Jump Into Bondage
by F.E. Campbell


CHAPTER ONE - Jump Into Trouble 

Monique Hutton knew immediately that she was in trouble. As soon as she 
snapped into reality from the utter blackness that was the Temporal 
Displacement Period, TDP for short, and the usual tingling of all the nerves 
in her body faded away, she knew that she was in big trouble. Bright 
sunlight was the first thing she saw, tight constrictions upon her body was 
the first thing she felt. It took only a second to realize that she was 
somehow restrained and could not move. In the second after that, she 
realized that she was completely naked and sea breezes were caressing the 
soft skin of her breasts. 

When a Time Jumper awakens, it is a sudden thing, not a gradual awaken as 
from sleep. There is a sudden snap and you're not laying in the reclining 
chair in the Time Chamber anymore, you're suspended in utter, total 
blackness with no body, no sounds, no feelings, and a frightening sense of 
timelessness. It is as if you're suddenly a mind with no body or universe to 
house it. Then, after what always seems an eternity, Snap! and you're in 
someone else's body, somewhere else in time. 

Monique opened her eyes slowly and took in more of her surroundings. At the 
same time she explored the condition of her body by feel. She was, indeed, 
naked and the soft sea breezes were tickling her skin, teasing it and 
feeling rather cool where the hot sun was shining directly on her. She could 
feel some kind of ropes cutting into her arms and legs and concluded that 
she was immobile, tied tightly with ropes to something solid, and, at least 
until she could explore her condition more, apparently helpless. 

As her eyes grew used to the bright sunlight, she saw that she was standing 
on a wooden deck. Before her was a wooden railing dotted at regular 
intervals with ancient black iron cannons. That, combined with the creaking 
of rigging, the salt tang in the air, the slight swaying motion of the deck 
under her and the object she was tied to, and the distance blue/green line 
of the horizon, told her that she was on board a sailing ship. The colorful 
pirate standing to one side was a big hint, too. 

As she slowly turned her head, the pirate came into better view. He was a 
darkly handsome man, with long black hair, a big mustache, and vaguely 
French features. His dress was something right out of an Errol Flynn movie, 
faded purple waist coat, doublets, buckled shoes, a wide brimmed hat with a 
feather flourish. The clothes were none too clean and as he approached there 
was a hint of rum upon his breath. 

"Does m'lady feel like reconsidering her position?" he asked gallantly. "The 
sun is indeed hot this afternoon. I fear your skin may become quite burned." 

Monique was wondering what this girl's reply would be when something else 
wrong struck her like a physical blow. There was no other personality in 
this body with her! 

For a few seconds, while Monique tried to come to grips with this new and 
very freighting development, the pirate gazed into her eyes. Then he let 
that gaze lower to include her naked and bound figure with obvious enjoyment 
on his face. "Well, perhaps later," he muttered and strolled away. 

Monique closed her eyes. There was no question about it, there was no other 
person in that body with her. But there should have been. Time Jumping 
required that there be another person present. It was always that way. The 
TDT back at UCSA searched back in time and found a host that was a close 
match to your mental patterns and personality, and in the time period and 
place defined for that Jump. Then you Jumped and merged with that person. 
The Jumper didn't displace the host, he or she sort of coincided with the 
host, like a passenger going along for the ride. The Jumper could see 
everything the host could, hear what the host could hear, could feel all 
that the host's body was feeling, and even shared the emotions of the host 
as that person lived their lives. But the Jumper could not influence the 
host, could not cause the host to do a single thing different from what they 
had done as defined by history. The host didn't even know the Jumper was 
there. The Jumper was just along for the ride. 

That's how it should have been. But everything was wrong on this Jump. First 
off, Monique should have landed during the American Civil War, at a time and 
place where she could attend Lincoln's Gettysburg Address. She would have 
gathered notes on that famous speech to be compared with those granted 
history by people who had lived in that time period. 

But this was not the Civil War. This looked more like a couple hundred years 
earlier and not even on land. Only during the earliest Jumps had the Jumpers 
missed the mark, and then only by a few hours or miles. She could not 
remember anyone missing as much as this. 

And there was the lack of host personality. That was unheard of. The host 
was always present and never knew that there was a Jumper looking over his 
or her shoulder. In theory there had to be a host personality present. 
Without a host, how could the body function? The Jumper was only an 
observer, Monique told herself. The host did all the moving, talking, etc. 

Then a terrible feeling came over Monique. Slowly she willed her eyes to 
open. They did. It was a shock to a woman used to riding along, not in 
control enough to even make the host blink. Then she lowered her head to 
gaze down. The head obeyed and the eyes beheld a pair of rather large and 
very nicely shaped breasts. There was rope tightly pressing into the top of 
her breasts, three pieces of it. The breasts were creamy white and the ropes 
a dirty white. 

She closed her eyes and tried to adjust to the shock. She was actually in 
control of this body! That was impossible! No one had ever been able to make 
a host do the slightest action different from what they had already done in 
the past. In that respect, the past was an unalterable, fixed record that 
could not be changed. Jumpers only went back to observe, to learn about 
history, never to try to change it. 

A scientific portion of her brain marveled at the possibilities this 
presented, while a more emotional part was afraid. This was totally 
unexpected and impossible. But the real fear lurking in her mind was that 
she would not be able to return to her time. 

Returning to the "present" had been a big worry during the early 
experiments. It was feared that the Jumper could be "stuck" in the host, 
unable to detach. It took a great deal of courage for that first Jumper, 
Gary Moran, to actually stand in the TDT and go where no man had gone 
before. But he did return, Monique told herself in an attempt to provide 
some comfort. When the time limit is up, the TDT will automatically pull her 
back from the past, she told herself firmly. It always had and it always 
will. All she had to do was wait the six hours programmed into the computer 
and she would be back. And would she have a story to tell the other 
scientists and a lot of old theories would fall because of this! 

A sound in front of her made Monique open her eyes. A crewman dressed in 
ragged britches and a torn shirt sloughed by, carrying a bucket but 
obviously staring at the naked girl tied to the mast. He didn't seem to be 
too familiar with the benefits of daily bathing, to judge from the odor. 
Monique closed her eyes again. 

Okay, she told herself, you're in this body and you control it. She wondered 
if the host was back in her body in the control room. Hope the host takes 
good care of my body, she prayed. But there were more important things than 
wondering about something happening four or five hundred years in the 
future. There was the fact that she was naked, tied to a mast, and 
apparently expected to reconsider her position on something. Normally 
Monique would have followed the little drama with interest but a detachment. 
But now she was in this drama and it felt very real to her. The sun was 
indeed hot where it struck her naked flesh, but even more painful than that 
was the tightness of the ropes holding her prisoner. She could feel the post 
she was tied to and it seemed to be only a few inches in diameter, certainly 
not any kind of main mast. Perhaps it wasn't even a mast at all but some 
kind of pole placed there just to tie girls to. 

She explored with her fingers to find that her wrists were tightly corded 
together, palms facing each other. There were no loose ropes at all and no 
knots she could find. She realized that the largest portion of pain was 
coming from her elbows which had been cruelly pulled together and knotted in 
tight ropes. There was also rope wrapped around her chest, above and below 
her breasts. Her legs felt like they were tied together but she could move 
them a little and it didn't feel like they were also lashed to the post. The 
ropes did cut into the flesh of her legs above the knees but she couldn't 
see them. All in all, she was one well-tied up girl and certainly not going 
away where. 

It was a strange feeling for Monique to be so completely helpless. She had 
never been completely and thoroughly tied up in her whole life. There had 
been a few times when she was in her early teens but those times had not 
been anywhere as tight or complete as this. Whoever had bound her to that 
post had done a good job. 

As she thought about her situation, she was aware of the activity going on 
around her. There were apparently dozens of crewmen and many of them found 
reason to pass by the naked and bound girl. She could hear them, smell most 
of them, and sometimes see their leers and grins. It reminded her of little 
boys pressing their noses against the window of a toy store, gazing with 
longing at the goodies within. But since no one made the slightest move to 
touch her, she assumed that this naked captive was off limits. What bothered 
her even more than strange men leering at her nakedness was the hatred she 
could see in some of their eyes. She could sense that most of them would 
like to do more than just make love to her. 

She tried to ease her discomfort but could do nothing about the tight ropes, 
the hot sun, or the enforced standing on bare feet. Only fractions of an 
inch were allowed her where she was lashed to the post. A little more where 
her bound legs could shift a little to the sides or forward, but still not 
much. She quickly gave up hope of working herself free from the ropes, they 
were simply too tight and too well knotted. 

Every Time Jumper thought about being stuck in a host body. That was a 
normal fear when you realize how much they were living the lives of the 
host. Monique was coming to emotionally accept that this was really 
happening to her, but she still held hope that at the end of the six hours 
the TDT computer would pull her back. It had to. 

She wondered about the woman's body that she had jumped into. It appeared to 
be young, and certainly full figured to judge by the breasts she could see 
pushed outward by the ropes above them. She felt like she had a slender body 
with a flat tummy and long legs. Some blonde hair drifted in front of her 
face from time to time, pushed around by the breeze. It felt as if her hair 
extended far below the shoulder level. All in all, it seemed as if she had 
inherited a good body, although the face remained to be seen. From the looks 
on the crewmen's faces, she was not unpleasant to look upon. 

But why was this girl naked and lashed to a mast? If these were indeed 
pirates, and they didn't look like regular sailors, then perhaps she was 
captured booty, a treasure to be shown off before the crew. And perhaps to 
be enjoyed by the crew ... ? Monique wished she could remember more about 
the practices of pirates. That hadn't been an area she studied but it wasn't 
hard to figure that a boat load of horny sailors, at sea for months on end, 
might just be interested in a well-built young wench. Very interested. 

But that didn't explain why the one dressed in purple silk had asked her if 
she were ready to reconsider. Reconsider what? Giving permission for the 
crew to use her? Not hardly. There was something else involved here and she 
didn't know what. 

After a few hours passed and her mouth grew dry and her limbs hurt and her 
skin burned, Monique Hutton was ready to reconsider anything if it meant she 
would be freed from this post. 

"Is m'lady ready to change her mind?" The voice surprised Monique. She 
lifted her head and opened her eyes to find the purple silk pirate standing 
before her. She assumed he was the captain since he seemed to do no work and 
was better dressed than the rest. 

"I'm willing to talk about it," she said, hoping that she could draw some 
more information out of this guy. "If you would untie me and let me get a 
drink of water." 

The pirate laughed. Just like in all the grade B pirate movies, it was a 
diabolical and sinister bass chuckled that sneered at her naivete. "You'll 
stay right where you be," he continued after his amusement died down, "until 
you agree to write that letter. My crew doesn't seem to mind the way you've 
prettied up our deck. Dare say they'd like to get their hands on a wench 
like you, a lady of class and all. Far cry from the whores down in Porta 
Prince." He stepped closer until rum blasted her in the face. "And more than 
a few of them would like to see the skin lashed off your back, m'lady. They 
don't like what your father did to their crew mates back in Jamestown, they 
don't. Some of them what saw their lovers swinging at the end of hemp would 
like to do the same to you." 

Lovers? Pirates didn't carry women on their ships, did they, asked Monique 
of herself. Then it dawned on her. Long sea voyages and a lot of men closed 
up in close quarters made for gay lovers, she thought. The old navies were 
famous for that. 

"So, what will it be, m'lady? You write the letter to your father or do you 
stay here, lashed to this pole, until you rot?" 

"I ... I guess I'll have to write that letter," Monique said with what she 
hoped was the proper amount of resignation. It was hard to remember that she 
was not an uninvolved observer. "I can't write with my hands tied like 
this," she hinted. 

The captain gazed at her for a minute then motioned for someone off to the 
side to come forward. "I would have thought that the daughter of so famous a 
man would have held out longer," he said with obvious disappointment. "There 
were other punishments we could have tried if a day lashed to a pole didn't 
change your mind. More's the pity." 

Monique felt fingers working on the ropes binding her to the pole. "Perhaps 
the daughter of such a famous man is not stupid," she said. 

That gained her only a raised eyebrow. The ropes fell away from her chest 
but those on her arms had to be peeled off, so indented were they into her 
flesh. Monique cried in real pain as the last ropes came off and her arms 
came forward. Her shoulders hurt terribly and she could not use her arms, so 
numb were they. So much did the pain occupy her mind that she forgot her 
legs were still bound together, and when she started to take a step forward 
she fell to the deck. One of the crewmen untied the knots as she sat there, 
enduring the pain of returning circulation. There were deep, red marks in 
her arms and across her chest from the ropes, and she had to wonder how long 
had she been tied there before jumping in. She felt like it had been quite a 
time. 

The captain and a crewman helped her to her feet and then to the captain's 
cabin. Walking was not easy but Monique could feel her limbs returning to 
normal with each passing minute. The hands holding her arms to aid her were 
not holding on tightly and she wondered for a second if she could break free 
and leap over the rail. But from her position she had not seen anything but 
ocean, and when she glanced at the other side of the ship she could see only 
more water. Leaping into the ocean would gain her nothing and might well 
cost her a lot. Besides, if they only wanted her to write a letter, she 
could certainly do that. 

"Address it to your father," said the captain after Monique had been seated 
at a table and given a goose feather pen, a pot of lumpy ink apparently made 
from lampblack, and a sheet of coarse paper. 

Monique hesitated. How could she get this man to tell her the name of her 
father? She could think of nothing that might do the trick, so she wrote 
"Dearest Father," on the paper and hoped that would do. 

"As I told m'lady before, all you have to do is inform his Lordship that his 
daughter is being held for ransom. And it will cost him a pretty farthing to 
get her back." The captain laughed. "Now write." 

Monique began. "I am being held captive by pirates," she wrote. "Please pay 
whatever they ask." That seemed short and to the point. "They threaten to 
torture me if you don't," she added for good measure. Being cruelly bound 
naked in the hot sun was surely torture to anyone. 

But then she ran into a problem. What to sign the letter. All this man had 
called her was "m'lady", a title not a name. How could she ask him what her 
own name was? With the captain and a couple of the crew looking on, she 
signed the letter, "Your loving daughter." 

The captain took the paper and stared at it hard. "Odds Bodkin!" he cried. 
"What are you trying to do to us! Torture you! Are you trying to get us all 
hanged!" He waved the paper in front of her face. "Why do you write so 
funny? Is this some kind of secret message? You make your letter all wrong. 
And why is there no names? Are you trying to mock me?" 

He was mad and it didn't take a genius to tell that. "I'll write it again," 
she said. "Tell me the exact words you want and I'll write it out as you 
say." 

For a few terrible, long seconds he stared at her, anger in his eyes and the 
page crumpled in his hand. Finally he straightened up and let the paper fall 
to the floor. "I should have known his daughter would not give in so easily. 
Well, m'lady, you've gotten yourself off the pole with your little trick, 
but you'll not pull that again on me. George, take her out and string her up 
to the yardarm." He paused while Monique swallowed hard, fearful that his 
command would mean she was to be hung by the neck until dead. Wasn't that 
what they meant when they said "hang them from the highest yardarm?" 

"By her feet," he concluded grandly. Leering crewmen grabbed her and dragged 
her from the ill smelling cabin. She was tossed face down on a pile of ropes 
on the main deck, and her arms roughly pulled behind her. She could feel the 
coarse hemp rope scratching her breasts as smaller rope bound her wrists 
crossed behind her. At the same time someone was binding her ankles 
together. With many a laugh and crude remark, the two crewmen assigned to 
the task let go of her, and one of them took a rope in his hand and quickly 
climbed up a rope latticework to the nearest cross beam. He passed the rope 
over that and then scooted back down. They took that rope and began hauling 
on it. Monique felt her feel pulled up and suddenly her legs were higher 
than her chest. A couple seconds later her shoulders were lifted off the 
pile of big ropes and she was swinging back and forth as she rose higher and 
higher. 

Monique had to swallow down her fear. It was scary being hoisted high over 
the deck while hanging upside down. It seemed like a very long distance to 
the deck when her feet nearly touched the yardarm and the crewmen knotted 
off the rope. It was probably no more than thirty feet but it made Monique 
very much afraid as she twisted and swayed in the afternoon breeze. 

She could see crewmen looking up at her and hear their crude comments about 
upside down whores and the high and mighty being high but not so mighty. The 
captain's purple stood out among the plainer colors of the crew and she 
pleaded with her eyes to that man. She did not know what she could say that 
would make him end this torture. She had already tried and failed miserably. 

"Let her hang an hour or so, mate," she heard him tell someone. "Then bring 
her in to my cabin and we'll see if she's more cooperative." 

An hour is not a long time. Unless, of course, you happen to be naked, 
hanging upside down, and in the hands of blood-thirsty pirates. Then it's a 
long time. Monique moaned each time the wind twisted her body around and as 
the pain in her ankles increased. Her body was young and could take the 
rough treatment but it was not pleasant. She tried to pass the time by 
observing and trying to plan what she would do when she was taken down. She 
deliberately twisted so she could see in all directions, but only empty sea 
met her gaze. Jumping overboard was not going to get her anywhere. by the 
time she was lowered to the deck and the ropes taken from her hands, Monique 
Hutton was ready to promise anything and do anything to keep them from 
torturing her more. She calculated that she had been in this body only a 
couple of hours and had four to go before the computer would bring her back 
to her own time. All she had to do was hold out until them. 

They led her into the captain's cabin with her hands still bound behind her 
back. She tossed back her long blonde hair and stared at him in a way she 
hoped would look very submissive. He seemed to expect her to make the first 
move so she did. 

"Captain," she began, "could we talk alone?" The captain must have been 
thinking the same thing because he grinned from ear to ear and ordered the 
crew out of his cabin. "Well, m'lady, what is it you have to say to me in 
private?" 

Monique, hating herself for what she was about to do, stepped up to him, 
swaying her hips in what she hoped was a seductive manner. "Captain, it's 
driving me crazy being naked in front of all those men." She spoke in as 
husky a voice as she could manage. It sounded comical to her but the captain 
seemed to accept it. 

"Driving you crazy? Strange words but I believe I catch your drift. Perhaps 
it's been a long time since you've had a real man ram his shaft up your 
tunnel." 

"A very long time," she breathed, almost choking on the words. She pressed 
her breasts against the front of his shirt and tried to ignore the bad 
breath. 

The captain, not a man to waste words or time, tossed his captive wench on 
the bed and removed his clothes in such haste that he tore some of them. As 
Monique lay on the unkempt bed, her bound hands under her, she hoped this 
was worth the sacrifice. While she had been hanging there, she had 
considered the possibilities. There seemed to be only two; either she 
refused to cooperate and would be tortured more, or she would try to 
cooperate and fail to produce the proper letter. They might even come to the 
conclusion that she was not the daughter of a famous and wealthy man, and 
heaven only knew what would happen to her then. Then a third possibility 
occurred to her. If she could stale for time, she only had to wait three 
hours or so and the TDT would pull her out of this crazy world. But what 
would make a pirate forget about the ransom note? What would make any man 
forget about anything? Sex! As much as she hated doing it, she was going to 
have to use the womanly charms of this host body to make the captain more 
interested in other things. 

Her fear that he might be queer like some of the crew was put to rest when 
the last of his clothes disappeared into a pile at the end of his bed and 
his rigid rod proclaimed his interest. Monique tried to smile as she did the 
most incredible thing this conservative, scholarly prude had ever done-she 
spread her legs in invitation. 

This is no way for a respectable Ph.D. to act, she said to herself. But it 
might save my life. Or at last save me from more pirate torture. 

The captain mounted his bunk between the open thighs and began what can only 
be described as a cruelly perform and rather uneducated screwing of a 
maiden. He smelled terrible and grunted like an animal as he pumped away. 
Monique could feel the body she inhabited respond to the rough sexual 
invasion but before she could really get going the captain had shot his load 
and was withdrawing from enemy territory. 

Well, Monique told herself, that had been good for all of five minute's 
delay. She was not an overly experienced woman but at least the few men she 
had gone to bed with had taken their time with the sex act and most had 
tried to make sure she enjoyed it. This pirate was an animal. 

When she opened her eyes it was to find the captain with his clothes on, or 
most of them, standing there with his hand upon the shoulder of a big, dirty 
crewman in torn cream colored pants. "Michael Flynn," he said loudly, "it 
has been said that you had the biggest dong in all the King's navy." 

"Right you are, Captain. Before I became a pirate, that is." 

"Well, Flynn, me boy, let's drag that thing out and see what it can do to 
tame a bitch of royal blood." 

Michael Flynn may not have had the largest penis in the whole of the Royal 
Navy, but he certainly had whoever was in first place worried. The thing he 
released from his pants was monstrous and Monique gaped when she saw it. 
Then she gasped as the idea hit home that she was about to be impaled on a 
thing obviously far too large for any girl to take. She began crawling 
backwards until the wall stopped her. 

She protested but it did no good. The pirate, cheered on by as many crewmen 
as could fit into the cabin, mounted the bed and dragged Monique back to the 
middle where there awaited a mission impossible. She protested that it would 
kill her and Michael, with a fine Irish brogue, agreed that it might well do 
just that. But it would certainly be a fine way to go, all things being 
considered. Then she yelled as it was pushed into her love tunnel. But 
Michael was surprisingly easy on her and even teased her clit with his 
fingers until this borrowed body was responding with a heat of its own. When 
he had her juices flowing, he pressed home his advantage. Monique moaned 
loudly and could not believe that she was not being torn in half. Actually, 
it felt pretty good, but she did not admit that aloud. For the audience she 
cried that she was being killed and begged for mercy. Michael informed her 
with more than a hint of Irish humor that he was showing as much mercy as 
any girl could every hope for, then he began pumping away. 

To say that Monique was turned on by the performance and the size of his 
equipment would be an understatement. This normally quiet female scientist 
who considered sex something mildly interesting but mostly boring, was 
excited like she had never been before. She told herself it was only this 
borrowed body reacting, not her, but that meant little for she was feeling 
the sensations and emotions exactly as if it were her own body. She moaned, 
she cried out, she wrapped her legs around his hips and squeezed as hard as 
she could. With incredible timing, the big Irishman brought this captive 
female to a climax just as he was shooting his wad inside her. For Monique 
it was like nothing she had ever felt before. Skyrockets exploded in her 
brain, her body felt on fire, and she was someplace not on this earth. 
Flashing lights filled her vision and every nerve in her body tingled. It 
was incredible. 

Much later she drifted back to reality to find that she was still laying on 
the captain's bunk, she was still naked, and her hands were still bound 
behind her back. Dimly she could make out the captain sitting at his table 
working on some charts or something by candle light. She tried not to move 
but there was a demand she could not ignore. 

"Captain," she began, "I have to take a pee." 

"Take a pea?" 

"Go to the bathroom." 

"Bathroom. We have no baths on board." She worked her way up to her feet and 
stood there with legs crossed. 

"Oh, m'lady has to take a piss," he said brightly. "George!" When George 
came in, he was ordered to take the wench to the railing and hold her over 
the edge so she could piss on the sharks. 

And that is exactly what happened. Monique would have had it otherwise but 
when you have to go, you have to go. She didn't know if there were sharks 
down below or not, but she sat on a plank with a circular hole cut in it and 
did what she had to do. The plank was set out over the edge of the deck and 
looked a permanent part of the ship. She suspected that this was the 
"bathroom" on this ship. In a way it made sense. Better to discard waste 
over the side than anything else she could think of. 

Back in his cabin, she feared that the captain would begin again about the 
writing of that ransom note. But he didn't. Instead he seemed put out by her 
perform with the big Irishman. 

"You made more noise with him than you did with me, m'lady," he accused. 
Monique didn't know what to say so she remained silent. Fact is the Irishman 
had done a hell of a lot better job and deserved more noise. Hell, Monique 
thought he deserved applause! The captain sniffed. "Well, I guess not all 
men can be endowed with prongs that belong on a bull." He sniffed again. 

Monique went and sat on the bed. She wanted his mind as far as possible away 
from the quill and ink and paper on his table. "You were excellent, 
Captain," she lied. "A girl could hardly ask for more." She almost gagged on 
that one. "But not all men can be so big." Monique smiled. She made a mental 
note to date more Irishmen when she got back to her own time. 

"Well ... Be it as ye say, m'lady. But seems to me that we might not want to 
be ransoming you to your father now. Sort of spoiled the merchandise, we 
did, so to speak. If he finds out what we did to you, he won't rest until he 
tracks us down, every one of us. And he won't hang us by the necks until 
dead, so he won't." Monique didn't like the way this conversation was going. 
"So what to do with you, m'lady?" 

Monique was thinking furiously. But all that came up was make him want to 
keep her around. And what good was a woman on board a pirate ship? They 
probably already had a cook. Besides, Monique could never cook very well 
anyway. She sighed and offered the only thing she could. "Maybe we could 
sleep on it? You might have an idea in the morning." She smiled and slid 
over on the bed suggestively. 

The captain brightened. This was something he understood. And Monique had 
the feeling that he wouldn't be calling in any well-built sailors again. 

The lovemaking was the same as before. The captain obviously didn't care 
what the woman felt, content to use her as a receptacle for his sperm and 
nothing else. But this time she managed to extent the efforts out a bit and 
when he finally finished with an extra loud grunt, he was tired enough to 
lay down beside her and fall asleep. Maybe the rum she could smell on him 
and in the tankard on the table had something to do with it. 

Monique arranged herself as best she could on the bed, and tried to figure 
what to do next. Her legs were free, only her hands were bound, so she could 
get up and leave the cabin. But there would be crewmen on the deck, even in 
the middle of the night. She could sometimes hear them walking the wooden 
decks and calling to each other. She might be able to hide for a while but 
what good would that do her? It would be better to wait right there for the 
snap that would signal her return to a normal, descent world. 

On that subject, she frowned. It was night but she had no way of telling 
what time it was. The best she could guess was that she should snap any 
moment, for surely six hours had passed since she popped into this host. She 
was planning what she would tell old Dr Pritchard when she drifted off to 
sleep. 

The next thing she knew she was the captain was crawling over her to get out 
of his bunk, sunlight was streaming into the room, and she was still in this 
host. Certainly more than six hours had come and gone, and still she was a 
prison both in this body and at the hands of these pirates. She wanted to 
cry. 

The captain had his way with his captive maid, but she was so disappointed, 
scared and confused that her body could hardly respond and it was a most 
unpleasant experience. It seemed to be unpleasant for the captain, too, for 
he cursed her for making it difficult for his rod to get in, then cursed all 
women for being whores. When he was finished, he grumpily called in a couple 
of crewmen and informed them that they could take this whore down to the 
crews quarters and let everyone have at her. She wasn't much of a screw, he 
added. 

Monique had been close to tears but that was the last straw. She exploded to 
her feet and charged the surprised captain. "You bastard!" she hollered as 
she kicked upward with all her strength. The bare foot may not have been as 
effective as a booted one, but where she kicked him was a very soft, 
sensitive place. The air rushed out of his lungs and he doubled over onto 
the floor, groaning as he went down. 

For a long time no one moved. The captain lay on the deck, biting his lip 
and moaning. The crewmen stood by, unsure what to do. And Monique stood 
there, surprised as the captain by what she had done. And more than a little 
afraid of what would be done to her now. 

The captain eventually managed to get to his feet with the help of some 
crew. His face was pale and he had trouble speaking. "Get his whore ... out 
of my sight," he sputtered. "Take her ... Take her on deck. Keelhaul her!" 
The last words were spoken extra loudly and brought a gasp from the crew 
present. 

"But, Captain, you said the men could have her," one man offered. 

"Take the whore out and keelhaul her," he repeated. "Keelhaul her a dozen 
times. A hundred times!" 

As the crew hauled Monique out of the cabin and into the morning sunlight, 
she tried to remember what keelhauling was. She vaguely remembered the term, 
but not what it meant. 

Her ankles were tied together and a long length of thick rope tied around 
those. For a minute it seemed that she would be hung upside down again but 
they cut the ropes off her wrists. Then her hands were brought around in 
front of her and tied together. Another long rope was tied to them. She 
tried to imagine what ways they could tie her with these ropes but failed to 
come up with anything that sounded right. The sailors then picked her up and 
carried her to the front of the ship. There the rope from her ankles was 
passed under the big spar sticking out in front of the ship and taken on the 
other side by several crewmen. She was lifted to the rail and lowered over 
the side. The rope to her ankles was pulled and she found herself being 
dragged along the rough wooden side until she was directly under the prow. 
Her wrists were above her head, and she was held in place by the rope from 
them and from her ankles. 

It was then she remembered what keelhauling was and started to scream and 
struggle. Keelhauling meant to be hauled along the keel. The ropes were 
loosened and she sank towards the water. Keelhauling, she remembered, meant 
that the victim would be tied to ropes on each side of the ship and dragged 
under the ship from nose to stern, underwater all the way, and bouncing 
along the bottom of the ship. She remembered that to be keelhauled was 
usually a equivalent to a death sentence. If a person could hold their 
breath all the way under the ship, there was still the barnacles that 
attached themselves to the hull. Those were razor sharp and could slice a 
body to ribbons as it was dragged over them unless plenty of slack was 
allowed in the ropes so the victim could pass below the bottom of the boat. 
And if a victim survived the barnacles and didn't drown, there was always 
the sharks. Sharks were attracted to blood in the water. If the first 
keelhauling didn't kill her, the captain had ordered that it be repeated, 
undoubtedly until she failed to survive one. 

She cut off her scream and tried to suck in air as she was dropped to the 
water. The men holding her ropes had obviously thought it easier on her to 
let her sink into the water as much as she could before dragging her the 
length of the boat. In theory she might be able to avoid the barnacles and 
come up at the other end. But it took a long time for the sailors to pass 
the ropes down along each side of the ship, probably far longer than anyone 
could hold their breath. 

Monique hit the cold water with a shock and almost lost the air she was 
trying to hold in. After that all was a jumbled mixture of cold, pain and 
being tumbled about under water. She bumped hard into the bottom of the ship 
but could not control her motions at all. The ropes binding her wrists and 
ankle took away any chance of swimming. Just when her lungs were burning and 
she was certain she could no longer hold on, she was pulled from the water. 
Sputtering and coughing, she was hauled up on the deck at the stern of the 
ship, all the way past the big windows there. She lay on the deck, soaked, 
coughing, and cut in a dozen places. 

"Captain, she's been punished," said one crewman, obviously hoping that this 
would be enough. After all, this good looking wench had been promised to the 
men and they wanted her. 

"Again," said the captain between clenched teeth as he stood there, 
supported by two crew mate and with one hand holding his crotch. "Keelhaul 
her again." 

They carried Monique back to the bow and fixed her up for a second go under 
the ship. By then she had gotten back her breath and was pleading the she 
would do anything if they would only stop this. She promised to write ransom 
notes, to be a great screw for every man in the crew, and even to cook for 
them. But so great was their fear of the captain, not a man moved to stop 
her keelhauling, nor to say a word in her defense. They let go the lines and 
dropped the naked girl into the sea. There were triangular fins slicing 
through the water as she disappeared under the ship. 

All was dark and cold as she began again the hellish trip under the ship. 
Someplace along the keel she felt sharp pains but didn't know what they came 
from. Then some more and she wanted to scream. 

Suddenly there was a familiar snap and all was black and silent and 
non-existence. An emotion of happiness flooded over Monique as she realized 
that she had finally been pulled out of that pirate hell by the TDT 
computer. 

Another snap and she was back in light and air and the real universe. 

But something was wrong. This was not the control room. There were no 
technicians and scientist around her. And the familiar feel of breeze on 
bare skin greeted her. And she felt tight ropes around her arms and legs. 

Dr Monique Hutton wanted to cry. 

"She's Jumped again," said Dr Pritchard. "But not back here." He ran a 
wrinkled hand through thin white hair. "She's gone someplace else. Can you 
get a fix, Howard?" 

"TDT said that it didn't Jump her. The time fix keeps changing. There, it's 
dampening down. The reading is ... is ... 1722. Yes, that's what it's 
stopped on. The place is somewhere in Wyoming. That's the best we can get 
now." 

Dr Cockard closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Still no 
idea why she didn't Jump to the proper place and time originally?" 

"No, sir. The Jump just didn't go right. We've run full diagnostics on the 
computer and on the TDT equipment. Everything checks out normal." 

"So she just spent nineteen hours in 1512 then Jumped to 1722. And we have 
no idea why." The senior scientist of the project sighed and looked at the 
padded chair where Dr Monique Hutton's body still sat, an unanimated, empty 
hull awaiting the return of its owner. He sighed again. "I wonder what she 
was doing in 1512." 

 CHAPTER TWO - Water and Leather Torture 

Monique expected to look down to find her body covered with cuts from the 
barnacles under that pirate ship. But the body she saw was not cut up. And 
it was definitely not the same body she had inhabited just a few seconds 
ago. Or was it hundreds of years ago? 

This body was well tanned, slender but muscular. The breasts were not as 
full sized as her last set, but young and pert and went quite well with the 
slender figure. But this new body did shared some things with her prior one. 
This one was just as naked. And it was also tightly bound. She could feel 
her arms bound behind her, the elbows together but not hurting as much as 
the same bondage did in her prior host. This girl was more slender and 
apparently it was less stress on her arms and shoulders to have the elbows 
lashed together. Still it was uncomfortable and made her well aware of her 
restraints. 

There was also some restrictions around her slender waist and arms, having 
the effect of pinning her arms to her body. She could barely see the rope 
around her waist but it looked the same color as a length of cord that was 
looped around her neck and curving off to the side. That appeared to be a 
leather strip about half an inch wide. 

Okay, she told herself, you're tied with leather strips. Great! Now where 
are you? 

It was the mountains, rather high mountains to judge from the pine trees. 
The air was clear and clean, a far cry from the salty tang she had been 
breathing on that pirate ship. She was standing in the shade of a tree on 
the side of a mountain. There were no houses or other signs of human 
habitation, only raw nature all around as she turned to see behind her, she 
found that the thong around her neck was tied to the tree. The knots were 
just above her head, where her hands could never reach, nor could her teeth. 
She would have to stay next to this tree until whoever had tied her there 
returned. 

It would have been nice to be able to sit down but the tether did not allow 
that. So she stood and waited and thought. What the hell was happening to 
the project? Here was a second Jump where she should have returned to the 
project control chamber. But instead she found herself in another host, 
totally in control, and with no sign of the host personality. It made no 
sense at all. And was impossible from everything she knew of Quantum/Time 
Dynamics. 

At least, she thought, it was fortunate that she Jumped when she did. She 
was pretty sure that she wasn't going to survive that second keelhauling. 
And if she did, that pissed off captain would undoubted have ordered 
another. He meant to avenge the pain in his balls with her death. 

Or was it just good fortune? Had something about the keelhauling made her 
Jump? There was a whole new set of rules now and she didn't understand any 
of them. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of another human. He had come 
up very quietly and was almost upon her before she became aware of his 
presence. When she did see him, she almost laughed. It was an Indian, 
complete with buckskin pants, moccasins, bow and arrow, a feather in his 
headband, and a knife in a fringed sheath at his waist. Monique stared at 
him as he untied the tether. 

"We must hurry," he hissed. "They are not far behind." Monique followed when 
he tugged on the leash. They moved down the mountain side, hurrying along in 
a jog that covered the rough terrain easily. Monique was surprised to find 
that the body she now inhabited could run and leap over rocks with as ease 
equal to the man who held her leash. And she was glad to find that her feet 
were clad in buckskin moccasins. Running in bare feet would have been rough, 
especially since there was no trail. 

This Indian looked strong and the idea of resisting him never entered 
Monique's mind. Whoever they were running from and for whatever reason would 
have to wait. Conversation would have been difficult as they ran along. 

Then a thought hit Monique. She had assumed that the body she now occupied 
was well tanned. But perhaps what she mistook for a tan was really the 
natural color of the skin. When black hair bounce in front of her eyes, she 
was sure of her new identity. She was also an Indian! A maiden, to be sure, 
but a native American the same as the man who ran lightly over the rough 
ground before her. She filed that fact away and continued to concentrate on 
not falling. 

Running over rough terrain was hard enough but it was especially difficult 
with her arms bound behind her back. Yet his obvious hurry made her not wish 
to protest. 

Fortunately she did not fall and they reached a stream at the base of the 
mountain fifteen minutes later. It surprised Monique that she could run that 
hard for that long for she had never been much into jogging. But she had to 
remind herself that this was someone else's body, not hers. It was a 
superbly conditioned body. 

The Indian male dropped down to cup water in his hands and drank deeply. 
After he had satisfied his thirst, he again cupped water held it up for her 
to drink, which she did gratefully. He repeated the offer of water a couple 
more times until she shook her head. Then they moved into the water and 
turned downstream. For a long time they walked on the rocks and in the 
stream itself, and she wondered why. Then she remembered that they were 
being followed, possibly even by other Indians, and this was to hide their 
tracks. Moccasin prints in bare earth would be like a large, flashing sign 
for other Indians to follow. This way they left no prints to follow. 

Eventually the male left the stream at a place where rocks allowed them to 
get considerably away from the water before having to put their feet on bare 
earth. Then he started off on that jog again, leading the naked and bound 
captive deeper into the pine forest. 

When they stopped, even the male was breathing hard. And Monique was 
panting, her side hurt, and she was very tired of running with arms bound 
behind her. The run had been long and hard, taxing even a body used to a 
hard physical life. 

Her captor squinted in the direction of the sun, back the way they had come, 
and then all around. He untied the thong from her neck, for which she was 
grateful, that cord had chaffed her skin during the long run. But he then 
crossed her ankles and lashed them together with the thong. He jerked the 
thong tight and knotted it several times. Monique got the impression that 
there was no way he was going to allow her to escape. And that he knew what 
he was doing when it came to keeping a female captive. Then he took off into 
the trees. 

Monique looked at the crossed and bound ankles and sighed. A little 
experimentation demonstrated that there was no way she could reach the thong 
around her ankles to untie it. And she was already convinced that she could 
never untie her arms from the way they were bound. Her next test 
demonstrated the wisdom of binding her ankles crossed. She found that she 
could not stand up. If her ankles had been tied side by side, perhaps she 
could have worked her way up to her feet and hopped away. But with them 
crossed, she couldn't even stand up. 

Time passed and the shadows grew very long before he returned. It gave 
Monique time to think. Not that it did her much good. The first thing that 
surprised her was how this new body was able to endure having her arms bound 
behind her with the elbows lashed together. Such bondage had been painful 
for her in the prior host, something that made even a couple hours an agony. 
But in this new body the arms were uncomfortable but acceptable. She 
wondered if the Indian brave knew she could take such bondage easily. He had 
shown no sign of worrying about her comfort. 

For that matter, why was she a captive? And why had she Jumped into two 
different women who were captives? In both cases she snapped into a girl who 
was naked and bound. A pattern? If so, they why? What did it mean? She could 
come up with no answers. 

It was almost impossible to guess the year she had Jumped into, except that 
it was not likely to be in the twentieth century. Indians simply did not 
dress like that any more unless they're playing a part in a movie. Much more 
likely she was in an earlier period of American history, 1700's or something 
like that. But she wasn't sure. She could be off by hundreds of years. 
Indians did, after all, live in America for thousands of years before the 
coming of the white men and a lot of trouble for the natives. 

When her brave came back, he was carrying a bunch of berries in a piece of 
buckskin. He put that down on the ground next to Monique, inspected her 
bondage, and, satisfied that she was still helpless, sat down beside her. 
One by one, he popped the berries into her mouth and she ate them hungrily. 
They had a tart taste but apparently she hadn't eaten in a while and they 
tasted very good. He must have eaten already for he fed the entire batch to 
her. When he was finished, he untied her ankles and allowed her to stretch 
her legs, keeping a close eye on her as if he feared she would try to run at 
any second. 

"Would you please untie my arms," she ventured. "They hurt." 

"Do not mock me, Running Fawn. I cannot not trust you. I have stolen you 
from the Black Creek people but you are not yet my wife. You will stay 
tied." 

That seemed to be his final word on the subject. Monique tried again, "It 
will be uncomfortable for me to sleep with my arms so tied." 

"That is what you said last night," he said. But then he grinned. "It is 
well known among the Black Creek people that you can be bound with your 
elbows together for many days at a time. They say that once some young 
brave, while playing at capturing maidens, caught you in the forest and tied 
you with your elbows together. And they tied your feet to your hands and 
left you there. For three days you stayed bound that way until they found 
you. And your arms were as good as always afterward. Is that not a true 
story?" 

Monique didn't know what to say. Was it a true story? "Stories grow with 
each telling," she offered meekly. "It was only one day." 

"You have been tied since sundown yesterday. It is sundown now. I see your 
fingers still move. And if you are hurting, that is good. It will remind you 
that you are now the property of Brave Wolf." 

Monique bowed her head, hoping that was the properly submissive thing to do. 
She remembered that some American Indian tribes engaged in the capturing of 
maidens from each other. It was a way of improving the gene pool, although 
the Indians didn't think of it that way. They only knew that they wanted 
fresh girls and kidnapping them was one way to do it. This brave had 
obviously kidnapped her. Undoubtedly it was her enraged family who followed. 
She thought of angry brothers, a vivid father, and perhaps some pissed off 
uncles thrown in, all trying to catch the man who would kidnap their own. 
She wasn't sure whether she wanted them to rescue her or not. But at least 
that would mean a removal of these rawhide strips from her arms. 

As Brave Wolf led her deeper into the forest in the twilight, she wondered 
if keeping your captive maiden naked was a part of the tribal rules for such 
things. Or maybe Brave Wolf just liked to look at her naked. From what she 
could see, she possessed a fine body, trim, fit and slender but with nice 
breasts to attract a man. 

He led her to a place he had obviously prepared during the time he had left 
her alone. It was well hidden between trees and a large boulder. There was a 
bed of leaves on the ground and he motioned for her to sit there. He then 
tied her leash thong to her neck and ran the other end to a tree a couple 
feet away where he tied it quite tightly. Apparently he didn't want her 
wandering away during the night. Then he came back and sat down beside her. 
It was almost dark now, many stars could be seen in the patches of sky 
visible through the trees. 

"I have captured you," he began, "and by the rules of my people you are now 
mine. You will be my wife. You will tend my teepee. You will have my 
children." 

Monique didn't know what to say. Should she protest? She had no idea how 
this Running Fawn had taken to being kidnapped. Brave Wolf was not a bad 
looking guy, if you liked the hard body type. Perhaps Running Fawn had even 
welcomed the capture. But then why the bonds? Formalities? Ancient custom? 
Pretty tight thongs for formalities. 

The next part wasn't too unexpected. As with any husband, he intended to 
exercise his privilege and screw his wife. She saw in the fading light his 
intent when he pulled down his buckskin pants. It was rigid and pointed 
right at her. 

There was an old saying Monique had heard when in high school to the effect 
that when rape was inevitable, relax and enjoy it. She didn't feel like 
enjoying it right then but it certainly seem inevitable. She was naked, her 
arms were totally useless behind her, and she was tethered to a tree. This 
man would have his way with her and there was nothing she could do about it. 

He was gentle in his own way but also in a hurry. She got the impression 
that this was something he had been looking forward to for a long time. 
Monique found herself pushed back and her legs spread wide. She tried to get 
comfortable on her bound arms but there really wasn't any way to do that. 
Fortunately his entrance into her sex distracted her from worrying about the 
discomfort in her arms. His tool was nothing compared to the giant Irishman 
on the pirate ship, but it was satisfactory. And certainly better than the 
quickie of the captain. Apparently Running Fawn had been wanting this as 
much as he, for her body instantly responded. With a gasp she realized that 
her tunnel was already juicy and ready to receive his invasion. And that 
invasion felt pretty good. As she began panting and getting into the mood of 
the moment, a part of her brain wondered how much her response was simply 
this borrowed body and how much was really her. In a couple minutes it 
didn't matter and she was no longer worried about anything but the wonderful 
burning in her loins. Brave Wolf might not be a skilled lover but he was 
considerate and certainly enthusiastic. The lovemaking lasted a long time. 

Monique awoke in the middle of the night. She was in the arms of her Indian 
brave and glad of his body pressed against hers for the night was not very 
warm. She looked up to see a millions stars blazing in patches, far more 
than she had ever seen before. And she wondered vaguely when the TDT might 
snap her out of this host. Any second? Or never? She drifted back into sleep 
with a snug, comfortable feeling. Even the tight leather thongs around her 
arms felt good, much as did the strong arms of Brave Wolf around her. 

She awoke to find Brave Wolf gone and her ankles crossed and bound as 
before. She hoped he would soon return with breakfast for she was rather 
hungry. A handful of berries was not much of a meal. When he did return, he 
had some more berries plus a couple large, dead squirrels. He fed her the 
berries, then skinned the squirrels and offered her piece of the meat raw. 
At first she refused, much to his puzzlement, but hunger and seeing him 
eating the meat overcame her reluctance. She swallowed down a few pieces 
without chewing. 

They broke camp, what there was of it, and began another day's travel. Brave 
Wolf made no move to untie her arms, even when she politely asked him to do 
so. She even promised that she would be good and not run away. He laughed 
and told her that a newly captured squaw had to be kept tied at all times 
lest she run back to her tribe. Monique wondered just how long it would be 
before she was trusted enough to be free of thongs. 

They traveled most of the day without incident, stopping near midday to eat 
of some more berries. Monique concluded it must be late spring or early 
summer for so many berry bushes to be producing. During one break in the 
jogging, she considered rubbing her breasts against her captor to get him 
interested in sex again. After having sex a few times, most men were 
inc-lined to feel more kindly towards a woman. Perhaps even enough to untie 
her arms which ached considerably by now. It had worked with the pirate 
captain. Well, sort of. But when she tired it, he playfully slapped her 
bottom and told her that was for later. Perhaps he considered it a ploy to 
delay them and allow her relatives to catch up. But whatever his reason for 
not wanting to play around, the slap across her bare bottom had been quite 
hard and left her cheek stinging for a while. She was sure there was a red 
hand print showing on her rear. 

The trouble came in the late afternoon. They had come to a fair sized river 
with swiftly flowing water. He turned and moved up river, the two of them 
walking along the large boulders. Eventually he came to the place he was 
looking for, a place where the river widened and slowed. The crossing was 
slow because they had to make sure of their footing on the slippery rocks 
and the strong current. The water was generally only a couple feet deep but 
occasionally there were deeper pools. They were almost across to the other 
side when Monique slipped on a rock and fell towards the water. Brave Wolf 
had his hand on her arm to help her but she slipped out of that and fell in 
a pool. She bumped against the other side of the pool and Brave Wolf had to 
help her out. Monique was gasping as he carried her to the dry shore. The 
water was apparently snow run off and was icy cold, quite a shock to her 
sunwarmed body. 

Monique would have liked to rest but Brave Wolf hurried her to her feet and 
away from the open shore of the river. Apparently he didn't wish to be out 
in the open where they could be seen. 

As the water dried off her skin, Monique noticed that the leather thongs 
began to bother her more. Not that she was happy with them. Just since she 
had Jumped into this host, she had been bound for around twenty-four hours 
and from what he said, the whole night before that. Her arms ached. But now 
that ache seemed to be increasing. Finally it occurred to her that leather, 
having been drenched with water, was now drying out. And when leather dries, 
it shrinks. Those already tight bonds were growing tighter, cutting deeper 
into her skin and hurting a lot more. 

"Brave Wolf! Please! The leather is shrinking and hurting me. Please take 
them off. I'll be good." 

"Quiet, squaw," he hissed. But his attention was not on the naked, suffering 
squaw next to him, it was on the forest around them. Perhaps he had heard 
something but Monique did not. All she could hear was the breeze in the 
pines and distant calls of birds. And the mild roar of the river not far off 
to their left. Eventually he jerked on her leash and she had no choice but 
to follow behind him. Her arms were hurting terribly, almost enough to make 
her want to cry but she dared not say a word, not after seeing the look in 
his eyes. 

A couple minutes later they reached a small clearing where Brave Wolf 
stopped. Again he looked around, listening carefully. Monique suppressed a 
moan and hoped that the leather would soon stop tightening. She wondered if 
it would stay at this incredible degree of tightness or loosen after it was 
fully dry. She suspected it would stay the way it was. That was the kind of 
luck she was having. 

Brave Wolf apparently heard nothing. He turned his attention to his captive 
maiden, noticing the way water drops clung to the nipples and glistened in 
the sunlight. And the pained expression on her face. He roughly turned her 
around and examined the way the leather thongs cut into her flesh. She could 
not see it, but her forearms and hands had turned a darker color. She was 
aware, however, of having lost feeling in her hands. 

Maybe the water dripping off this beautiful Indian maiden was sensual. Or, 
more likely, it was the way those tight leather thongs made her both 
helpless and in pain. Whatever the reason, he suddenly grabbed both breasts 
and roughly kneaded them. Monique gasped but felt her-this body-respond. 
Horny little vixen, she muttered to herself as the heat quickly expanded in 
her loins. A man touches her and she's ready to go, hot to trot. But there 
was no denying the feeling. She was intensely excited and ready. Had she the 
use of her hands, she undoubtedly would have pulled down this brave's pants 
to get at the thing she wanted inside her. 

As it was, she didn't have much to wait before he removed the pants himself, 
with some difficulty for the leather they were made of was still damp. He 
picked up the naked maiden and lowered her onto this shaft. She wrapped her 
legs around his hips and whined in pleasure. Brave Wolf backed her up to a 
tree and pressed her bound arms against the trunk to give him more impact 
with each thrust into her. With surprising speed, Monique reached an intense 
orgasm and was gasping aloud while her body shivered all over. This was far 
better than any sex she had ever had, at least as Monique Hutton, Ph.D.. 
Maybe this was normal for an Indian maiden. Lucky girl! 

Just as Brave Wolf was about to shot his load, there was a whoop from the 
trees and he froze in mid-thrust. With what had to be Indian curse, he 
lowered Monique to her feet and grabbed his pants. But he barely had time to 
pull them on before half a dozen Indians burst into the clearing, 
brandishing bows and knives and yelling. Brave Wolf instantly saw that there 
were too many to fight and did the only reasonable thing. He picked up 
Running Fawn and ran. 

Fear can spur a man on to incredible physical feats. Since these enraged 
relatives had obvious evidence that he had defiled their sister (or 
whatever), he expected no mercy from them. Carrying Monique in his arms, he 
ran like the wind over the rough ground, around tress, and leaping fallen 
logs like a deer. She could feel his still erect penis banging against her 
bottom as he leaped across the uneven ground. He was actually outdistancing 
his pursuers when he came to the river again. 

At this part the bank was twenty feet above the river at the inside of a 
bend. He was trapped. He did the only action open to him. He leaped. 

Monique screamed as they fell through the air. The impact with the icy water 
separated her from Brave Wolfs arms and she felt herself go completely 
underwater. At this point the river narrowed down and ran very fast. She 
felt herself being swept along, bumping into rocks and trying desperately to 
keep her head above the surface. She was fairly successful in keeping air in 
her lungs but could do nothing about her predicament with her arms still 
tightly bound behind her. She could only kick and try to stay upright. 

She had no idea how long she was swept along by the rapid current. She hoped 
that very soon the river would widen out and become more shallow for the 
cold of the snow runoff was sapping her strength and turning her numb all 
over. 

Monique never heard the roar of the waterfall. The first inkling she had of 
onrushing disaster was when she was suddenly thrown into the air. She fell 
fifty feet into the pounding water and rock-filled pool below, a scream 
caught in her throat. When she hit all went black. 

"She's Jumped again," said Howard from his console. "Again? Where to this 
time?" Dr Pritchard said. He was showing the strain of having stayed in the 
lab every since Monique Hutton's Jump went wrong. 

"Computer's trying to get a fix. Ahhhh ... There. 1888. But she's not in 
this country anymore. The computer says she somewhere in Germany." 

"Germany? 1888?" Dr Wagner ran a hand through his gray hair. "1512. 1722. 
1888. A pattern? Each Jump brings her closer to our time, perhaps? Good. 
Maybe a few more Jumps and she will be back. That is good. At least I hope 
she's enjoying the time she spends in each period." 

The Director of the project sighed and leaned against his console for 
support. "Perhaps I will take some rest. Howard, call me if anything 
happens." 

"I will, doctor. And Research is working on theories about what is 
happening. Maybe they'll come up with something." 

Dr Pritchard was already going out the door. 

 CHAPTER THREE - In the Castle of the Mad Baron 

Monique snapped out of blackness. For several long seconds she held 
perfectly still as she took in her surrounding. Then she cursed under her 
breath. 

She was, as she had been during the last two Jumps, naked and bound. She was 
kneeling on a bear skin rug before a crackling fire in a rather large 
fireplace made of stone. Her hands were bound behind her back with the 
wrists crossed. Her ankles were tied and under her as she sat on them. 
Glancing down, she saw that this time she was again large breasted, the 
firmness and smooth skin indicating that she was young. It was not hard to 
see her doubled up legs and breasts for her head was bowed downward. Long 
brown hair trailed down to frame her breasts. Her nipples, she noted, were 
erect and she was breathing hard. 

Anxious to gain some knowledge of what was going on, she slowly lifted her 
head to look around. Suddenly there was a crack and a tiny fire exploded on 
her right hip. 

"I told you to keep your head bowed," came a male voice from behind her. 
Quickly she lowered her head. 

For a while she sat there, trying to hear anything that would give her 
clues. But there was only the crackling of the fire. From the corner of her 
vision she could see stone floor where the bear skin rug ended. Monique 
longed to reach the spot on her hip where something had stuck her and soothe 
the soreness with her fingers, but dared not. Somebody behind her did not 
want her moving, and her experiences with captivity on the pirate ship and 
in the hands of Indians made her leery of any situation like this. 

The rug and it's naked captive was close enough to the fire for her to feel 
it's warmth on the flesh of her front side. The backside of her body was 
slightly chilled, as if the fire were the only source of warmth in the room 
and cold air entered the room from somewhere. There was also the smell of 
rain in the cool air that drifted by her. 

At least the delay gave her time to collect her wits. Obviously it was 
another incorrect Jump. She was in a new host body, in control of it, and 
without any other personality present. She was also naked and bound. What 
kind of a pattern was that? She was a scientist, she sought patterns because 
they revealed the underlying principles behind any set of data. But here it 
was hard to see any reason behind the pattern. Why should she be Jumping 
into females who were captives every time? 

The TDT computer sought out physical and personality characteristics in a 
host that were a close match to the Jumper. That was part of what made Time 
Jumping possible. There was a kind of resonance between the Jumper and the 
host. But Monique Hutton could see little in common between herself and the 
three hosts she had Jumped into. True, she didn't know much about this one, 
but she hardly considered herself a noble lady or an Indian maiden. What 
could the TDT computer be doing? Or was her Jumping even being controlled by 
the computer? She should have returned after six hours on the first one, but 
she didn't. And the second one has lasted over twenty-four hours. If it 
wasn't the TDT computer controlling her jumping, then what was? 

Thoughts of the super computer controlling the project left her mind as she 
heard sounds behind her much like someone rising out of a leather seat. Then 
there was a footstep on the stone floor behind her, and she braced herself 
but did not look up. 

"It is good to see you being submissive," said the male voice. The words 
were English but the accent was Germanic. "You fought quite a bit when they 
first brought you here. You even kicked one of my men. He was walking funny 
for quite a while. You have much to learn." 

There was a pause as if the voice expected a reply. Monique said nothing. 
Finally the voice continued. "You do know why you're here, don't you? And 
why I have had your clothes taken away from you? And why you are bound with 
ropes and will stay bound?" 

No, thought Monique, I have no idea. Please tell me. But she said nothing 
aloud. 

"I should have never allowed my son to attend a university in England, but I 
did. I could not foresee that he would fall in love with an English girl. Or 
that this English girl would break his heart. He was just a young and 
foolish boy." There was more than a hint of bitterness in the voice now. "He 
didn't know the wicked ways of women. When you utterly rejected him, he 
could not take it. He took his own life. The note he left was pitiful, the 
ramblings of a love-sick boy who thought the world had just ended. But I 
expect you know all that. Perhaps it was even your plan from the start, 
perhaps not. But it happened." There was a pause. "And now I will extract a 
measure of revenge for what you have done to my son. And to me." 

Monique swallowed hard. This man sounded like he planned something terrible 
for her. Actually for her host, but it mattered little since she was this 
body now, just as surely as if she had been born in it. 

"I made sure that no one knows you are here," he continued. "This castle is 
remote. It is as old as our family. And it has dungeons." He let the words 
sink in. Monique was considering if telling the truth might save her. If he 
believed it. Most likely not. The lack of electric lighting suggested that 
she had jumped into a time not too close to hers. Time travelers would not 
be believed. 

"I am sorry about your son," she said quietly. "I'm sure you are." His words 
were almost hissed. There was no mistaking the hatred in them. "I'm sure you 
regret what has happened very much. But," he paused and she heard a swishing 
sound followed by a sharp explosion of pain in her right hip. "But it will 
not alter your fate. You will pay for the pain you have caused me and my 
family. You will suffer because of your thoughtless, reckless playing with a 
young man's heart. Oh, you will suffer." 

Monique looked up to see a man standing over her, riding crop in his hand. 
He was not unhandsome but the hatred twisted his appearance into something 
truly evil. For a long time he stood there looking down at her as she looked 
up at him. What could she tell him so that he would understand that she was 
not the same person who had caused his son's death? Nothing! 

"Roll on your side," he finally said, tapping her side with the whip. 
Monique complied, discovering as she did that her legs were stiff, perhaps 
from kneeling there on that rug a long time. The man reached down and untied 
the ropes around her ankles. "On your feet," he commanded in a tone that 
allowed for no resistance. Monique again complied, not knowing what else to 
do. He took one bare are in a firm grip, picked up a candle holder with half 
a dozen lit candles, and led her from the room, his boots clicking on the 
stone floor, her bare feet making no sound. 

It was indeed a castle, a maze of stone hallways, huge rooms with tremendous 
fireplaces, and tapestries depicting hunting scenes hanging everywhere. 
Monique noted that it was raining outside when she passed some windows. And 
the place did have a dungeon, exactly as the man had said. He led the naked 
girl, who was shivering at the coolness of the air, down a winding 
staircase, pausing only to unlock a massive wooden door at the bottom of the 
stairs. Inside was something right out of a grade B horror movie; a large 
stone room filled with torture instruments. As Monique stepped inside, she 
immediately noticed a wooden rack before her, the wood dark with age, the 
chains and iron shackles rusty. The platform on which the victim was 
stretched out was made of numerous wooden ridges, each like a small, sharp 
wedge. Just laying on that thing would be uncomfortable, especially if the 
unfortunate were naked-as she was. 

Looking around with considerable anxiety, Monique saw a pillory, a set of 
stocks, an iron chair with shackles attached to the arms and legs, and a 
small iron cage hanging from ceiling. All looked like it was ancient, but 
also like it was functional. Dust things off a bit, oil some of the hinges, 
and you'd have an operational torture chamber; damp, dark, moldy and very 
scary. Monique swallowed hard and wished she could scream for the TDT 
computer to Jump her immediately. 

Her captor stood there, looking around the room, one hand still gripping her 
bare arm, and a satanic grin on his face. "All of this was used centuries 
ago by the family von Snyder," he boasted. "Many enemies learned of pain and 
agony within these walls. There is history here." 

There's madness here, thought Monique. "See that iron chair? You would be 
locked into it. Then a fire is started underneath the seat. As the metal 
seat grows hotter, you flesh will begin to burn. You would soon be screaming 
for mercy, just as many have before you. Effective, no?" 

Monique remained silent. She was too afraid to speak. 

"There are cells down that way," von Snyder continued. "Small, smelly, dank 
cells where hundreds of people have awaited their painful fate. Some, they 
say, were innocents. The Inquisition did make some mistakes." He laughed. 
"There was a tendency to grab innocent young girls and torture them until 
they confessed. It really didn't matter what they confessed to, all that was 
important was the torture. Don't you agree?" 

Monique stared at him with wide eyes and realized that this man was mad. 
Perhaps his son's suicide had pushed him over the edge, perhaps he had 
already been there, just looking for a reason to explore his insanity. 

"I will make your stay here last a long time," he said. "A very long time. 
Any you will suffer every day of it. Just as I suffer every day for my son." 
His voice was quiet now, and that made it even more sinister. 

For a while von Snyder looked at her, searching for heaven only knows what 
in her eyes. Then he turned suddenly and almost dragged her over to the 
stocks. There was a place for the victim to sit down, a wooden board on 
edge, and a place for the feet to be locked in a wooden yoke. He sat her 
down on the edge of wood and pulled up the yoke. Her feet went within the 
circles of and he closed the top of the yoke then cursed in German. The 
holes were larger than Monique's ankles, undoubtedly made for a male victim, 
not a woman. She would have been able to slide her feet out, perhaps 
requiring a bit of effort, but the holes were certainly not snug. He lifted 
the yoke, took her feet out of the holes, then slammed down the yoke. He 
locked it even though her ankles were not imprisoned within. Then he took 
from his pocket the rope that he had removed from her feet and used it to 
lash her ankles together and to the top board. 

It may not have been the way the stocks were intended for use but it was 
effective. Monique was forced to sit on the edge of the board with her feet 
stretched out in front of her and tied solidly in place. Her crossed and 
bound wrists would stay behind her and were prevented from reaching the 
ropes about her ankles. 

"Tomorrow I will begin your daily torment," he said seriously. "And every 
day after that you will suffer more. The skin of your body will be whipped 
until you are covered with marks. You will be burned until you scream for 
mercy. Your limbs will be broken then allowed to heal unset only to be 
broken again." 

His words evoked nasty visions in Monique, making her shudder. 

"And I won't forget that you are a woman, and it was that woman's body that 
brought my son to his shame. You will be tortured in ways that only a woman 
can be tortured." 

"Will that bring your son back?" she asked before she thought. 

He sneered. "No, but that is not my intent. I wish only that you suffer. And 
continue to suffer every day of your life. Just as I am." 

Suddenly he was gone, taking with him the candle holder and her light. 

It was dark. It was cold. And it was uncomfortable to be sitting with bare 
ass on the edge of a wooden board. Monique knew that the discomfort from the 
wooden edge she had to place all her weight on would grow and grow. How bad 
it would get, she had no idea but it was meant to be an instrument of 
torture and she suspected that it would function to that end very well. 

She searched with her fingers, trying to reach the knots or find loose 
ropes. The ropes were not loose and the knots were where she could just 
barely touch them with fingernails but do nothing about them. In anger she 
shook her body, tugging and twisting at the ropes. Then she tugged and 
pulled at the ropes holding her ankles to the stocks. All that did was hurt 
her ankles. It was frustrating and terrible to be so confined and helpless. 
And being in an absolutely black, damp dungeon didn't help, either. 

For a long time Monique tried to work at the ropes, but succeeded only in 
chaffing her ankles and exhausting herself. Those ropes were going to hold 
her for a long time. 

Finally she settled down and tried to make some sense of what was happening 
to her. The fact that she was in the hands of a madman was obvious. That he 
planned to cause her considerable pain was also obvious-painfully obvious. 
But why? Why had she Jumped again into the body of a woman who was a 
captive? Of the three wrong Jumps, this was the only one in which the host 
had apparently done something to deserve her captivity, if you considered 
jilting a young man a crime. The others had been totally innocent victims. 
What pattern was there? The idea stuck her that she was being punished by 
some higher power. Endlessly Jumping her into the bodies of woman about to 
be tortured would certainly be punishment. But why? She couldn't remember 
doing anyone harm, at least not enough to deserve this. Had the computer 
screwed up? But Dr Pritchard and Howard and others were monitoring the Jump. 
They couldn't see what was going on with the host, but the computer could 
tell them the place and time of the Jump and some other information. They 
surely knew that the first Jump had gone wrong and that there had been two 
more since then. Multiple Jumps hadn't ever been tried before, it was 
considered too unknown and potentially dangerous. They had to know that 
something was wrong. They had to. And they had to be working on getting her 
back, they just had to. 

As the long hours of the night dragged on, Monique found herself nodding off 
occasionally, but it was hard to get any sleep in her condition. Morning 
brought von Snyder back to find a naked girl looking haggard. 

"Do you know what these are?" he asked casually, holding up a couple of 
metal circles with screws along the outside and sharp points on the inside. 
"I found them hidden away down here when I was exploring the place as a 
teenager. It was years later that I ran across a description of what they 
were and how they were used on female prisoners." He stepped forward until 
he was standing behind Monique. 

"Could I please have a drink of water?" she asked. "This ring goes around 
the breast," he continued as if she had never uttered a word. "And the 
screws are tightened down until the points embed themselves in the flesh of 
the breast. Sort of like a collar for the breast." He placed the ring around 
her right breast. She tried to pull back but his body was behind her and 
there was nothing she could do. He tightened down first one then another of 
the screws and Monique could feel the sharp metal points pressing against 
the soft flesh of her breast. He tightened down until all the points were 
hard against the skin but none penetrating. 

Monique was surprised to see that the nipple of that breast was rigid. From 
fear? von Snyder let go of the ring and it stayed in place. 

"There is a thumbscrew that I'll bet could be used to crush a nipple. All I 
would have to do is fit the end of your breast into it and screw it down. It 
was used to crush the bones in fingers and thumbs. I'm sure it would do a 
good job of crushing a nipple. Probably quite painfully, wouldn't you 
think?" 

Monique wanted to cry. There was no reasoning with a madman. 

"Well, first I'll show you how these spikes tighten down." He did as he said 
he would, tightening each screw a turn before going on to the next. The 
breast ballooned as the sharp spikes pushed into its base. Then one turn 
drove the metal spike beyond the flesh's ability to resist and a drop of 
blood appeared along side the slender point. 

"Please don't do this to me," begged Monique. Von Snyder ignored her and 
continued to tighten screws until all the spikes were buried in her flesh 
and she was crying. "Oh, please!" she begged. "That hurts so! Please stop 
it." 

"It is suppose to hurt," he said matter-of-factly. Then he fitted the other 
ring around her left breast and began tightening down its screws. Monique 
pleaded and tried to pull away but could do nothing against the ropes 
holding her and his strength. In a few minutes both breasts were circled by 
metal spikes and trickled of blood crept down her front. Von Snyder seemed 
pleased with his handiwork. Suddenly he turned and left the room, this time 
leaving the candle holder. 

Monique gazed at her tortured breasts and whined with pain. In all fairness, 
if she were to examine this objectively, she would have admitted that the 
pain wasn't too severe. But the idea of her breasts being pierced by spikes 
was emotionally more painful than physically. And the talk about crushing 
her nipples in an iron screw had shaken her deeply. 

An hour later von Snyder returned, this time with his riding crop and a 
fresh supply of candles to replace those that had burned down. Monique's 
tears were dried in streaks upon her face, as had the blood from the tiny 
punctures around her breasts. He untied her feet and ordered her to stand 
up. It was difficult for her leg muscles had stiffened up during the cold 
night. And each movement of her body shifted those metal rings around her 
breasts, making the thin spikes hurt even more. But she stood. 

"Bend over," came the next order. Monique moaned as the shifting weight made 
her breasts burn. She stopped when her head was about the level of her hips. 
The position made her bottom stick out and she didn't like that. 

As expected, von Snyder walked around behind her where he could easily 
target her soft bottom for his riding crop. Unseen by Monique, there was a 
red mark across the cheeks where she had rested her weight on the board all 
night. He enjoyed seeing that. But it wasn't the redness he wanted, so he 
lashed out with the riding crop to smack solidly against one cheek. Monique 
cried out and jumped forward, almost falling into the stocks. Almost 
immediately a second stroke impacted against the other cheek. This time she 
did fall down, missing the stocks but bruising her side against the stone 
floor. 

"Get up," he said simply. Crying from both the pain in her bottom and 
breasts, Monique complied, awkwardly because of bound wrists and those 
painful devices on her breasts. "Please don't do this to me. I don't deserve 
it. I never hurt your son." 

"Liar. Bend over." Monique whined and sucked in breath. How many strokes 
would he plant on her bottom? How much pain could she take? This was 
different from the torture the pirates had put her through. Hanging by her 
ankles and being tied tightly to that pole had been one thing, this was 
different. And Brave Wolf had kept her prisoner but otherwise treated her 
well. This was something else. 

She bent over and braced herself. Fire exploded in her bottom but she 
managed to keep her balance. But jerking of her body had made the agony in 
both breasts flare anew. Again the crop struck and again she cried out in 
pain. 

The whipping continued until each cheek of her bottom had received twenty 
strokes and was covered with red marks and blazed with fiery pain. Monique 
was crying but had stopped begging for mercy. There was and would be none. 

It had been terrible, the whipping of her bare bottom with the riding crop. 
And it had been terrible the way those spikes dug into her breasts with 
every jerk of her body. Fresh rivulets of blood crept along her chest. But 
that was not to be the total sum of her morning torture session. After 
turning her bottom multicolored, primarily red and black and blue, he 
dragged her over to the rack and forced her to sit on it's serrated edges 
while he bound her ankles to a wooden bar at the bottom, then attached a 
rope to that already around her wrists and tied that to the windlass at the 
top. When he cranked the ancient and groaning handle, the windlass slowly 
pulled in the rope, and Monique found her arms being pulled out behind her. 
He stopped only when her arms were at a considerable angle to die body which 
was leaning backward. 

"This is one of the uses of the rack," he informed as if on lecture. "In 
this position the body isn't stretched, but incredible stress is put on the 
shoulders. If I pull some more, your shoulders will eventually dislocate. 
That is painful." 

Monique had never had a dislocated shoulder but had heard that it was 
painful. She had no wish to find out first hand. 

"Of course just sitting there is painful, especially on a bottom sensitized 
by the riding crop," he continued. Monique agreed silently. "So just leaving 
you like this would be a form of torture." He paused as if waiting for a 
reply. None came. "But it is not enough." He cranked the handle another 
notch, evoking a squeal of pain from the naked captive. He inspected the 
metal rings around the base of her breasts, noting the fresh blood and the 
way that this new position forced the rings into the large breasts. He 
seemed delighted at the suffering thus created. 

Returning to the handle, he turned it another notch. Monique gasped, and 
finally broke her silence. "This is terrible! Please don't. You're hurting 
an innocent woman." 

Von Snyder just sniffed in disdain and pulled another notch. Monique cried 
out. The terrible strain was clearly visible in the knotted muscles of her 
shoulders and arms, and on her face. 

"I wonder how much more it will take to pull your arms right out of the 
shoulder socket? It's quite painful. I had that happen on time when I was 
much younger and playing soccer. The couch got the shoulder relocated right 
away but the pain was quite severe. Of course, I won't allow your joints to 
go back into place. That is one of the beauties of doing it this way, the 
victim is held in place and cannot get the joints back into place. The pain 
just goes on and on and on." He seemed wickedly happy with that thought. 
"Perhaps on the next notch...?" 

"I am not who you think I am," Monique pleaded. "I'm a time traveler who 
just happen to Jump into this body last night when it was kneeling on that 
rug. This is just a host body, I'm not the one who did anything to your son. 
I don't even know her name." 

"Carolyn Michelle Smyth," he said simply, "It is your name and I do not for 
one moment believe your story. You cannot have gone crazy so fast. I am left 
with the belief that you are trying to trick me." He suddenly jerked the 
handled. The torture device groaned and emitted a loud click as the ratchet 
fell into the next notch. Monique was whining with the pain. The ropes 
around her wrists were cutting deeply into the flesh because they had been 
tied crossed and this pulling of both arms straight backwards was tightening 
the ropes. Her shoulders hurt from the strain of this awkward position. The 
lesser pains in her bottom, breasts and ankles went unnoticed. 

And she was wondering the same thing herself, when would the shoulders pop 
out of joint? And was it really his intent to do that? Sharp spikes sticking 
in her breasts strongly suggested that he was capable of such acts and 
worse. 

In desperation and out of fear that at any second serious physical damage 
was to befall her, Monique mentally screamed a command to the TDT computer 
to Jump her immediately. Nothing happened. The pain continued, the suffering 
continued, the danger did not leave. Monique was crying. 

Von Snyder gently touched one of the tears on her cheek, an odd expression 
in his eyes. "How touching," he mused. "The girl sheds tears." Then he 
grabbed on erect nipple between forefinger and thumb and squeezed hard. 
Monique cried out with the new pain. "And she will shed many more tears." 

He eased the pressure on the tormented nipple but lightly toyed with the 
other fearerect nipple. He seemed fascinated by her body's reaction to the 
pain. "One would almost assume that you were sexually excited," he 
commented, just before shoving a strong finger down between her legs where 
it rudely invaded her private place. "As I thought, your juices are flowing. 
All this sexually excites you, doesn't it?" 

Monique didn't know what to say. She would have doubted that this kind of 
treatment could sexually excite a woman but there were the rigid nipples and 
the moistness of her pussy as evidence. She did, when she could separate it 
from the numerous pains, feel some kind of sexual arousal, a smoldering with 
her loins that could, under proper conditions, burst into flame. She did not 
understand that reaction and felt betrayed by this body. 

Then, for one brief moment, she had the hopeful thought that perhaps this 
would cause him to perform sex with her, and that would release his pent-up 
emotions. Which, in turn, might just end this torture session. It was an 
ancient weapon that women used, giving of their bodies to manipulate the 
males of the species. But it worked. She had tried it on the pirate captain. 
Perhaps it would work here. She certainly had nothing to loose. Being raped 
would be minor compared to what he was doing to her body and threatening to 
do. 

Besides, if he thought that she was being turned on my this treatment, he 
might stop it. After all, he wanted to hurt her, not make her feel good. 

"Are you man enough to do something about it?" she asked in a voice that 
trembled. 

For a second von Snyder seemed frozen. Perhaps that was the last thing he 
had expected out of her mouth. Then a evil sneer crossed his lips. "You are 
incredible, Miss Smyth. You are in obvious pain and yet you either joke or 
are seriously sexually aroused and want sex. Incredible!" 

Monique tried to smile at him but wasn't sure if the expression on her face 
was anything close to a smile. Actually, just being raped would be a 
wonderful alternative to what was happening. And she had been raped by 
pirates and Indians several times in the last couple days, what would one 
more be? Besides, she reminded herself, this wasn't her body so it wasn't 
like SHE was being raped. She was just along for the ride, she argued to 
herself. 

Von Snyder looked along her stretched out body, the tip of his tongue 
licking his lips like a school boy standing before the candy store. Monique 
could see that this was a fine looking body, with long shapely legs and 
quite large but firm breasts. She didn't know what the face looked like, but 
this body was enough to tempt most any man. 

Suddenly he pulled a lever and the rack released it's tension on her body. 
Monique sighed as he helped her regain her sitting position. He untied the 
ropes from the rack to her wrists but left the wrists bound together. He 
untied the ropes around her ankles and shifted her feet around so she was 
sitting on the edge of the rack, her tortured bottom still on the sharp 
edges. Then he gently helped her to her feet. 

Monique was almost crying with gratitude that the worst of the pain was at 
an end. And that the threat of shoulder dislocation was, at least for now, 
at an end. She was about to thank him when he turned her around and pushed 
her forward so the top part of her body lay down upon the rack. It was 
sudden and Monique had no time to resist. She found her breasts being pushed 
into the sharp edges but the worst was the shifting of those sharp spike 
that were each half an inch or so into her soft flesh. As her breasts were 
squashed by her weight, the spikes dug in deeper. She screamed, not, 
perhaps, a full-throated bellow, but a high-pitched cross between a gasp and 
a scream. It was a protest to this unreasonable pain. 

With a booted foot, he kicked her feet apart so as to spread her legs. 
Before the naked girl had come to grips with the shock of her breasts 
against the torture device, her sex was being invaded from behind by a shaft 
obviously ready for the task, and with a hard-driving passion that totally 
betrayed the German's earlier calculated calmness. She felt his body slam 
against her sore bottom with each thrust. But each thrust also shoved her 
hips into the edge of the rack and her breasts harder into the rough surface 
they rested upon. Each thrust brought a fresh burst of fiery pain. Her bound 
wrists twisted and tugged against the ropes in an instinctive struggle 
against her helplessness. The German grabbed both sides of her hips with his 
hands and proceeded to pound away inside and against her body. 

This was a form of sex that Monique Hutton, Ph.D., had never experienced. 
All her sex had been of a rather tame variety compared to what had happened 
to her in the last couple days. This sex was rough, painful, barbaric in its 
crudeness, and not what she would wish on her worst enemy. It was also 
incredibly exciting and she felt her host body responding rapidly with in 
increasing fire unmistakably sexual. 

Her climax came shortly before his. It was an explosion of a magnitude she 
had never experienced or even thought possible. Her whole body was on fire, 
burning brightly as waves of pure pleasure mixed with sharp pains washed 
over her. It was incredible and for a while she stopped thinking, 
surrendering her mind to this incredible feeling. 

When she came back to reality, it was to find that she was still bent over 
the rack, von Snyder was no longer pumping away inside her, and there was 
something trickling down the inside of one leg. With a moan she lifted her 
body up, almost staggering as she came to a standing position. There were 
several smeared spots of fresh blood where her breasts had been cruelly 
abused against the rack. Her arms and shoulders still ached from the 
contortion she had endured. Her bottom was sore, her wrists hurt, and her 
breasts felt terrible. She was still naked, still bound, and still in the 
hands of a madman. Other than that, she was fine. 

Von Snyder had allowed her a meal around dinner time. After her rape, 
Monique had been taken to a cell and locked inside. Her wrists were left 
bound behind her but she didn't care. Those metal rings with the sharp 
spikes sticking into her breast were removed, causing a fresh trickle of 
blood from some of the wounds. Part of her mind told her that those were 
really minor wounds, they would heal without scars. But it had still been a 
terrible torture that left a strong impression in her mind. A woman can be 
very terrified of harm being done to her breasts. Much the same way that a 
man is terrified of something happening to his penis. 

The cell was cold and Monique huddled herself into a ball in the corner. 
There was no bed, not even a bench, only stone walls and iron bars. 

Her meal had been simple and placed on a flat plate so she could eat and 
lick it up with her mouth and tongue without the aid of hands. A bowl of 
water accompanied it and was gratefully sucked up by the girl being treated 
worst than a dog. 

As she lay there in a miserable bundle, she reflected upon the age-old 
mystery of women's power over men. She had been naked, bound to a rack, 
being tortured, and totally helpless. Yet she had managed to end the 
torture, get herself off the rack and into the relative comfort of this 
cell, and perhaps made this man think differently of her. She had always 
heard that once a man has had sex with a woman, he is under her power. It 
was a theory she had never put into practice, but which she hoped was valid. 

He came to her cell later in the night. Through the stone walls, Monique had 
heard thunder and felt slight increases in the thin draft of air that played 
upon her naked skin. He stood before her cell, looking in with a stem 
countenance, hands upon hips and feet planted well apart. 

"There is a torture that my great grandfather is said to have favored," he 
said casually. 

Oh, shit, Monique told herself. It starts up again. "You tricked me with 
your body earlier. That will not happen again." 

"Didn't it feel good?" she ventured, hoping to steer his thoughts in 
positive directions. 

He grunted and she took that as a yes. "You are a man," she said 
submissively. "Very much a man." 

Von Snyder shook his head. "This torture," he continued, "was used on both 
men and women. It is simple but effective. I will show you." 

With her hands still bound behind her, Monique was no match for this much 
larger male. She meekly followed where the strong hand on her bare arm led. 

Not far from the main dungeon torture chamber was a smaller room, containing 
only a small iron cage and a window that was a doorway into thin air. The 
bottom was level with the floor. There was an overhead wooden beam that 
stuck out the window. A chain from the top of the cage ran up to the end of 
that beam. It wasn't hard for Monique to figure out that a person placed in 
that cage could easily be swung out of the window to hang half a dozen feet 
from the edge of the castle. 

He opened the door invitingly. With a sigh Monique sat on the edge of the 
cage and swung her feet inside. She had to double her legs up to fit inside. 
When the door shut and was padlocked, she found the cage only a little bit 
larger than her body. Von Snyder pushed the cage across the stone floor 
until it balanced at the end of the low window. Monique glanced down and 
shuddered. The castle had been built on the edge of a cliff. The drop below 
her was must have been four hundred feet if an inch. It ended in a river 
surrounded by ragged rocks. Large rain drops began pelting the cage and 
splashing cold water on her body. Lightning crashed not far away, a totally 
evil and appropriate accompaniment to the surroundings and what was 
happening to her. 

With a shove, Monique was out the window and swinging in mid-air. The rain 
fell harder and soon she was totally soaked by the cold water. A wind rocked 
her cage back and forth, sometimes spinning it around. The world was dark 
save for the candle-lit window not far away. She could see von Snyder 
standing in the window, even see the sneer on his face as he enjoyed her 
shivering nakedness and the fear in her eyes. Lightning lit up both his face 
and hers as they stared at each other, the torturer and the victim, across a 
chasm of empty air. She began to ask, "How long?" but her question was lost 
in a crash of thunder. Then the fading candlelight told her that he was 
descending the stairs, leaving her alone for what could easily be the entire 
night. Monique moaned at the thought. He must have been pissed off at having 
given in to her feminine charms and was taking it out on her this way. So 
much for the theory that a man was always under the power of a woman once 
they had sex. 

The lightning flashed more frequently and the thunder became louder as the 
storm approached the castle. Monique shivered and wondered about the wisdom 
of being out in an iron cage during the thunderstorm. But she had little to 
say in the matter. She could only hope that the castle had lightning rods to 
attract away any danger to her. 

A dozen close flashes lit the sky, outlining the castle and revealing the 
distant rocks and winding river. Monique sucked in her breath at the display 
of nature's power. It was most impressive. 

Then it happened. In a tiny part of a second she saw the huge, ragged spear 
of blinding light dart down and strike above her head. At the same time she 
felt a massive electrical shock race through her body. For half a second 
that seemed an eternity she was frozen as blue sparks and smaller lightning 
bolts danced around her cage and the chain supporting it. Then there was a 
small explosion above her and she felt the bottom fall out of the world. As 
the cage started to plummet downward, the electrical discharges ceased, 
leaving her in darkness. She screamed as she fell towards the rocks and 
water below. 

"She's jumped again." 

"Where to this time?" replied Dr Pritchard. 'The figures are settling down. 
Looks like mid seventh century. Somewhere in Mexico." 

"That's so far back. We've never tried anything that far back. What could 
she be doing back then. That was before the European invasion of Mexico. 
Centuries before Columbus, even." 

 CHAPTER FOUR - Sacrifice 

She snapped out of the nothingness of time travel and into the real world. 
For a second she kept her eyes closed, trying to orientate herself. She 
could feel a gentle breeze across her naked body and head voices around, 
neither of which could possibly come from being back in the TDT. With a sigh 
she opened her eyes to see what type of host she had Jumped into this time. 

She was standing on huge carved stone blocks under a bright and hot sun. The 
air around her was sticky with humidity and smelled a little strange. As her 
eyes focused, she could see a pool of water about thirty feet below where 
she stood, a circular pool into which deeps she could see a little before 
shadow prevented her from seeing the bottom. But she could tell it was deep. 
Nearby, on some more stone blocks that were a part of the circular edge of 
the pool, she could see other people standing around, people totally unlike 
anything she might have been prepared for. They were all dark skinned 
natives with the pronounced features she had seen in many archeological 
textbooks. The costumes confirmed her first assumption. Strange as it might 
have sounded, she was sure she was watching a Mayan ceremony while standing 
amid the jungles of southern Mexico. 

So surprised was she at the fantastic attire of those on the platform next 
to hers that it was a while before she realized that she was once again 
naked and bound up. Or nearly naked. She looked down to find a crude form of 
loin cloth covering her pubic patch and held up by a string around her 
waist. Not much covering but it afforded a tiny bit of modesty. Her arms 
were bound behind her, a little movement told her. The wrists were crossed 
and the elbows linked together but not touching. The ropes felt solid, very 
much like the leather straps that had bound her when she was with Brave 
Eagle. 

To either side of her stood more males looking like they had just stepped 
out of drawings in Archeological Digest magazine. They wore short skirts 
that covered much more than her tiny loin cloth, roughly made sandals and 
fancy headdresses decorated with colorful feathers. She started to turn 
around to see what was behind her but was stopped by a hand on her arm. "You 
will watch," a harsh voice told her. 

On the other platform a dozen yards away, there was a large party of men 
with fancier costumes than those next to her. A couple had incredibly large 
and ornate headdresses. They seemed to be the ones conducting the ceremony. 
Then Monique saw the main attraction of the ceremony. It was a young maiden, 
probably a teenager, who was dressed and bound as she was. The girl kept 
looking around her with fear-widened eyes. Two strong men stood at either 
side of her, holding onto her arms lest she bolt from the scene. 

And Monique was pretty sure she know what the young girl had to fear. This 
looked very much like one of the sacred pools where sacrifices were made to 
the Mayan gods, human sacrifices most often, although gold and jewelry had 
also been found at the bottoms of such pools, among the bones of hundreds of 
human sacrifices, mostly young females. She recalled some debate about the 
source of those sacrificial maidens, whether they were captured from other 
tribes, or taken from the general population. She remembered that each day a 
human sacrifice was made at one of the main temples as the sun rose, just to 
please it and assure that it would rise again that day. Those sacrifices 
were almost always captured males from tribes they were at war with. 

Or was she getting the Aztec mixed up with the Mayan? Anyway, she was 
definitely in the middle of a jungle and these Mayan were getting ready to 
sacrifice again to their deities. 

The young girl was looking at a stone table right at the water's edge with 
much fear in her eyes. At a gesture from one of the priests, her loincloth 
was torn away, but the girl didn't seem to notice that, or it wasn't really 
important to her that she was now naked. Only that stone table with the 
groves cut into it's surface held her attention. 

Another gesture and the two guards lifted the captive over the table, or 
altar as it should be called. The girl struggled, but was no match for two 
strong men, especially with her arms bound behind her. They placed her on 
the altar, on her back. Other guards or priests or whatever they were tied 
leather strips to her ankles and then pulled them down on either side of the 
altar, spreading her legs wide apart. The leather was tied to protrusions on 
the stone which were grooved on the bottom to accomplish just that task. 
Another leather strip was looped around her neck and tied down to a 
protrusion below her head. In a few seconds, the girl was effectively held 
down on bound arms, in a very vulnerable position. 

The most elaborately dressed of all the priests, with a full head mask and 
towering headdress, apparently an old man to judge from the skinny legs and 
shuffle when he walked, approached the naked girl. When he reached the 
altar, an aide offered him a knife resting on a pillow of bright parrot 
feathers. The knife was of black obsidian, carved to a razor sharp edge with 
a wooden handle attached. He took the knife in both hands and lifted it 
above his head and aimed directly at the struggling girl's chest. Monique 
could vaguely hear muttered incantations as the old man held the knife posed 
to plunge down into the girl's chest. The girl seemed speechless as her wide 
eyes stared at the black death hovering over her. 

Monique watched, fascinated in a terrible way, as a scene out of ancient 
history unfolded before her. She had been trained as an observer of history 
and that part of her noted details as if she were planning to write up a 
report later. Another part of her was repulsed by the barbaric act itself, 
not wanting to watch. 

The old man must have reached the end of his ritual for he uttered several 
words in a louder voice, which were repeated by all those present. Then the 
knife descended.... 

Monique closed her eyes but could not close her ears to the scream that 
echoed around the circular walls of the pool. The girl screamed several 
times, the last one fading off with a gurgle into silence. Monique hear some 
more chanting then a small splash. When she opened her eyes, the stone altar 
was empty save for some red stain on one side. She did not want to look down 
into the pool. One day, she knew, archaeologists would come upon that pool 
and find the bones of that maiden buried in the mud at the bottom. 

"It was a good sacrifice," said a voice next to her. "She screamed very 
loudly." 

Monique looked at the man who had spoken. He was tall, almost half a head 
above all those around him. "You look with disbelief," he continued, noting 
the look in her eyes. "A loud scream is best, how else will the gods hear 
it? When your time comes tomorrow, I hope you will scream very loud to 
please the gods that they might grant us victory.'' 

"I'm sure I'll scream very loud," muttered Monique, a sinking feeling 
entering the pit of her stomach at the realization that she was one of the 
captive maidens, scheduled to be sacrificed then thrown into the pool. 

"That is good," said the man, ignoring the sarcasm. "Now come, I have to 
take you back to the Showing Place." 

Monique walked where the hand on her arm directed. A path led down a small 
incline and into the trees and bushes of a rather thick jungle. A hundred 
feet into the jungle and she lost sight off the pool stone blocks. A few 
hundred feet more and they came upon the temple. She wasn't sure if it 
really was a temple or what, but it was made of large stone blocks, stacked 
upon each other to make a slender pyramid with a staircase of very steep, 
very large stone steps leading up to a small covered area at the top. Not 
far away she could see other stone buildings of different sizes and shapes. 

Dozens of people walked between the buildings, some carrying woven baskets 
of fruits and other things, others just going from one place to another. 
Most of the women were bare breasted, wearing the short skirts like the men 
did. Many of the men were carrying spears and wooden axes set with obsidian 
points. She got the impression most of the men were of a military class. 

She was led to that tall pyramid. As they approached it, she could see that 
there was a small courtyard area next to the foot of the staircase. A low 
wall of stones surrounded a wooden pole set into the ground. It was to that 
pole that the two guards/priests took her. While one held her, the other 
began untying the leather strips from her arms. A few of the people stopped 
their tasks to watch as this happened. 

Her freedom was very short-lived. As the last strip came off her wrists, the 
other man pushed her back against the pole and her arms were pulled together 
behind it. The wrists were crossed and immediately bound again. 

"Why am I being tied to this pole?" she asked. The tall man looked at her 
with puzzlement. "This is the Showing Place. You will be shown here for all 
to see tomorrow's sacrifice. Under the sky," he waved a hand upward, "the 
gods will see that you are very fair and worthy, a sacrifice to please 
them." 

"I'm to stay here until tomorrow?" she asked. "Of course. It is proper that 
the people see that we have a good sacrifice for the gods." 

Monique looked down at her breasts and noted that they were a good pair, 
young and firm and a little larger than most she saw around her. "Could I 
have some water?" she asked. She was sweating from the short walk in the hot 
sun and the very humid air. The other guard held up a fired clay pot and 
poured the water into her mouth. She gulped as fast as she could but most of 
the water ran down her chest and wet her loincloth. 

With the hands tightly bound behind the post, Monique would have been 
helpless enough but the guards also bound her ankles by linking them behind 
the post with more rawhide. With her ankles on either side of the post and 
slightly behind her, Monique found herself leaning forward, not too 
uncomfortably but awkwardly. The smaller guard left, his task finished. The 
taller one stayed for a while, looking into her eyes. Then his gaze lowered 
to the wet breasts with frank admiration. Finally he pushed aside her 
loincloth and viewed her pubic patch with interest. There was nothing she 
could do to stop him. 

Then he grunted and left, leaving Monique wondering what that was all about. 
There were plenty of bare breasts around, these men should be used to the 
sight of them. 

Well, let him look, thought Monique. I can't do anything about it, anyway. 

The afternoon was long. The sun was hot and Monique could feel herself 
sweating but the air was so humid that the sweat did little to cool her. 
Many walked by, some apparently out of their way just to look at the star of 
tomorrow's show. But none, even the obviously more interested males, dared 
put a foot inside the low wall surrounding the "Showing Place." 

Monique considered talking to the people but didn't know what to say. Pleas 
and begging would get her nowhere, she was sure. This was a culture totally 
run by the priest class and no one would fool around with their official 
sacrifice. She could expect no help from any of the population, including 
every man, woman and child. 

With a sigh, Monique resigned herself to having to wait out the rest of that 
day and an entire night tied to that post while hundreds of strangers gazed 
upon her like a prize hog at the country fair. Then she would be taken to 
that pool and ... Well, that part was too horrible to think about. She 
sarcastically hoped that their gods would be happy with the way she 
screamed. And that the next Jump would be quick in coming. 

As evening finally brought some relief from the burning sun, the tall man 
came again and gave her water. Then he offered her some dry, flat corn 
tortillas. She ate hungrily and drank again when he help the pot up to her 
lips. This one was a little more careful about spilling water over her 
breasts. In fact, after that task was over, he cupped one breast in a hand 
as if weighing it. He let go a second later but Monique had the impression 
that he was thinking very hard about something. And that he admired her fine 
breasts. They were larger and of better shape than any she had seen paraded 
before her that day. Perhaps she was of a different people where big breasts 
were more common. It would make sense that they would use captives for their 
sacrifices. 

As the darkness descended, she could see some torches burning here and 
there, but for the most part the temple she was bound before was dark. The 
torches seemed to be only carried by people making their way around on some 
business or another. A little later a man came by and placed two torches in 
the ground on either side of her, then left. A few minutes the reason became 
obvious. One of those fancy feathered priests, along with his assistants, 
came up to her. While an assistant held aside her loincloth, he brought his 
hand up between her legs and rudely probed her sex with a finger. Monique 
gasped at the shock of being so rudely treated. A second later the priest 
withdrew his hand and turned to the dozen or so with him to pronounce that 
the sacrifice was indeed a virgin and a fitting sacrifice for the gods. Then 
they left. 

All of which puzzled Monique because she knew from the ease with which the 
finger had slide up inside her that this host body was no virgin. Politics, 
she decided. Apparently the sacrifice had to be a virgin for the gods to be 
pleased. But surely the gods would know if the girl given them was a virgin 
or not, and that suggested that the priest class cared more for what the 
people thought they were doing than that the gods thought. 

Not that it would do her any good. Even if she denounced them the next day, 
loudly proclaiming to all within ear-shot that she was no virgin, she was 
sure she would be ignored. The priest said that she was a virgin and who 
would argue with him? 

Monique did discover that the Mayan jungle nights were filled with visitors, 
mostly not the human kind. There were hundreds of flying insects, all of 
which seemed to enjoy feasting on human flesh. She wondered how the Mayan 
put up with them. Most were tiny but she could feel them crawling on her 
skin and their tiny bites. Late in the night, perhaps around midnight, 
Monique found the bugs lessened enough so that she could doze off. 
Occasionally a guard had walked by with a torch, but no one else came to 
visit. It was awkward resting in her bondage, until she found that she could 
lower herself to her knees. The rawhide strips connecting her ankles became 
slack as her feet came together behind the post. Her hands were still bound 
behind it but she found it much easier to lean back against the post while 
on her knees. She vaguely wondered if she would be able to get back to her 
feet when she grew tired of kneeling on the dirt, but dismissed that worry. 
She was tired and eventually fell into an uneasy sleep. 

Sometime late in the night, long after the torches on either side of her had 
burned out, and just after the passage of a guard on his rounds, a silent 
figure approached Monique's pole from behind. She awoke to find a hand 
covering her mouth to silence any outcry. "Be silent," whispered a voice in 
her ear. She felt a knife cutting the thongs at her ankles, then the hand 
came away from her mouth and she felt the rawhide at her wrists being 
unknotted. "Don't turn around," warned the voice as soon as her hands feel 
free. "If you run to the east, you might be able to make it to the old 
Temple of the Moon. Hide there. I will come tomorrow night." 

"Who are you?" she asked back in a whisper. "Just say a friend. I cannot let 
you see me or hear my name as the priests, should they capture you, might 
torture it out of you. But I love you and will have your body. It is the 
most perfect body I have ever seen on a woman and my rod longs for it." 

Thank heaven for stupid male lust, thought Monique. The strong male hands 
suddenly were gathering her arms together behind her back. "What...!" she 
began but a hiss warned her to keep quite. The wrists were again joined 
crossed and bound with the same rawhide that had just come off them. 

"Why?" she whispered. "I wish you to wait for me in the Temple of the Moon. 
If you are free then you may try to make it back to your people. But with 
your hands bound behind you, you will not try such a long trip. You will go 
to the Temple and wait for me there. Besides...." the voice continued as a 
hand cupped one breast from behind, "it will be pleasant to find you naked 
and with your hands bound behind you when I come for you." The hands 
squeezed her breasts so hard that she almost cried out. There was a real 
passion behind the fingers that kneaded her flesh and teased her nipple. 

"Don't you worry about taking away a sacrifice meant for your gods?" 

"The priests will substitute another virgin as soon as they find you gone. 
No one will say any word against the priests, least they become the next 
sacrifice themselves. 

As she stood there with this man kneading her breasts, she could feel his 
manhood raising to the occasion and pressing against her bare bottom. Boy, 
this guy has the hots for me, she told herself. She would have been happier 
if he had not tied her hands behind her again, but at least she wasn't still 
tied to that pole awaiting sacrifice the next day. 

"Go," he told her. "Straight towards the rising moon. The old temple is 
never used. It will be dark but you will find it if you follow that path. 
Hide inside. I will find you tomorrow night." He gave her breasts one last 
squeeze then pushed her towards the unseen path and was gone. 

Monique headed the way he had pushed her, hoping that she would find the 
path he meant in the dark. But she was a city girl and not as used to 
finding her way around in the dark as natives who lived without electric 
lights. 

She hoped the trail she found was the right one. The going was very hard 
because she had to feel her way with her feet. By swinging her foot from 
side to side, she could feel where the bushes had been cleared off to make 
the path. 

AH went well for about fifteen minutes. Monique was making progress, rather 
slow progress but something, nevertheless, when she noticed a slight glow 
ahead of her. A while later she realized that the glow was the moon coming 
up and shining down between the tree tops. In dim and diffused moonlight, 
she had much less trouble following the path. 

All might have gone well and she might have found the Temple of the Moon 
where she could await her lover-to-be. She was pretty sure it was the tall 
one and ever so grateful that he had gotten the hots for her. She wanted to 
Jump out of this barbaric culture but having her heart ripped out of her 
breast by a stone knife was not a prospect she wished to experience. And a 
life with the tall one sounded a better deal. But a growl behind her spoiled 
everything. 

It was a very low growl, but certainly not one that had issued from a human 
throat. Suddenly Monique remembered that these jungles were filled with 
jaguars, big kitty cats with very sharp fangs and claws. Fear took over and 
Monique ran ahead, trying to see the trail but more anxious to avoid what 
was behind her. 

She might have outrun the jaguar, or whatever it was, had the path she raced 
along led to the Temple of the Moon. But in the dark she had missed the path 
he intended for her and gone down the wrong one. She didn't realize her 
mistake until she suddenly burst into a clearing and found herself running 
full speed on stone blocks. She only realized that she was on the platform 
from which she had watched the ceremony when she found herself falling 
through the air, the moonlit surface of the pool coming up at her rapidly. 

The water was cold and as Monique twisted in mid-air she came down 
headfirst. She was only aware for a brief second of the water covering her, 
then there was darkness. 

Monique snapped back to reality and the first thought in her head was how 
stupid she'd been in the prior Jump to run right off the edge of a cliff 
into a sacrificial pool. Some escape! 

The second thought that popped into her head was how would she be tied this 
time. Patterns are patterns, you know. She sucked in a deep breath and 
opened her eyes. At first she was worried that something seriously wrong had 
happen for she could see nothing but darkness. But it was unlike the 
darkness of a Jump. That was a nothingness, a totally empty void. This 
darkness was hardly empty. She could feel ropes about her limbs and some 
kind of padding against her back and her chest. And something filling her 
mouth. But before she could begin to make sense of things, the door to her 
little prison opened and she was temporarily blinded by right. 

"So, my little dear, you see what the trunk can do?" The voice had a French 
accent and might have been speaking French for all she knew. It was apparent 
that she could speak and understand the native language of the host body she 
was inhabiting-but it sounded like English to her. 

The vision becoming clearer before her was of a small man dressed in 
perfectly correct formal dinning wear. Perfectly correct if you were 
somewhere in the 1920's. Beyond the man was a room done in wallpaper and 
furniture that fitted in with that period. And Monique immediately noticed a 
round window: a porthole. So she was on a ship again. At least it was not a 
pirate ship. 

The little man was helping her get up from a kneeling position. Awkwardly, 
as it were, because of the ropes binding her and the fact that she was 
apparently almost a foot taller and some pounds heavier than he. But he 
managed to get her to her feet where she balanced on shoes with high heels. 
Before her, almost as if he had set her deliberately where she could see 
herself, was a full-length mirror. Monique studied herself, trying to make 
sense of this new scenario. 

She was a tall girl, about twenty or so, long dark hair, blue eyes, and a 
full figure. Her arms were bound behind her with the elbows together and 
quite tightly. Her legs were bound at the ankles and again above the knees, 
which must have been somewhat uncomfortable when she was kneeling. 

There was some kind of material wrapped around her head between her chin and 
nose, forming a gag. A little exploration told her that a wad of cloth 
filled her mouth, there was some kind of tape across her lips, and the 
material over that was soft leather, tightly applied to keep everything 
under it from coming off or out. It was effective, for she found that she 
could not push the gag out. 

She was dressed most strangely. There was a pair of high heel boots which 
laced up the front and went all the way to mid thigh. And there was a 
corset, a tightly laced rigid garment that pulled her waist into an 
hour-glass figure but extended only from just above her hips to just below 
her breasts. No support for the breasts was offered by the corset, but none 
was needed. Those were large, youthfully firm breasts that stood out quite 
proudly. 

And that was all. The breasts were bare, her hips bare and her pubic patch 
plainly visible. 

Behind her, there was a steamer trunk on the floor, laying on end with it's 
top swung open. She could see that it had only padding inside. It was 
obvious that the padding had been added so that it would fill most of the 
empty space when she was kneeling in position and the top closed. There were 
a few holes drilled in the top, and Monique guessed that she would be able 
to breath, but not easily. 

The little Frenchman seemed quite delighted with himself for some reason. 
"So, you see how it holds your body, no? Everything was made to your 
measurements. It will be most comfortable, no?" 

Monique wanted to ask him why he should want a trunk that fitted her and 
held her prisoner but could not. 

"Did you try to scream, as I asked you to, yes?" he continued. "I did not 
hear a thing, so perfectly does it do its job. It is so perfect, this 
trunk-prison of ours, my dear. As perfect as you are." 

He left off praising his trunk and began to kiss Monique's hand, working up 
her arm, and then over until he was planting kisses upon the sides of her 
left breast. It did not seem strange to him to have to bend over so he could 
kiss a hand that was tightly bound behind its owner. Monique almost wanted 
to giggle when his mustache tickled her nipple. This little man was almost 
comical with his praise for both her and the trunk-prison, as he called it. 
And that was a good name. Monique didn't know if she had tried to scream, 
apparently under his orders to do so to test the trunk-prison, or not but 
she was sure that she would be unable to move once back in there. The ropes 
were quite tight and combined with the leather padding, made her quite 
helpless. 

"I must go and confirm my reservation for dinner," he said. "I will allow 
you the run of the cabin while I am gone. After an hour in the trunk-prison, 
perhaps you would like to stretch your legs. And such lovely legs they are, 
too." He looked to the trunk and back to the bound and nearly naked girl. 
"Perhaps it would be best if tonight you began your practice at being in the 
trunk-prison all night. After all, it will be necessary for you to do it 
every night when we reach America." Monique frowned at that suggest that she 
was going to have to spend the entire night in that thing. And every night? 
What the hell did he mean by that? 

"Perhaps I can arrange to sit at the table with Captain Smith again," he 
said casually. Then suddenly he was by the door and out it before Monique 
could have a chance to protest. 

Monique looked at herself in the mirror again. Perhaps she was French, this 
girl could well be. She was very pretty and did, indeed, have nice legs. But 
that didn't explain why this Frenchman had made her a trunk-prison and why 
she would have to learn to spent the entire night in it. Or who this man 
was, for that matter. 

He had addressed her like she was a close friend ... or perhaps a lover? Was 
this trunk-prison just a toy in the game of two kinky lovers? Somehow she 
didn't think so. But she could conceive of no rational explanation for the 
trunk-prison that sat there with open top as if inviting her within. 

Monique ventured a hop towards the porthole and almost fell on her bottom. 
Those high heel boots would take a little getting used to. The heels were 
very high. Carefully exploring the bondage on her ankles, she concluded that 
the ropes held her ankles too tightly to allow her to shuffle, so she took 
tiny hops, fighting for her balance after each one. 

The view from the porthole told her little beyond that it was night outside, 
the stars were shining down brightly and not a trace of fog in sight. And 
that she was on some reasonably large ship for it was quite solid feeling 
beneath her feet. 

She hopped over to the bed and sat down. Then she began to explore the ropes 
in more detail. They were about the thickness of cotton clothesline and 
quite firmly tied on. She could find no knots with her fingers and concluded 
that the knots were probably tied up at her elbows where there was no hope 
of fingers ever reaching. Once again, she had to marvel at how having her 
elbows bound together behind her made a girl's breasts stand out so 
wonderfully. And this girl certainly had a set to stand out. Monique turned 
this way and that, looking at them from all sides. No wonder the Frenchman 
wanted to kiss them any man would! 

Not knowing how long the Frenchman would be gone, Monique rose to her feet 
and hopped over to a dressing table to explore for some means of freeing 
herself from these ropes. There was a tiny pair of scissors on the table, 
and nothing else that might help her. Awkwardly she turned around and 
fumbled for those scissors with her fingers. After a few tries, she managed 
to pick them up and was considering the best way to attack the ropes about 
her wrists when the door opened and the Frenchman came in. 

He looked at Monique and at the scissors in her hand, posed as they were 
just about to snap at the ropes around her wrists. He made "tisk, tisk" 
sounds and walked over to take them out of her hand. "I know you have said 
you do not wish to learn to spend each night in the trunk-prison, but we 
have discussed this and it is necessary. I am most saddened that you would 
try to removed the ropes I so carefully put upon you, dear." 

He tossed a dinner menu on the bed, but it slipped off the edge and came to 
rest on the floor. He put his hands on her bare arms to point her towards 
the trunk-prison and began pushing her in that direction. "I know it is 
early in the evening, but you had an early dinner and perhaps it is best we 
get started. You may consider the extra few hours you'll spend in the 
trunk-prison as punishment for so foolishly trying to take off the so lovely 
ropes that you know you must wear." 

Monique didn't go along with his suggestion and his prodding towards the 
trunk-prison, so he simply took one of her nipples between two 
well-manicured fingernails and applied enough pressure to make Monique 
reconsider. She whined with the pain but hopped along as her nipple was 
pulled towards the trunk-prison. He pulled down and she was forced her 
knees. It surprised her how much pain this little man could create with just 
two fingers. Well, she told herself as she allowed him to guide her into the 
trunk, worse has been done to me before this. 

He pushed her backwards until her arms rested in an indentation in the 
padding. Then he closed the top until only a couple inches remained open. 
Through that he checked that all parts of her were fitting as they should. 
"I am sorry, my dear, but you do understand. No matter how unpleasant, you 
must learn how to sleep in the trunk-prison. And all the others things I 
will teach you before we reach our destination. It is much better that I 
teach you than the alternative." 

What alternative? Monique wondered. But suddenly wonderment at her treatment 
was vanished from her mind as she saw the dinner menu laying on the floor. 
Suddenly she began whining loudly through her nose and struggling wildly 
against the ropes. But the top was already pressing against her body and 
quickly it was shut. She could hear the hasps closing and locking on the 
outside. She tried crying out but the gag and the soundproofing of the 
trunk-prison were as effective as he had told her. Only the tiniest sounds 
came out. 

"I am sorry, my sweetest," he said sincerely. "Never have I seen you so 
nearly panicking, my sweet. But then, never have you begun so long a time in 
the trunk-prison, is that not true? But it is for the best. I will be going 
to dinner now," he added. "I might be quite late, please don't wait up for 
me." Then he chuckled at his joke. 

He backed off and observed his trunk-prison creation in action. There was 
only the slightest tremble now and then when the captive within jerked 
against her restraints. He noted that she must really be trying to throw 
herself around inside to make the heavy trunk move even that tiny amount. 
And how really very little sound escaped. He made a mental note to see if he 
could improve the gag to eliminate even that little bit of evidence that the 
trunk contained a live, very helpless girl. 

Then, with a smile, the Frenchman picked up the menu, tucked it under his 
arm, and opened the door to go to dinner. He turned off the lights and 
locked the cabin door firmly behind him. Then, as he strolled casually down 
the hallway within the huge ship, he opened the menu to study what he might 
have that night. He smiled again as he thought of his captive in total 
darkness and utter helplessness back in the cabin. Perhaps he would leave 
her in there for twenty-four hours instead of merely overnight. Would be a 
good lesson for the young thing, and proper training for her, as well. 

With a contented sigh, he turned back to the menu. The same menu that had 
USS Titanic boldly embossed on it's front cover. 

"She's Jumped again," said Howard. "The computer is trying to get a fix on 
the date and place." 

Dr Pritchard looked up from his console and sighed. It was obvious that she 
was not back in the displacement chamber. The body laying there was still 
lifeless. 

After a minute the figures came in. "1298," Howard finally said. "Somewhere 
in China." 

"1298," muttered Dr Pritchard. He ran his hand through the thinning gray 
hair. "That's pretty far back." He rose slowly and covered the few steps to 
Howard's console to look at the readouts himself. "Does the theory group in 
Research have any ideas?" 

"Dr Barnard says that it may have something to do with affiliation between 
the Jumper's personality and host's. He suggests a revision of the whole 
Time Displacement Theory to give more emphasis on the mental aspects of the 
Jumper." 

Dr Pritchard frowned. "Perhaps...." 

"And Dr Williams thinks the Jumper has more control over the Jumps than the 
TDT." 

There was no reply. That had always been the unknown in this great 
experiment-the human mind. They had always known that it was a part of the 
equation. But how important a part? 

 CHAPTER FIVE - Chinese Water Torture 

Monique held her breath for a few seconds then slowly opened her eyes. But 
it took a few seconds to make sense of what she saw. There were bright 
colors and odd patterns in the room and on the people around her. Finally 
things clicked into place and she realized that the men and women around her 
were dressed in very fancy and ornate oriental costumes. The room was done 
up like a Hollywood movie set of some Chinese emperor's place. Reds and 
golds were the predominate colors in the walls and ceiling, but the people 
around her wore a riot of colors and patterns. All had Chinese features. She 
glanced down to confirm what she had suspected from the first instant she 
was naked! And she wore shackles on her wrists, slender gold bands around 
each wrist connected by a thin gold chain that allowed her about a foot of 
separation for her hands. She sighed. 

Suddenly appearing naked before a crowd of strangers should shake up more 
women, but Monique had gone through so much in the last few days that it did 
little to disturb her. What bothered her more was the fact that the pattern 
had repeated itself. She was again a naked captive. Of who she had no idea 
but it wasn't hard to figure that she wasn't in Kansas anymore. 

She looked around and found that she was standing on a wooden floor in the 
middle of a very large room. There were dozens of people around her, mostly 
standing around and looking at her. In front of her was a raised platform on 
which a very ornate golden throne rested. The throne was currently empty. 
Turning her head to the left she found that she was not alone. Next to her 
was another naked girl, also shackled in gold. This girl had Japanese 
features, was very pretty and had a wonderful figure with surprisingly large 
breasts. She would have be considered a beauty in any circles. 

Noting that the Japanese girl also had golden shackles on her ankles, 
Monique looked down at her own feet to find that they were joined by golden 
chain but with enough links so she should have no trouble walking. 

Hearing the tinkle of chains behind her, Monique turned to look and found 
two other naked girls standing there, both also looked Japanese, and both 
shackled in the same manner. They, also, were very beautiful women. 

Monique took a deep breath and wondered what was happening to her now. At 
least this form of captivity was better than the last three. These shackles 
were hardly restrictive and far more comfortable than most of what she had 
gone through the last few Jumps. That she was standing naked before an 
audience bothered her much less than it should have. Perhaps it helped that 
she was not the only one so displayed, or she was just getting used to 
outrageous things happening to her. 

Everyone seemed to be waiting for something to happen, and that gave Monique 
time to collect her wits. It then suddenly hit her that there was a pattern 
in her Jumps as well as her destinations. Each time she had Jumped out had 
been with the death of the host! The first time had been while she was being 
keelhauled under that pirate ship. The second host, the Indian maiden, had 
gone over a waterfall. And the third time, just seconds ago to her, had 
happened as a cage with her naked and bound body in it had just been 
crashing into a river after a fall over a high cliff. They had all involved 
water but she was sure the real factor was the fact that the host was dying. 

Okay, she told herself, now I have a pattern. But why? It didn't fit into 
any theory of time Jumping she had ever heard. It was the TDT computer that 
should have been pulling her out of the host, and then only to return to the 
Jump chamber. She couldn't recall reading any reports of Jumpers who had 
their host body die while they were in it. But then there had also been no 
report of a Jump going into the wrong host at the wrong place and wrong 
time. It just didn't make sense. 

A gong sounded someplace and the room around her instantly ceased all idle 
chatter. An old man near a door utter something in a sing-song voice and 
stepped aside. There came in four very large and mean looking soldiers 
holding swords straight up and before them. They walked to stand at either 
side of the throne. Then a boy walked in. He was dressed in robes that were 
heavy with gold trim on emerald green. His hands were lost in the huge folds 
of the sleeves and his face was expressionless. He solemnly walked to the 
throne and sat down, looking a bit ridiculous in the chair that would have 
dwarfed a full gown man. 

Instantly the court proceedings continued. Several of the costumed bit 
players were brought forward and apparently introduced to the emperor. 
Monique could understand none of the language and wondered about that. She 
had no language problems in the first three Jumps. The pirates could have 
been English, but Brave Wolf should have not spoken English. And her third 
captor had been definitely Germany. Of course, he could have speaking 
English because Miss Smyth had been English. But the Indian ... ? 

She doubted that those two Indians had been speaking English. Then it dawn 
on her that she had probably inherit the native language when she took over 
the host. To the Indian she had been speaking and understanding his 
language. It only seemed to her as if it were English because she understood 
it so well. 

Which suggested that she was not Chinese in this Jump. She tried whispering 
hello to herself but it only sounded like hello. 

The proceedings continued. And continued, and continued. All through it the 
boy on the throne sat there without changing the stern expression on his 
face. He didn't seem angry, just stern. When about half the audience had 
been introduced and a number of them submitted their petitions when it 
became the turn of the naked and chained women. Some kind of invitation was 
uttered and the guards behind them pushed them. Suddenly the girl next to 
her was hurrying forward and Monique had to rush to keep up. Before the 
throne the girl dropped to her knees and bent forward until her face was on 
the floor, breasts pressed against her knees, and arms stretched out on the 
floor. Monique stared at the girl in disbelief. Then there came a hissed 
voice from behind her. "Bow down or they will separate your head from your 
shoulders." Remembering the guards with those huge swords behind them, it 
suddenly seemed a good idea to prostrate herself. She lowered herself to her 
knees then bowed her body down until her forehead was pressed against the 
floor. 

For a while there was silence. Monique held the head down position of 
submission, not daring to raise up. The thought did occur to her during this 
long period of inactivity that perhaps it would be best if she did get her 
head separated from her shoulders. It was fairly obvious that one way to 
Jump out of this host was to die. Three times out of three sounded like a 
pattern. But there was that nagging doubt that maybe the forth time would 
disprove the pattern and she might really die. Besides, she just couldn't 
bring herself to stand up and dare the razor sharp swords. It's just to much 
to ask any human to calmly ask for death. And just maybe there was some 
other way to Jump back home. 

So she bowed, pressing her breasts into her knees and her forehead to the 
floor. Eventually there was a barked command she did not understand but she 
did see the girl next to her rising up so she followed suit. The girl stood 
at attention, hands casually down in front of her with no attempt to hide 
any of her feminine charms. Monique copied the position, hoping it was the 
right thing to do. 

The boy in the emerald robe slowly got up from the throne and, with as much 
dignity and pomp as any adult, walked to the naked women and slowly circled 
them, inspecting what was offered. But not an emotion showed on his youthful 
face and Monique had trouble figuring out what he was doing. 

Back in front of the four naked women, the boy seemed to be pondering them 
quite seriously. Then he pointed to the girl behind Monique and spoke a few 
words in Chinese. Monique dared a glance behind her only to see the Japanese 
girl react with surprise when two of the guards grabbed her arms and 
literally dragged her away. 

No one in the room seemed the least concerned about one naked woman being 
dragged off to who knows what fate. Or maybe the knew very well what that 
fate was. Monique wished she knew. 

The boy pondered sagely for another minute then pointed to the other girl 
behind Monique. The words this time seemed different but the results was the 
same, the naked woman was hauled away by guards to some unknown destiny. 

Again he pondered. Monique got the feeling he would have stroked his beard 
if he had one. Suddenly he pointed a finger that swept from Monique to the 
girl next to her and uttered some more meaningless words. More guards 
appeared and Monique felt her arm being grabbed. She tried to keep up with 
the guards and, fortunately, that was not too hard for the links joining her 
ankles were enough. She was taken a long way down a corridor. The few people 
they passed simply stepped aside and did not seem concerned about what was 
going on. 

The room they were led to was a two stories down and had no windows. Monique 
wasn't sure if it was even above ground. But she was sure of one thing-it 
was an oriental version of a dungeon. The pillory in one corner was 
unmistakable. The assortment of whips and ropes and chains hanging from pegs 
on the walls was pretty unmistakable, too. There was a post in another 
corner and a wooden table in the middle. The table was shinning black with 
gold flowers painted on the sides. There were several wooden handles placed 
around the table just below the top. Had Monique been more familiar with 
such things, she would have recognized a bondage table, a surface designed 
to hold a prisoner tied down in any number of ways. The handles were 
actually cleats for the securing of ropes that would hold down the victim. 
While her guards led her to the post, the others took their prisoner to the 
table. 

Monique was occupied with what was being done to her and didn't notice until 
later what had been done to the other girl. First the golden shackles came 
off. Tiny keys provided easy removal of them. But there was no time to enjoy 
the freedom. Monique was shoved back first against the post and her arms 
grabbed and pulled behind it. The guards were none too gentle and Monique 
got the impression they didn't care for her at all. So much for oriental 
chivalry. Her wrists were pulled together and rope wrapped around them quite 
tightly. When that was knotted, another rope was looped around her elbows 
and the man behind her tried his hardest to make her elbows come together. 
But the post was just a little too big and the elbows just couldn't quite 
touch. Not that the guard didn't try to make them. Monique cried out a 
couple times at the pain caused by the ropes digging into the flesh of her 
arms. More wrappings and some cinching down and knotting, and her elbows 
were quite tightly bound with only an inch between them. Had she been bigger 
or the post smaller, the elbows would have touched and perhaps then not have 
hurt so much. 

More rope was wrapped around her middle and the post, also quite tightly. 
Instinct wanted Monique to protest and let them know that they were really 
hurting her, but another instinct said it would be useless and possibly 
harmful. She would just have to endure. 

A minute later Monique found out why they had lashed her middle so tightly 
to the post. One guard picked up her ankle and looped a rope about it. Then 
he took that rope to a wooden handle on the wall, passed it through the 
hole, and pulled. Monique found her leg being stretched out almost straight 
to the side. It was very uncomfortable. But it got worse when the guard did 
the same with her other leg. She felt her weight slide down just a bit until 
it was held by those ropes around her middle. She moaned and wondered about 
the wisdom of remaining silent. Perhaps they didn't now this was hurting her 
so. But one look into their eyes and she was certain they knew and desired 
for her to hurt. Her legs were not only tied parallel to the floor, but also 
spread as widely as her body would allow them to go. The guards checked all 
the knots and, apparently satisfied, left the room. 

Monique bit her lip to keep from hollering at them to come back. It was a 
terribly uncomfortable position, one that she prayed would not last too 
long. Any length of time like that and she would be crying out, probably 
screaming. 

It was then that she saw what they had done to the other girl. It was not 
pretty. First her arms had been bound behind her back, the elbows tight 
together. Then they had bound her legs together at the ankles and above the 
knees. She was then placed on the table on her bound arms and ropes were 
used across her body to lash her down. Then her legs had been bent back 
across her body and lashed down. The unfortunate girl was staring at her own 
knees in what had to be a very uncomfortable position. Monique noted that 
the ropes were really digging into her flesh, telling a story of male 
strength used to punish a helpless female. 

"Does that hurt?" she asked. The girl on the table turned her head towards 
the post. She seemed to be trying to keep back tears. "Yes, it hurts. It is 
suppose to hurt." 

"Why do they want to hurt us?" Monique asked. "Are you stupid?" came the 
reply. "We are Nippon. They are Chinese. When they captured our boat, what 
else can we expect? The men were all killed. Those women too old or too ugly 
to please the Chinese sons of rats were put to the sword. You know that, you 
stood on the shore with me and watched. We will be raped and used and 
tortured. If we die, we will be lucky." 

There was real bitterness in her voice. But resignation as well. The girl 
bound on the table wiggled her hips, perhaps in an attempt to shift some of 
the weight off her arms. Then she continued, "Nippon have long raided the 
Chinese coast. It is like war but not like war. The Chinese are at war with 
the Manchus to the north, they do not have the men for a war with Nippon 
now. But sometimes they capture our boats." She sighed loudly. "We should 
have been safely in the home of my grandfather in Sapporo. Damn that storm 
that blew us all the way to China!" 

Monique was able to get a picture of what was happening. She vaguely 
remembered that the Japanese and Chinese had fought for centuries. The name 
Manchu rang a bell. The Manchus were Mongolians who warred with the Chinese 
during the last of the Ming Dynasty. At the same time a rebellion began in 
the south of China and peasants were marching on Peking. The Ming emperor 
stuck a bargain with the Manchus so they would come down and protect Peking 
from the revolting peasants. The only problem was that the Manchus refused 
to leave and that was the start of the Manchu Dynasty in China. She guessed 
that would place her near the end of the 1500's. 

"Then that boy was the Ming Emperor?" 

"No, silly. He was the crown Prince, the Emperor's eldest son. One day he 
will be Emperor, damn his louse-ridden body." 

"Then why was all those people bowing to him and listening to his 
pronouncements?" 

"He handles some of the duties of office. Training to one day be Emperor. 
May he suffer a thousand poxes." 

"And he was the one to decide our fate?" Monique shivered at the thought of 
a boy determining her future in this host. 

"He did." 

"And...." Monique wanted to know what was going to happen to those other two 
girls who were dragged out first, as well as what would happen to them. 

The other girl sighed again. "I know a few words of Chinese," she said 
sadly. "We are all declared enemies and will be put to death. Tamara will be 
tom apart. Maka will be...." She sniffed sadly before continuing. "Maka will 
be used by the Imperial Guard until she dies from it." 

"Dies from it? You mean she is going to be raped by the guards. But a girl 
can survive rape." 

"There are thousands of Imperial Guards." 

"Oh." 

"And we will be tortured but kept alive." 

"For how long?" 

"How many days in a lifetime?" Monique swallowed. Would these people really 
torture two innocent girls for their entire lives just because they came 
from a country not popular here? Then she remembered some of atrocities 
committed in her own time. But to be condemned to a lifetime of pain at the 
whim of some boy! 

"Perhaps we will be lucky and die soon," said the other prisoner with a sigh 
"They are quite rough on female prisoners. We may die soon. But I doubt it," 
she sighed again. "They are also experts who can make a prisoner live a long 
time in agony." 

"Perhaps," muttered Monique, not sure what she should say. 

They waited, having little else to do. Hours stretched out. The positions 
they were bound in became more and more painful with each passing minute. 
Monique felt as if her legs were being pulled out of their sockets. Most all 
the muscles in her legs and hips were screaming in fiery agony at the 
strain. And the ropes around her middle were making it hard to breath, to 
say nothing of the discomfort of having your middle squeezed to half its 
normal size. 

The other girl, who's name of Hanna, wasn't having a much better time of it. 
She could not roll to either side and had to endure all of her weight on her 
bound arms. From what Monique could see of the girl's hands beneath her 
bottom, the fingers were dark purple. The combination of tight ropes on the 
elbows and the girl's weight on those poor arms would have created 
circulation problems for any girl. 

They talked sometimes, it helped to get their minds off the pain. But 
Monique was careful not to talk too much. Often enough her comments gained 
her a funny look from Hanna. Apparently they were close friends and it was 
hard for her to say the right things, speaking from ignorance as she was. 

As the light coming in the small, high windows faded into evening, Hanna 
began moaning. Monique was ready to join her, the burning ache in her hips 
and thighs was terrible. And she realized that sometime during the afternoon 
she had lost feeling in her hands. The extra tight ropes on her elbows were 
doing their job. 

Sometime around the point where Monique was ready to begin screaming, the 
guards returned. Freedom, thought Monique, hopefully. But the guards made no 
move towards the two naked and helpless women. Instead they fanned out to 
line two of the walls, three guards each. Then the boy prince walked in, 
still wearing his poker face but in little less fancy and probably lighter 
weight robes. These were scarlet with gold trim. 

First he looked over Hanna as she lay on terribly punished arms. He noted 
the way her breasts were squashed by the legs lashed down against her. Then 
he walked around to the end of the table and enjoyed the view of her 
available pussy and asshole. These he stared at for a long two minutes. Then 
he turned to Monique and inspected her contorted body, carefully noting the 
way her sexual parts were wide open and available. 

Monique considered trying to smile, perhaps it might help. But that would be 
too much effort while she was hurting so much. And she didn't think it would 
help. 

His inspection completed, the prince turned to one of the guards and uttered 
something Monique did not understand. Hanna must have gotten the drift 
because she gasped and whined a little. The guard smiled and the others 
seemed to brighten up. Handing his weapon to the next man, the guard spoken 
to began removing his uniform. 

"Is he going to ... You know?" Monique asked. "The prince said that since he 
had the largest dong in the Elite Guard, he should be the first to try it in 
Nippon pussy. May it rot and fall off." 

Monique gasped herself when the dong in question was revealed. It was indeed 
huge, a monster among dongs, truly the stuff legends are made of. And it was 
ready to sample the female flesh so available and helpless. 

There was little foreplay, just the insertion of a finger to make sure that 
the love tunnel was juicy enough, then the positioning of the huge weapon at 
the entrance to her most private place. Monique had never thought about it 
but a girl tied on her back with her legs folded back over her really did 
have her sex available even through her legs were closed. Fascinated, 
Monique watched as the massive instrument was positioned then slowly pushed 
in. She told herself that she should turn her head, but something held her 
eyes riveted on the scene before her. 

The shaft actually fit, although not without a little effort and a lot of 
gasping and moaning and whining on the part of Hanna. Monique knew that a 
female vagina expanded to fit the penis that was being inserted, but surely 
this vagina was being stretched to its limit and perhaps beyond. And it went 
in so far! Monique could not believe as the tied down female body accepted 
the huge rod, swallowing it inch by inch. Hanna had to be a lot bigger 
inside than it would appear from the outside. She wasn't that large a woman, 
just about average. 

With a cry from the captive girl, the rod reached its limits, filling her 
with more than any girl should have to take. The guard pressed his hips 
against her bottom and she cried out again. But it was a strange sort of 
cry, not really pain, but certainly not pleasure. Maybe sort of half way 
between, thought Monique. Then he began pumping, slowly at first but faster 
as the vagina lubricated more. Soon he was thrusting with real gusto, his 
face contorted into a grimace as he worked hard at his task. Hanna's face 
also contorted into what looked like anguish. 

Then suddenly the guard uttered something that brought laughter from his 
commdes. He grinned stupidly and increased his pumping. Suddenly he was 
jamming it hard as deeply as he could, and it was obvious from his face and 
the animal sounds he was making that he was shooting his load into her. 

Hanna later told Monique that the guard had told his friends to see if his 
cum came out of her mouth, so far into her was he. Monique agreed that it 
wasn't really funny, even if the guards did laugh a lot. 

He withdrew to the sound of a cry from Hanna, again hard to tell if it was 
of pain or lust. Monique was pretty sure that Hanna had not gotten an orgasm 
out of the rape, and that was later confirmed. A woman just doesn't work up 
to one as fast as a man. 

For a while the guards and the prince just stood around, silence by the 
performance they had witnessed. Then the prince turned to Monique and said 
something. The guards were instantly alert and eager. Several spoke words 
and it didn't take a translator to tell Monique that her turn was now and 
these were volunteers. 

One was picked and as he removed his uniform Monique reminded herself of 
that old adage, if rape is inevitable, relax and enjoy it. Only that was 
much easier to say than to do. This host body may have been a prostitute and 
had hundreds of men for all she knew, but the mind was still her and she 
didn't want to be violated by a strange man, especially not for a boy who 
had condemned her to a lifetime of torture only a few hours before. Besides, 
her legs and hips were still on fire and ached terribly, and she doubted 
that there would be enough lubrication for the act to be performed. 

Just as the guard, who was not as large as his commde but was still enough 
to make Monique's eyes widen, positioned himself before her, there was a 
word from the prince. The guard respectfully backed off. As if it were of 
little importance, and as if he had all the time in the world, the prince 
walked up to Monique then bend down to position his head under her pussy. 
For a while he just looked up. Then one hand came up and a finger played 
with the opening to her love tunnel. 

The prince, his curiosity satisfied, backed off and motioned for the guard 
to continue with the rape of a captive female. With his knees slightly bent, 
the man held his penis so it was directly under Monique's wide spread legs. 
She could just feel it's end pressing lightly against her lips. The man 
parted them with his fingers and the shaft pushed half an inch in, enough to 
begin opening the sheath. Monique whined and braced herself. 

But even with her ready for the invasion of her private place, it still came 
as a shock for the man did not slowly introduce his weapon into her sheath 
as the other had. With a cry, he rammed it upwards with the strength in his 
legs and impaled the bound woman with one mighty shove. A second later 
Monique's scream echoed in the small room, evoking another laugh from the 
assembled males, and even a smile to the lips of the watching prince. 

The guard grabbed her waist with both hands and began pumping away like a 
wild animal, grunting and moaning and sometime giggling. Monique almost bit 
her lip then stopped fighting it and let out with a cry of distress. The 
attack on her sex was rough and hurt. What should have been an act of 
pleasure between a man and a woman became a punishment for the female, a 
punishment that brought no pleasure for her. His climax was sudden and 
incredibly fast. Her body had just begun to secrete juices for the act when 
it was over. The man was gone and Monique was left hanging in her ropes and 
whining with both pain and a strange disappointment. 

When Monique opened her eyes, the room was empty again. She wanted to cry 
but the tears would not come. She felt violated, much more than she had been 
with even the pirates, or Brave Wolf. She felt somehow unclean and could 
even remember the bad breath exhaled into her face during the rape. This 
wasn't her first rape but it was the worst. Vaguely she wondered how many 
others she would have to endure before she Jumped back to where she 
belonged. 

It was almost totally dark in the room and Monique wondered if they were 
going to leave her hanging on that post all night. Somehow it wouldn't 
surprise her, these people had little respect for a woman or her body. It 
might just please the boy prince to think of her being left in this horrible 
bondage and pain all night. Perhaps he would sleep better tonight knowing 
that somewhere in the castle naked woman were suffering because of his 
command. The little bugger might not be old enough to screw a girl, thought 
Monique, but he sure screwed us. 

Then she remembered Hanna and strained to see if the other girl was still on 
the table. She was, the shape unmistakable in the very dim light. "Hanna? 
Hanna?" Monique whispered. 

She got only a moan for response. "Hanna? Hold on. They can't torture us 
every minute of every day and night." She tried to speak encouragingly but 
it was had with the burning muscles in her thighs and hips. She could not 
feel her arms or hands at all and was faced with the prospect of a very long 
night ahead. 

"You are foolish. That is exactly what the prince commanded. He is very mad 
at we Nippon. Our ships have been hurting their ships and seacoast towns for 
too long." Hanna sighed. "Nippon and China have been enemies for as long as 
anyone can remember," she continued. "Too many Chinese women have been taken 
by our countrymen. 

And they are not treated with kindness, you know. Men being the filthy 
vermin that they are." 

Monique didn't know but could imagine. Bastards came in all colors and 
races. Every country had men who would enjoy hurting women. 

"If you hoped we would be taken to a cell and left alone, you are wrong. The 
Prince ordered that we are to be tortured at all times." 

"This is not good," replied Monique. What she wanted to say was much 
stronger. 

They talked for a while but there was little to say. Neither of them could 
make the tiniest progress towards escaping from their bondage. And they 
could offer little comfort to each other. Monique felt herself near 
screaming from the agony in her hips and legs, the ache was horrible. And 
the ropes cutting into her middle were making her body hurt and feel funny. 
She feared that the pressure was doing harm to her internal organs. 

It was dark in their little dungeon. Only the tiniest hints of light came in 
the windows, mostly from torches carried by people outside. Monique faded in 
and out of sleep, most of the time in a dream-like mist of pain. It was the 
worst night of her life, and, considering what had been happening to her 
over the last few days, that was saying something. 

In the morning they untied both girls and let them collapse into pitiful 
heaps on the wooden floor. Neither girl could move her arms or use her hands 
for a long time. Hanna's hands and forearms had been a terrible purple when 
her body was taken off the table, and Monique feared that there was 
permanent damage in them. She also feared for her own hands because all 
through the night she had been unable to feel them. But they returned slowly 
to live, accompanied by an intense feeling of burning and pins and needles. 
She cried at this strange but welcome pain. 

When she could wiggle her fingers, a bowl of rice was thrust into her hands. 
She ate eagerly with her ringers, suddenly aware of how hungry she was. The 
bowl was small and quickly gone but she dared not ask for more. 

Hanna, she noted, had more trouble with her circulation and cried out much 
more as the nerves awoke. Monique's heart went out to the poor girl. 
Eventually there was enough feeling and control for Hanna to hold a bowl and 
she finished her breakfast in a minute. 

Monique put her bowl down and looked up at three stone-faced guards. Now 
what? she asked herself. 

Now was more bondage. Incredible, considering that they had just suffered 
through many agonizing hours of incredibly tight ropes. But they were both 
lifted to their feet, turned around, and their arms bound behind their 
backs. It would have been nice to report that the wrists were crossed and 
the bondage comfortable. But it was not. When the prince orders continuous 
torture, the girls are tortured. Their wrists were bound and then the elbows 
secured tightly together. Monique found that there was less strain than 
before and realized that her elbows actually went together easily. Before 
there had been a post between her arms. 

With both girls bound, the guards led them from the room with strong hands 
on bare arms. The first stop was another room, much larger, but still a 
dungeon. Or a torture room, Monique told herself, would be a better 
description. It held only one device and one victim. There were four posts 
at the top of which were four iron rings. A Japanese girl was spread-eagle 
between the post, ropes from her wrists and ankles going through the rings 
then down to large baskets. Since the girl was suspended in midair between 
the tops of the posts, Monique knew that there was considerable weight in 
each of those baskets. Beside each basket was a pile of rocks, some as small 
as fists, some as large as bowling balls. 

Monique was pretty sure the girl was one of those who had been standing 
behind her the day before. She was still naked and obviously in a lot of 
pain. The muscles of her arms and legs showed the stress and the ropes cut 
into them cruelly. The girl's eyes were closed and a fine layer of sweat 
covered her body even though it was not hot in the room. 

Then Monique remembered what Hanna had said, Tamara will be torn apart, and 
suddenly she realized that this girl had been bound like that ever since she 
was taken away the day before. As she watched a guard walked around the 
stretched girl and added a small rock to each basket. Then he went back to 
his position by the door. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Monique 
realized that the weights were being added slowly, perhaps only a tiny bit 
every hour. Slowly, over the course of a couple days or more, the strain on 
this girl's limbs would increase until eventually ... Eventually she would 
be torn apart. The scientific part of Monique's mind told her that first the 
joints would dislocate, the bones coming out of the sockets. Then the 
tendons would tear. Eventually the muscles would tear. It would be very slow 
and a constantly increasing pain. The girl's body was already taunt between 
the posts. 

"How ... How long?" she whispered to Hanna. "These guards don't mind if we 
talk," Hanna replied. "I have heard of girls lasting five days. A man 
sometimes longer." 

Monique didn't know what to say. Hanna continued, "If they are merciful, 
this is done in the main courtyard by four horses. They horses pull in the 
four directions of the winds. Then it is all over in minutes. I have heard 
that this is a favorite of the Emperor's and he often has the courtyard 
filled with people to watch. Then he has a hundred enemy torn apart while 
all watch. They say that the woman are the favorites because they scream 
much more." 

Monique was saved from having to reply or hear any more horror stories by 
the guards moving them on. 

The walk was a long one and ended in a large room that held many blankets 
laid out along the floor, each with a small box next to it by the wall, 
obviously a military barracks. The wall at the end of the room slid open to 
reveal a dirt courtyard where a small table had been placed between two 
posts. Maka, the forth of the Japanese captives, was bound on her back on 
the table. Her arms were under her body as Hanna's had been, elbows tightly 
together and all her weight on them. Ropes crisscrossed her body and held 
her quite firmly to the table. But it was a small table and her legs would 
have hung over the edge had they not been lashed to the two posts. Her legs 
were straight upright and spread wide in an obscene V, the ankles lashed 
tightly to the posts. Her bottom was slightly protruding over the edge of 
the table. 

As Monique watched a line of men marched into the courtyard and-lined up 
along one wall. The head of the line was directly before the obscenely 
available captive. He quickly opened enough of his uniform to allow his 
penis to be brought out. Then he stepped forward and began his ravishment of 
Maka. 

As Monique and Hanna were brought closer, they saw that there was an 
incredible amount of white gel covering the table legs, Maka's pussy, and 
the ground. Then Monique remembered what Hanna had said and almost gagged. 
Maka was to be screwed to death by the Imperial Guard. And there were 
several thousand of them. 

Maka may not have been conscious, her eyes were closed and she gave no 
response when the solider entered her. He pumped and grunted and, after a 
few minutes, shot his wad into her. Then he pulled out and allowed the next 
man to take his place. 

Monique felt like gagging. It had been bad enough when she was raped the 
night before. But that had been by only one man. What was happening to this 
woman was far worse. And it had been going on since the previous day. A 
perverse part of her mind wondered how long it would take for a girl to be 
screwed to death. Or was it even possible? 

Monique and Hanna were then taken to the place where they would be tortured 
for the day. 

It was a tiny room at the end of a long corridor several floors below ground 
level. There was one tiny window up high on the wall and it opened only to a 
shaft where dim light entered from someplace above. The room was hardly big 
enough to hold both guards and two naked, bound females. There were four 
iron rings in the walls, each at the height of a man's head. Hanna was taken 
to one wall and Monique to the opposite. A rope was tied to the ropes 
already on her wrists and then passed through the ring. While one guard 
pushed her head down, the other pulled on the rope until Monique's arms were 
high above her, forcing her to bend over until her head was about the level 
of her pussy. The rope was tied off and the guards did the same with Hanna. 
Then they left. 

Monique turned her head and saw that Hanna was bound exactly as she was. 
Since her legs were not bound, she found that she could move a little from 
side to side, even to the point of resting a shoulder against the stone 
wall. But she could not straighten up, nor could she bring her arms down. 
Already the shoulders were complaining at the stress. And she knew it would 
grow far worse as time went by. 

"Hanna, are your fine?" Monique asked. "I am fine," came the reply, followed 
a second later by, "be happy with how it feels now." 

"Be happy?" 

"In a few hours you will feel like screaming." 

Hanna's simple statement sent a shiver down Monique's spine. 

After an hour Monique began to understand. Her shoulders and arms ached. 
There was no way to get comfortable, no position that hurt much less than 
the others. It was looking like it would be a long day. 

After two hours Monique wanted to cry. After three hours she did cry but the 
tears dried up soon. They were mostly of frustration at the helplessness. 
Her muscles in shoulders were burning and her hands were going numb. 

Although the room was tiny, the female prisoners were unable to touch each 
other. They could have touched feet, but the arms were far too tightly 
pulled up. If both girls turned their rear ends away from the walls, their 
bottoms almost touched. 

Monique was resting against the wall with her eyes closed when she felt the 
touch on her thigh. Looking down, she saw Hanna's foot lightly stroking her 
thigh. It felt good, a comforting touch from a fellow suffer. 

"Come closer," whispered Hanna, a strange light in her eyes. 

Monique looked at the outstretched leg of the girl with her and at the way 
she was pulling against the ropes on her arms to make that touching 
possible. And she understood. She shifted her position and moved her hips as 
far away from the wall as she could. She spread her legs as much as she 
could and pushed her hips forward. Hanna's foot came between her legs and 
touched her sex. With incredible gentleness and surprising effectiveness, 
her foot began massaging and stroking Monique's pussy. 

It was not logical, it was not neat, it was not what Monique would have 
wished. But it did feel good and about then that was all that counted. 
Skillfully, Hanna stroked and soon Monique felt herself squeezing her legs 
together, trapping Hanna's foot and pressing it against her pussy. She 
shuddered with a surprisingly satisfactory orgasm and felt against the wall 
to recover. After she did, she returned the favor for Hanna. Thus passed a 
long day. 

On the third day, Hanna and Monique were shown a screaming Tamara, shoulders 
dislocated by the increasing weight and all her joints in agony. For half an 
hour they were forced to stand there, naked and tightly bound themselves, to 
watch the girl suffer. She screamed nearly all that time. When she wasn't 
screaming, she was moaning loudly. 

The next day they were not taken to her room and no more was spoken of 
Tamara. 

On the fifth day of torture, one of the guards laughingly told Hanna that 
Maka was still alive, and that she was still being screwed by the guards. 
Only they were on the second turn for some, the unfortunate girl having gone 
through all of them once already. The guard laughed and said the Japanese 
girl was very lucky to have so many fine Chinese rods giving her pleasure. 
Actually, the term he used was elephant's trunks, not penises, but Monique 
got the idea. 

After that they heard nothing more about Maka. Their own torture settled 
down into a routine. They would be released from some terrible bondage in 
the morning, allowed a small bowl of rice, and a few minutes freedom. 
Generally they spent it allowing their circulation to restore itself. Then 
they were fixed up for the day. There are a million ways that a girl can be 
bound up so that she is in pain, and their captors knew them all. They were 
hung by their wrists all day, then hung upside down by their ankles for the 
entire night. Neither girl could walk the next morning but that didn't stop 
their captors from forcing them to march out to a dirt area where they were 
tied to posts and left in the sun all day. 

Each evening they would be freed and given another meal. Every other day 
they were given a bath by buckets of cold water being thrown on them. 

Sometimes the prince would look in on them. He seemed to enjoy seeing how 
they were suffering. But mostly only their jailers and torturers witnessed 
their suffering. 

Monique began to fear that her wrists would never recover, the skin was so 
chaffed and raw from constant ropes around them. She spent every night and 
much of the days in between trying to force herself to Jump. She didn't even 
care if it would be another bad Jump, she just wanted to get out of this 
constant torture. But she didn't Jump and each morning and evening brought a 
new torture. 

On the eight day her chance came. Both she and Hanna had been taken to a 
room that had iron rings in the ceiling, about a dozen of them. They were 
then strung up by their thumbs, their toes inches off the floor and leather 
straps used to secure their thumbs. The pain was terrible and Monique 
wondered how she could endure the day without her thumbs falling off. At 
first she tried to struggle but quickly stopped when she realized how much 
that increased the pain in her thumbs. 

The guard had left them alone and all the girls had to look forward to was 
eight hours of pain. After a while Hanna lifted her foot and caressed 
Monique's thigh. Monique was afraid of what it might do to her thumbs but 
she wanted the touch of a friend and a sexual climax would certainly help 
pass the time. This was the third time they had been tied so that it was 
possible and would make the tenth time they had done it. All day is a long 
time and a girl can easily work herself up to a second or third orgasm. 
Especially when it was a way to leave this world of pain, even if only for a 
few minutes. 

Monique spread her legs a bit to allow Hanna's foot clearance. It was a very 
good feeling and soon Monique was ignoring the pain in her thumbs and 
shooting down her arms to concentrate on the wonderful fire in her loins. 
She was not aware of it, but she began thrusting her hips against the foot 
trying to help her find pleasure, and that made her whole body jerk and 
sway. Like the legendary straw breaking the camel's back, that was all 
necessary for the iron ring to loosen. With a creak, it lowered an inch. 
Monique felt the jerk and looked up with half closed eyes. Then they 
widened. The ring was noticeably loose, moving a tiny bit each time she 
swayed. Monique smiled and began thrusting her hips hard, ignoring the pain. 
Just as her pussy was exploding into orgasm, the ring let go and ripped out 
with a small shower of mortar. Monique felt to the floor where she curled up 
into a ball and finished her orgasm. 

Slowly she unfolded as soon as she could. The sound had attracted no 
unwanted attention and they were still alone. Hanna's eyes were wide with 
excitement as she watched her friend get to her feet. The thumbs were not 
functioning too well but the torture had only gone an hour or so and they 
came back to life in a reasonable amount of time. She managed to work the 
straps off with her teeth and for the first time in ages stood there 
completely free of restraints and not under the gaze of a guard. 

Immediately she turned to the problem of freeing Hanna. There was a stool in 
one corner of the room, the guards had used it when they bound the girl's 
thumbs to the rings. Monique fetched it and soon Hanna was dropping to the 
floor. 

With racing hearts, both girls left the room and slowly made their way down 
the corridor. If the past was any indication, they would normally be left 
alone for most of the day, a visit from the prince being the only occasional 
diversion. And he usually came in the afternoons so they probably had a few 
hours before anyone would discover they were not where they should be. 

They had discussed the possibility of escape, more to pass the time rather 
than as a real possibility, and had come to the conclusion that their only 
chance was to get out of the castle as fast as they could. The castle was 
like a small city, very big inside but also surrounded by tall walls making 
it something of a fortress. There were only a couple of main doors. If they 
couldn't get out before their disappearance was discovered, the whole place 
could be sealed off and searched until they were found. But the main 
entrances were well guarded and two naked girls of a different nationality 
had no chance of getting out. 

Keeping away from the more used corridors was not easy but they covered a 
lot of distance before running into trouble. Near a stairway they heard 
voice coming towards them. Suddenly there was voices behind them as well and 
both girl clutched each other in fear. If they were caught in an escape 
attempt, the tortures might become more serious. So far they had been 
designed to be painful but not do serious damage. Being torn apart like 
Tamara or screwed to death like Maka was a real possibility. Up the stairs 
was the only way they could go and they hurried upward on bare feet. 

The stairs ended on the roof. Monique went to the edge and looked over, only 
to find at least a fifty foot drop into a moat filled with dirty water. She 
was just turning back when she was grabbed from behind by strong hands. She 
began crying in rage and frustration as her arms were roughly pulled behind 
her and bound with ropes. It was all so unfair. 

The boy prince was his usual emotionless self as he sat in judgment over the 
two naked prisoners. They were back in the throne room again although this 
time there were only a handful of people in attendance. Both she and Hanna 
had been bound specially tight for this audience with the prince, their arms 
behind them, the elbows together, but with a lot of very tightly wrapped 
rope encircling their bodies. The ropes above and below the breasts, and 
around the tummy were as tight as the guards could make them and severely 
cut into the flesh of the two girls. Monique could hardly breath, so tightly 
were the ropes crushing her chest. Their mouths had been gagged with iron 
bars much like a horse's bit. Only no rider would ever have pulled the 
straps so tightly on his horse as these were on the girls. The bits cruelly 
pulled at the corners of their mouths and prevented them from bringing their 
teeth together. They were uncomfortable, to say the least. 

There was some talking, none of which Monique could understand, and a little 
debate. One side seemed to want one thing done with these two prisoners who 
dared to try an escape, the other side wanted something else. But Monique 
could not tell what those two options were. And she didn't like the pale 
look on Hanna's face as she listened to their fate being discussed. 
Apparently neither fate was very attractive. 

The debate was cut short by the prince who simply stood up from the throne, 
and uttered one word. All parties instantly were silent. He looked around, a 
boy apparently enjoying his power over adults, then turned to the two of 
them. He pointed at them and pronounced his decision. Instantly guards 
grabbed their arms and hurried them from the royal presence. 

The ropes tight about their bodies were not removed. Nor were the bit gags. 
Instead more ropes were tightly applied to their legs, the strands cutting 
in deeply. Monique longed to be able to speak that she might asked Hanna 
what was said back in the throne room. But the gags were left in place. Both 
girls were then dumped into the back of a wagon. While the horses were being 
harnessed to the front, the girls were having their ankles bound to their 
wrists in a severe hogtie. Then they were ignored while the wagon and some 
guards were prepared. Apparently they were to be escorted by two guards 
within the wagon and at least two more on horseback. Provisions were stacked 
in the front of the wagon. After an hour or so their journey began, a 
journey to a fate unknown to Monique. 

Traveling by wooden wagon without springs is always a rough ride. But when 
you're naked, very tightly bound hand and foot and laying on the wooden 
floor of that wagon, it is much worse. Every little bump and jolt was felt 
by both girls, making it a most painful journey. The bit gags were never 
taken out of their mouths but Hanna managed to utter sounds that could be 
understood as words after much effort. It took several hours to convey a few 
sentences but Monique finally understood what their fate was to be. It made 
her shiver with fear. 

The prince, in his wisdom, had seen that the girls were trying to escape to 
get back to their country. He, therefore, would help them. They were to be 
taken to the ocean and there set adrift on a small raft. Certainly the gods 
would see that they drifted back to the place where they came from. 

There were also orders about how the girls were to be treated, basically 
that they were not to be untied or ungagged for a second. And they were to 
be lashed extremely tightly to the raft so they wouldn't fall, off into the 
sea. 

That night the wagon changed drivers at some small town and continued all 
through the night. The next morning saw new drivers and horsemen but not 
change for the suffering women in the wagon. They were not offered food nor 
was the hogtie loosened for a second. 

Monique found herself drifting off into a troubled sleep. The constant creak 
of the wagon and plodding of the horses became a background drone. She still 
had trouble breathing and woke many times with from dreams that she was 
buried alive. Her hands had gone to numb the first night and her feet the 
second. All was aches and pains, and the only thing that kept her from going 
insane was the thought that if she were to die on the ocean, she would 
probably Jump. Every time before the Jump had been associated with dying and 
water. It was almost as if the prince was helping her. But she could have 
been happier if he had just ordered them thrown into the moat. That would 
have saved them these incredibly long hours of suffering. 

Monique wasn't sure how long they rode in the wagon. All she could do was 
roll on her side or back onto her stomach. And either of those moves took a 
great deal of effort and hurt terribly. Hanna had taken to moaning quite a 
bit and Monique understood how she felt. Even her teeth hurt and her jaw 
ached. It was hard to keep her mouth moist with the jaw forced open by that 
bit. 

But all good things come to an end, and finally their journey ended. They 
both opened their eyes when the wagon stopped and they heard the 
unmistakable sound of surf. There was a lot of talk, probably instructions 
from their guards to someone else, then they were being picked up. The ropes 
were not loosened, not even the one joining the ankles and wrists. Like a 
piece of baggage, they were picked up by that rope and carried along a 
wooden dock to a small ship riding slowly up and down on the tide. They were 
carried aboard and dumped on the deck none too tenderly. The ship was cast 
off and the sail unfurled to catch a weak morning breeze. 

Monique was weak from lack of food and the rough treatment of the last week. 
It seemed impossible to her that it had not been a lifetime since she Jumped 
into this host. Under the influence of suffering, each minute of each hour 
had crawled by until the days seemed endless. She only wished for it to end. 

The ship sailed for a few hours then the sail was furled and the boat 
allowed to drift. The crew had been busy building the rafts they had been 
ordered to create for these two females who had incurred the wrath of the 
Emperor's son. Each raft was only six feet long and about four feet wide. 
Each was made of wood. They would float, but Monique doubted if they would 
be very high out of the water. She had watched as a carpenter had cut holes 
in the sides of the rafts, and knew what they were for. Hanna had said that 
they would be tied to the rafts. The holes were for the ropes to pass 
through. 

Finally everything was finished and the crew hurried to get this over with 
and back to whatever it was they normally did. Probably preying on Japanese 
shipping and poor, innocent girls. Monique was lifted up and place on her 
raft first, set down on her stomach, actually almost dropped in place by a 
crew that had been instructed to be cruel to these girls. Then came more 
ropes. The raft had less than a foot clearance on each side so the ropes 
easily lashed her body down. She noted the great care they took to make sure 
that she could not move the slightest. She sighed. She had been tied in this 
hogtie for so long that she honestly was beginning to feel that she had 
never known any other condition. She watched as Hanna was lifted to her raft 
and bound to it. She would have liked to say something to Hanna but the bit 
gag made speech so very hard that she didn't try. 

Their launching was anti-climatic. Without fanfare they were dragged to the 
edge and pushed into the water. The drop was about six feet and each raft 
hit the water with a loud plop and a splash that sent water dancing over the 
naked captive. The water was cold. 

Monique gasped as the water washed over her head but was able to breath 
after sputtering out what had entered her mouth. The raft did indeed float, 
but as she had thought with only an inch between the dark green water and 
the surface on which she was lashed. 

Slowly her raft drifted away from the ship. For a while she could see some 
of the crew looking from the rail, perhaps with longing in their eyes. They 
would certainly have enjoyed using these two prisoners as all women were 
meant to be used, but Imperial order was a good reason to push aside normal 
lusts. The sail was lowered and the ship moved away a little faster. It 
wasn't too long before it was only a small shape rapidly getting smaller. 

From the surface of the ocean, Monique couldn't see much. The raft rose and 
fell with the swells, but the breeze was very small and the water relatively 
calm. Monique had sailed a little and knew how rough the sea could become 
when the wind picked up. Unable to move at all, she had no control over the 
movement of her tiny boat and it was only after an hour or more than chance 
currents turned her around enough so that she could see Hanna. Her friend 
was only a dozen yards away, also turned so she could see Monique. She 
lifted her head the tiny bit allowed by the tight ropes and grunted a 
greeting. Monique didn't know what to make of it but decided it was simply 
Hanna's way of telling her that she was still alive. 

And perhaps there was hope. Monique didn't remember the geography of the 
area very well, but wasn't the China coast on the Sea of Japan? And that was 
a sea that was bordered on the east side by Japan. Perhaps they would really 
drift all the way to Japan. Wouldn't that be a big joke on the prince! But 
then she remembered something about there being strong currents throughout 
the Sea of Japan. It was more likely that they would be pushed along the 
coasts without ever reaching land. 

Without guards for the first time in ages, Monique began trying to work at 
her ropes. But her struggles were only mild shifting of muscles a little 
this way or that, nothing that would really test the ropes. And her fingers 
would be no help, she hadn't been able to make them work for a long time. 
She shook her head in frustration-that was all she could move. 

As the sun crawled across the sky, the breeze picked up and turned into a 
wind. By mid afternoon the water had turned rough and the two little rafts 
were pitching and twirling about. Saltwater washed over the edges and wet 
down the two naked females, sometimes getting in their mouths and eyes. They 
drifted apart until Monique could no longer see Hanna. When the waves began 
to show some white foam on the tops, Monique knew that she wouldn't survive 
the afternoon. The tiny raft was unstable to begin with and the increasing 
waves threatened to tip it over. Once it flipped over, it would be the end. 
She would drown. 

One part of her wanted it to happen, to get it over with. She wanted very 
badly to believe that she would Jump. But another part fought to survive and 
that part wanted desperately for the raft to remain upright. 

In the end the waves became too much for the raft. As if obeying Imperial 
orders, they finally flipped over one and then the other tiny raft. In the 
darkness and cold of sea water, Monique felt the split second of tingle that 
told her a Jump was beginning. 

"She's Jumped again," said a tired Howard. The dark lines under his eyes 
told of how many hours he had remained at his console, hoping to be able to 
help when Monique Jumped. 

Dr. Pritchard looked over Howard's shoulder as the readouts stabilized. 
"1958," he muttered. "The closest yet." 

 CHAPTER SIX - Hunter and Hunted 

Monique sucked in air and slowly opened her eyes, afraid of what she would 
see. With a great disappointment, she did not see the familiar TDT chamber. 
She sighed. Another bad Jump. 

It was almost anti-climatic when she looked down to find that she was naked 
and her body was tied up with ropes. What else did I expect? she told 
herself sarcastically. Then she set about trying to find out as much as she 
could about this Jump. 

The place looked like a pretty much normal den in some larger home. There 
were leather covered couches, coffee table, rich wood panel on all walls, a 
desk in one corner, bookcases, and a fireplace dominating one wall. It was 
night time outside and she couldn't see anything save darkness through the 
windows. What was different was the numerous hunting trophies that-lined 
every open space on the walls. There were boars and several species 
ofantelope, some of which looked to Monique's uneducated eye as being from 
Africa. There was even a tiger's head staring at her with its fierce, glassy 
eyes. 

Monique tested her bondage by tugging with her arms and legs, and quickly 
found out that she was well bound to the chair, and that it was no fragile 
antique but a stout heavy wooden one. Her arms were tied behind the back of 
the chair, the ropes tight, elbows together, and some of the ropes pulling 
her wrists downward. Her legs were together, tied above the knees and at the 
ankles, her feet being pulled back and under the chair so that her toes 
could barely touch the carpet. It was a rather tight piece of bondage but 
not too uncomfortable for her. From what she could see of her breasts and 
legs, she was again a woman with a good body, the skin tone indicating that 
she was young and healthy. From her experience at being bound (which was 
growing far too vast for her taste), she felt that this girl had a slender 
build but not skinny. The hair she could see hanging down around her head 
when she shook it was blonde and long. She was gagged with some kind of 
rubber wad that tasted terrible but did an effective job of forcing her jaw 
open and silencing her. 

She was alone for which she was grateful. It gave her a chance to collect 
her thoughts. And to enjoy the relative comfort of simply being bound to a 
chair. To her, as a Time Jumper, she had just finished several days of 
incredibly tight rope bondage and suffering ending with her drowning in the 
ocean when her raft overturned. That kind of experience can be rough on a 
girl. 

It was perhaps an hour before anyone came into the den. The man was in his 
fifties, gray-haired and not bad looking. He was smoking a pipe and paused 
to look over Monique with obvious approval. She returned his gaze with 
boldness and wished she could talk. 

The man ignored her eyes, seeming to take more interest in her limbs. "No 
fat, looks like good muscle tone," he muttered. "Looks like you keep in 
shape. So much the better." 

Then he turned to the desk and put his pipe down. "I suppose I should bring 
you up to date," he said, actually addressing her for the first time. "You 
were kidnapped and brought here for the express purpose of providing game 
for me." He paused as if expecting her to reply. "I am a hunter of some 
degree of expertise," he continued, waving at the trophies on the wall. "I 
have hunted game all over the world." Monique gulped as she realized what 
kind of game she was. "And although those animals were often cunning, they 
lacked the one quality that makes for a superior hunt. And do you know what 
that is?" 

"The ability to shot back?" Monique asked silently. "Intelligence. That is 
what all these creatures lacked. They knew to hide or attack, but that was 
all. Years ago the challenge left ordinary hunting. I craved something more, 
something to add life to the hunt. Then one day I was talking to a friend 
who happened to be a policeman and he related how he had actually felt the 
thrill of the hunt when tracking down a criminal and shooting him. Since I 
have all the money a man could ever spend, it wasn't too hard to indulge 
myself. This hunting lodge is remote, surrounded by woods, and a hundred 
miles from the nearest road. The only way in is to fly and land on my lake. 
I own hundreds of square miles out there. I can hunt to my heart's content." 

He paused and looked at his pipe. It had gone out. "But I don't hunt deer or 
even moose. I hunt humans." He said it with a grin. Monique hoped he was 
kidding, that this was all a big joke. But the ropes on her were real and 
the naked condition of her body suggested that it was no joke. Once again 
she was but a pawn in someone else's game. 

"I'm sure you can guess what comes next. I found that hunting beautiful 
young girls is much more exciting than males. I have a man in the States who 
keeps me supplied. It's no problem. Tomorrow morning you will be released 
outside the back door. You will have a one hour head start. Then I come 
hunting ... Tell me, miss, are you a fast runner?" 

Monique shook her head. She didn't know but no use giving away any 
information. 

"That body certainly seems to be in good condition. I suspect you play 
tennis, bicycle or job, something that keeps you youthful and firm. I'm sure 
you'll fairly fly through the woods. That's one way of trying to escape, you 
know. You try to outrun me. But are you sure of making a straight line 
through the woods? If you get lost and turn around, you could come curving 
right back here. Or trip on a rock and break your leg. And how do you know 
which way to run? If you were a girl scout, you might know which way is 
north and all that. But which way is civilization? You could be running away 
from help." 

He lit the pipe and puffed on it to get the tobacco going. "That's part of 
the thrill, you know. The possibility that the game might get away. And if 
you survived the north woods, and made it to somewhere, then you might make 
things hard for me. But that's the chance I'll just have to take, won't I?" 
He laughed. Monique didn't feel like joining him. She had a sinking feeling 
that the odds would be rigged in his favor. He really couldn't afford to 
allow any of his "game" to have a real chance of escape. She was sure that 
none of the girls who were kidnapped for his hunt ever escaped. 

He checked over the rope on her limbs, noting all the knots, checking all 
the ropes for looseness. "The usual good job," he muttered. The aroma from 
his pipe was vaguely cherry flavored and not at all unpleasant. "You'll stay 
secure for the night. I'll see you in the morning." Suddenly he was walking 
out of the room, switching off the lights behind him. 

Monique sat in the darkness and felt like crying. Once again she was 
helpless, once again she was in a serious situation, a life or death 
situation, with nothing she could do herself. The ropes robbed her of all 
power to effect her fate. The Great White Hunter had not even allowed her 
the chance to speak out in her own defense. And, even stranger, he didn't 
seem interested in using her sexually. Most strange for a normal appearing 
man. He might have thirty years older than she but a man doesn't loose 
interest in a naked, sexy young girl that young. She would rather he was 
interested in her sexually. It might have given her a hold over him. But it 
would certainly have been preferable over being hunted to death. 

Then the thought hit her that this might be the shortest and least 
unpleasant of all her Jumps. If he shot her tomorrow morning, she would 
Jump. And any Jump might be the one back home. But she knew that she would 
not just stand there and let him shoot. Even if it were fast, who could 
stand still while a rifle was pointed at them, knowing that in a second a 
bullet would tear into her flesh? She doubted that she could. She would run, 
she would try her best to escape. And who knows? Perhaps she would succeed! 

Rest didn't come easy. The morning's hunt sat uneasily upon her mind and a 
growling stomach told her that nutritious meals weren't included for "game." 
The ropes were tight and she was not comfortable, but compared to what she 
had endured in China and other places, this was mild. Finally she did drift 
off, awakening suddenly when the lights snapped on. The pink dawn visible 
through the window told her that it was early. The hunting garb and rifle on 
her host told her that the hunt was about to begin. He drew out a wickedly 
huge hunting knife and sliced off the ropes holding her ankles to her 
wrists. Then he gently cut those ropes around her legs, being careful not to 
touch the razor sharp knife to her skin. He even helped her to her feet, her 
unsteady legs not quite willing to take her full weight at first. When she 
could stand and walk, he picked up the rifle and motioned for her to proceed 
him through the door. 

The hunting lodge was larger than most houses but all the rooms she could 
see were empty of human habitation. They were apparently alone. They reached 
a kitchen where he unbuckled the gag from her mouth, having to pull a bit to 
get the large rubber wad out from between her teeth. Her jaw ached and her 
first words were hardly understandable, "Please ... Please untie my arms. 
They have been hurting all night." 

"The arms stay bound," he said simply. "And please, don't do this. It's 
murder. You'll get caught." 

"It's not murder. You have your chance. You could evade me and escape. You 
could even turn and attack me someplace out there. There are sticks and 
rocks and many places where a trap could be set." 

"With my arms bound behind me?" 

"Well, I didn't say it would be easy," he grinned warmly. 

"Look, you're a nice looking guy, why don't we go to the bedroom and I'll 
show you what a girl like me can do?" 

He sighed. "I know what a girl like you can do. I've had many, many young 
girls in my life. Some were paid for, some thought they loved me, some were 
just getting their own satisfaction and any man would have sufficed. You're 
beautiful and that is a fine body you have. But I won't have sex with you." 

Monique frowned and dared to ask, "Why not?" 

"None of your business." He was still smiling but she could sense the 
tension under that smile. 

"Did a woman hurt you?" she ventured. If she could get him talking, perhaps 
she could find some more acceptable outlet for his anger towards women. 

The change was sudden. From a smile to an animal snarl was but the blink of 
an eye. "Hurt me! Hurt me! She blew my nuts off with a shotgun, that's what 
she did! Did a woman hurt me, you ask! Shit!" 

Monique was shocked into silence. No wonder he hated women. And all this 
sportsman-like hunting nonsense was just that, nonsense. He had one BIG hate 
of women! 

The smile was back on his face as quickly as it had left. "I have some food 
for you. It's beef stew, quite good actually. Same thing I had last night, 
warmed up." He picked up a plate from the counter and placed it on a table. 
The stew did look good and smelled better. 

"I have no hands to eat with." 

"You have a mouth." Monique sighed. She pulled out a chair with her bare 
foot and sat down. She wasn't sure how long it had been since this host had 
eaten, but she was hungry and that stew smelled awfully good. She ate with 
her mouth, not worrying about how messy her lips and chin became. In a 
gesture totally unlike the blood-thirsty killer he apparently was, the 
hunter gathered her long blonde hair behind her neck and placed a rubber 
band around it to keep it out of her way while she ate. 

Monique cleaned the bowl. Then he sat down a glass of water with a straw and 
she finished that, too. 

"Are you sure I can't offer something to make you not go through with this?" 
she offered in a calm, reasonable voice. 

"There's nothing I can think of." Monique swallowed hard before the next 
offer. "I can understand your hating women," she began. "I don't blame you. 
But would you consider whipping me?" 

He frowned and she took that as a good sign. "You could tie me up anyway you 
wished and whip my bottom with a belt until it's all black and blue. It will 
hurt, I can tell you. And you could torture me in other ways. You could 
cause me a lot of pain and I couldn't stop you." 

He was frowning. She pressed her point, "You could pretend that I'm the 
woman who hurt you. You could hurt me again and again." 

It wasn't that she really wanted to be tortured again, it was that she 
didn't want to be at the business end of that hunting rifle. No one wants to 
be shot to death. Survival instinct made her fight to stay alive. Besides 
she knew by now that most men really would enjoy torturing a beautiful young 
woman if they had the chance. 

"Why do you ask to be tortured?" he asked. "It's better than being killed 
outright, isn't it?" He didn't answer her. Instead he picked up his rifle 
and stroked the barrel and stock lovingly. Monique continued trying to make 
it sound more interesting to him. "I was once tortured by being stretched on 
a rack," she told him. He looked up at her. "It's true. It was in Germany," 
she told him, conveniently not mentioning that it was also before he was 
born. "This guy was mad at me for something I did to his son so he tied me 
to this rack and stretched me until I could hear my tendons popping. I can 
tell you it hurt." 

She couldn't read the expression on his face. "There are a lot of other 
things you could do to me." She was trying to sound sexy and keep the fear 
out of her voice. "You could hang me by my wrists from a tree outside. You 
could lash me to a post and ... And ... And attach clothespins on my 
nipples. That hurts a lot." She couldn't believe that she was actually 
asking for all this. "You could hogtie me and leave me all night like that. 
I would suffer for hours on end." 

It seemed like her urging was beginning to have the desired effect for he 
looked as if he were in deep thought. But then Monique made a mistake. "You 
could see her face in mine every time you hit me." 

Suddenly he slung the rifle over his shoulder and opened the door behind 
him. "I've already see her hurt," he said grimly. "It took her several hours 
to die." He jerked her out of her seat with one strong hand and pushed her 
towards the door. "Go. You have one hour head start. Then I come and track 
you. When I find you, I'll shoot you." He slammed the door behind her. 

The first thing that Monique noticed was that it was cold outside. The sun 
still hadn't quite lifted above the horizon and the sky was lovely shades of 
pink and soft oranges. A few of the more hardy stars were still visible but 
fading fast. Monique sucked in a breath and started out on what might be a 
very short hike. 

There was a path behind the house and she followed it, quickly becoming lost 
in the dense pine trees, but hurrying along as fast as her bare feet would 
take her. The pin needles hurt when an occasional one would stick into her 
foot, but she ignored that pain and concentrating on putting as much mileage 
between herself and the man who wanted to kill her. All the while her mind 
was racing, considering possibilities and rejecting them almost as fast as 
they popped up. The main objection to any idea of defending herself was the 
tightly bound arms behind her back. Without hands, a girl could not even 
chuck a rock at him. It was very frustrating for the naked girl dashing 
through the trees. 

Finally she had to pause and try to catch her breath. She stood there, bend 
forward, legs wide apart, and panting. He had been right, this host's body 
was in good shape and Monique had run far longer than she could ever have in 
her real body. And therein lie her only hope. This nameless hunter was many 
years her senior, and there could be no way that he could match the speed or 
endurance. All she had to do was outrun him. Eventually she would run into 
someone. Well, so long as she didn't travel north. He had said his hunting 
lodge was in the "north woods". That could mean Canada or perhaps part of 
the northern US. Either way, so long as she traveled south she would run 
into something sooner or later. 

Monique stood erect and searched for the sun through the thick trees. 
Finding it, she turned to her right and told herself that was south. Then 
she started out in that direction despite the fact that the path continued 
eastward. There were doubts in her mind. Surely the path led somewhere. A 
road? More likely a lake or something no useful to her. She stuck with 
south. 

The day lengthened and grew warmer. Not knowing what time of year it was, 
she could not tell if the coolness of the air was due to a northern location 
or the season. At least it was warm enough so she wouldn't freeze. Several 
times she stumbled and fell, cursing as she struggled to regain her feet. It 
was not easy going and she had to follow a twisty path through the trees, 
often taking detours around rock piles and dense areas. There seemed to be a 
general upward slope to the land but she couldn't be too sure because of 
local ups and downs. Along about early afternoon she paused for the tenth 
time and wondered how far she had come. It was strange to be standing in the 
middle of a forest of pine trees, naked and bound. Not that the bondage 
itself was bothering her much, she had gotten pretty used to that over the 
last few weeks. But it made her so helpless to affect her fate, and that 
bothered her more than the physical discomfort. A gray squirrel watching her 
from a tree trunk chided her with a few well chosen remarks then scurried 
off up the tree. Monique wished she had his freedom and began walking again. 

She heard the river long before she reached it. In the quiet of the forest 
there were only animal sounds to accompany her. When she stopped to rest, 
she listened carefully but could hear no pursuit. She hoped that meant there 
was none. The river sound was welcome for she was very thirsty. Hungry, too, 
but that would have to wait until she found someone who would free her arms. 
She certainly could not find food for herself in the woods and with no 
hands. 

It was a good sized river, flowing rapidly and bouncing along among the 
rocks and boulders of its bed. Monique gratefully sank to her knees on a 
flat rock and bent to drink of the icy cold water. It was good. Finally 
satisfied, she turned over and sat down on the sun-warmed rock to survey her 
surroundings. There was only the river and forest and rocks. Remembering her 
visit with Brave Wolf, she turned to follow the river, glad that the rocks 
would not leave footprints. She had the nagging doubt that a good hunter 
would be able to follow her path through the forest. Perhaps there were 
places where a footprint would show in the dirt. Perhaps disturbed pine 
needles would tell of her passage. But she was pretty sure that no one could 
follow a trail over bare rocks. Besides, the smooth rocks were more comfort 
on her bare feet than pine needles. 

It was then reality interrupted into her world. Suddenly a small explosion 
splatter her leg with tiny but biting pieces of rock and lead. A fraction of 
a second later came the sound of a rifle shot. Startled, Monique did what 
instinct told her to do, she ran. The relative safety of the trees seemed 
miles away as she leaped from boulder to boulder. A second shot boomed 
across the river but she never saw where it hit. Then she was diving into 
the woods. She quickly came to a panting halt behind a big tree. One 
instinct drove her to race away into the woods, another said that to rush 
forward carelessly might be disastrous. The tree did have gaps between them 
and she didn't want to present a good target. If she knew where he was 
firing from, perhaps she could head in the directly opposite direction. 

No more shots came. Monique waited. Dare she risk a peek? Finally the 
suspense could be taken no longer and she edged around the big tree and 
peered between the branches. At first she saw nothing. Then there was a tiny 
flash from the other side of the river and a second later a branch above her 
head exploded and snapped in half. She felt tiny slivers of wood against her 
shoulder. Then she heard the sound of the shoot. 

She hide behind her tree again and tried to calm down her beating heart. 
It's no fun to have high powered rifle bullets trying to kill you. She was 
about to take off when she heard the holler. 

"Hey! I'm disappointed!" came the male voice faintly over the rushing 
waters. 

What the hell was he disappointed about, Monique thought. That he missed? 

"You made it too easy!" came the reply. "When I found where you turned off 
the trail, I figured you were heading south. And south will take you to the 
river. So I drove down here. And simply waited." 

Monique felt like a fool. She should never have run in a straight line. 

"When you got to the river, I figured you'd follow it downstream. That would 
be logical." 

Monique hadn't gotten that far in her thinking, but what he said did sound 
logical. Too bad she wouldn't be able to try it now. 

"You've got about five minutes while I cross the river," he shouted again. 
"Then the hunt is on again." He sounded happy. 

Monique started off into the woods, trying to keep her tree between him and 
her. She quickly found herself having to duck and dodge in among the dense 
trees and underbrush. And she was sure she was leaving a trail he could 
easily follow. Apparently he had no trouble finding where she had left the 
path to turn south. With mind racing as fast as her feet, Monique headed 
away from the river. For a few seconds the wild idea danced in her frantic 
mind that perhaps she should hide behind a tree. Then when he came by, she 
should trip him, then kick him repeatedly in the head until he was 
unconscious. But as much as she would like to do that, it did seem a little 
ridiculous that a slender, young girl with her arms bound behind her back 
would be able to disable a large armed man. 

She did the only thing she could do, she headed back the way she had come. 

The long afternoon wore on and the frightened girl had to take longer and 
longer rests until she was merely walking back through the pines. Hunger 
became a constant companion, as did the pain in her arms and shoulders, not 
to mention the soreness of her bare feet. Rocks and pine needles do not make 
a soft carpet for bare feet. 

And where was the hunter? Was he behind her, following the trail she was 
leaving? Or had he gone back to his jeep or whatever he drove and returned 
to the hunting lodge? Or gone somewhere else? Should she turn east or west, 
or even back to the river? He had outwitted her the first time and nearly 
gotten her by the river. But how could she outwit him this time? She had no 
idea how he was thinking. She could only assume that he had a fair idea how 
she was thinking and would plan to be one jump ahead of her. So it was 
important that she not do whatever it was she would normally do because that 
was what he was expecting. 

All that logic told her was to ignore her first impulse and do something 
else. But it still didn't tell her what to do. 

Suddenly there was a change and it took her a moment to realize what it was. 
It was the trail, probably the same one she had traveled down this morning. 
From the slope she had a feeling that the hunting lodge was to the left. But 
what awaited to the right? Or should she even follow a path? That is what a 
city girl who was tired of a rough hike would do. So the hunter would assume 
that. Therefore he would be waiting on the trail. Or would he? Perhaps he 
would assume that she would not do the expected? It was very confusing to 
Monique. She might have a great mind for physics and Time Theory, but she 
was certainly not used to trying to out-think psychopathic killers. 

Finally she turned to the left and followed the trail. He might be back at 
the lodge but night was coming on and the lodge had shelter and food. She 
suspected that a naked and bound girl would not last too long at night. The 
early morning air had been chilly enough. 

She saw the roof line first and it alerted her to the lodge so she turned 
off the path and circled to the left, trees providing cover. Beside the 
lodge she saw a jeep and knew he was back there. Or nearby, waiting for her. 

Suddenly the door opened and he came out, still carrying a rifle. He stood 
by the jeep, slowly turning around. Monique's heart stopped as his gaze 
passed her hiding place. She was only a couple dozen yards from the jeep, an 
easy shot for a man with a rifle. But he didn't see her. For a while he 
stood there, frowning. Then he smiled and left down the path Monique had so 
recently vacated. 

Perhaps he was going to set a trap for Monique on the trail. But she had 
been lucky enough to make it to the lodge before he could set up his trap. 
For a moment she considered trying to start the jeep and driving off down 
the dirt road she could see on the other side of the lodge. But it was a 
stupid idea and she dropped it. 

Waiting a full five minutes was hard but she wanted to make sure he had a 
chance to get a little ways down the path. Then she came out of hiding and 
approached the jeep. The first thing she tried was the door to the lodge. 
Locked! Then she tried the door to a garage. Also locked. Damn that man! 
Locking the doors like he didn't trust her, or something. She returned to 
the jeep and looked inside. There was nothing except for a small box and a 
few tools in the back, but no knives or other sharp edges. Monique backed up 
to it and opened the wooden lid. When she turned around to see what she had 
uncovered, she was surprised to find four sticks of dynamite, some fuse and 
a couple blasting caps. A weapon, of course, but how could she use it with 
bound arms? If she could have thrown a stick, she would have found matches 
somewhere and gone hunting him. It would have been most satisfying to see 
him blown sky high. 

Then the idea hit her. Quickly she rushed around to the front of the jeep. 
The two large handles were hard to turn with arms bound behind her but she 
managed. Raising the hood was even harder but she managed to shoulder it up 
and brace it open. Very happy that she had done some work on automobile 
engines with her father when she was small, she set about disconnecting one 
spark plug wire from the plug. It was messy work and hard with bound hands 
but not impossible. Soon she had a wire sitting there. Fetching a stick of 
dynamite and a cap, she laid them on the fender. The cap went into the 
stick, no problem. But the spark plug wire had a rubber shield around the 
end. She had to work that rubber back and off to expose the metal connector. 
Then she had to force it into the dynamite and the cap so there was solid 
contact. Finally she stood back, admiring her work. When the engine was 
started a large electrical charge would shoot down the spark plug wire and 
set off the dynamite. Couldn't fail. Monique returned to the jeep and 
brought the rest of the dynamite sticks. Those she put next to the first on 
top of the engine block. Might as well make it a big explosion. 

She hurried to replace the hood and tighten it down. And then to close the 
dynamite box. Hoping everything was exactly as it had been so he would see 
nothing unusual, she returned into the forest to find a good hiding place. 
Sooner or later he would come back. Sooner or later he would start up his 
jeep to go somewhere. And then.... 

Then the thought occurred to her that perhaps she could speed things up a 
bit. Leaving off her search for a hiding place, she returned to the start of 
the path. Then she deliberately walked right up to the front of the lodge. 
She walked to the door, making sure that she didn't go near the jeep, then 
to the garage, making sure that there were clear footprints where ever she 
could. Then she turned off towards the road. A ways down the road she turned 
off into the woods and doubled back to the lodge. Then she settled down to 
watch. 

It was growing towards evening and Monique was beginning to feel like her 
plans were for ought. If he returned after dark, he would not see the 
footprints carefully laid out for him. And he might well not feel the need 
to drive his jeep anywhere. The prospect of a long, cold night made her 
shiver. Already the sun had disappeared and the light was fading fast. 

Then he came back, rifle held casually in the hollow of one arm but where he 
could easily swing it out, his grim face watching the woods on either side 
of the trail with hawk eyes. Monique froze. She wanted to shout to him to 
see the footprints. She wanted him to think she was running down the road. 

But he passed by the first prints in the dirt and went to the lodge door 
instead. He unlocked the door and went inside. Monique wanted to scream. The 
big hunter had missed a trail as obvious as she could make it. She was 
startled when a flood light snapped to life, filling the area of the jeep 
with light. The hunter reappeared, still carrying the rifle. He stood just 
outside the door, making a careful scan of the surroundings. Monique was 
sure he was wondering where she could be. It almost seem that he was seeking 
some scent, some sound that would tell him where his game was. Suddenly he 
stiffened. Then he slowly lowered himself to the ground. He had seen the 
footprints! 

Monique held her breath as he followed them back to the trail. Then back to 
the house. Then towards the road. He was reading the tracks just as she had 
wanted him to. Now would he just jump into his jeep and race off after her? 

For a long time he stood at the road, looking off into the darkness of the 
forest. He knew where that road went and how long it was. He knew whether 
she could possibly get anywhere during the night. Perhaps he was considering 
a good night's sleep and then taking up the chase again in the morning. 
Monique hoped not. 

Suddenly he turned and went rapidly to the jeep where he tossed in his 
rifle. Then he went into the house and came out with a couple of 
flashlights, locking the door behind him. The flashlight went into the back, 
next to the dynamite box. He took out keys and sat in the drivers seat. 

"Goodbye, bastard," whispered Monique. The explosion was everything Monique 
had hoped it would be and a lot more. A whole lot more. She was instantly 
blinded by the flash then knocked backwards by the shock wave. When she came 
to, it was a long time later. She was laying on her bound arms in a stunned 
condition. There was a dancing reddish light that she realized was the lodge 
burning merrily. Slowly getting to her feet, Monique was happy to find no 
broken bones. But she did have a cut across her thigh but the blood had 
dried. She also had a terrible headache and trouble hearing. 

"Too damned much dynamite!" she told herself. "Next time I kill a crazed 
hunter, I'll use only two sticks. Or get a lot farther away." 

For a long time she watched the burning building, feeling satisfaction with 
her work. It was only later that she realized the destroyed building as also 
the only source of food and shelter for her. 

The jeep was not in one piece any longer. Parts of it were scattered all 
over the yard, the largest piece being an engine block sitting on end a 
dozen feet away from where it had been. 

Monique tried the garage again but the door was still locked and there were 
no windows. Then she sat down near the lodge and tried to figure out a plan. 
She was warm from the flames but they would eventually die down. By morning 
there would be only a pile of smoldering ashes.. Her arms were aching 
terribly but there was still nothing she could do about that. Those ropes 
were still holding her prisoner and defying her. She could think of nothing 
short of trying to burn the ropes off that would gain her freedom. 

Suddenly she heard gunshots and had the immediate urge to dash off into the 
woods. Halfway to the nearest trees, she realized that it was only 
ammunition going off in the fire. But exploding bullets could still kill you 
so she walked to where the garage shielded her from the main building. The 
exploding bullets continued for quite a few minutes. 

Eventually the explosions died down, leaving the naked and bound woman in 
somewhat less danger. A minute later she idly noted that the roof of the 
garage had caught fire from the sparks. Let it burn, she sighed. Damn thing 
ain't no use to me. She had backed away from the lodge because the heat from 
the fire was getting to be too much. The garage or shed or whatever it was 
would make a much smaller fire and that was fine with her. She stood before 
the garage, turning first her front then her back to be warmed by the 
dancing flames. The air was growing colder and she welcomed the heat. 

Beyond the circle of orange light from the fire, the forest was dark and 
forbidding. She would stay with the lodge, she decided. In the morning 
perhaps someone would come to investigate the fire. Then she would be 
rescued. That was a happy thought. Hopefully they would have food with them, 
she wished. 

Had the naked and bound girl taken the trouble to think about possibilities, 
it might have occurred to her that those sticks of dynamite in the jeep had 
to come from somewhere. And that it was possible more dynamite would be 
stored in the garage rather than the main house for safety reasons. A whole 
lot more dynamite. She had her back turned to the garage when the wooden box 
and its remaining thirty-two sticks of dynamite exploded. She never knew 
what hit her. 

"She's Jumped again," said a weary Howard. "I'll get you the coordinates as 
soon as the computer readouts settle down." 

Dr Pritchard shook his head. It was obvious that the errant Dr. Hutton had 
not returned. Somewhere in the past she was now in a new host, in a new 
location, and in a new time. The old man stroked his forehead wearily. Would 
Monique every come back? It was possible that she could go on Jumping 
forever. But what would happen with her body which was still on what they 
called the Jump Seat? They had taken care of it but dared not move it to the 
hospital in case the computer managed to Jump her back here. So they had set 
up everything needed to keep her alive right there in the TDT. 

There was a tug on his sleeve and Dr Pritchard turned. It was Dr. Wordsworth 
of the R&D team. "There's an idea that Goldblum has," he began. "He feels 
that the Jumper is much in control than the computer. In his opinion, the 
Jumper is directing the location and time for each Jump." 

"But why wouldn't she come back home? Surely she doesn't want to go on 
Jumping all through time. Even is she's having an exciting and wonderful 
time, she should want to come home sooner or later." 

"Goldblum says that it is the subconscious that controls the Jumps. We 
always assumed that the Jumper went to the time and place set into the 
computer because we had programmed it that way. But Goldblum says that the 
Jumpers have always gone where they did because their subconscious believed 
they would and made it so. If the Jumper's subconscious wanted to go 
somewhere else, it would." 

For a few long seconds Dr Pritchard frowned. "What do the others think about 
this theory?" he finally asked. 

"They think it's as valid as any other. At least it explains why a Jump 
could go wrong if the computer isn't the one controlling the Jump." 

"But why doesn't she come back?" 

"We don't know. But there is a test of this theory...." 

They began discussing details. Meantime in a distant place and long ago.... 

 CHAPTER SEVEN - A Little Less Than a Thousand and One Nights 

Monique was vaguely aware of the Jump tingle racing along her nerves and the 
empty feeling of nothingness. But there had been something before that, 
something vague but intense. She was confused. She had been standing before 
a warm fire and suddenly she had Jumped again. 

She opened her eyes and looked around, fully expecting to find herself naked 
and bound up tightly with ropes, the usual pattern of these Jumps. To her 
surprise, she saw instead that she was clothed and only lightly shackled. 
True, the clothing was little more than some than some wisps of very 
transparent material that covered her loins and draped casually across one 
breast, but it was clothing. And the shackles were more ornamental than 
real. Or so was her first thought. The slender silver bands about her wrists 
and ankles were like fine jewelry, not prisoner's attire. Same for the tiny 
links of the chains joining her wrists and ankles, they appeared more as 
heavy jewelry rather than stout, secure restrictions. But when she pulled 
her wrists apart she quickly found that they were functional. She could not 
break the chains nor could she ever hope to work the snug bands off her 
wrists. With a sigh, she turned her attention to her surroundings, thankful, 
at least, that she was not tightly bound with painful ropes. 

Yet another surprise greeted her. This was not the deck of a pirate ship, 
nor the stone walls of a medieval castle. It was a room of luxury, of silk 
wall hangings, of pillows scattered around the floor, of two braziers 
burning away in to corners of the room, and thick, soft carpet beneath her. 
Slowly she rose to her feet, admiring the rich materials round her and the 
soft pastel patterns of flowers and trees and peacocks. From somewhere 
distant came the soft tinkling of flutes and bells and running water. As she 
headed towards an open arch, she caught sight of herself in a polished metal 
mirror and stopped to see what kind of hostess she had this Jump. 

The girl that looked back at her was lovely, a vision of jet black hair 
cascading down around her shoulders and dark, mysterious eyes. The figure 
was slender and the breasts pointed, the legs long. She turned around and 
noted how gracefully this body moved and how the silver shackles did look 
like jewelry, complimenting the loose silk garments even as they 
complimented her youthful figure. 

As she passed through the arched doorway, she realized what this all looked 
like to her: a harem from the pages of Arabian Nights. The musical tinkling 
of water came from a fountain in a courtyard. From twice her height water 
danced down the sides of circular bowls set in a spiral pattern. Four walls 
surrounded the courtyard, two with arched passages, one only a window. 
Greenery and delicate flowers made the courtyard a cool and peaceful place. 
Overhead a vivid display of purples and reds showed that the sun had just 
departed from the sky and stars were emerging from their daytime sleep. 

All was peaceful and beautiful, a wonderful change from the torture chambers 
of a Chinese emperor or the dungeons of a mad German baron. Monique breathed 
deeply of the Jasmine scented air and relaxed for the first time in a long, 
long time. At least no one here would be whipping her or trying to kill her. 

Just them another girl dressed much as she was walked slowly by the window, 
weeping nearly silent tears, with her arms hugging herself as much as 
allowed by the thin shackles. The young girl looked up, saw Monique, and 
paused. "The Master ... He whipped me," she said haltingly. Then she turned 
to show a fresh batch of whip marks crisscrossing the skin of her back and 
bottom. "Again," she added, and Monique did indeed note that there were 
faded marks under these fresh ones. 

The whipped girl quickly turned and was gone. Well, so much for the humane 
treatment of girls around here. She wondered if her back held fading whip 
marks but had no real desire to return to the room with the mirror. 

To a faint background of flutes and drums and cymbals singing a strange, 
haunting melody, Monique turned to find herself almost bumping into a man. 
With a slight gasp she backed way from the man who stood there watching her 
with an amused grin on his face. Since he was apparently not ready to say 
anything himself, she took the time to study him. His features were dark, 
perhaps Arabic but with strong hints of European blood. He was certainly 
handsome by most any girl's standards-sort of a tall, dark stranger. He 
appeared to be somewhere in his thirties, with a weathered look about his 
face of someone who spends a fair amount of time out in the sun. He was at 
least six inches taller than Monique, or rather Monique's host body, and 
didn't appear to be skinny in those white pants and semi-robe type shirt, 
also of white. It set off his dark skin well, Monique thought. 

"What is with my little Nighthawk? Since I tamed you, you have not lifted 
your eyes to stare so boldly into mine ... Perhaps there returns some of the 
spirit you showed when you first came here and we named you Nighthawk 
because you tired to scratch my eyes out with your talons.'' His voice was 
strong. 

"A thousand pardons, Master," said Monique in what she hoped was the proper 
words. She also lowered her eyes to his feet. Breaking eye contact was a 
sign of submission in most cultures. 

"You were looking at Danila," he stated. "She misbehaved and was whipped. It 
is of no consequence," he dismissed with a wave of his hand. Then he grinned 
again. "And slavegirls should be whipped now and then just to remind them 
who and what they are. Do you not agree?" 

"Yes, Master." Go to hell, Master, was what she wanted to say but she was 
not that stupid. 

Her master laughed. "Perhaps I should change your name to Mouse. Suits you 
better now than Nighthawk. No doubt you remember those nights staked out on 
the sand dunes and those many whippings down in the punishment room. I 
nearly had you buried to the neck in the sands and left to die when you 
scratched my face." He touched his cheek. "But no scar was left and you have 
proven to be a most submissive slavegirl. I think I will call for you to be 
brought to my bed tonight," he added graciously. 

"I would be honored, Master," purred Monique, hating herself inside for 
having to say it. 

For a minute this man was silent. "I almost miss the rebellious little 
slavegirl I bought and trained. It was fun punishing you. Now you rarely do 
anything to deserve punishment. You are boring." 

"Shall I slap your face, Master, so you will have reason to whip me?" asked 
Monique, trying to hold back the sarcasm and hoping that she wasn't going 
too far. 

"I can have you whipped for no reason," he said reasonably. "For no reason, 
as you well know. Perhaps I will." 

Monique held her words back. "Well, it matters not much. I will call for you 
tonight. It has been a while since I used that lovely body of yours. So many 
wives, so little time," he sighed. 

Then he was gone, leaving Monique standing in the middle of the garden and 
feeling relived. She was sure he spoke the truth when he said that he could 
have her whipped for no reason. Apparently she was a slavegirl in a harem, 
and the sooner she got to thinking like a harem girl, the better. Be 
submissive and fit in with the rest of the girls, she told herself. And 
wasn't there usually a senior wife who really ran the harem? She tried to 
remember but harems weren't something she studied at the university. 

Apparently it was after dinner for she did not feel hungry. Wishing to see 
more of her new home, and her subconscious was nagging that perhaps she 
should consider Jumping as her new way of life, she wandered through the 
door on the left. It was another room much like the one she had awakened in, 
but a little larger. At the other end was another archway. Monique walked to 
it and through. There was a short corridor with several more open doors and 
one closed with heavy fabric at the end. Curious about this place, she went 
to the closed door and pulled back the curtain. 

The shock almost made her fall backwards, for standing there was the 
biggest, ugliest man she had ever seen. He was black and not at all like 
some of the handsome black men Monique had known. This one looked like his 
face had gone through a meat grinder-before he had taken up a career in 
boxing where his face was the opponent's favorite target. He was bare to the 
waist and Monique could see numerous scars crisscrossing his chest and back, 
as well as his face. This man had seen some rough times somewhere. Monique 
noted as he glared at her with a fierce frown that his hand rested on the 
hilt of a massive, curved sword hanging from his belt. She doubted that she 
would have been able to even lift the weapon, let alone swing it. 

"Nataka's a pussy cat, isn't he?" came a feminine voice from behind her. She 
turned to see another girl dressed as she was in some flimsy cloth and 
delicate silver chains. The newcomer smiled sweetly and walked up to Nataka. 
"He growls real good but he's really soft on all us girls. Aren't you, 
sweetie pie?" She patted his ample bottom, showing no fear at all. 

Nataka actually growled but made no move to stop the harem slavegirl. She 
stepped back and closed the curtain. "He's a darlings but he does have 
orders to not let any of us leave the harem. Of course, his main duty is to 
keep men out of here." She was walking back towards one of the rooms and 
Monique followed. 

"Isn't that like setting a fox to guard the hens?" she asked. 

"Fox? Oh, you mean Nataka! Silly girl, don't you know that he couldn't do 
anything with one of us even if he was allowed to? He is no longer a man." 

It took Monique a few seconds to realize that referred to the ancient 
practice of castrating the male guards of a harem to make sure that they 
were not tempted to sample the Sheik's private stock. Poor guy, thought 
Monique. Not that he would be attractive to a woman anyway, but still.... 

There was, indeed, a head wife. Or senior slavegirl, or whatever. She 
couldn't have been more then ten years Monique's senior-Monique's host 
body's senior that is-but she was definitely in command. As she hustled in, 
Monique noted that her chains were a little longer, allowing her more 
freedom of movement, in fact, hardly hampering her at all. She quickly 
informed Monique that she was to be taken to the Master's bed chamber for 
the night. "Lucky girl," said the siavegirl who had patted Nataka's bottom. 
The head slave offered no such congratulations-in fact, she seemed on the 
cool side to Monique. There was no love lost here, apparently. 

But Monique didn't have much time to feel honored. Her hair was worked on by 
a black siavegirl who Monique guessed was not really one of the wives even 
through she wore chains. Maybe every female around here wore chains, wife, 
slave or serving girl. But, since the girl was quite pretty and had a very 
respectable figure, she guessed that the Master might well bed down the 
serving slavegirls, too. It was that kind of male-dominated society. Men had 
all the rights, women none. 

The Master's bedroom was huge. He could have had his horse stabled there and 
still have room for several more beds. Several swords decorated the walls, 
marking it as a man's room. The Master was no where in sight, so Monique 
went over to the bed and tested it, Soft but the covers were not the smooth 
silk she had seen in the harem chambers. After all she had been through, 
including several rapes and a couple of cases of throwing herself at men, 
the idea of having sex with a strange man held much less fear and repulsion 
than it would have only a few weeks before. And the Master here wasn't a bad 
looking man. Rather nice, in fact. Monique felt a little warmth in her loins 
as visions of her owner tossing her on the bed and then ravishing her body 
with masterfully, powerful thrusts of his manhood in her sheath. Which made 
her wonder about the chains on her ankles. They allowed her to walk but were 
a little short when it came to spreading her legs for sex. Maybe he liked it 
doggie style, she thought and almost giggled at that image. 

When her owner came in, she found out why did didn't care about the chains 
on her feet. First he tore away the flimsy garments with utter disregard for 
their value. "Nighthawk, you are as beautiful as the day I bought you." He 
divested himself of clothing. "Come here and pay homage to my manhood as a 
good slavegirl should." His manhood was already pretty much at attention, so 
she simply knelt down and took it carefully in both hands. For a while she 
stroked it, teased it lightly with her fingertips. It seemed to like that 
but its owner wanted much more than a little fondling. "I'm waiting," he 
growled. Monique sighed as she brought her lips close enough to take 
enlarged member between them. Men, she thought, why can't they use a girl 
the way a girl's suppose to be used? Her pleasant visions of a fine and 
proper screwing were fading. He'd probably come in her mouth and then go to 
sleep. 

Still Monique did the best she could, having not too much experience with 
this task before she began these bad Jumps. She just hadn't been that kind 
of girl, you know. But untrained as they were, her mouth and tongue were 
effective and his phallus was soon rock hard and ready. Suddenly he 
withdrew, reached down and picked Monique up to throw her on the bed. 
Oh,-boy, she thought-here it comes! 

But he turned her over on her stomach and spread her legs as wide as the 
chain allowed them. Then he picked up her hips, shoved a pillow under them 
so that her ass was sticking up in the air. Taking a glob of something from 
a jar on the floor by the bed, the Master of this house anointed his phallus 
and then drove it solidly into Monique's unsuspecting and unready asshole. 

She let out with a scream and began beating the bed with her chained hands. 
She tried to wiggle her bottom away from the painful invasion but he held 
her hips firmly and all she could do was give voice to her pain and 
humiliation. Ignoring her protests and squeals of discomfort, he pumped away 
with vigor, using her rear as if it were no different from her vagina. 

Fortunately it was over quickly. Monique could feel his hot juices shooting 
inside her. Had it not been so unexpected and uncomfortable, it might have 
been a new erotic experience for her. And it was exciting in a way. But it 
was over before her body could have a chance to respond. Pulling her off the 
bed, he pushed her to her knees on the floor and made her suck his phallus 
clean. Monique wanted to gag but dared not. She kept telling herself to be 
submissive and obedient-it was the way to survive. 

With the repulsive task of cleaning her owner finished, she was left on the 
floor while he stretched out on the bed. With a yawn, he told her to stay 
there on the floor by the bed because he would want to do it again in the 
morning. Monique wanted to cry but obediently curled up on a carpet and 
listened as he began snoring. 

She considered trying to escape but rejected the idea when she remember the 
kind of guards on this harem. She didn't want to run into that Nataka in the 
dark, eunuch or no. With a sigh she made herself as comfortable as possible 
and slowly drifted into sleep. 

The awaken was rude and noise and very confusing. There were people shouting 
and strong hands grabbing her arms to jerk her to her feet. At first she 
thought that she had Jumped again, but blinking her eyes, she realized that 
she was still in the sheik's bed chamber. But all was not the same. The 
sheik lay on the bed in a pool of his own blood, a wicked, curved dagger 
sticking from his breast. Several men were standing around in the early 
morning light, holding flaming torches and glaring at her. It was then she 
realized that there was blood on the knife handle and blood on her hands. 

The trial was over quickly. She was dragged before an older man with a 
ragged white beard and tossed at his feet. 

A few sentences described how she was found at the foot of her Master's bed, 
blood on her hands. When she started to proclaim innocence, she was slapped 
hard enough to make her vision fade for a second and her head ring. The old 
man glared at her and uttered a few words. The guards' carried her from the 
room. 

The silver shackles were cut from her wrists and ankles-apparently they had 
been welded on-and her arms bound behind her in the all too familiar 
elbows-touching, ropes extra tight method. Then a rope was looped around her 
neck and jerked so she had to follow. 

They headed into the rising sun, across sand still cold from the night, and 
away from what civilization there was in a desolate land. Monique tried to 
protest but every time she spoke, the rope around her neck was jerked. Four 
guards with drawn swords formed her escort, along with the head wife or 
chief slavegirl or whatever that woman was. From the way this rival was 
smiling, Monique was certain she had something to do with the whole rotten 
setup. She could see why this woman would want to pin the guilt upon 
Monique, but why would she want to kill the sheik in the first place? 
Perhaps there was some palace politics going on that she could not 
understand. 

The sun was well risen when they stopped, already the sands were becoming 
warm. Soon they would be hot, as would the very air they breathed. This was 
the desert, barren, dry and very lonely. It was an area of low, sweeping 
sand dunes and little else. The chief guard mounted the nearest sand dune 
and looked around. Satisfied with whatever he saw, he came back down and 
directed the guards to dig in the sand. Monique had little doubt what the 
hole was going to be for. She considered running but there was little a 
naked girl could do with her arms tightly bound behind her back and a noose 
around her neck. 

When the hole was deep enough, they sat Monique down on the sand and tied 
her legs together, at the knees and ankles. Then they forced her into the 
hole, which, being only three or four feet deep, would not be enough for her 
to stand in. So they made her kneel and squat back on her heels, and held 
her that way while the sand was shoveled back into the hole. Perhaps they 
had done this before, but whatever the reason, when they were finished the 
sand came to Monique's chin but no further. Apparently she was not to be 
buried alive, only partly. 

The guards made sure the sand was tamped down before picking up their tools 
and leaving. The older woman stayed behind for a few moments to gloat. "You 
may struggle all you want, you will find the sands hold you. The days are 
hot and the nights cold. As you dry out, you will cry out for help, beg and 
plead for a drop of water. If you do not die right away, you will maybe go 
mad from the thirst. It is a most unpleasant way to die," she said with 
satisfaction. 

"Tell me," asked Monique, "did you kill the Master?" The woman's face 
twisted into a cruel mask of pure evil. Then suddenly she was all sweetness. 
"All are sure that you did it. Are you not the one who scratched the Master 
when first he bought you? Are you not the one who was found with his blood 
on your hands?" 

"You didn't answer my question." The woman went on as if Monique had not 
spoken. "There are animals out here. Scorpions. Ants. Foxes. Perhaps you 
will not die of thirst." She looked pleased at the prospects. Then she 
turned to go, but paused to leave Monique with one last thought. "You will 
be lucky if the winds blow and cover you up. These dunes shift so easily 
when the winds blow." She looked towards the distant mountains. "But I feel 
no wind coming." 

Then she was gone, leaving Monique cursing under her breath. The imprisoned 
girl noted carefully the direction the guards had taken. If she could work 
herself free of the sand and ropes, she wanted to know which way 
civilization lay. Then she began work on the sand. 

She should have known that it would be useless. People who live in the 
desert know the sand dunes well. The also know that a girl buried up to her 
neck cannot fight the weight of sand pressing down upon her body. Perhaps if 
her arms were not totally useless behind her, she might have had a chance to 
work a hand upward. But all she could down shake her head, no other motion 
was possible. 

After an hour, Monique began to notice the strange contrast of hot, burning 
sun upon her face, and the cool sands pressing against her body. The sun's 
heat move down into the sands only very slowly, all below the tops of her 
breasts was cool. By mid-afternoon, she felt as if her brains were frying. 
She had to keep her eyes closed against the fierce brightness. They had 
buried her so that her face was to the west and the worst of the afternoon 
sun was directly upon her. If they had turned her so that the sun set behind 
her, her long hair would have protected her head. But they hadn't and she 
was sure it was a deliberate cruelty. 

During the long hours of that first day, Monique had plenty of time to 
ponder upon what had happened to her, especially her departure from the 
hunting lodge existence. It represented a major change in the pattern. Each 
time before she was aware of impending death. And each time before it had 
been by water. But something had happened at that lodge, something to make 
her Jump. All she could remember was the feeling that something violent and 
swift had happened. Eventually the possibility of something in the garage 
exploding occurred to her and she accepted it as the only possible 
explanation. 

Which meant, she realized, that she did not have to die by water in order to 
Jump. It was small comfort to a girl about to die of thirst in the middle of 
the desert, but at least she felt some comfort in the idea that she would 
Jump as soon as she died. She wondered how much suffering it would be to die 
of thirst. 

She spent the evening and part of the night thinking about Time Theory. She 
was one of the few people who really understand the complex theories that 
made Time Jumping possible. And she had additional information, information 
that those back at the Institute probably didn't know. She didn't even know 
if they were aware of her Jumping. Perhaps they even thought her dead. If 
not. they would certainly be trying to get her back. Apparently they could 
not. 

She fell asleep considering different aspects of Time Theory and 
possibilities. When she awoke it was to a different world. 

"She's Jumped again." 

"That was a short one," Dr Pritchard observed. "She was there only a little 
more than a day. Well, where is she now?" 

"It's settling down. Ah....Amazing! 1985! That's the closest she's been." 

"Perhaps that's good. Perhaps not. Research come up with anything new?" 

"The current line of thinking is that the Jumper is the one controlling the 
Jump. The computer only goes along with it. Mark and Barbara have done some 
short term tests that suggest that's the right theory. Of course, no one's 
going to try it with a human, they used a rat. They showed a hungry rat some 
food then waited an hour. Then they Jumped him, setting the controls for 
nearly zero time displacement. But the rat Jumped back one hour and to where 
he had seen the food. Seems like the rat controlled the Jump. But the second 
time they did it, the rat disappeared." 

"Disappeared?" 

"Yeah. Gone. The computer didn't have any fix on it at all." 

"Very strange." 

"That's what Research said." 

 CHAPTER EIGHT - Lucky Girl 

Monique woke up slowly. As consciousness filtered back from troubled and 
highly erotic dreams of being tied up and screwed on a sand dune by a giant 
sheik who laughed at her, she expected to open her eyes to find herself 
still buried in the sand. She wondered if she would last out the second day. 

Then she opened her eyes and knew something had happened. There was no sand 
dunes. A morning sun shinning upon her face had apparently been the reason 
she awoke, yet she was not out under the desert sun, but in a large and 
somewhat masculine bedroom. She was laying upon a water bed, she could feel 
the water move under her as she turned her head. Besides the window, the 
walls were natural wood. A pair of men's pants hung from a peg in front of 
her. That much registered before she explored her condition. 

She was tied up, as she fully expected to be. Some patterns in this whole 
crazy business were consistent. She was naked as she could tell from the 
friction of the crisp, clean sheets when she moved slightly to test how she 
was bound. Her hands were crossed and tied behind her back, firmly but not 
overly tight. Her ankles were tied together. 

But that was all. She wore no gag, the ropes were rather comfortable-at 
least compared to some of her adventures. She felt as if she had just spend 
a restful night, at least the body did. Her mind had been troubled by the 
prospect of a lingering death in that desert semi-grave. But apparently it 
was not to be. 

She stretched and turned her head around to find herself alone in the bed. 
It was king-sized and the sheets next to her looked as if someone had slept 
there. Looking around, she found no one in the entire room, so she slide her 
way to the edge then swung her legs out from under the sheets and over the 
edge. There was a metallic clinking sound. Looking down, she found a chain 
locked around her ankle and trailing off to the floor. The chain links were 
small but she was sure far beyond her power to break. The padlock was also 
not too large but sufficient to keep her prisoner until she got the key or a 
hacksaw. Lifting herself up to a sitting position, she planted her feet on 
the floor and followed the chain with her eyes until it ended at a metal 
ring screwed into the bottom corner of the massive wooden frame of the water 
bed. Another padlock assured that she would not be taking it off. 

But there were more than enough links to allow her some exploration of her 
new surroundings, so she rose to her feet and began a slow shuffling of 
bound ankles to move her away from the water bed. It might have been slow 
but she felt it was better than trying to hop and perhaps falling down. 

There was a bathroom not far away and she made for it. Just inside the door 
the chained tightened and she had to halt. But it was far enough into the 
room for her to see herself in the mirror over the sinks. One eyebrow rose. 
This was one fine looking body, no mistake about that. She guessed the age 
at no more than twenty-two. The hair was long, silky black strands that hung 
down in front to half cover one breast. But the other was totally exposed in 
all it's glory. The last time she had seen a pair like that, they had been 
on the Playmate of the Year. The long, shapely legs complimented the fine 
top part. And the face was something off the cover of a high fashion 
magazine; dark, sultry eyes; full, red lips. 

Boy, would I have loved to have this body all my life, she whispered. With 
this body and my brains, I could have gone far. 

Her admiration of the host body was interrupted by the arrival of a male 
dressed only in a pair of underwear. What a hunk! was the only thought that 
had time to flash cross her mind before he swept her up into his arms and 
kissed her very warmly. After the surprise faded some, she found herself 
kissing back. It felt terribly good to be held in those strong male arms and 
kissed with in intensity that spoke of love. Rarely had the prim and proper 
Dr Monique Hutton every been kissed like that. In the middle of the kiss one 
strong male hand cupped a full breast and gently squeezed. She responded by 
pressing her body against his with real feeling. 

"Time you got up, sleepyhead," he said. 

"Why get out of bed when I can't do anything anyway," she whispered back. 
"As you can see, I'm all tied up." There was no accusation in her voice, if 
anything a playful tone. She sensed only love from this man and wanted very 
badly to return it. 

"True," he commented as he picked her up. "But you know the rules. You 
never, never are allowed to be free of restraints." He accented his remarks 
by tossing her on the bed. "Never, ever." 

In addition to being no more that she expected from all the prior Jumps, 
Monique found this statement oddly reassuring as it sent a tingle along her 
spine. The idea of this handsome man keeping her forever restrained was not 
unpleasant. Not at all. 

He followed her to the bed, but only after tossing off his underwear. Before 
she could catch her breath, his mouth and tongue was teasing her left 
breast, toying with the nipple, sucking on it gently. Monique closed her 
eyes and sucked in air. That felt good! Vaguely she wondered why it felt so 
good to be tied up, so exciting and wonderful. Then she abandoned herself to 
the tingling sensations that were racing into her body from that breast. 
When he hand cupped her pussy, she sighed aloud and arched her body up to 
help him. 

The ankles were untied but the chain remained locked about her ankle and the 
ropes remained around her wrists. She didn't mind. In fact, she would have 
felt deprived somehow if he had taken them off. It just seemed proper that 
she was bound up. And the lovemaking! That was something else. This man was 
not the size of that Irish sailor in her first Jump, but he was adequate to 
thrill any girl to the core. And he used his weapon skillfully and with 
vigor. With his strong arms around her body and his hairy chest pressing 
against her bosom, Monique experienced an orgasm far better than any she had 
every felt before. 

Later, when she had a chance to think about it, she realized that each host 
body she had Jumped into reacted to sex and felt it differently, sometimes 
strongly, sometimes weakly. But this one was wonderful and that climax was 
incredible. 

While it was happening, Monique had no time to think, only to feel. And it 
felt wonderful. Held in place by her lover and his ropes, she could do 
nothing to stop his continued thrusts deep into her Quickly she rode up to 
another climax. And then another until she could hardly tell when one ended 
and one began. Or perhaps were really was no ending and beginning. She only 
knew she was floating on something wonderful and she never wanted it to end. 

After ages she floated back down to earth to find her lover gone again and 
the smell of cooking bacon drifting into the bedroom. Realizing she was 
hungry, she got out of the bed and followed the smell to the kitchen. Only 
in the hallway did she realize that the chain had been taken from her ankle. 
Her wrists were still crossed and bound behind her but she didn't care about 
that. 

In addition to dishes set out on the table, there were two pairs of 
handcuffs laying beside the silverware. Her man was dressed now, casual 
slacks and a short sleeved shirt, both in shades of blue, and a wonderful 
smelling breakfast was just being finished. But before setting the disk 
before her, he locked Monique's ankles together with one pair of handcuffs. 
Then he untied her wrists, pulled them around to the front of her, and 
locked them with the other pair. Monique did not protest. It not only seemed 
nature, she was far too mellow from some great sex to care about much of 
anything. 

They ate and talked about minor things, Monique being careful about anything 
that would reveal her ignorance of their relationship, and this world in 
general. The only concern she felt came at the end of the meal when the man 
turned to her and said, "You're acting strangely this morning, Deidra. 
You're ... Well, just different. I would swear you acted like that was the 
first time we ever made love. And usually you pout when I refuse your 
request to be untied for breakfast. Now you're acting like you enjoy the 
handcuffs." 

"I enjoy anything with you," she said in what she hoped would be would be a 
good answer. At least it was truthful. "And maybe I'm coming to love your 
ropes and handcuffs on me," she added. 

He only smiled, warmly and sincerely. Monique could feel the real love this 
man felt for this host. When he turned his back to put the dishes in the 
dishwasher, she felt a little pang that she had taken this Deidra, whoever 
she was, away from a man who loved her so. But the pang died away rapidly 
when she remembered the joy he had given her. That was something so 
wonderful that she wanted it all for herself, all other women could go to 
hell. 

After breakfast, he allowed her a warm, foamy bath. The handcuffs stayed on, 
of course, but she had no trouble because of them. Only the tiny silver 
chains of the harem has limited her less. After she had fixed her hair and 
applied some perfume, she went in search of the man. It bothered her a 
little that she didn't know his name, but perhaps he would make love to her 
again. She hoped so, even though the last time had been only a couple hours 
before. 

He was in the front room, placing a golf bag by the front door. "I'm going 
golfing with Ted," he informed. It was not a question, and Monique felt only 
disappointment they he was not going to throw her upon the bed again. "There 
are three cards on the coffee table. Pick one." 

Monique saw three white cards laying on the table. She picked up the one on 
the right end of the line and presented it to him. "Oh, you're not going to 
like this one," he commented with a smile. "The Chair." 

Not know what "The Chair" was, Monique didn't know if she should be happy or 
sad. "Couldn't you just leave me like this? I'm chained up with these 
handcuffs. And I'll be right here, ready to greet you when you get back." 

He laughed. "You know the rules. You don't argue about any position I decide 
to fix you in. Not ever. For that you get an additional two hours when I get 
back." 

Monique knew when to shut up. Being naked and with handcuffed hands and feet 
make a girl feel very submissive. "Yes, Master," she uttered, only to 
realize immediately that perhaps it was a mistake. The Deidra might not call 
this man "Master." 

But he accepted her submission in stride and ordered her to come with him. 
The Chair was just that, a solid looking metal chair bolted to the floor in 
a room so small that it was basically a closet. Monique sat in the chair 
without being told to. Being left for a while tied to a chair didn't seem so 
very terrible-not when it was this man who did the binding and who was going 
to be the one to untie her. 

He unlocked her ankles and began binding them with rope. His hands 
skillfully applied the cords, neatly and firmly, and with cinch ropes to 
hold down all that went before. The knots were tight and there were several 
of them. When her ankles and knees were bound quite snugly, he unlocked her 
wrists. She did not resist when he gathered together her arms behind the 
back of the chair. The cords going on her arms were done with the same care 
and precision as those applied to her legs. The wrists were bound with palms 
facing. Then the elbows. Together. Tight. Very tight. 

As he tied a rope from her wrists down and under the chair to her ankles, he 
commented, "I'm surprised. You usually complain whenever I tie your elbows 
together. We both know that you can stay bound like that for days, but you 
always make like it's a terrible thing I'm doing." 

"Maybe I'm learning to like it." He laughed. "But you know what happens when 
a siavegirl gets to liking what is suppose to be her punishment ... ? The 
punishment just naturally has to become worse. Otherwise it wouldn't be 
punishment." 

Monique didn't say anything. It was with mixed feelings that she accepted 
his comments and their promise of rougher treatment. Part of her logical 
mind told her to fear and avoid. But part told her anything this man did to 
her would be quite all right. That voice spoke in a husky whisper and seemed 
to come from deep inside her. 

"I am your slavegirl, Master." His only reply was to tug the rope between 
her ankles and wrists until her feet were completely off the floor and 
hanging from her arms. There was considerable strain on her arms and 
shoulders, but not pain. Not yet. He took another length of rope and made a 
loop around her waist and arms. As he wrapped that rope tightly, she 
realized that it had the effect of locking the back of the chair between her 
arms and body, making her a prisoner of the chair for sure. 

When he finished the last knots, she was quite professionally tied and 
completely helpless. It was tight, secure and not very comfortable for the 
naked woman. Having had plenty of experience over the last couple weeks, 
Monique was surprised how much difference it made because these ropes went 
on by his hand. Damn, she wished she knew his name. But there was a real 
difference. As these ropes went on, they evoked a thrill within her, much 
like the touch of his fingers upon her breast or the firm contact of his 
lips against hers. Just being tied up by this man was more sensual and 
erotic and exciting than full lovemaking had been from most of the men in 
Monique's life. She felt herself breathing hard and could see those large 
nipples standing out rigid from the twin mounds pushed out so magnificently 
by the binding of her elbows behind her. 

Then suddenly he was standing before her, tossing up and catching a rubber 
ball with a strap through it. Monique gulped. "You won't even let me talk to 
myself?" she asked. But she opened her mouth wide as he brought the ball gag 
up to her lips. She felt it push down her tongue and wedge itself between 
her jaws. The strap was buckled tightly behind her head. It was quite 
surprising that this act of taking away her ability to talk would be so 
exciting to Monique. If she could speak, she would have begged him to touch 
her body, to take her to bed, to do something about this fire burning in her 
loins. 

But she could not speak. Yet she knew inside that he knew. Perhaps he read 
it in her eyes, or perhaps in the flush and erect nipples of her body. Maybe 
some hormones gave off a smell, but she was sure he knew just how excited 
she was becoming. But would he do something about it? 

Masterfully, he took both breasts in his hands and kneaded them gently, 
evoking moans of pleasure from the captive female. He teased the nipples 
with his fingertips. He made her feel very good, but wanting more. Then 
there was no more. He released the impassioned breasts and backed out of the 
tiny room. He blew her a kiss as he closed the door. 

Monique whined in protest and frustration. She shook her body and pulled as 
hard as she could against the ropes. But it was useless. Still she continued 
to whine and struggle against the ropes as the only means of expressing the 
beautiful frustration she felt inside. 

Later, a couple hours later, she was still tightly bound to that chair, and 
still almost as horny and frustrated as she had been when his hands drifted 
away from her flesh, she wondered why being treated like this was such a 
wonderful feeling when this man did it, but torture when most of those many 
others had done it to her. She had no answers, only four close walls, a 
metal chair and the ropes holding her prisoner. 

There were windows up high on two of the walls. They admitted light and 
fresh air but she could not see out of them. Having no watch or clock, 
Monique could only guess at the passage of time, wishing it would speed 
along and bring the return of her lover. She sincerely hoped that his 
knowing she was back here, naked and tightly bound, and horny as hell, would 
play upon his mind. It might put his golf game off, but it might also make 
him anxious to return home and sample the pleasures of his captive woman. 

Suddenly the door was opened and he was standing here. She whined through 
the gag and strained forward. She could feel the fire in her sex flare up. 
Oh, please, she pleaded with her eyes, touch me! Love me! Screw me until my 
brains explode! 

He gave her a fatherly kiss on the forehead and reminded her that she had 
earned an extra two hours. Now that he was back, the clock had started on 
that "punishment" time. She whined loudly in protest. As he was closing the 
door again, she was shaking all over in anger and frustration. 

But she spent the next two hours on "The Chair." And when he came to untie 
her, she loved him even more than before. It made little difference that he 
left her arms bound together behind, the elbows still tightly lashed 
together. Or that the gag was still strapped tightly in her mouth. The only 
important fact was that he carried her in his strong arms back to the water 
bed to toss her upon the sheets and then mounted the bed to make use of her 
fantastic female body. It was a wonderful coupling and lasted a long time. 

The next day was much like the first, save that it was a Monday. After their 
morning lovemaking and a good breakfast, Monique was shown three cards face 
down on a table. She had to pick one, and on that card was written the form 
of restraint she was to be placed in before her man went off to his office. 
Strangely enough, she still didn't know his name even through they had been 
together for quite a while and mated several glorious times. She was very 
happy and didn't mind at all when the card dictated that she spend the day 
in the stocks. She didn't even care that he could have been "stacking" the 
cards against her by simply putting all terrible, punishing positions on 
them. Whatever he wanted, she wanted. 

The rather large and sunny house they lived in was perched on the side of a 
hill over looking a forested valley. There were signs of a few other houses 
among the trees but none within any kind of clear view. The house possessed 
a wide and very private backyard surrounded by greenery and ultimately a 
high fence. There was also a lovely swimming pool with a rock waterfall. At 
night the pool and surrounding landscape was lit up by colored flood lights, 
giving the whole scene an exotic quality. 

And the yard possessed a some restraining devices hidden among the trees and 
bushes, as Monique found out the second day. She was led from the house 
wearing only handcuffs on her wrists, and taken a short distance into the 
mini-forest where she found a set of solid wood stocks awaiting her. There 
was the usual thick plank set into posts which in turn were set into cement. 
The bottom plank displayed holes for ankles and a smaller set for wrists 
between those. The top plank was hinged and had the corresponding half 
circles. Behind this arrangement was another plank, this one set on edge and 
smooth. Monique was invited to sit on that edge of the smooth plank and put 
her ankles into the larger holes of the stocks. The yoke came down and a 
large padlock was clicked shut upon its hasp. She found that her ankles were 
quite snug within their holes, almost as if they had been made specifically 
for her size ankle. Perhaps they were. 

Shifting her weight, Monique found that sitting on the edge of a plank, even 
if it was almost two inches thick, was just not comfortable. And her hands, 
still in handcuffs behind her back, could do nothing to ease her discomfort. 
The distance between the seat and the stocks was just right so her legs were 
straight out and parallel to the ground. All in all, it was a very secure 
way to keep a girl, and not too uncomfortable. 

The man give her an intense kiss that told how much he wished he could stay 
and play with her rather than have to go off to the business jungles of the 
city not too far distant. She replied with her lips and tongue, wishing the 
same thing. But it was not to be. He patted her breast and departed, leaving 
Monique naked, locked in stocks and mostly unhappy because she wouldn't feel 
the touch of this man again until that evening. She sighed and settled down 
to endure what should be a boring day but not too hard on her. 

It was a strange relationship between these two, she pondered. She was 
obviously keep in constant restraints of some kind. The night before she had 
slept with her wrists crossed and bound behind her back. But she had slept 
comfortably and found in the morning that this man possessed a constant 
appetite for sex. Based on the time she had spent with him so far, it was 
morning, noon, and night, roughly in that order. And if he missed his nooner 
today, she guessed that he would throw in another in the middle of the night 
just to balance things out and keep up the three a day average. Not that 
Monique was complaining. This host body was apparently the equal to its man, 
with a healthy and constant desire for his touch, his phallus within her 
vagina, and even for the tight ropes and chains he placed upon her. Monique 
had a lot of experience at being bound up by now, and this was the most 
wonderful, most exciting experience all them all. For the first time since 
beginning this adventure, she felt no desire to return to her present and 
the sterile environment of the Institute. 

It puzzled her that she, a woman who had never really fallen in love with 
anyone or anything thing except physics and Time Theory, should fall so 
easily and quickly in love with a man she didn't really know. A puzzle it 
might have been, but she chose not to worry about it, only to enjoy it to 
its fullest. by mid-morning she realized that it was not to be a boring day, 
it was to be a tormented day. The hard wood beneath her bottom was growing 
more and more uncomfortable, and she could find no way to shift her weight 
that didn't hurt. Her legs wished to bend, not at all liking the horizontal 
and wide spread position they were forced into. Only her arms were 
relatively happy and unbothered. They simply hung behind her while she 
occasionally played with the handcuffs out of boredom. They were snug upon 
her wrists and offered no means of removing them. by mid-afternoon she was 
downright in pain and wishing very devoutly for time to speed by and bring 
her the return of her lover. 

For a while she wondered about their relationship. Obviously it made both 
parties happy. And it didn't no harm that the woman was in constant 
restraints. Indeed, she and the man seemed happier than most any couple she 
had every met. It was like an endless honeymoon for the young couple. She 
had to wonder how this host had gotten into such a strange relationship, but 
didn't really care. 

And for a while her thoughts turned to the last couple of Jumps. She had 
become convinced that the garage of the hunting lodge had blown up and that 
is what Jumped her into the world of Arabian Nights. But what had Jumped her 
from there to here? Had she died during the night? There seemed to be no 
reason why that should have happened. She had only been buried in the sand 
for one day, perhaps ten or twelve hours, certainly not enough to dehydrate 
and die, even in that hot desert. Why had she Jumped? It puzzled her. 

When the man, who she thought of as her husband even though neither wore 
wedding rings, came through the bushes, she was delighted to see him and 
made no pretense otherwise. She twisted her body around to present the 
handcuffs and begged him to unlock them so she could lift her bottom off the 
wood. Then she pleaded, in a giggly, happy way, for him to release her 
ankles from their wooden prison. She hinted that delights and wonderful 
things would happen as soon as she was freed from this terrible device. They 
were both smiling as she made these promises, for they both knew they was 
true. 

T should leave you here a couple more hours for such impertinence. But we 
have a party to go to, and Helen's parties are such fun that I don't want to 
miss a minute." He unlocked the yoke and lifted it so she could remove her 
feet. Then he helped her up from the wooden torment she had been sitting on 
for the day. There was a broad band of redness across the bottom where she 
had shifted around, uselessly seeking comfort. He patted that redness and 
Monique happily walked with him to the house, her handcuffed hands not even 
mentioned. 

Dinner was, as all the meals, prepared by the man and excellent. He seemed 
to enjoy cooking while Monique stood in the kitchen watching and enjoying 
the glances cast at her nudity and handcuffed wrists. This man never seemed 
to tire of looking at his naked captive, nor in admiring her restraints, be 
they rope or steel. 

After a fine dinner of Chicken with a white sauce she could not name but 
found delicious, she was allowed a bath and the handcuffs changed from back 
to front so she could perform feminine miracles upon her long and full head 
of hair. 

"Never saw you fix your hair that way before," he commented as she entered 
the bedroom where he was dressing in casual clothes. "But it looks nice." He 
kissed her and then motioned to the bed where a selection of ropes and other 
restrictions was laid out. 

Monique walked to the bed and wondered if she was going to the party after 
all. He seemed to be saying that she was going to be tied up, which would 
mean she was not going. But then why did he tell her to make herself pretty, 
if not for the party? 

With his usual attention to keeping her confined at all times, handcuffs 
were locked upon her ankles before the handcuffs came off the wrists. With 
the first wrapping of rope, Monique knew how she would be tied. The palms 
being placed facing each other behind her automatically meant that her 
elbows would next be joined, and they were. The rope was cotton clothesline 
and it went on pretty tightly. Monique did not complain but wondered how 
long he would be at that party while she sat back here and endured tight 
ropes. 

. After the arms were finished, he stuffed a golf ball in her mouth and told 
her to keep her lips closed over it. Then he placed some flesh colored tape 
crisscross over her mouth, sealing it completely. Monique wondered about 
this gag. She was pretty sure that when he left she could be able to push 
the ball out. That tape just wasn't strong enough to prevent it. 

Smiling, he took some lipstick and drew a pair of lips on the tape. Looking 
in the mirror, Monique wanted to laugh, they were so much like a young 
child's drawing. He seemed amused by his efforts, too. "Well, it doesn't 
have to stand up to close scrutiny, just look half way real from a 
distance." 

Monique puzzled at his words as he went to a closet and selected a coat for 
her. Despite it being a warm summer evening, he put the coat over her 
shoulders and buttoned it up the front. The bottom of the coat came to 
mid-thigh but the rest of her legs were exposed. Unlocking the handcuffs 
from her ankles, he helped her put on a pair of black leather high heels. As 
she tottered on the thin stiletto heels, Monique guessed that they must be 
four inches at least. Having never worn heels higher than about two and a 
half inches, she had some trouble getting used to walking on these. The 
shinning black leather footwear made her foot arch until she felt like she 
was walking on tip-toes. But as she caught a vision of herself in the large 
mirror, she loved what they did to the muscles of her legs. Even wearing a 
coat that covered her nudity, she still looked incredibly sexy. 

As he helped her into the car in the garage, Monique could only wonder what 
kind of party this was they were going to. But among the puzzlement and 
wonder was a healthy dose of-tingling excitement. What, indeed, was she 
heading into? 

The party was at a private house not far. Many expensive cars were parked in 
the large circular driveway before the house, perhaps a dozen. Monique was 
helped from the car and noted how much clacking noise her high heels made on 
the stone driveway and marble steps leading to the mansion-sized home. 

They were greeted at the door by a woman wearing a black leather, one-piece 
jumpsuit sporting a riding crop at the waist. She also wore high heels and a 
partial mask that covered only the eyes. Those eyes were bright and happy as 
they rested upon the new couple. "Mark! And Deidra! How good to see you 
two!" The woman was in her thirties somewhere and had a full figure, or at 
least it would appear from the bulges and curves of the leather suit. "And 
what a nice coat, dearie! A bit modest for you, isn't it, Deidra?" 

Monique nodded shyly. She was sure that the coat would not be around much 
longer to ensure her modesty. And, sure enough, Mark unbuttoned the coat and 
dramatically whisked it away to reveal both the nudity and bondage of his 
wife. "I thought that ropes and high heels would be enough clothing for one 
of your parties, Helen. Wouldn't want Deidra to feel overdressed, would we?" 

"Heaven forbid, no, dear," she agreed. Monique felt herself blushing at the 
frank and openly sexual regard of this woman dressed in black leather. 
"Lovely, as always, dearie. You'll be admired by all present. But, Mark, 
isn't that gag a little light for the bondage?" 

"Just a traveling gag, dear Helen. You know, in case someone looks inside 
the car. Here," he said as he peeled up a corner of the tape and ripped it 
off. "Spit out the ball. Good girl. Now for a more effective gag." He pulled 
a rubber ball gag from his pocket and brought it up to her mouth. Obediently 
Monique opened her mouth wide to accept the gag. It was the same one she had 
worn while sitting in "The Chair" the first day of this Jump. It was, 
indeed, more effective at prevent speech and not being pushed out than the 
tape and golf ball. Monique was sure that she would not be asked to make 
casual conversation at this party. Which was fine with her, she still didn't 
know much about this host. Only just now did she learn the name of the man 
who was probably her husband. 

"Come on in, most of the people are already here. You'll love what Dan has 
done to Roberta." 

What Dan had done to Roberta should not have happen to any girl. In a large 
lounge overlooking the pool area, a girl was standing on tip-toes in the 
middle of the room. She was dressed in only a tiny pair of black panties 
that made her look sexier than full nudity would have, a pair of high heels 
and a bunch of ropes. The ropes were holding her arms crossed high up on her 
back and wrapped around her chest, outlining the nice breasts and holding 
her arms from being pulled down. But what was interested was the shoes she 
wore. They were medium high heels, only about two and a half inches, nothing 
near the towers Monique wore. But Roberta was forced to stand on her toes 
because someone had put a spike in the heel of each shoe, point upward and 
resting against her heel. It didn't take Monique long to realized that this 
girl could not allow her weight to come down or that spike would cause a lot 
of pain in her heel. She looked rather strained, as if she had been forced 
to stand on her toes for a long time. 

Monique didn't like the way Mark was studying those terrible shoes. She 
feared that there would be a pair in her future. But that fear, while real, 
was not intense. She would not like to have to wear anything like that, but 
she trusted and loved Mark and knew that he would push her to her limits but 
not beyond. Or not much beyond, she cautioned herself. Still, she knew that 
if he presented her with a pair of high heels like that, she would 
obediently don them and walk around as long as he wished. 

While thinking about how long that might be, she noticed that the shoes were 
the type with an ankle strap. This girl would not be taking them off by 
herself. What ingenious and diabolical devices, Monique told herself. 

They walked around, Mark greeting the people present, showing off Deidra's 
wonderful body and tight ropes, and observing some of the other women 
present. And there were others. In fact, when Monique had a chance to count, 
she found that there were twelve females present but only ten men. Either 
some men were elsewhere, or some had brought more than one woman. She later 
found out that some of the men present "owned" more than one slavegirl. 

All of the women were wearing some form of restraint, even if only a pair of 
handcuffs. Monique saw a lovely harem girl costume on a girl who also wore 
shiny silver handcuffs on wrists behind her back and on her ankles. Monique 
wondered if she would have a chance to tell the girl what real harem 
costumes looked like. 

Another girl was completely naked and her arms bound the same as Monique's. 
She also wore black high heels and, except for being a little shorter and 
less full-figured, could have passed for Deidra's sister. Both had long hair 
of the same color and eyes the same shade of green. Standing next to each 
other, they made a fine display of feminine breasts for all to admire. 

Other girls were relatively free and in some degree of dress. Monique noted 
at all the girls present were as young as their hostess or younger. The men 
varied in age but the girls, or slavegirls as seemed more appropriate to 
call them, were all youthful, beautiful, and with fine figures. There was 
champagne but no one seemed interested in getting high. There was food laid 
out on a table, fine meats and fruits to tempt anyone. Soft music came from 
hidden speakers to help provide atmosphere for the evenings activities. And 
there were activities! Monique came to the conclusion that this was a 
meeting of a group of people who not only loved bondage but were experts on 
its application to the female figure. At different times she saw every girl 
present bound in different positions, sometimes just so one of the men could 
explain a fine point about keeping knots out of the reach of fingers. 

And none of the girls seemed to mind a bit, even when the ropes were applied 
extremely tight or they were forced to perform nearly impossible tasks while 
bound up. Monique found herself hung upside down by her ankles for fifteen 
or twenty minutes while a few men observed what Mark meant about the way 
elbows touching behind the back and hanging upside down made the breasts 
stick out in a very exciting manner. 

One time she saw one of the girls freed from her bondage only to be ordered 
to place another girl into a tight hogtie. Apparently her "owner" was proud 
of her ability to tie other girls extremely tightly with total disregard for 
the comfort of the bindee. And, although some of the girls occasionally 
bound up or toyed with or tormented another girl, Monique never saw even the 
slightest hint of any man present being submissive. This was a gathering of 
dominant males, no question about that. 

And Monique found herself quite proud of how the male eyes devoured her 
figure, enjoyed her helplessness, and sought out her no matter where or how 
she was bound. She was as good as any of the beauties present, and better 
than most. It pleased her no end to think that she was the most beautiful 
and sexiest woman present in a group that were all winners. This was a far 
cry from the flat-chested, plain Ph.D. who seldom dated, leading one of 
those lives of "quiet desperation." 

Monique enjoyed herself. It was exciting to be shown off before a group of 
people, to watched their admiring eyes, even to be touched by strangers when 
she could do nothing to stop them. Later in the evening, when another bound 
girl was "forced" to perform a sexual act upon Monique as she lay on her 
bound arms on a bed, for the enjoyment a four men who stood around watching, 
Monique became so much a part of the scene that she twisted around on the 
bed until her mouth reached the warm pussy of the girl exciting her. There 
then followed a lesbian show that much pleased the men watching, but the two 
girls withering on the bed much more. 

Monique gathered from bits of conversation that these parties were held at 
least once a month at different people's homes and usually well attended. 
She was happy to hear that. by the time her coat was being buttoned back 
over Monique's nudity, she was exhausted, satiated, half unaware of her 
surrounds, and very happy. No man has screwed her but the variety of sexual 
acts going on more than made up for that. She had reached several orgasms, 
two at the tongue of another girl, one from a huge dildo being skillfully 
used by their hostess, Helen, and once from a vibrator that seemed to be 
tuned to her wavelength. 

She didn't even mind when the golf ball was reinserted into her mouth and 
the tape stuck over her mouth. She would have driven all the way home with 
her tongue sticking out if Mark had so ordered. 

As Monique drifted off to sleep, she was warmly remembering events of the 
evening and looking forward to life with Mark. Sometime during the night she 
Jumped again. 

For three days Monique lived a life of bliss. She was constantly restrained 
by chains, ropes or handcuffs and loved every minute of it. She was mostly 
always naked, save on those rare occasions when Mark took her out. They made 
love at least twice a day, both seeming to possess an endless desire for 
physical passion. For the first time in her life, Monique Hutton was truly 
in love and happier than she had ever been. 

And how, you ask, did Mark manage to keep her in restraints while taking her 
to a restaurant, as well you might? It was simplicity itself. Monique 
dressed in a lovely dinner gown of electric blue with matching high heels 
and matching stole. She was then secured with a small but effective pair of 
thumb cuffs locked tightly behind the knuckle of her thumbs. They were 
small, precision devices of flat black color. By holding her hands with the 
stole draped over them, the thumb cuffs were totally out of sight. They 
walked right into a rather fancy restaurant, were shown to a dark, private 
booth and seated without anyone knowing that this beautiful woman was unable 
to separate her hands more than a few inches. In the dark of their booth, 
Mark gently took away her stole. Monique found that she could easily hide 
her shackles by placing her hands in her lap. And when the food was served, 
she was forced to eat with two hands but that was certainly not impossible. 
The dark color of the thumb cuffs made them very hard to see in the dim and 
romantic light of the booth. Mark enjoyed her nervousness at being so out in 
public and restrained. He even cut her meat when that task proved difficult 
for a girl with joined thumbs. Handcuffs would have been less of a problem 
but Monique found the thumb cuffs an interesting challenge. 

On the drive home, regular handcuffs were added around her ankles, and 
another pair around her wrists along with the thumb cuffs so she would feel 
more helpless. She did. The effect was pronounced. They had barely gotten 
inside the door when she turned upon her husband, placed her arms around his 
head and kissed him with such passion as to leave no doubt what she wanted, 
all the while rubbing her hungry body against his. She was rewarded by being 
carried to the bedroom, the lovely dress nearly ripped off, and being given 
her first screwing ever while wearing thumb cuffs. 

Afterwards, Mark punished her for being so demanding of her "Master"-the 
first time he used that word-by binding her arms behind her back with the 
elbows together. She had to sleep that way even through it hurt her arms and 
shoulders. Fortunately she had found that this host body could remain bound 
with elbows touching indefinitely, but it was not comfortable. Mark 
apparently knew full well that he was causing her pain but also that there 
would be no danger of damage from lack of circulation. She cuddled her naked 
body up against his and went gratefully to sleep, satisfied both from a very 
good orgasm, and from the knowledge that she was loved and possessed by this 
wonderful man. 

In the early dawn light, Monique awoke with a burning need in her loins, and 
attacked his manhood with her mouth until the desired results were achieved. 
She was rewarded with a rousing screwing that drove both of them to new 
heights of passion and pleasure. 

The next day, perhaps in recognition of her having endured the entire night 
with bound elbows, she was chained for the day in a relatively comfortably 
manner. Her hands were secured behind her back, but in handcuffs only snug 
upon her wrists. Her ankles were joined by a pair of leg irons that allowed 
her short steps and a certain amount of freedom. Such light restraints would 
have been terribly comfortable for her to spend the day in, but Mark 
mischievously added a little something to make her remember that she was, 
indeed, a captive slavegirl of this man. He placed a leather collar around 
her neck, buckled it snugly, then padlocked on a chain to the metal ring in 
front. The other end of that chain was padlocked to the middle of her leg 
irons chain. That would not have hampered the naked woman much save for the 
fact that the chain was only about three feet long. She could walk around 
the house but she would do it bent over with her head somewhere near the 
level of her tummy. She giggled and told him he was a bastard for leaving 
her in such an awkward position. He smiled back and promised punishment that 
night for calling him a name. 

They were a very happy couple. That night, after an hour of being tickled 
mercilessly while in a tight hogtie and with Mark's firm penis deep in her 
mouth, Monique fell asleep next to Mark, wrists bound behind her back and 
ankles tied together, the normal condition for slumber. Sometime during the 
night she Jumped again. 

"She's Jumped again," came the weary response to changing numbers on the 
computer display. "Somewhere in the western US, about 1866. Have more 
accurate figures for you in a minute." 

Dr Pritchard sighed. Were they to watched helplessly as she Jumped all over 
time and space, never to return to the Institute? 

The computer operator looked up from his console to ask, "What's the latest 
theory from Research?" 

"They're certain now that she's controlling the Jumps. A couple of them 
think that it might even be her subconscious mind calling the shots. But no 
one's come up with a good way to stop it." 

"June 18, 1868," said the operator. "And the location is Pritchett, 
Colorado." 

"What could she be doing there?" ask Dr Pritchard absently. No one in the 
control room bothered to answer. 

 CHAPTER NINE - Nice Day for a Hanging 

Monique was vaguely aware of the Jump tingle in her body then she was rudely 
awaken by something heavy falling on her, driving the air from her lungs. As 
she gasped for breath, she tasted dirt and had to turn her head sideways to 
get some air in. What she saw was bright sunlight, a flat stretch of dirt, 
and some trees, perhaps oaks. Someone was sitting on her back as she lay 
stomach down, and that someone was busy binding her hands together with 
cruel tightness. 

"Lordy...! We got her now!" came a male voice from above her, accented with 
a Southern twang. "Jethro, lookie here! We got that gal what shot our 
brother." 

Suddenly the weight was off her and she was able to suck in much needed air. 
Gasping and coughing dust out, she felt herself being lifted to her feet by 
rough hands. When she blinked back the tears in her eyes, she saw that she 
was now the captive of three rough looking men dressed in gray pants and 
faded black shirts with the appearance of having once, a long time ago, been 
uniforms of some kind. They were unshaven, dirty and smelled as if 
completely unfamiliar with the beneficial effects of bathing. 

The tall one coming up on her spoke next, "You done good, James. That's her 
all right." He was grinning but Monique couldn't see any humor in the man. 
"You're going to get yours now, missy, for shooting our baby brother like 
you done." 

"I have done nothing," she said defensively, not that she expected to be 
believed. 

"Hell!" swore the second man coming up. Then he spit on the ground. "You 
plugged Daniel right in the gut. Took him darn near an hour to die, so it 
did. And we's promised him to get the gal what done that to him." 

"If I did as you say, I'm sure he had it coming." It wasn't a very good 
thing to say but Monique was still in shock from the rude awakening and 
pissed off at having Jumped right out of a life she had no desire to Jump 
out of. "Whoa!" cried the tall one. "Now, I reckon that maybe Daniel might 
have been taking a bit of liberty, .you being a gambling lady and all. But 
that ain't no cause to go and shoot him! Any you gonna pay for that. For 
sure." 

There didn't seem to be any reasoning with these rustic hillbillies so 
Monique shut up. A dim hope burned in the back of her mind that if she 
Jumped from this host, she might-just might-go back to Mark. Not that she 
had repeated any of the Jumps yet. 

The hands behind her were busy looping rope around her elbows and drawing 
them close together. It hurt quite a bit and Monique cried out, "Stop it! 
That hurts!" 

"Oh, little missy don't like being roped up like a calf. Well, you's lucky 
we ain't gonna string you up right here and now. Ma says that we ought to 
bring you back to her so she can see you hang for what you did to her 
favorite son." 

As he jerked the ropes cinching down her elbows, a button popped off her 
blouse and Monique noticed for the first time that a good part of her 
garment was torn away, leaving one breast pretty much exposed. 

"Hey, James, lookie at that! Ain't that a nice boob? Hey, Jethro, couldn't 
we like rip off the rest of her shirt? It's half gone already...." 

"Yeah," muttered Jethro, obviously the oldest and leader of this ragged 
band. "Guess it won't hurt none. Make her suffer some more. Guess we'll 
teach this gambling lady to not take our money at cheatin' poker games and 
then shoot our kinfolk." 

Quickly three pairs of hands were working at getting the remains of her 
blouse off her. These were strong farm boys and Monique knew better than to 
resist. They were just as likely to slap her around as not. Under the blouse 
was a white slip like thing and that was torn off to expose her breasts to 
the sunlight and gaze of her captors. Without asking permission, James took 
the band of her skirt and tugged it down off her hips. Then the petticoat 
and soon she was standing there wearing only a pair of high button up boots 
and some rope holding on fragments of her former clothing. 

The three brothers stood there staring at her like it was the first girl 
they had ever seen naked. "Jesus, look at that! Ain't never seen a furry 
patch like that one there. And them boobs ... Ain't they preddy?" 

For a long time they just looked, perhaps uncertain as what to do next. 
"Gosh, no wonder Daniel tried to get her into the barn! That's about the 
preddiest lookin' gal I ever seed." 

Finally Jethro took command. "Get her on that horse. We got to get her back 
to Ma. There's gonna be a hanging and that's for sure." 

James lifted Monique with ease and nearly threw her over the saddle of a 
horse brought up by the third man, the one she didn't know the name of yet. 
The breath was almost knocked out of her again as her stomach hit the 
saddle. She felt her wrists being lashed to the saddle horn and then her 
ankles tied together. A rope was run from her ankles under the horse and up 
to her neck where it was looped and knotted. She wouldn't strangle but every 
time her legs bounced they would jerk on the rope to her neck. 

The little band set out over rolling grasslands filled with clumps of oaks 
here and there. Apparently this host body normally stayed out of the sun 
because Monique could feel the white skin burning under the hot sun. She was 
sure she would have a sunburn on the backs of her legs and her bottom before 
the day was out. 

From the conversation she heard she was able to picture together a hard ride 
for revenge made by these three brothers when a gambler's woman (her) 
shunned the advances of a fourth brother. Apparently she shunned him with a 
44, the bullet passing completely through his body. The brothers seemed 
amazed at how long it had taken their kin to die, probably from bleeding to 
death. 

The woman, whose name they didn't seem to know, apparently took off right 
after the shooting, taking Daniel's horse to make her get away. It took the 
better part of a day for them to run her down but they did and were proud of 
themselves. Now they were taking her back so their mother could witness 
rough frontier justice dispensed at the end of a rope. 

Bouncing along over the saddle of a horse is not comfortable if you're 
sitting down, but much worse if you're laying on your stomach with your arms 
tightly bound behind you. From what she could see, this hostess' body was 
the plumpest of all she had inhabited. The act of binding her elbows tight 
together had caused her a lot of pain and that pain was getting worse with 
each mile they traveled. Her big breasts were squashed against the side of 
the saddle which was not very comfortable, either. 

After a couple hours, she finally could take no more. 

With tears of pain in her eyes, she called out and begged the boys to take 
the ropes off her elbows. "Leave me tied the rest of the way, I can't 
escape," she pleaded. "But take those ropes off my elbows, they're killing 
me." 

They brothers laughed at her and promised that if she didn't shut up, they 
would break the horses into a trot and that she'd not like that. Monique bit 
back her sobs of pain. She did not want to find out what a trot would do to 
her body. 

The sun was setting when they finally came to a halt. From her awkward 
position over the saddle, Monique could see nothing but low mountains, grass 
and trees. 

"Reckon this is as good a place as any," said Jethro. "We make camp. 
Tomorrow's good enough. This gal's not going anywhere." 

They left her over the saddle as they gathered some firewood, a few stones 
for seats and to form the campfire, then unloaded the horses. Her horse was 
last and she was dumped roughly on the ground. At least it was easier on her 
to have her body straight instead of being bent over a saddle. 

They ignored the nearly naked girl laying there, softly moaning, as they 
fixed some beans and coffee. That, plus hard tack, was their dinner. They 
offered none to Monique. After dinner, they all took blankets off their 
saddles and spread them out around the campfire. Each placed his saddle at 
the end of a blanket, and that seemed to be the total preparations for the 
night. Except, of course, for their naked captive. 

"What's you reckon we ought to do with her?" asked the third man. 

"Well, she ain't going to get far if we just leave her like that, Billy. 
Don't figure she could wiggle very far during the night," replied Jethro. 

"Couldn't we like do something special with her?" asked James, his eyes 
glowing in the firelight. "Ain't like anyone cares or nothin'." 

"He's got a point. She's gonna get hung tomorrow anyways. Maybe we could 
have a little fun with her tonight." 

Jethro stroked his chin as he considered the requests of his brothers. 
"Well," he finally uttered, "like you say, ain't like she's gonna be around 
much longer. Maybe us plowing her field would be like a favor to her. Sort 
of like the condemned man eating a hearty last meal!" 

Immediately Monique was set upon, three pairs of hands lifting her over to 
the nearest blanket, where she was dumped. Her ankles were untied and she 
was twisted over on to her back, the pressure of her weight on those tightly 
bound arms making her gasp aloud. "Oh, please! Don't do this to me. Haven't 
you hurt me enough? Oh, please!" 

The brothers didn't feel like arguing with her so a dirty rag was stuffed 
into her mouth and tied in place with a strip of rawhide. Then her legs were 
spread apart and the first of her captors knelt between them to position his 
ramrod at the entrance to her love tunnel. 

They weren't kind, they weren't gentle. And they obviously didn't give a 
damn for this woman they were mistreating. All the while, Monique couldn't 
but help compare this rough and crude lovemaking with the gentle, 
long-lasting and wonderfully dominant lovemaking of Mark. She cried 
constantly as they repeatedly raped her. 

When finally none were interested in her any longer, they zipped up their 
flies and got ready for sleep. 

"Ain't we gonna fix her up some way so she don't run away?" asked Billy. 
"Look, her legs ain't tied." 

"Would have been hard to ram her if they were," joked James and they all 
laughed at that one. 

"Billy, since you notice it, you fix her up for the night. And make sure 
she's here in the morning." With that Jethro turned over and pulled his 
blanket over himself. 

Billy picked up the rope that had been taken off her ankles and toyed with 
it as he studies her naked body in the fading firelight. Finally he tossed 
the rope over by a tree and, grabbing her hair with one hand and a breast 
with the other, forced her to her feet. Jerking her hair, he pushed her over 
to the tree then made her sit down on the ground with her legs around the 
slender trunk. Then he crossed and lashed her ankles together very tightly. 

"Oh, please don't leave me like this," she whispered. "I'm hurting so much." 

"Shit, gal, I could make it worse," he threatened. "How'd you like to hang 
upside down all night?" He laughed at that idea, perhaps envisioning it. 
Monique was silent. "Good sense, gal. Now you keep quiet. You wake us up and 
I promise I'll hang you up by your feet and whip the skin off you with a 
rawhide strap. Ma ain't gonna care ifen we bring you back sort of marked 
up." 

He left the naked girl sobbing softly to herself. Monique rested her head 
against the tree and tried to keep her sobs quiet. She had long since lost 
all feeling in her hands and that numbness had spread up to her shoulders. 
But the worst part was the feeling of being soiled by repeated rape. 

As the campfire faded into darkness, she whimpered to herself and prayed for 
a Jump. 

After a few hours sleep still would not come to relieve her suffering. Her 
mind was a jumble of agony and flashes of memories of Mark and those 
wonderful times. It was most strange to her logical mind that harsh bondage 
applied by a loving hand could be so wonderful while basically the same 
treatment from an uncaring or cruel hand was torment. Deep in the night, 
with only a million brilliant stars as company, Monique realized that she 
had seen this story before. Once, when she was much younger, she had seen a 
western movie in which the heroine had killed a man who tried to rape her 
and then was chased by his brothers. She had gone to bed that night 
wondering wtTat would have happened if she had been that girl and those 
vengeful brothers had caught her. She had gone to sleep with images of an 
adolescence fantasy involving her being tied up and ravished by strange men 
in her mind. 

Then she realized that many of these Jumps could be related to adolescent 
fantasies. The harem girl in Arabia, the captive noblewoman in the hands of 
pirates, and the captive Indian maiden being whisked away by a strong, 
handsome brave-all were fantasies she had at one time or another. 

As she lay there, exhausted by her ordeal, the idea danced into her mind 
that perhaps she was controlling these Jumps. A lot of things would fit into 
place, she told herself, if that were only true. Fantasies lurking around in 
my subconscious were coming true because the Time Jump Computer was reading 
her subconscious and finding a close match somewhere in time and space. But 
why so many harsh lives? Why was she always bound up and naked and being 
tortured? 

Because you've always felt the need to be punished, she told herself. Deep 
down, where childhood impressions still lurk and the mind doesn't always 
make sense. Monique's degree was in physics so she couldn't be sure, but it 
seemed to make sense. 

But, she added as she grew sleepier, that would mean that I could Jump back 
to the Institute any time I wanted. Too exhausted to feel elation, she did 
recognize the tingling of her nerves just before the universe disappeared 
into nothingness. Just before that she was muttering to herself, "There's no 
place like home, there's no place like home...." 

 CHAPTER TEN - Return 

"My god," uttered Dr Pritchard. "She's back." The two operators stood up and 
gazed in awe as Dr Hutton moved her head to look at them. For a few long 
seconds no one said anything then the woman in the Jump seat began to softly 
cry. 

"Research came up with pretty much the same conclusions," Dr Pritchard said. 
"Your subconscious was controlling the Jumps. And that was the case for 
every Jump the Institute's every made. Only they all went where they were 
suppose to because the Jumper thought that he or she would. Your 
subconscious must have been stronger than your expectations." 

Monique sat up a little straighter in the hospital bed. "Then a lot of 
theories will have to be revised." 

Dr Pritchard laughed. "The whole field's been turned upside down. You should 
see Research scrambling around to come up with new formulations for the 
phenomena. And a lot of thinking will have to be done before anyone Jumps 
again. It's not just sending back an observer anymore, it's something much 
more." 

"You can say that again. Jumping into lives that match your deepest 
subconscious thoughts can be dangerous." 

"I'm sure. And I'm looking forward to seeing your report on what lives you 
did Jump into. We have the records of where and when, but we have no idea 
what you were doing in those lives. Having fun?" 

"I wouldn't say that." Monique shook her head. "Some of them were rough." 

"Well, don't worry about that now. Get some rest tonight and tomorrow you 
can begin working on your report. A lot of people will be interested in it." 

Dr Pritchard patted her hand and left her alone in the private hospital 
room. Monique immediately got on the phone and called three researchers she 
knew well. After conferring with these experts, she requested a terminal 
link to the main computer and ran dozens of calculations on a theory that 
she had. As the final numbers scrolled up the screen, she knew what she had 
to do. 

Late that night, she snuck out of the hospital and made her way to the Time 
Chamber of the Institute, using one of the staff cars and making a detour to 
her house on the way. There was only a guard on duty and no one in the 
chamber itself because all Jumping had been ordered discontinued until 
further notice. She powered up the computer and gave it orders to power up 
the Time Displacement Transport. She keyed in several important subroutines 
then set the computer obeying her preset orders. Carefully she wired the 
leads from a small package she had picked up from her garage to some 
circuits of the TDT. 

Finally finished she looked around to make sure she had forgotten nothing. 
One display screen showed the countdown ticking away seconds and she knew 
she had better get in place. The Jump seat had a familiar feel against her 
body as she eased into it. She positioned her head comfortably between the 
probes on either side of the headrest and waited with a mixture of fear and 
anticipation. The computer screen silently displayed a number growing 
smaller ... 9 ... 8 ... 7 ... 6 ... 5 ... Dr Monique Hutton closed her eyes 
and held her breath. She concentrated her thoughts as she never had in her 
life. There was a tingle and then nothing. 

"I called you as soon as security notified me," said Howard hurried as Dr 
Pritchard rushed into the room. The smell of explosives and burnt plastic 
and rubber was strong in the air. The Time Chamber was in ruins, all 
computer consoles dark and some firefighters cleaning up. 

"My god, what happened?" the elderly doctor asked. "Security says someone 
put a bomb, dynamite actually, in the chamber and wired it to some of the 
circuits. When the computer activated those circuits it went off." 

Dr Pritchard shook his head as he surveyed the ruins of millions of dollars 
and years of research. 

"That's not all. The computer monitoring power consumption in the lab 
recorded that some one started up the TDT, it Jumped five minutes later, and 
then ran in standby mode for an hour until the explosion. Beyond that, of 
course, we can't tell where the Jump went to or when. The computer that 
recorded that is destroyed. And there's more...." 

Howard gently sat Dr Pritchard down in a chair and continued. "Security 
guard reported that Dr. Hutton checked in just before the power was used. 
She never checked out and the firefighters said there was a body in the 
seat. Apparently she set the TDT to make a Jump shortly before it was 
destroyed." 

Dr Pritchard's eyes were wide with puzzlement. "Why ... ? What...?" 

Howard continued, "Maybe she wanted to go back to one of those hosts she 
Jumped into before. Maybe she wanted to go someplace she's never been. Who 
knows? Did Dr Hutton have any family? Should we contact someone. You knew 
her best." 

"She had no family. No husband." He ran his hand through his gray hair. "For 
sixty-four years her studies and this project were her family," he sighed. 
"She would have had to retire at the end of the year. Institute regulations, 
you know." 

"I guess there's a lot we'll never know about this," muttered Howard. "After 
this, I don't think anyone will be Jumping again." 

The knots were tight, the ropes were tight, and the gag was extra tight in 
her mouth. Monique strained from her sitting position in the chair to try to 
see the clock on the bookshelf. It was not easy and required that she twist 
her head painfully against the rope holding it pulled back. But it was very 
important that she see the time. Very important. 

She was naked. She was tightly bound up with clothesline to the point of 
immobility and to a metal chair that she could not budge. Her arms were 
bound behind the chair's back, elbows together, wrists tied down to the 
ankles under the chair and held tightly that way by the weight of her legs 
which were completely off the floor. The legs themselves had been tightly 
bound together before being tucked under the chair. Before her head had been 
pulled back, she watched as ropes were wrapped tightly around her knees, 
both above and below them. It made her feel deliciously helpless to watch 
such care being taken with her binding. 

Even the very tight ropes that had been bound between her legs were 
wonderful. Her vagina lips had been spread so the ropes would press directiy 
upon and squeeze her clit. And they had been tied so tightly that they 
seemed to disappear into her flesh. 

The ball gag was huge, filled her mouth, and made her jaw ache. It was held 
in place by a harness of straps and buckles. And there was a rope tied to 
the ring at the top of the harness, a rope going back and down to her 
elbows. That rope had been pulled tight, tied off, and then pulled tight 
again later after her body had gotten used to the extreme bondage is was in. 
He had been able to pull her head back and down another inch with that 
second tightening. Monique was forced into a position with her head looking 
straight up at the ceiling, a very strained position that brought suffering 
with it. But she didn't mind. All her thoughts were on the clock she could 
barely see out of the corner of her vision. 

Monique had Jumped where she wanted to. Her first sight was Mark's smiling 
face and the first words she heard were him telling her that she had been a 
bad girl and was going to have to spent a few hours tied in a chair while he 
rushed back to the office to sign some documents that need to be done right 
away. He didn't understand why Deidra began crying with joy at his 
announcements, or why she hugged him and kissed him and told him that he 
could tie her as tightly as he wished for as long as he wished. 

He had done that. Perhaps her statements had prompted him into making it a 
tighter bondage than she would have received without them, but Monique 
didn't care. The ropes were cruelly tight, the gag very unpleasant, and the 
position a real pain, but she was happy and wanted to cry for joy as his 
skilled and strong hands applied each loving loop of rope to her body. 

Mark had left her, a little vague in his promise of when to return, but she 
didn't care. He could return whenever his masterful heart desired. She would 
gladly remain in tight ropes the rest of her life if only it was with him. 

Alone in the house, she tested the ropes and found them quite secure. Then 
she fell to worrying. The joy of having Jumped right were she wanted to be 
had overpowered her. 

Now, alone and with time to think, she worried about the second part of her 
theory. What would happen when the dynamite went off in the TDT? According 
to her theory and calculations, when her body died back there, she would 
stay in this host body. But that was only theory. What would happen when the 
hour was up and the subroutine in the computer triggered the explosive? 

She knew that every second she spent in the past was exactly echoed in the 
TDT where her body lay. That meant that when one hour passed in this year 
with Mark, one hour would pass in the year of the Institute. And there would 
be a very big explosion. She was glad that her father had stored some 
dynamite left over from his days on the farm. 

She strained to see the clock. The minute hand crept towards the 4. She 
looked at a clock as soon as she could when she Jump into this time, and she 
was pretty sure that twenty minutes after the hour would mark the end of 
sixty minutes in both times. It hurt her neck to twist to one side but she 
had to see the clock. About two minutes to go. She allowed her head to turn 
back to ease the strain. When she looked again only half a minute had 
passed. 

Then she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror behind the clock. It 
was beautiful! A young, healthy female body of such magnificent curves and 
hollows in torturously tight bondage, a complete captive unable to move, 
talk or escape. She wanted to cry at the sight of her straining muscles and 
gorgeous breasts. The minute hand crawled towards the number 4. 

Would she feel anything when it happened? It had been a hard choice, but the 
only logical one. Her physical body could not stay at the Institute. That 
was clear. Its death in that time was required to release her spirit to live 
in this host. Only it would no longer be a host body, it would be hers, 
totally and completely. 

The minute hand just touched the 4. Any second now. 

Monique turned her head back to the upright position and sucked in a deep 
breath. Then she began fighting the ropes, jerking her body anyway that she 
could, and trying with every ounce of strength in her to free her body of 
it's bonds. She knew that this might be her last few seconds of 
consciousness and she could think of no better way to "go out" than 
struggling against the ropes put on her by the man she loved. She threw all 
she had into the fight, twisting, tugging and frantically searching with 
fingers for knots. She knew she wasn't really moving much, but the effort 
was what was important. Suddenly a fire burst in her loins and she realized 
that she was experiencing an orgasm she hadn't even know she was heading 
towards. Perhaps she had been so intent on the clock that the warning signs 
of sexual excitement hadn't registered. But whatever the reason, she 
exploded into white hot flames followed by waves of pleasure washing over 
her. 

When she floated down from places no man can ever go, she was covered with 
sweat, exhausted and still completely helpless. Slowly turning her head she 
saw that the minute hand now pointed to the 8, definitely more than an hour 
since she had Jumped. She whined into the gag, an expression of pure joy. 
Then she began weeping, unable to contain the pure happiness inside, it came 
out as tears and sobs. Life was wonderful. And she figured she had another 
forty or fifty years of it coming, all to be spent with Mark, all to be 
spent in this wonderful body. 

As the spark of passion flared up again in her loins and she felt herself 
squeezing her thighs together, Monique found herself content with the idea 
that she might well be spending every minute of that time in restraints. She 
prayed that those restraints would all be as tight as these! 


Afterword 

I want to take a moment to thank my good friend John Savage for both the 
idea for this story and his help with some of the technical aspects. I have 
toyed with time travel before but never as the main theme for a novel. 

John assures me that time travel such as described here is not possible. But 
I prefer to believe anything is possible for those who believe. 

As for Dr Monique Hutton, I apologize to her for letting her subconscious 
get her into all kinds of trouble. But I hope she will forgive me, 
considering that I also gave her another whole life of happiness with a kind 
but firm Master. What woman could ask for anything more? 

-F. E. Campbell 


THE END
