely sense of 
drama. May I assume you feel regret?" 

"I feel a bitch, I let you down. I am guilty as hell, but please punish me 
some other way. I can't endure this all night." 

"Poor darling! Everleigh tells me you have a gift for doing the wrong thing. 
He says you were a lousy lawyer and should be kept on a chain. I guess the 
old boy's got you figured." 

At that moment I could have cared less about Uncle Andrew, all I wanted was 
to be untied. 

Helplessly, I asked, "Is this my punishment, or can I expect something 
worse? If there is anything worse." 

"Diane, my pet, you know perfectly well there's something worse. Didn't I 
promise you a whipping? Now it's going to be doubly worse." 

Between guilt and pain and fear I ceased to be Diane Durrant or a lawyer of 
anything else other than a girl who's spirit was utterly broken. I started 
to cry, and once the gates were open, my tears flowed with floods of misery. 
My mistress eyed me with interest until she kicked off her shoes, stood on 
the bed to dry my eyes and cheeks with an avid tongue as though their 
saltiness was good to taste. Soon her lips found mine and, in the loneliness 
of despair, I kissed her back as though with love. 

"That's better," she said when we paused for breath. She patted my pussy in 
its blatant spread. 

"Want me to let you down?" 

I tensed with longing, not believing what I'd heard. Urgently I surrendered, 
"Yes, oh yes! Valerie, I'd be so grateful!" 

"I'm sure you would. But I'm still curious about obedience. Do you still 
have any?" 

"Yes! I'll give you the obedience I thought I owed to others." I shook the 
hair out of my eyes with the only movement allowed me. "I don't expect you 
to believe me, but I promise I'll do whatever you ask." 

Valerie laughed and patted my cheek lovingly before stepping off the bed. I 
was tense and anxious with hope. But instead of reaching for my bonds, she 
started to undress. When she was as naked as I, she posed prettily to ask, 
"Like me?" 

"Of course I like you, you're beautiful. You've got a wonderful body. Please 
untie me." 

"It's bed time, dear, no special occasions. By the way. I'll be naked when I 
whip you, it gives me so much freedom." 

I watched as she turned off all light save the bedside lamp. She lay upon 
the covers and stretched erotically for my view. Her fingers played lightly 
along her body. At another time I might have been enthralled, but now was 
too engrossed with my pain to really pay attention. With a sob of despair, I 
allowed my head to bow forward. In bitter disappointment I blinked back 
another flood of tears. 

Valerie was enjoying me. I wasn't paying too much attention to anything but 
hurting but I could feel the intensity of her eyes as they traveled up and 
down my nakedness, and sometimes lingering upon my corded wrists and ankles. 
As though I were sharing her bed, she talked entertainingly of this and 
that, asked questions about Hugo, and described Uncle Andrew affectionately 
as a wicked old so and so. I tried to keep up my end of the conversation but 
mostly came out with little gasps and moan, interspersed with pleas to be 
freed. After a while, Valerie got tired of my absorption with my own 
punishment, turned off the light and went to sleep. 

I was the loneliest girl in the world. I was terrified at the prospect of 
hanging where I was during the hours until dawn. The turning out of the 
light and sounds of Valerie making herself comfortable for sleep dissolved 
any courage I had. Recklessly I blurted out, "Don't leave me like this! 
Valerie, you can't! I'm begging you... Please!" 

I should have known! The light went back on and Valerie's nudity slid from 
beneath the sheets and went to perform an errand I could not see but almost 
immediately I heard the placement of a chair and rubber placed against my 
lips. "Open up! I'm going to give you five with the cane in a moment, and 
you can easily make it ten. Hear me?" 

Valerie stuffed my mouth and bound my lips tight in the soft leather strap 
buckled tight behind my neck. The chair was taken away and the pain began 
with swift, sure strokes biting at the bottom I could not move. I got the 
five strokes. "You'll be able to make some noses through your nose, darling, 
but if you do, I'll whip you again. Be a sensible girl and enjoy your 
punishment." 

Once more the light went out as Valerie sought her rest. 

My hands were numb, my shoulders wrench with the stress. But I realized I 
had reached a plateau in my suffering and must endure in silence, if I 
could. It was coming through to me then that I really was going to hang 
there all night, spread-eagled across the end of her bed while she slept! 

I told myself in dark despair that by morning I would be dead. Punished 
girls don't die. I'm not entirely sure how I got through that awful night. 
Here and there I lost consciousness but those periods didn't last long. I 
hated the tight strapped gag with a bitter loathing. Sometimes I cried, the 
tears trickling and drying to leave their salt upon my skin. The times in 
which I hung unconscious were a blessing I desired. 

By morning I was pretty far gone and only dimly conscious of the cutting of 
the cords. I fell to the bed and lay there not much caring about anything 
except a vast welling of gratitude I had not the energy to express. Gentle 
fingers arranged my nudity and covered it with a blanket. I slept. 

I awoke to the aroma of coffee. I drank it eagerly and came alive. 

Then I was led to the bathroom by a mistress who ignored my ordeal of the 
night. I was then handcuffed and led to the kitchen to be fed. There was not 
a spark of fight left in me. 

"I'll have coffee with you, dear. Haven't the cords left the most gorgeous 
marks! I won't bandage them, they're altogether too lovely. I've got you the 
loveliest breakfast." Valerie was quicksilver, slipping back and forth 
between a sadist and a warm and affectionate female, I couldn't hate her, 
and basked in her affection all through four cups of coffee and food I ate 
as though starving. 

The sleep I had been granted worked wonders. 

Handcuffs in front don't bother a girl. When I had done the dishes and stood 
uncertainly in punishment-induced submission, my mistress got back to 
normal, "Seems we had something on the books for today, didn't we?" 

"You were going to whip me." 

"Yes, of course! Looking forward to it?" 

"No. Oh, Valerie, must you!" 

"I'm afraid I must, dear. A woman in my position absolutely must keep her 
word. If I let you out of that whipping, you'd think I was a softy." 

"No, I wouldn't. Mistress... Please?" 

"Darling, I've planned a real flogging for you but you've had a rough night 
so I'll leave your pretty back alone and concentrate on somewhere else. Ever 
hear of the bastinado?" 

My stomach did flip flops. The handcuffs suddenly bit hard. "It's where they 
whip the soles of a girl's feet, isn't it?" 'That's right, dear, nice 
change, don't you think?" 

I was broken. Without a word I sank to my knees, placed my handcuffed hand 
in my mistress' lap and buried my face there, too, in a silence plea most 
graphically sincere. The fingers of my mistress played in my hair for 
minutes before she said, "I won't let you off, Diane. Come alone and let's 
get it over with." 

I stood in abject misery as my handcuffs were changed from front to back. 
Valerie eased me down to a blanket on the floor and placed me on my stomach, 
suitable for the punishment of my feet. It was wonderfully simple as she 
bent my leg upward at the knee and bound my ankle tight to the horizontal 
bar of a small metal frame. There was also a bar just above the floor at the 
level of the back of my knees. Ropes were also lashed around that bar and my 
legs. When finished. I could not move my legs at all. I could wiggle my feet 
but was sure that would do no good in any efforts to avoid the whip. The 
soles of my feet were pointed towards the ceiling and very vulnerable. They 
were about a foot apart and certainly ready for punishment. 

I looked over a bare shoulder at the preparations for my punishment and my 
stomach twisted into knots. When Valerie said, "I'll leave you a while, 
Diane, to think about what's going to happen. Silly to get it over too 
quickly." 

I think waiting for something awful to happen must be one of the reasons 
people take to drink. Had I possessed hands and a bottle. I would have drunk 
it all. I'd read about the bastinado and while Valerie hadn't told me the 
instrument she would use, I could already feel the frightful impacts on the 
tender soles of my feet. 

Mine was a terrible posture in which to have to wait. Handcuffs give a girl 
enough freedom to tantalize and keep her struggling. I could scarcely 
believe how shockingly solid my legs were bound to that frame. I simply 
could not move them at all and figured that the metal frame must be somehow 
bolted to the floor. I wondered if Valerie would have been kinder to flog my 
back. I simply did not know! 

It was a thin, yellow cane Valerie was flexing when she returned. 

She explained how desirable it was to employ a flexible instrument rather 
than something rigid which might break something in the foot. She explained 
helpfully that a whip was not suited for the punishment she would now 
inflict. I did not speak but pleaded with my eyes. 

It was worse than I'd ever dreamed. The very first blow sent me into spasms 
and contortions against my bonds in a manner sure to please. My sounds of 
protest were little more than screams. 

"Yes, dear, I know exactly how you feel," Valerie Latimer said sweetly, 
"It's a marvelous punishment, isn't it? Quite a unique kind of pain, right?" 

I could not move my feet not even a single inch, This awareness dominated my 
mind in the turmoil of emotions filling me. The bastinado was a new, fresh 
kind of anguish against which every part of my rebelled. It was the worst 
pain I had ever felt in my life. 

I could not keep still, I just couldn't! I floundered like a gaffed fish, 
even raising my breasts from the blanket so I could turn imploring eyes in a 
fascinated need to witness the punishment take place, I screamed 
outrageously. 

After what Valerie said was the tenth, she paused. "I think it would be 
kinder to us both if you were gagged, dear," she said as if bestowing a 
gift. "Wait right here. I'll get one. Of course, so much noise is to be 
expected, isn't it?" 

Never the same gag twice. The one I got now was a steel bit capturing my 
tongue and brutally sealing my lips as the buckle tightened behind my neck. 
Steel and leather bit my cheeks against which I could make only the smallest 
sounds. 

"You're doing wonderfully, darling," I was told as the cane resumed the 
beating of my soles. I yearned for unconsciousness that would not come. 

All things end. When the bastinado ceased, I lay there on the blanket, 
panting and moaning and still not even twisting against the handcuffs. I 
knew myself sweating like a horse. It was quite a while before I realized I 
was alone. 

If there was anything good about the caning of my feet, it was the knowledge 
it was past. Laying uncomfortably on the rug. I reveled in the thought of a 
terrible punishment now past. My feet burned and throbbed in an outrage of 
pain, but when I looked back I could not see any damage. I flopped back down 
and waited for what came next. 

"I'm so proud of you, darling, such a heroic girl!" Valerie's soothing voice 
hummed with pleasure over whatever sort of picture I made. My hair was 
tumbled all-over the place and my body wet with sweat. I did not care. 

I had to learn to walk, or should I say adjust to the agony of planting my 
feet on the rug. Valerie helped as she led me to the bath. The soaping and 
soothing massage of her hands was a delightful contrast to the burning ache 
of my feet. That she spent most of the bath time with her hands on my pussy 
and breasts was something I did not mind, either. 

"I'm going to take you out again to dine," she told me as she toweled my 
body. My hands were still cuffed behind my back and unable to do the job. 
"Would you like that, darling?" 

"But I can't walk! You know I can't!" 

"Yes you can. That's part of your punishment. Don't get any ideas I'm 
treating you as a invalid just because I've whipped your feet. Tell me you'd 
love to go." 

"I'd love to go. Valerie." 

"Do I have to keep reminding you, or will it take a punishment?" 

"Mistress." I hurried out. 

"I'll get you dry and dressed suitable for public view. In the proper dress, 
you're a beauty. And no, I won't unlock your handcuffs. You can wear them 
until we leave. I'm in the mood to make you wear them in front and give you 
a scarf to wear in emergencies. I've done it before." 

Valerie would not let me sit down, but insisted I use my feet to prevent 
them getting set and their wounds loosing flexibility. I hadn't anything to 
say about it because she keep the cane close by. If I gave her half an 
excuse, she'd cane my bottom once more, and perhaps my top! I was meek, I 
had no courage left. 

If my feet had belonged to someone else, I would have enjoyed the selection 
of clothes. I stood passively with my hands behind my back while being 
dressed and having make up applied, and my hair done beautifully. When the 
garment required my hands be parted. I stood submissively while one wrist 
was freed then reattached. At that moment I was willing to believe every 
maiden's malaise could be cured by the cane. I hadn't a care in the world, I 
was owned. 

It's stupid but I have to admit to diminishing concern about my wounded feet 
as I gazed into the mirror to behold the magic Valerie had performed on me. 
The full length glass revealed not only a face of which I was proud but a 
slim figure who's contours were such to make me fear public attention to 
chained hands I might fail to hide. 

"You're getting excited, dear, I can tell," said Valerie. "I'm going to give 
you the best dinner you've ever had. You've earned it. You're gorgeous!" 

I had half expected Valerie not to carry out her threat to take me to dinner 
handcuffed, but going down in the elevator she changed my cuffs from back to 
front. And then made sure the silver bands were tight. Feverishly I clutched 
the scarf. 

I faced the crowed restaurant in pretty much the way Custer must have faced 
the Indian hordes. But I was surprised by the absence of attention to what 
was hidden beneath the scarf. Reaching our table I sat down in dual relief 
at taking weight off my punished feet, and placing my chained hands in my 
lap, pretty much out of sight. 

"Pick up the menu and read it, dear," came my mistress' voice. 

"They know me here and the waiter could care less." 

It was one of the hardest things I'd ever done, to lift my chained hands and 
reach for the menu. But, if anyone saw, they did not stare or make comment. 
Life in the crowded restaurant went on without the gasps of surprise I had 
expected. When the waiter came. I calmly gave my order beneath his indulgent 
eye, but heaved a sigh of relief when he was gone. 

"You see, darling, just the way I said." Valerie laughed away my pink 
cheeks. "You're not the first handcuffed girl this place has seen." 

I refused to think about having to stand on wounded feet later, and refused 
to hide my chained wrists. 

No doubt some of the courage came from a cocktail which I downed quickly and 
asked, in shameful respect, if I could have a second. I had learned bitterly 
I must never take Mrs. Valerie Latimer for granted. Memory of the bastinado 
would cause me to think twice about doing anything without permission. 

I looked around to find only one young woman gazing at the steel I 
displayed. I caught her eye and she smiled before turning away. 

It was not until we were well into the entree that my world was suddenly 
shocked. Hugo walked in. 

I learned later our meeting was pure chance. I looked up to behold his 
stricken features and accusing eyes as though he saw me naked in a public 
place or knew me for the traitor I was. When Valerie looked up 
questioningly, I blurted introductions. 

"So you're Hugo!" The woman who owned me now stripped the man with her eyes. 
"Would you care to join us?" 

I should have been on my feet and Hugo and I should have been hugging and 
kissing. But Hugo squirmed uncomfortably and said. "I'm afraid I can't. I'm 
with some people. I just happened to see... " 

"Very well, then. Nice to have met you, but please do run along." 

Valerie dismissed my Hugo as a person of small concern. 

Hugo did not move. He was looking at me and my handcuffs and the reproach of 
all the world was in his eyes. "I thought you were going to come to me, 
Diane, when you were free. That was the deal, wasn't it?" 

I held up joined hands and said, "I'm not exactly free, Hugo." 

"Nonsense. A pair of handcuffs never stopped a girl from doing anything, 
What sort of nonsense are you into now?" 

"It's not nonsense, you intruding man." There was steel in Valerie's voice. 
"I've just whipped this girl's feet and the last thing she or I need is a 
moonstruck male, Please go away, you're obsolete." 

Poor Hugo! He gazed back and forth between my stricken gaze and my mistress' 
stern gaze. She obviously had no time or sympathy for any male. For Hugo, 
she was something new and mutual loathing blossomed before my eyes. My male 
lover dismissed my feminine owner without a word as he held out his hand to 
me. "Come along, Diane, we've had enough of this nonsense. Never mind the 
handcuffs, I'll take care of them later." Hugo was playing the heavy male 
and playing it well. 

Instinctively I reached for the hand but stopped half way as the steel 
bracelets proclaimed my condition. For a moment three pairs of eyes were 
locked, until, like a scared little girl, I returned my hands to my lap. I 
looked up at my impatient Hugo and said meekly, "I can't! Oh, Hugo, I can't! 

Ohhhhh. Hugo...!" 

Until that moment I hadn't realized the hold Valerie had on me. I knew I 
should get up and walk out of there with Hugo holding my arm, but I suppose 
there were several reasons why I sat like a dummy and waited for others to 
decide, not the least of which was the illogical bond that had formed 
between me and the woman who had done such terrible things to me. 

Valerie made the decision by speaking to me alone, "Your feet are punished, 
Diane. That punishment is finished. Do you want another?" 

I most certainly did not want another. I felt strangely content that I had 
paid my dues and a slavegirl in good standing. As the wait lengthened, Hugo 
said an abrupt, "Have a nice day, Diane," and strode away. 

"So that's your Hugo." Valerie laughed at my distress. "I suppose such men 
have their uses but he's not for you, dear, and I wouldn't give him the time 
of day. Men only become interesting after their first hundred million. Eat 
your dinner." 

Valerie's authority was total. It enfolded me in a strange likeness of love 
as I worked my knife and fork. I realized that she had broken me and I was 
hers. It was almost a good feeling. 

"I suppose he's impaled you a few times." my mistress inquired without much 
concern. 

"We were lovers." I admitted. "He also whipped me on occasion." 

"Well, well, the full service! I suppose you thought yourself a lucky girl!" 

"You said my punishment was finished? Will there be others?" 

"You know there will be others, darling. Don't nag. Your punishments are the 
essence of me being Me, and you being You. There's wonderful times in store 
for us." 

"But what about Andrew Everleigh? Won't he be expecting me back?" I asked. 

"I'll look after Andrew Everleigh, forget him." I didn't tell my mistress 
how much I'd forgotten already. Valerie's force and power possessed me in a 
way that overrode all else. The past was already growing hazy. Plessious and 
my law practice dissolved into the mists before the radiance of the woman 
who had caned my feet. And even Hugo had become a disappearing back in a 
crowded restaurant. I shivered deliciously but not from cold. 


THE END
