"That there man, mistah Coro, don' know what the hell he want, honey." Jollie surveys my stretched nudity without focus, her thoughts are elsewhere. She may only be thinking aloud but I sense a purpose. "What he needs is Me. I give him the best female action he ever had." She continues musingly. "But that asshole, he got his mind plumb set on youse two white gals. Men's nuts."
I concur heartily. But I cannot say so, I am gagged. Bill knows I hate being gagged, so I get gagged a lot. I cannot remove the gag because I am suspended from two wide spread ropes to my wrists, and spread open by two more from my ankles to rings in the floor. I have been a naughty girl and, since I have been whipped so much, Bill has decreed this as punishment. It isn't much fun.
"Mistah Coro, he frustrate hisself to death, honey, a'wantin' me and not knowing it. Thass the reason he so damn mean to yo'. Tied up the way yo' is ain't no way ter treat nice gals like yo' and that there Daphne. She likes it more'n yo' do-but just the same... " Jollie's voice trails away into thought. So does mine! As my Wardress she is not permitted sympathy, she must do what her boss man says. But a girl who is Bill Coro's prisoner in Bill Coro's jail can always hope. Jollie's become my only hope since Jason started acting so offhandedly mean. I belong to Jason, damn him, and if he had a lick of sense he'd get me out of here.
"Yo' all's a'thinkin' ah should let you down, honey." Her eyes focus on my rope indented wrists and ankles and my stretched pussy and wracked shoulders. She tickles me between my open thighs to make me gasp. "Sposin' ah does, sposin' ah sets yo' free?"
Jollie is pure gold, I don't think she's teasing. But I am gagged and can say nothing.
"He be real mad at me fer awhile. But he got his Daphne gal', and Daphne she mostly love what he had me do to her. I don' think I git fired. I think I still keep me a job."
Poor dear Jollie, she wants reassurance, and I can't give her any, I am gagged. Damn and blast all gags, particularly the one that's in my mouth right now!.
"Yo' got yo' mistah Jason, Honey. Yo' two's the craziest pair o' lovers I ever see. When yo' gits that dum-dum alone yo' gives him the damdest bawlin' out before yo' let's him tie yo' up agin'."
Will I ever! It's been the thought closest to me heart for the six weeks I've been Bill's prisoner in Stubbinsburg Jail. But I sure can't do it while I'm tied up naked this way, with my wrists on fire and my ankles hurting and my lips bound and gagged.
"I thought 'bout this a lot, honey, whiles the boss man has me whippin' yo' little butt and yo' pretty back, and a'tyin' yo' up in all the mean ways he gits a hard outta'. Yo' don' belong here, sweetheart, yo' belongs with mistah Jason." She shakes her head in bafflement. "That man can be mean as he likes wif yo' and yo' eats it up. Yo' want I let's yo' loose?"
I snort and nod. Even though it hurts real bad I strain and surge against the ropes tethering me in bondage. Damn the gag, she must have forgotten it stops me talking. Why, oh why, doesn't she take it from my lips!
Jollie unbuckles the straps and tugs the wet rubber ball from my mouth. After I salivate I gasp over and over: "Oh, thank you... thank you... Oh, Jollie, I love you."
It is strange and unbelievable that I am going to be free. First, the ropes from my ankles, then a box to stand on while my wrists are untied. Then I stand, naked, rubbing my wounds. I will do nothing to injure Jollie, even though it means getting tied up again.
"Yo' is beautiful gal, Carrie. Yo' don' belong this dump."
Jollie has made up her mind. I dress in the clothes she has brought, I take the handbag with money...
"Second time, Honey...!"
Yes, the second time she has done this for me. I had better not come back! I hug and kiss Jollie until we are breathless. I take the keys to Bill's car-- "Boss man, he's havin' his nap. Yo' git's outta' here fast. Here's the keys. Mistah Jason and mistah Coro kin' figure out how he git his car back. Yo' don' need to worry."
I am suddenly bereft. This woman has whipped me and tied and chained me only as she must. For what she is doing she had earned my love. She severs my ardent arms and lips and takes me to the car.
"Yo' stays with mistah Jason now, yo' heah!"
I hear. The starter whirrs.
* * *
The apartment is unchanged. It had been tidy when Jason first kidnapped me, it still is. I remember that terrible time when I had done what I now do: he had not come home. This time he will. Joyously, I cook supper, I make myself naked, when I hear his key I handcuff my wrists.
"What the hell, Carrie!" He surveys me askance. "Bill promised he'd keep you prisoner--"
"Glad to see me?"
"Hell, yes!" He sniffs my cooking and he sniffs Me. "Oh, Carrie, it's so damn good...!"
It is several minutes before we finish discovering how good it is. Jason then examines my handcuffs and tightens them one notch. They are now very tight but I do not complain. I am home! I tell him what there is to tell. I am permitted to sit at table with him, and there we talk.
I am extravagantly happy. To escape from prison must be one of the best feelings. It is hard not to bubble and sparkle too much: Jason would squelch effervescence with an iron hand. Poor Jason is in the quaint position of being glad to have me home, yet disapproving the act by which I am here. I clink my handcuffs, they are my badge of submission.
"I was going to bring you home next week anyway, Carrie." He says this, frowning. Then adds, diffidently: "You'll never believe that now."
"If you say so, Jason."
"Huh, that's a non committal fob off." He eyes my visible whipmarks. "Was Bill that rough-?"
"Yes, he was! I didn't dare tell you when you were down for week-ends--the two of you are such buddy-buddies. He promised to punish me horribly if I complained."
"No faith in me, eh?"
"But, Jason, it was you who put me back in Stubbinsburg Jail. Just because I was a bit rude to your holy Bill--"
"O.K., O.K.!" Jason grimaces ruefully. "Actually, I owe it to Bill Coro to take you right back there. Letting you get away with an escape is like slapping his face."
"Its needed slapping for a long time." I sniff disdainfully. "And as for going back there--that's out!"
"You really think you've got anything to say about that?"
I am suddenly trembling. I am not handling this well at all. I hold up my metal encircled wrists. "Jason, these handcuffs are my token of trust. I put them on myself, and you hold the key."
"So, O.K., they're a part of our Thing."
"Jason, if you take me back to Stubbinsburg I'll fight you tooth and nail. These handcuffs make it certain I'll lose. You'll tie me in a bundle and dump me in the trunk of the car. But I'll scratch and claw and kick and scream. And I won't like you, I won't like what you're doing."
He looks across at me quizzically, my vehemence has amused my omnipotent male. It has made me flushed and pretty and the candlelight on the chrome of my handcuffs is diverting. Jason adores handcuffs on demure girls, or angry girls, but particularly on me. "So alright, sweetheart, you don't go back, not for now." He is the Grand Master being munificent to his naughty slavegirl. "I'll have a word with good old Bill about hanging you up all over the place like washing out to dry--and those whipmarks... good gosh!"
"Bill doesn't understand girls, darling. He ought never to own any--"
"Does any man ever really own a girl, Carrie?"
"You own me, Jason. You know you do."
"Well... in a way... I suppose--" My master is male, sentiment embarrasses him. I cover it up. "Right now Bill Coro owns Daphne. It's a different kind of owning, Jason, he keeps her restrained so she can't leave. It's like a farmer penning livestock, he owns 'em. Daphne's penned, or tethered... Bill owns her for sure. The only hope that girl has of freedom is in you or me or Jollie--"
"Sweetheart, freedom is the last thing that girl wants."
"Maybe. But leave her with Bill long enough and he'll spoil a good thing. He's a rotten Master."
"But, Carrie, she expected to be whipped--!"
"And she was prepared to be a good sport about something she didn't want. But when Bill whips a girl he doesn't know when to stop--d'you want me to stand up and show you my rear view again?"
"Daphne's distressed? She wants out? Is that what you're saying?"
"Bill doesn't love girls, to him we're just breasts and cunts and things, nice resilient surfaces to whip. He never told us we were beautiful or erotic or exciting. He fucked Jollie that time he had her chained, but he didn't desire us.
I think he saw us as an object d'art which became pleasingly animated when inflicted with pain."
"I'll have a talk with the silly ass."
"If you could only persuade him to keep Daphne in bondage she'd be happy. That's what she wanted that first time she came here. It's all she does want. She accepted being whipped because she's adult and knows nothing's ever going to be a hundred percent." "How was she reacting? You were together...?"
"We weren't together all that often. Bill was mean, he kept us in separate cages so we couldn't do the girl, girl thing. But there were times at night when Daphne cried... and I couldn't get through the bars to comfort her--and anyway, we were chained or tied... Your 'good old Bill' didn't often leave us free."
"Humph... and where was Jollie in all this?"
"Bill hired her as our Wardress, the damn place is a prison, y'know. She simply did her duty. I think instructing Jollie about our punishments went along with Bill's lack of interest in fucking us. Daphne and I were exhibits in Bill's Museum and Jollie was the Curator. She arranged us to Bill's best advantage. He had his own particular concepts about girls and pain--If only the twit had been satisfied with bondage... ! You've got me so's it excites me terribly--and, of course, Daphne...!"
"Hmmmmm, I'll give Bill a call and arrange to return his car." My Master gives me a look as though seeing me for the first time. "What say we go to bed?"
My leap up the stairs is positively indecent. The way I plant my foot on the bed is almost demanding. Jason hesitates a moment, flirting with chivalry. But he is a prudent man. I watch him shackle my ankle, my fire within rages to a fine heat. I am terribly, terribly happy.
* * *
Jason decrees my return to work. By some magic of his own he has fixed things with my office so my absence is unquestioned. I am very happy about my job. Being tied up all day in the apartment without Jason's company is a bore. It's marvelous with him around but all by myself it's blah. Those poor girls who tie themselves up in loneliness must be desperate. It appears, however, I have to be punished.
"It's in the rules, sweetheart. What you did counts as attempted escape."
Jason is right, but I am so happy I do not care. "Do you want me to fetch the whip?" I ask innocently.
"Hell no, Bill didn't leave enough space. You won't be fit to whip for two weeks. I'll let you off easy: just the iron bands."
Memory floods back. Jason will punish me by humiliation. Meekly, I ask: "Do you want me to fetch a wristlet-an anklet?"
"All of 'em, love, the whole ensemble."
I make my short but shameful journey, hoping against hope. But my hope is vain. Five fatal clicks and I am ironed: ankles, wrists, my neck! My fingertips search the metal bands, lingering at my throat. My protest is as shamed as my blush. "Jason, I can't go to the office like this, I simply can't!"
"Of course not, darling, you can dress."
"I don't mean being naked, I mean all this iron."
"You have never been more beautiful, beloved."
"To you, Jason, maybe. The office will think I'm a kook!"
"Your punishment is to persuade them you are not."
"Jason, darling, please... ! I'll blush myself to death." My Master's tone becomes meditative, and deadly. "Would you like to wear the wire belt too, dear girl? I recall your saying it was extremely painful?"
Sometimes I know when to shut up, this is one of the times. In reproachful silence I dress. Nothing comes even close to hiding these compulsions to contrition Jason has locked on me. They will not come off, so I had best wear them with pride--If I can! Quivering in alarm, I kiss my amused Master, and I go to the Office... !
Why, why, why--Why do I submit! Don't bug me, I don't know. I don't know why Daphne's getting herself a palpitating pussy in Stubbinsburg Jail, I don't know why my fire burns brightly whenever Jason ties me up... ! But it doesn't matter. Even if I knew the answers they wouldn't change a thing. If a magician offered me a pill against all the Jasons in the world, I wouldn't take it. So everything that happens to me is my own fault... I suppose!
This situation's delicious. I should get what mileage I can from it, including wet panties. A shackled slavegirl tapping a typewriter... Holy cow! The Office responds nobly.
To Mr. Atkins, the Credit Manager, I am now "Convict Carrie."
To Mr. Higginbotham of accounts payable I am: "Shackled Susan."
The girls giggle and decide on "Fettered Fanny."
Nobody believes my explanations but they enjoy my blush. Nobody fires me for conduct ill becoming a lady. I go home, jubilant.
Bill Coro is on the mat.
I consider turning and running, but I have to face him sometime, and Jason will soon be home. His eyes glom on to my iron bands. His opening gambit is vintage Bill. "That was unsporting, escaping the way you did, talking Jollie into disloyalty. I want you to come back with me and finish your sentence."
"I don't have a sentence, I've been pardoned. Your car's in the garage downstairs, go on home, Bill."
"Jason's far too lax with you, Carrie. You need discipline."
"I get all the discipline I need right here, Bill. Go on back to Stubbinsburg Jail."
"Aren't you going to ask me in? I am a friend of Jason's-?"
What else can I do, but I'm scared. There's a look in Bill's eye... He wants me, wants me bad! I think it's because I belong to Jason. I shrug. I unlock the door and we go inside. I mix cocktails... frightened the idiot's going to pounce. If he tied and gagged me tight and quick he could have me in his car and away before Jason shows... Oh, shit!
The drink pacifies the big lump. "Don't you have a little ritual you go into about now?" He asks conversationally.
"I'll pass on that one today, Bill." I take a big gulp of my screwdriver. "That little act's for Jason only."
"You strip, you handcuff yourself, you cook supper...?"
"You've seen me naked, Bill, it's no big deal."
"It is for me, Carrie, you're very beautiful, especially in handcuffs."
I look at the clock. "Jason will soon be home. If he wants me to strip for you I'll do it. Forget the handcuffs."
"Don't trust me, do you?"
"Hell, Bill, why would I! The things you like doing to girls... ! Jason can't even whip me for a couple of weeks until I heal up from all the weals you had Jollie put on me."
"I'm going to get you back, y'know."
Plain old fashioned fear grips me. This fatuous fool means what he says. If he can buy me or kidnap me he will. I shiver at a vista of the rest of my life in Stubbinsburg Jail. Changing the subject, I enquire casually, "How's Daphne?"
"Daphne's sitting astride the wooden horse, Carrie. She's sitting on the sharpest edge there is. Her feet are tied way out to either side and her hands are tied behind her back. She's going to sit like that until you go back with me." There is a cold hand on my spine. What Bill has described is pure torture for a girl, a screaming torture I wouldn't wish on anyone, and her pussy's sitting on that sharp edge because of me! This bastard isn't so dumb, he's found a way I can't laugh off. If only Jason was here! If only-!"
"Daphne started to scream before I left, Carrie. I had Jollie gag her. That's the way she is."
"It will kill her-!"
"You know it won't, Carrie. You've sat on that thing yourself."
"Never with the thin edge! You'll ruin her, you idiot." Furiously, I begin preparations. Getting supper puts him at a disadvantage. It is also possible he is lying. Surely, even he would never torture Daphne like that! And if he did--Jollie would take her off the horse as soon as he was out of sight. I refuse to panic.
Jason is wonderful, I adore him! He disposes of bumptious Bill in short order. First thing I know, I'm naked and handcuffed, Bill is on the phone getting Daphne off the horse, and then we sit down to supper. The dinner conversation doesn't please me overmuch, but at the end of it Bill leaves. He carries with him Jason's lecture on the proper care and treatment of slavegirls. With Bill gone, the peace and quiet of our apartment is pure bliss.
"Sorry about the week-end, darling."
I am sorry too. I am to be a peace offering. Jason will be a guest, I will be a prisoner in Stubbinsburg Jail. It is for the last time.
"It sort of rounds the whole thing off." Jason muses aloud. "I'll make sure you're not abused. What I want is for you to find out how Daphne feels. If she wants out, I'll get her out. I'm disappointed in old Bill. Away from girls he's rational--" I sigh. But it is in a good cause, and with Jason along... ! And, after this wooden horse affair, I'm worried about Daphne.
It is so good to belong to Jason again. A reckless happiness possesses me so that I wear every one of his irons in outrageous defiance of convention. If he told me to go to the store naked, I expect I would. My euphoria is such that I can even eye the wire belt without curling up inside--or maybe the smallest tremor!
"Jason, darling, I thought you'd thrown that thing away."
"No you didn't! Now, let's see if you've put on weight."
"What! In that lousy jail of Bill's! But, Jason dear, do I have to-I am wearing all the iron?"
"No one can see this. C'mon now, up with the arms, in with the tummy."
I hate the thing but, after Stubbinsburg, I am prepared to view anything Jason does to me as a relief. I position my nudity for what used to be a punishment. Jason tugs the wire deep round my middle, I gasp, the padlock clicks.
"I'd say you've lost a pound." Jason pats my bottom affectionately. "Looks damn good on you."
I don't pretend I'm anything but ridiculous about Jason. I don't have to put up with what he does to me, I could leave anytime. But I recognize my enslavement, I don't want to leave. I want Jason and I'm willing to put up with what I have to just to keep him. But it goes further than that. I can't kid myself that I don't get hot pants out of most of my tortures. For instance, right now: he's locked a wire round my middle that's a small nagging agony. I can't get it off, so it's a part of him I have to carry round all day. Each hour of pain is Jason reminding me of who I belong to and, dammit,' it keeps me constantly sexually aroused... and I'm a secretary with phones and a typewriter... !
We argue amiably about the journey back to Stubbinsburg, with me fighting a rearguard action and not really caring about losing. It is decided I can't possibly just sit in the front seat with Jason like other females do. Hell no, we're going to have a slice of nostalgia with me neatly trussed. Jason regretfully concedes the gag, he wants someone to talk to. A gagged girl is poor company.
When Saturday morning comes we decide I can be tied up a lot more desirably in our apartment than down in the buildings underground garage where there's other cars and other people. Jason has laid me down on the seat and tied me down there in the past but he has to keep looking over his shoulder. Anyway, I find myself in a better mood than I'd expected. With Jason along and somewhere on the premises I may find Stubbinsburg Jail faintly bearable, besides there's Daphne! My banter is tinged with only light dolor.
"Darling, not my elbows, I've asked you before--"
"Alright, alright, I won't cinch 'em any more--"
"But you've already got them touching! You don't seem to have any idea how it hurts."
"I've got a lovely neat job, sugar. C'mon to the mirror." I am indeed well tied. I turn and twist and find myself as pleased as Jason and feeling a bit of pain doesn't matter all that much. I tell myself I am absurd... But, gosh, it's neat! "You see, you're proud of it too."
Jason never misses a chance to jibe. I must be kept in my place. But I now yelp in a fresh concern. "J--A--S--O--N... N--O--O--0--0... not between my legs!"
"It only starts between my legs!"
"It only starts between your legs--"
"And ends by cutting my pussy in two--!"
"If you're talking about your cunt, Carrie, why don't you say so?"
"You know I hate that word. But, anyway, I don't want a rope through it--wow... ooops!"
"Sweetheart, there's no way I'm not going to crupper you, it completes the ensemble. Stop beefing."
"You'd beef too if--J--A--S--O--N--... ! That's too tight round my tummy!"
"It has to be. Dammit' girl, there has to be an anchor for the one that cuts your cunt--"
"But I don't want my cunt cut--See, you've made me say it! Ohhhhhh... Oh, it's so awful when I walk. Jason... please?"
"Lovely! Let's go to the mirror again."
"You'll have to carry me. It hurts too much to walk."
"If I do, sweetheart, it'll cost you."
I walk to the mirror. Jason is right, the effect is stupendous. I now have a fourteen inch waist and the rope disappears inside me. I also have two erotic hurtings. My plaints are my secret weapon, trying to hold the line. What has been done to me now is lots.
Jason disagrees. His query is infuriatingly casual. "How about the beetles, darling?"
He is not talking about the boys who sing. He speaks of two expensive little clips he has made in the simulation of a pair of big beetles. Snapped on my nipples they look frighteningly real and bite worse than any bettle ever knew how. They were supposed to be for my punishment only, but he finds them far too cute to resist. Once he gets to thinking about them it is only rarely I can talk myself out of their clutch. But I have to try.
"But, Jason, I haven't done anything to deserve them!"
My protest does not rate an answer. He rummages them out of a drawer.
"But, Jason dear, you're only taking me to Stubbinsburg Jail, not to visit Torquemada!"
He eyes my breasts speculatively. They way he has me tied causes them to intrude on the landscape.
"Besides, I don't want them. I don't want those little horrors on my tits."
Taking great care, he clips one on each of my nipples. Fuming, I stand still, and gasp at the appropriate moments. I now shut up. Once he has them on me there's no way he's going to take them off until he'd ready. I can see his point. So long as I'm not wearing them they're neat.
We descend to the garage. I am wearing shoes and a cape, nothing else except my bonds and beetles. I hurt in several places and am most outrageously horny. People in the elevator sense something odd, but I smile at them brightly. Against the material of my cape, the beetles friction gleefully, my breasts bum. I am certain that, with every step, the rope under my crotch and within the lips of my puss cuts deeper. Even if I wished to escape it would deter me from running. Jason helps me settle in the car and ties my ankles. He has a bit of rope left, so he ties my knees too. He looks, longingly, at my lips but does not produce a gag.
When we are nicely on the road I use my freedom of speech, it is all I've got. "Jason, do you realise that since the first time you kidnapped me long ago I never get to ride in a car unless I'm tied so tight I can't wiggle?"
"So what, sweetheart! Proper way to have you."
"What are you going to do to me when we get there?"
"Nothing. I'm simply delivering you to Bill for the week-end. You're in a delinquent position with his authority, remember?"
"Jason... Nooooo! He'll whip me to pieces!"
"No he won't. Whatever is done to you has to get my O.K."
I am mollified, but my ropes are tight and I've never been more helpless. Bill looms ahead as a waiting Ogre. I try and voice instinctive fear. "Be careful with him, Jason. He's got the hots for me in some queer way of his own. He wants me for keeps. He'd got a fantasy about keeping me chained in that jail of his forever."
"Well, don't be rough on him, I'm not treating you much better."
The beetles on my nipples prompt me to agree but I heed them not. Fervidly, I burn bridges. "I can't explain it, darling." I admit slowly. "But you can do anything you like with me and I won't mind-leastways not when it's all over... ! But whatever Bill does to me just curls me up."
"Quite a compliment, sweetheart." Jason is thinking hard. "How about I take off your beetles?"
I touched him! Now he's touched me. I am quite absurd. "No, leave them on me. You wanted them on my nipples, so I want them too."
"Don't they hurt, sugar?"
"Like fury. Leave them alone."
We drive awhile in silence, it is one of those pregnant one's. After a few miles my master's voice, studiously casual, changes my life. "Will you marry me, Carrie?"
Oh shit! I can't hug him, leap around in joy... or kiss! This is absurd! No girl, receiving a proposal of marriage, was ever more handicapped, all I can do is tremble in my ropes. Weakly, I exclaim: "Ohhhhh, oh, Jason...!" And, as an afterthought. "Yes... yes, of course!"
"Good!" He lets a mile go by before he says: "The engagement will last six months in which I will be very mean to you."
It is my turn to say: "Good!" I do so vehemently.
"You'll be free to back out--"
"Good!"
Jason drives off on the shoulder, stops the car and kisses me very hard. "You're a very sweet little girl." He says thoughtfully.
Maybe it's just as well I'm tied, it's not all that good in the back seat!
Stubbinsburg doesn't look any better than I remember, the jail looks worse. Hollywood could put Bill's jail to good use in a horror movie, it has that brooding look of ill intent to nubile girls. But Bill is beaming. Bill's beam doesn't light up his second hand jail but it shows he's pleased to see us, especially me!
"Come back like a good girl for your punishment, eh Carrie!" It's Bill's idea of a hearty greeting.
"A mild one." Says Jason firmly, "Very mild." He strips away my cloak to reveal me in all my shame. "Bill, this delightful creature you see here, so neatly packaged, has consented to be my wife."
I instantly pick up Bill's vibes, they are heavily negative. They don't impinge on Jason, he is not a naked girl teetering on tightly bound feet. "Wonderful, wonderful!" Booms Bill as he pumps my master's hand. He then kisses me. It couldn't have happened if I wasn't tied this way. I feel foolish while Bill approves my beetles.
"What d'you say to a real good whipping for Carrie to celebrate her good fortune?"
Jason sighs. I hope he is beginning to understand his idiot buddy. His tone is patient. "Carrie won't be whipped this trip, Bill, you can think up something else."
"But there's nothing else with the same... zing!"
"Look, Bill, we've got things to talk about. Give Carrie to Jollie for the time being."
My adoration for Jason grows--so crafty!
Jollie accepts me, disapprovingly maternal. She unties my ankles and knees, then eyes my beetles. "Yo' want she go on wearin' them things on her tits, mistah Coro?"
"Give them to me." Says Jason.
I moan prettily as they come off. My Master pockets them. "Mild discipline for her, Jollie." He instructs tersely. "We'll be with you in an hour."
As I am led away I catch sight of Bill's face, it is thunder and lightening, his vibes strike me like blows.
"Yo' damfool gal, I like to get mah ass eat off, lettin' yo' loose... now yo's back." Jollie shakes my arm admonishingly as she leads me into the gloom of bars.
I tell her my news. I am heavily kissed but not untied. "They don't tell me nothin' special for you, honey." She says thoughtfully. "Ah puts yo' in with young Daphne fo' awhile before ah gets mean."
The cage door clangs behind me. When I see Daphne I could cry. Her slender nudity is crouched on the bench in the grip of just about every fetter devised, she is chained everywhere, loaded with links. In gladness, she strives to leap towards me but is snubbed. I have no arms but fall upon her with my mouth and breasts. We kiss and kiss, it is our only freedom.
"I'm so glad, so glad... ! Oh, Carrie, you've no idea--!" Daphne's voice is choked with happiness.
"Untie me, darling, the chains will let you."
I kneel, quivering, while she desperately tugs at knots. Neither of us even think of punishment for this temerity, we want my arms. In five minutes I am free. As she works she talks. "Get me out, Carrie, get me out of here any way you can. I've had it!"
"That bad? I thought you wanted...?"
"I did, oh I did! I still want it, but I want it like you and Jason. Bill's way out someplace far away from us. Look at me!"
I'd thought my weals were bad but hers are worse, Daphne is striped beyond any zebra's dream. I stand her up and feel between her legs: she is swollen and purple down there.
"It was that horse thing he put me on the day you went--it was hours... I thought I'd die."
I gather myself an armful of chains and girl. Kissing is not enough, frantically we make love. We could not do it if I was not free but I am free! It is glorious to have all my limbs.
"And he hangs me up, he's nuts about suspension. Jollie hates it same as me but what can she do!" Daphne gropes at her chains. "Get me out of these things."
"Darling, you're sure? Remember your longings? You wanted so much what you saw I had?"
Daphne holds on to me so that the links of her chains are cold on my skin. "I know, I know, and I still want it, I want it terribly. But I don't want Bill, he frightens me. If it wasn't for Jollie I'd be scared into hysterics half the time. She talks him out of half the things he wants her to do to me."
"Does he never use you sexually?"
The poor dear shivers. "Gosh no! I'm just something to whip, something with pretty curves and a good screaming voice. He'll sleep with Jollie, but he sees white girls as something else again. He's got a terrible crush on you but not to take you to bed."
I shiver, seeing myself loaded with chains as Daphne is, crouching dismally in a cage. It could so easily happen. Jason is our only link with the world. Her panic clutches at me and I am frightened too. In urgency, I tell her why I am here. She listens in dismay. By the time we have got each other into a fine old feminine dither Jollie's key is in the lock.
"I best fix yo' some way mizzable." She tells me in a whisper as she gathers up the ropes with which I had been bound. She chuckles, "These here ropes don' matter none. You two musta' enjoyed yourselves."
"Jollie, let us both loose now, and come with us? Please?"
"Yo' got yo'self panicky, Miz Carrie." She chides. "Mistah Jason, he don' let yo' come to no harm. Yo' suffers a little misery fo' a couple o' days, that's all."
Her strength is infectious. I am being silly. I give Daphne a final kiss, and allow Jollie to lead me from the cage. But this old jail, that once was so intriguing, gives me the shivers. I wish I did not have to suffer my 'mild' punishment to salve Bill's pride and Jason's commitment to a friend. Anyway, without any further preamble Jollie leads me to the pillory and locks me within it's oaken embrace.
"Ah's right sorry, Miz Carrie. 'Bout the easiest thing fo' yo' ah kin think of." She kisses me. "Ah' gotta leave yo' alone though."
I am sure she is right, she is doing the best she can for me. But it is a hateful best and, in my frame of mind, frightening. The monster in which I am locked is in a room all it's own. Silence and loneliness grips me with the same relentlessness as does the wood itself. I look to either side of me and see my hands. I make them motion to me, it is all I can do. Presumably this horror was made for girls, it fits my wrists and neck like a glove. To think of escape is a waste of time. A little while ago a man I love proposed marriage to me and I accepted. But look at me now... ! Good gosh!
I cannot see myself, most of me is out back somewhere. I shudder to think what could be done to it, I am helpless. I begin-my penance.
The man who invented the pillory must have hated girls. A mouse could run up the inside of my leg! Anyone could walk up behind and do whatever they pleased with my body! My pussy and my breasts are very much available. I could be whipped, I am very conveniently fastened for the whip! All these thoughts are my companions as I stand, and stand, and stand.
This is so shaming. It is a bit like being made to stand and face into a corner, only worse. There is no pain, only fatigue and apprehension and a bitter loathing of Bill. Why the hell should I stand naked in this contraption all day just to please him! Why, why, why!
The silence and the loneliness are bad. I am forgotten. I am a naked girl, clasped in clamps of oak, while the omnipotent Male is free upstairs and probably sipping a Scotch on the rocks. I shed a few feminine tears and watch them splatter on the floor, the floor is about the only thing I can get an easy look at, anything else hurts my neck. The hours slowly pass, but I am wise enough about captivity to know they may be fewer than I think, they may not even be a single sixty minutes.
When a man comes it is Bill. Implacably, the pillory holds me safe while I envision Jason dead upstairs and Bill in full possession of two naked girls, one loaded in chains and me like this! Bill chooses a reproachful approach. "You shouldn't have run away, Carrie. You do understand why you're being punished?"
"Yes."
"It's really a far easier punishment than you deserve."
"Is it. How long are you going to keep me like this?"
"I haven't decided. It should certainly be for a long while." His tone is earnest and sympathetic.
"Please, Bill, can I say I'm sorry? I'll be ever so humble and I'll accept any humiliation you want."
"You are being humiliated now, Carrie. I don't think it's near enough. If it wasn't for Jason... " His voice trails away.
"Alright, if it wasn't for Jason, what would you do to me?"
His answer is a snapper: "They always branded runaway slaves."
The pillory becomes twice as malignant. Back where I can't see, a smoking iron could brand me a dozen times and I wouldn't see it coming. Instinctively I blurt: "Where's Jason?"
"He's upstairs. He agreed I could talk to you alone." His voice becomes wistful. "Carrie, I don't see why you hate me?"
"Look at my whipmarks... and Daphne's Bill, you hurt a girl too much."
"But you need it, you're so disobedient. Can't you understand?"
"No."
"Then I just have to continue punishing you both until you get some sense. Jason doesn't want me to punish you properly. But I can continue to train Daphne... She's almost as lovely... "
"Bill, forget this old jailhouse. Let Daphne and me go. Then come and visit us sometimes. We'd let you discipline me...?"
"Carrie, you don't know how that hurts, telling me you belong to Jason, offering me scraps--"
"Dammit, I'm sure he'd let you whip me, and I wouldn't mind... sometimes."
"Sometimes! I don't want sometimes. Carrie, I've got more money than Jason. Why in hell would I--?"
"Bill, right now I'm worried about Me. I'm locked in your pillory--in case you didn't notice. How long--?"
But Bill has gone. I am alone.
It is not a good feeling. Upstairs two men may be squabbling over which of them owns me--I shift and tug and squirm in frustration. I am sure Jason underrates Bill. He thinks Bill is a nonentity but he is not. Bill wants to own me... Me, me, me! And right now I'm locked in his pillory--Oh damn!
I am owned. Jason owns me. I think of the six months before our wedding. I have no doubt Jason is going to be really mean in moulding and shaping me to his desire. I could tell the silly idiot I am everything he'll ever want right now, but would that be quite true! I am not entirely broken, I still display spirit and am apt to be contentious. I sigh. Perhaps I need the six months, perhaps Jason will teach me new submissions... ! No decisions, it's wonderful!
But I am still held fast in Bill Coro's pillory! The big question now is: must I stand here all night! Such a punishment holds its own terrible logic. Bill would see it as less than I deserve. I shudder to think what he would like to do to me. For sure, we must get Daphne out of here. My next visitor is Jason, he is forthright and brisk.
"Can you stand it, sweetheart?"
"If you want me to. How long--?"
"Too long. But you'll sleep with me tonight, that's a promise."
My heart leaps, the pillory seems less unkind. But I have to ask: "But what about tomorrow?"
Jason laughs. "You're right, he's an idiot. He's drawn up a list. If you got the works I'd have to take you home in an ambulance."
"But something will be done to me? What is it?"
"Right now we're bickering about tying your hands up behind, way up! It's the kindest thing I've been able to get him to look at but I'm still working on having you sit with your feet in the stocks--that's innocent enough... but Bill's sure got his own ideas."
"Jason, we've absolutely got to get Daphne out of here, she's scared half to death."
He nods, "Yeah, I know. But that's the toughest thing of the lot. She came of her own free will, and she's not owned... " He grins in amusement. "Something that could make things easier for her is Bill's idea of a girl in every cage. He actually means it--and with his money--"
"But this place would hold a dozen... twenty!"
"He could probably manage it, y'know. A bit of kidnapping, a bit of bribery, some real soft talk."
"It shouldn't be allowed. Oh, Jason darling, if it wasn't for you... ! Oh gosh, I hate this thing, I'm so damn helpless!"
Jason kisses me, he kisses me a lot. When his hand reaches between my legs behind I tell him: "No don't! It'll feel a lot worse after you're gone."
"But you're damp, you want it."
"Sure I do. But I think about the afterwards. I'm going to be made to stand here a long time, Jason, you know that."
The man who will one day be my husband kisses me and goes away.
Alone again, I have too much time to think. I think about Daphne and about Me. I'll probably get out of here tomorrow night or Monday morning. But Daphne... ? I make a stem resolve that if Jason does not get her released I'll phone the police after we get home. I don't care about 'good old Bill. He's no friend of mine.
I also think about Jason as my husband. My conscience tells me no prospective husband, no man who loves me, would abandon me to the embrace of this pillory, my conscience has a fine Victorian ring about its declamation. Oh sure, I wish Jason had wrested me from this beastly structure. But, on the other hand, this is all my fault anyway. I have thrown myself at Jason shamelessly, other girls would have bid him farewell after their first whipping. And no one twisted my arm to bring me here this week end, I stood still while Jason tied me up. Oh shit! I twist and turn uneasily against the yoke.
At Sunday breakfast I am the only one who is not moodily distrait. I am tastefully attired in handcuffs only and am allowed to sit at table. Bill is sulky.
"Carrie deserves a real punishment, and she isn't getting it." Bill glowers at my master, but it is I who answer.
"D'you think standing in that pillory until dark was fun! Try it yourself sometime, Bill."
He seizes upon my reproach. "See what I mean, she's totally disrespectful." He gawps at me hungrily. "And she's so beautiful!"
"The stocks." Says Jason firmly. "Her feet in the stocks, Bill, that's the most I'll go for."
"But she's just sitting there--no pain at all!"
Bill Coro wails as though being robbed. I expect he thinks he is. For some reason of his own he relates me to suffering. For the sake of goodwill I try to be politely slavelike. "But, Bill, don't feel cheated. I have to sit on that hard bench a long time, and that set of stocks stretch my feet so wide apart that's a punishment in itself--apart from being obscene."
Bill switches on a mental vision of my pussy thus exposed. It pleases him, "O.K." He concedes. "But your hands will have to be tied behind your back."
I look at my master and get a shrug and a wink. "It won't kill you, Carrie."
"No, it will just make my day more miserable. It means I can't shift position, I can't do anything."
"It's little enough, considering what you deserve. I'd had in mind hanging you up by your wrists, you look so lovely like that, and I've got some new wide wristlets of soft leather--"
"The stocks, Bill! Remember?" Jason is crisp.- "Oh alright! But you're a dog in the manger, Jason. Carrie's so beautiful. You don't realise her possibilities. Look, you two can't possibly be serious about this marriage business, let me buy her from you, put an end to all this palaver. I'll up the ante to a hundred thousand?"
"Oh, Bill...!" Jason is genuinely distressed.
There is something alive and malignant in the room. I will be the only one to feel it but it is there--along with the silence of dismay.
"Very well then!" Bill Coro is in the grip of his fantasy. "A quarter of a million?"
My mind flirts with visions: a hundred whippings, endless days and nights of suspension, the barred cage and a hundred pounds of shackles on my limbs... ! And forever naked! Perhaps, if I can give Jason so huge a sum, the price is right.
"Drink your coffee, Bill." Jason says wearily. "You'll feel better. Carrie, when your punishment's through today we'll get back to the City, we both have to go to work tomorrow."
Beloved Jason! It is the right note. Bill deflates. From the heights of Parnassus he reverts to Stubbinsburg Jail, his tone is of one who is denied Nirvana. "Well, at least there's one thing you surely won't deny me with her, Jason, those cute little clips on her tits?"
"What, all day!" It pops out of me like an explosion.
"Of course all day, Carrie." He is once more good old beaming Bill. "You were wearing some butterfly clips that first day I kidnapped you. I've treasured them, they look lovely on you. Please... ? Please...?"
I look at my master. He shrugs. "Up to you, Carrie."
Bill is a small eager boy, perhaps once I should be kind! "O.K., Bill. They hurt like blazes... but if they give you so much pleasure!"
We revert to breakfast. I clink my handcuffs prettily for Jason's pleasure and, anyway, it's hard to eat a meal with handcuffed wrists without making a flashing display of chrome and a clink of links. I have a feeling of having lost a small battle in a good cause. The day will change this feeling but it is strong upon me now. Having disposed of my person for the day, the omnipotent males talk, I listen. Some of what I learn I do not like. I am getting off easy in my punishment because a price is paid. It is Daphne who pays it. Jason will take me home tonight but Daphne stays in Bill's jail another week.
The Malignancy is still hovering. I want to speak of it and to plead for Daphne but I am afraid. I can tell they have made a decision. To buck it or turn petulant will only get me whipped. I console myself with cowardice for both Daphne and me it could be worse!"
My philosophical resignation lasts long enough to get me in the stocks. I am allowed to settle myself on the bench and adjust my ankles while the yoke descends on them before my hands are tied. I try and bargain for handcuffs, but the boys decide they give too much freedom, crossed wrists tightly tied are best! So that's what I get. I make a great fuss about the indecency of my spread legs and stretched puss. It won't do me any good but may cause them to forget the clips. But the clips are not forgotten. Bill has them in his pocket. I might have known... ! They make great sport of clipping one on me each. Bill makes several tries to get his the way he wants he is a bumbling asshole and I could scream... !
"You see, Jason, she's so exquisite."
Bill's proud as a peacock. You'd think he invented Me. I give brief thought to the quarter million, it frightens me.
But the burn on my breasts drives it away. Jason's butterfly clips are wicked, and I have to wear them all day... ! Oh, damn!
"Just look at that hair under her belly!" Bill exults as though he invented that too. "A curly cunt!" He savors his vulgar alliteration. "Gosh, what a dog could do to her like that! His tongue "
"You were showing me those books upstairs." Jason is abrupt.
Bill does not want to go, he finds my stretched indecent nudity entrancing. His fantasies become fertile with thoughts of what might be done with, or to, my sex while it is so handily displayed. It could be whipped, it could be delivered to the mercies of a canine tongue and snout, a banana or parsnip could be put to obvious utility, it could be shaved. He reduces me to a multi-purpose sexual facility. I am thankful when Jason leads him away.
But this is lonely and I have no more freedom than I had yesterday in the pillory. If my wrists were not crossed and tied it would be a breeze. But, robbed of hands and arms, I cannot ease my seat, I cannot scratch my nose, I cannot remove the clips from my nipples, and I cannot play with myself to while away the time. After awhile the junction of my thighs begin to complain about the parting of the ways. I look down at my pussy and my Venus Mound peeps coyly back. It is surprisingly prominent.
I am being punished. I have been bad. I am fixed like this to appease Bill's sense of what is proper. Before the day is done I will cry from pain and exhaustion. I look down at the butterfly clips on my nipples, they are very beautiful. Pert, pretty and provocative, they hurt like hell. I try and reach them with a bound hand, but cannot. Handcuffed, I could. But not tied like this! It is infuriating. They will bob up and down on my breasts all day, mocking me and hurting...
The worst thing I can do is think. But that is what I do, and it's all negative: reaching out to manifest the malignancy as a batlike monster waiting to pounce. Bill's bid on me makes it real. No man bids a quarter million for something he does not intend to get. Jason will scoff, but I will be forever looking over my shoulder. If he gets me again Bill will not let me go.
I find myself shaking my shoulders to make my nipples hurt more. The butterflies quiver and bob. They are my only company in this lonely penance: and since Jason had them made they are his as I am his, and I bear their bite because he said O.K. As a persistent nag of discipline they are far more effective than the stocks.
Tonight Jason will take me home. No doubt he will bind me outrageously but he will take me away from Bill, and in my heart he will earn all the hosannas I can sing. The malignancy will fade as we leave this place: at least I think it will... I hope! I will be consumed by lust as I sit beside him in the car. I hope I gave no hint of it but I am consumed by lust right now-I suppose it's everything they've done to me! And I have to sit like this all day! Oh, shit!
I think of Daphne and my lust fades. Our time was so short. But the door opens and Daphne is inserted by a dark hand. She is naked, her wrists are handcuffed behind her back. We make instant love, we are handicapped for sure but we manage remarkably well. "One week, darling! Put up with it for one week and Jason will get you out of here."
"Not tonight? Not with you? Oh Carrie...!"
"I tried. It was the best I could do. Can you bear it?"
"I'll have to, won't I" Daphne looks at me in yearning. "If you only knew how I want out...!"
I know.
CHAPTER TWO - DAPHNE
I keep thinking of him as 'poor Bill,' which is damn silly. What I should be thinking is 'poor Me!' But Bill's such a pathetic bumbler, like a small plumpish boy who breaks all his toys in an excess of exuberance. Now that he's a large pinkish man his toys are girls, I'm his favourite toy right now and I'm scared to death he's going to break me. He could! It would be so damn easy!
I cried the whole night Jason took Carrie home. I'd hoped he'd take me too, but all I got was thirty minutes with Carrie- and that was a gift from Jollie. Carrie with her feet in the stocks, and me with my hands cuffed behind my back. She told me about the deal Jason made with Bill: I have to stay here one more week. I could cry again just thinking about it.
Bill's a heartbreak. He never does any of the lovely shivery things Jason does to Carrie. He never ties me up, never tells me to hold out my hands so he can handcuff my wrists, never buckles a collar round my throat... ! He manages to miss all the lovely 'me to you' parts of bondage, like the tugging of the cord a bit tighter before he ties the knot I can't reach. He doesn't tie me spread out on a bed and leave me to wonder if this is the time it's going to happen. What he does is so damn impersonal, he has Jollie do it. I am an interesting subject to be tortured under his supervision. If he gets a hard on out of having me hung up by my thumbs I'll never know. He has Jollie do the damndest things to me while he stands there, pop eyed and perspiring... He certainly gets something out of it, but all I get is pain--and now I'm frightened.
Jollie keeps me going. She does the cruel things to me but she does them with love. But now she's telling me something all her own. "Honey, ain't no use kiddin,' there ain't no way mistah Coro's a'goin' ter set yo' free in a week, nor a month, nor a year. You's all he's got. He real hungry fo' Miss Carrie but he ain't goin' to get her, so for sure he's keeping a'holt o' yo.' Even iffen he had to hide yo' some other place he'll do it."
I am still in the clasp of the hundred pounds of chain in which I have spent the night: wrists, ankles, neck... every bit of me is ironed in some way. Being caged is fun, being tied or handcuffed is fun, especially if it's your master who does it to you. But these relentless shackles, fetters, irons... ! And they hold me helpless inside a locked cell... alone! Jollie forestalls my pleading.
"I can't let yo' loose, honey. Mistah Coro he pay me so damn much fer this job. Ah can't lose it, ah jest caint."
I have no money, I can offer nothing. We both know this and look at each other, stricken. I understand her dilemma, this is the most money ever to come her way. For Jollie I am prosperity. Unhappily, I ask: "What's he want you to do to me today?"
"Ah gotta' spread yo' out agin' the bars, stretched real tight, offen' the floor."
It is bad enough but could be worse. Bill will stand and enjoy my pain for an hour at a time. But my mind is still on Jollie and her need. Shamefacedly, I offer: "If Jason and Carrie and I pooled what we can, and I can borrow... Would that help?"
She pats me in that comforting maternal way she has, then comes out, slowly, and sort of apologetic: "There's a woman I run into--" I am alert with hope. "Yes? Oh, Jollie...!"
"It's sorta' crazy. I'm half ashamed. She wanna' buy' yo'."
Nothing can be crazier than Stubbinsburg jail. In a few minutes my daily punishment will start. I'd consider an offer from Dracula. Breathlessly, I ask: "But, Jollie, how can she? Bill won't let me go."
"Mistah Coro, he ain't gonna' know nothin' 'bout it. Ah gets mah money one dark night and ah delivers yo', tight tied and helpless, to this here gal' through the little door out back."
"But why would she pay money for me?"
"Thass the kicker, honey. Fust off she's a les', she'll eat yo' outta yo' mind, an ah 'specks she's a cross 'tween mistah Coro and mistah Jason-likely she's give yo' a bad time. She real fussy 'bout yo' bein' tied and gagged so yo' don' do no arguing."
Out of the frying pan... ! I survey the incredible and compare it to my day bound to the bars with all my weight on the ropes. The unknown wins-at least it is female! My verdict is without hesitation. "Sell me to her, Jollie."
We survey each other in wry amusement. Honesty compels Jollie to state the obvious. "We kin call it sellin' yo', honey, but what it really 'mounts to is ah gets bribed to hand yo' over to a kidnapper."
"I don't care what we call it, get me out of here."
"It gets me the money I needs, Daphne gal', and maybe this woman she treats yo' good. But maybe she don't--?"
"I'll take the chance."
"O.K., honey, ah sees what ah kin do. Can't be sure o' these kooks, but she acts real interested." She pats me tenderly. "Hell to be a woman, ain't it! 'Specially iffen yo' got good tits--" It is not until I am alone again with my chains that I realise Jollie can do whatever she wants with me, she always keeps me helpless, and Bill's only around half the time...
But what does it matter!
I do not broach the thought when my day begins. I have been washed and fed, now I must be punished. In Bill's Stubbinsburg Jail a girl prisoner doesn't have to do anything to get herself disciplined. Jollie sets a box against the bars within the big cage, then relieves me of a great clutter of chains and metal so I may stand thereon. I press myself against the bars and stare beyond but all I can see is more bars...
"Ah ties yo' middle real hard and tight, honey, so's it takes some weight offen yo' wrists."
She does just that with several strands of rope. I feel bisected like an ant. Jollie stands on another box to tie my hands out high and wide, I shed chain as a faded rose sheds petals. When she says "Sorry, honey" and takes the box from beneath my feet, I sag, my ribcage and my wrists protest...
"Can't make it no easier fo' yo', sugar." She drags one of my feet off to one side and ties it to a bar, then the other. "Sort of a mizzable' day fo' yo', but the boss man he'll be down to look yo' over."
"Thanks, Jollie."
I have nothing to be thankful for, but she's sweet and does not enjoy what she must do to me. Jollie takes her boxes into the passage and stands on one to kiss me and kiss me long. Then she locks the cage door, with me inside, and goes away. The punishment of naughty Daphne, who hasn't done a damn thing to deserve it, has now officially begun.
Breathing emphasises my plight, it thrusts my breasts against the bars and makes my tummy think it's being cut in two. I am clamped hard against the cage, looking out into the passage. Anyone who walks by will have a wonderful view of my pussy, my legs are stretched enough apart to cause my sex to invite attention, wherever rope encircles me I hurt.
Apart from thinking, about pain, I think mostly of Carrie. I envy her so much, Jason does the loveliest and most erotic things to her! That's what I want, that's what I hoped to get when I went to their place that first night and Carrie was tied in the middle of their living room floor and was so mad to see me. I wish Jason would keep me and Carrie both instead of just Carrie. He's a really gorgeous master for a girl. The thought of those awful things he compels her to wear under her clothes when he sends her to the office simply crinkles me up. Gosh, she's lucky!
Bill allows my punishments to sort of mature before he comes to view his prisoner. That way I am properly dejected and forlorn and may even risk pleading for release. Bill likes that, he likes his female inmate of Stubbinsburg Jail to be abject and anxious to please. I suppose his refusal to have sex with us is our final defeat: it leaves us nothing to offer him. Today, it's the usual hour or two before he shows.
"Good morning, Daphne."
"Good morning, master."
"Hurting nicely, eh! And beautiful as ever. Gosh, what a pity you don't like me."
"I am respectful to you, master."
"Yes... I suppose... " He bends down close to examine my blatant sex. "You have the most wonderful pubic hair."
'Thank you, master." I have nothing to lose by being humble.
He palms my Venus mound for a few moments, testing my pussy briefly with one finger. He then tweaks my nipples and arranges my breasts so they protrude beyond the cage with a bar for their cleavage.
"Lovely, lovely!" Diffidently, he adds: "I suppose you know Jason wants your release next week-end?"
"Yes, master, thank you."
"Well, it isn't going to happen!" He is suddenly animated, and steps back away from the allure of my nakedness. "It's all very well for him, he's got Carrie: Carrie's the one I want, and one of these days I'll get her. But in the meantime I've got you, and I'm damned if you're going to get away."
"Thank you for wanting me, master, but can't you love me a little?"
He glares and is vehement. "Do you love me?"
I fall silent in shame. I'd better watch this conversation, it could end up getting me whipped. I lie dolefully: "I do try, master."
"Carrie doesn't love me either." He is petulantly aggrieved. "What the hell do I have to do to get affection out of one of you girls?"
"Give us a little freedom, master, so we weren't always bothered by pain."
"A little freedom to escape." His eyes rove my nakedness. "That's all you think of, getting away from me."
It is true but I dare not say so. Instead, I say: "If you will untie me from these bars I'll kneel down and worship you, I'll do anything you want...?"
I have lost him, we have failed to communicate. Bill makes an exclamation of disgust, glares at me irritably and goes away. This is about par for the course. My day stretches out endlessly: I hurt and hurt... I think, longingly, of my desk at the office, of my typewriter, of Carrie... ! Mostly it's of Carrie. I try and go to sleep, my head rests on a stretched arm.
Instinct snatches me alert. She is examining me with the calm serenity of choosing a fur coat when money doesn't matter. She is svelt, and beautiful, and expensive, and deadly! She is not much older than me. "Good morning, Daphne." Her voice is silk. "You may think of me as Sabrina."
"Good morning--" I am scared to death.
She runs female fingers over all my erogenous zones. I tense, I shiver, I gasp. Her fingertips are disturbing. She laughs delightedly at my response. "There are times when I will be kind to you." She says casually. "But not always. Do you wish me to buy you?"
"Yes."
A trill of laughter. "Well, well, an assured little baggage! Tell me, d'you enjoy being tied like that?"
"No, not by the man who owns me now."
"But by someone else?"
"I--I don't know... If I loved someone."
Again the trill of laughter. "The eternal wish: to be loved!" She turns to the hovering Jollie. "Very well. I'll take her."
I have been sold!
But I am not untied. I await delivery. In a restless wish to be done with them I test my bonds. As usual, there is not the faintest possibility of getting loose or of escape. I am suddenly overwhelmed with a wish for freedom, to be my own girl again, to go to the office, to be done with punishments and being bought and sold. I fight my strictures in an anger of impotence. They hold me fast and I relapse into tears.
Bill helps. He doesn't mean to but he bumbles himself into my knowing I want Sabrina. It is his second visit to ogle my female attributes and examine the tight bite of rope in my flesh. "You look very lovely like that." He breathes pleasurably, "I must have you tied that way again." His eyes rove further. "Your whipmarks are fading nicely."
"Thank you, master."
"You'll soon be ready for another whipping, Daphne." What the hell am I supposed to say! I won't ever be ready to be whipped again, not the way Bill does it--it's beastly, horrible, damn awful. But I try and show willingness. "I expect so, master, in a few days "
"Hell, girl, you're ready now."
"Maybe tomorrow, master?"
He is placated. Tomorrow is not far off, in the meantime he has me nicely hurting. All is well with William Coro's world. He enjoys me for quite a long time, a bit popeyed, a bit pink and perspiring. But, damn him, completely omnipotent in Stubbinsburg Jail, in which I am a female convict under discipline.
Jollie is marvelous. Her hand on my shoulder in the night absolves me from the suspense of wondering: the time is now! In quivering obedience, I stand while my chains slip away and are replaced by . rope: wrists, elbows, knees, ankles... I am tightly trussed. Before the gag goes in my mouth we kiss and kiss and I say 'thank you' many times. My heart is thumping.
"We's gonna' be O.K., honey."
The gag is a phallus thing, violating my mouth, buckling behind my neck. My only answer is a modest "Mmmmmmm...!" Jollie picks me up and carries me out back through the little door. Sabrina and a Mercedes are waiting. Jollie stands me on my bound feet, and I stand erect and naked while I am examined and the tightness of my ropes tested.
"She's the same gal', maam, ah ain't cheatin'."
"So I see." The silky voice is dryly amused. "A nice job of tying... she looks well in it."
Jollie accepts the envelope and peeps inside. Two pairs of strong hands take possession of me and lift me carefully into the trunk. The lid slams me into darkness. As the motor purrs to life and the wheels turn, all I can think of is my desk at the office, I'll never see it again, never, never, never... ! I try to wriggle but cannot move. Jollie has bound me beautifully, an erotic warmth generates between my legs... and I have escaped from Bill! Relief wafts me into sleep. I have been tied by loving hands...
Sabrina is methodical: A collar for my neck, from it a leash. She unties my knees and ankles. I try and help but it is mostly her strength that heaves me from the trunk, in silence I follow my leash.
The bedroom is most obviously hers. I am surrounded and enveloped by money, money, money. Sabrina leads me to a huge mirror, she strips and stands beside me, posing and comparing, but seems satisfied with her purchase. She herself is lovely beyond centerfolds, a blond feline loveliness of lithe power. She leads me to the huge bed, pushes me therein, snaps my leash to a ring in the headboard and tells me-casually: "We will both sleep. I'll free you of the gag and the rope on your elbows. You will keep silent. If you make a fuss I'll punish you horribly."
It is glorious to be free of the man thing in my mouth and the strictures on my arms, only my hands remain tied behind my back but the constriction on my crossed wrists gives me pleasure I wonder if she knows! I remain silent. I obey. The light goes as a warm nudity settles itself beside me, a strong naked leg reaches to possess itself of one of mine, thus linked, we sleep.
The bath is on the same scale as the bed, we disport ourselves in it like children. Sabrina is beautiful, beautiful, and I am happy, happy and utterly bemused.
"Not what you expected, Daphne?" She laughs gaily. "Don't be too euphoric, dear. In an hour I may whip you until you scream."
"But I'm not tied, or chained, or anything!" I hold up free but soapy hands as though they are a curiosity, their wrists are wealed.
Sabrina splashes me playfully. "That will be the hardest part of your new captivity, Daphne, I want total obedience from you whether you're chained or free. It's a lot harder than being goody, goody because you're handcuffed."
"If you wanted to tie me now, I'd offer my hands. Honest, I would! Is that what you mean?"
"Mmmmmmmmm... partly. But suppose you'd been free several days and my demand was unexpected and unwelcome, what then?"
I sense pitfalls and chasms but, after Bill Coro, this is gorgeous. "I think you're trying to tell me something." I say slowly. "But I'll obey you. Right now, obeying you is the thing I want to do most, I'm so terribly grateful."
"After Stubbinsburg Jail--" She wrinkles her nose. "I can well imagine. The place is a morgue for a single naked girl." She lathers my breasts for the third time. "But I'm capricious, I want you for a whipping girl, anytime I'm mad about something I'll take it out on you. How about that?"
"Sabrina, do I have a choice? Are you telling me I can go away if I don't like what you promise?"
"Mmmmmm... O.K. then, you're free to go. Dry yourself and run along. Do you want to?"
"That's not a fair question."
"Cautious, eh. You think you'd get downstairs and someone would grab you and you'd be punished?"
"Yeeeeees... something like that."
"Damn sensible girl! That's exactly what would happen." She massages my pubic hair with soap. "You'll see what looks like all sorts of chances to walk away, but I honestly don't think you can escape."
"That looks after that, then. I won't even try."
Her hand is now between my legs, frankly carnal. Her silken voice mocks. "But I could be bluffing, and you might be scared to find out?"
"I don't think you're bluffing, I'm quite sure I'm your prisoner: and what you're doing is exciting me terribly."
The hand is taken from my flesh, we revert again to childhood. "This place is called 'Mounthaven,' Daphne. It's an old Estate with a huge Park all around, and a wall. Even if you got out of the house we'd track you down Oh, and the servants! There's quite a staff, and they're accustomed to my eccentricities. Any one of them will report to me any request you make to them for help."
"And I'd be punished?"
"Naturally!" Sabrina splashes me playfully. "I'd welcome the excuse, of course. It's equally satisfying to punish a naughty girl as it is to whip you when you're innocent."
We dry ourselves, Sabrina dresses. My own attire is scanty but most erotic: a silver collar round my neck, iron wristlets and anklets, a gem studded silver belt locked round my waist with a hanging padlock. The handcuffs are almost an afterthought, they are the expensive black kind, cunningly wrought. I hold out my hands for them gladly, thinking of Bill and his hundred pounds of links. "Just as a reminder, sweetheart." My owner says as she compresses them to the ultimate click.
We go to breakfast.
* * *
Mounthaven is incredible: it is crazy, wonderful, terrifying, lovable, and much to be feared. I realise these adjectives are not for Mounthaven at all but simply for its Mistress, and mine, Sabrina Comstock. I can think of others but these are enough. Sabrina has kept my mind awhirl for six days on a scale from ecstasy to desolation. In the chaos events stand stark and clear. The first was that day at breakfast.
"I want to keep you guessing, Daphne. Will you enjoy?"
She is glorious. How easy it is for me to say: "Oh, yes, yes--!" I stop short, uncertainly: "Shouldn't I call you something: Miss... or Mistress... or, or-?"
"You will call me Sabrina most of the time, that 'mistress' word is tacky. But if I am humiliating you in company you will use it. You'll learn the right places. Oh, and the keeping you off balance--sometimes I'll be cruel."
I lift the handcuffs and shrug. "I'm past the point of no return, Sabrina." I grin. "I suspect I never had a choice."
"Not after I saw you spread against the bars yesterday, Daph'. You're luscious and that raises another point, you won't often wear clothes."
"I don't really want to."
"I think I know where you're coming from, sweetheart. You're a bondage girl, aren't you? You love being tied up?"
"Yes." I am suddenly shy. "It's a part of me."
"And you're not too keen on the 'D' in B & D?"
"You mean, being whipped, and sitting on that awful horse?"
"Mmmmmmm... among other things."
"I never thought about that part of it until I met Carrie." I admit slowly, feeling like a little girl. "I could see it meant a lot to she and Jason. But I got delivered to Bill, and the way he has a girl whipped is damn awful--I just don't know."
"So, if I tied you to a tree after breakfast you'd get hot pants--if you wore any?"
"Yes. If you did that to me I'd be terrifically aroused." It's at this point the maid shows up with more toast. Languidly, Sabrina tells her: "You can bring more coffee too, Allie Oh, and along with it, one of those thin canes." I tie up in an instant knot inside. Allie doesn't bat an eye. I suspect Allie's seen this all before: seeing me the way I am didn't raise her eyebrow.
"I bought Allie over a year ago, dear. She likes it here."
"But why buy a servant?"
"She started out the same as you, Daph'. She just gravitated."
My curiosity is piqued. But, is she free, Sabrina? Could she leave if she wanted?"
"She could but she doesn't want to."
I never got to ask my next question: Allie showed up with coffee and cane. She placed the latter ostentatiously across the table between dishes, and smiled charmingly at me. When she had gone, Sabrina was equally charming. "Your hands please, dear, for just a few moments."
My heart thuds. I proffer my locked hands and watch them freed. As always, Sabrina's voice is silk: "If you'll kneel just here, Daphne please, and hold out your left hand."
She is right! Off balance, that's me! When I saw the cane I thought of my bottom. But it is not my bottom! My pulse races as I kneel and hold out my left arm. I do not even realise I am free of restraint, Sabrina has me enthralled.
The pain is terrifying, a new and awful pain, mixed in with it is the shame of a small girl disgraced. I have never had pain this bad in this place, it is something by itself apart from being whipped. It is not like being whipped at all.
"Just your left hand for now, dear. I'll pour you more coffee."
Sabrina is right, she has me guessing. I suddenly realise I am making choked gasps and nursing my caned hand tight in my right armpit. Ashamed, I resume my seat.
"Hurt, dear?"
"Abominably!"
"A good word. Your hands--?"
I give one good hand and one wounded hand to be handcuffed. I am back to square one, except for one hand that throbs like crazy. I say what I hope is the right thing: "Was that to teach me a lesson, Sabrina?"
"Of course, dear. Did it?"
"Yes. I'll never take you for granted."
Sabrina smiles.
The end of our meal thrusts another curved ball at me. She chucks me under the chin and says, offhandedly: "You're free to go, Darling. Run along whenever you like. One of the smaller doors in the wall is unlocked. I'm sure you'll find it."
I pout. "Yeah, I bet! And get myself whipped?"
"Darling, you mustn't be too suspicious. You don't have to go, but you can if you want to."
I am not that dumb. I hold up my handcuffed hands "Like this, Sabrina, and naked! No way!"
"As you wish, dear. You'll be whipped after lunch and now I've some things to do " I never really kidded myself. But, on the other hand! Anyway, here I am with the run of a mansion and a Park. My only handicap is one hand that hurts and handcuffed wrists... I make a timid tour, everything is splendid, splendid and makes me feel shockingly poor. Servants smile and I smile back but take no chances. When I venture outdoors I feel bare, bare, bare!
Mounthaven Park is huge, it is also beautiful. There is something insidiously rational about fresh air and open spaces, first thing I know I'm walking along a little path and enjoying the scenery. Yeah, O.K., I know I'm being played with but it's sorta' fun! By the time I'm out of sight of the House I am believing in freedom, and maybe my one and only chance. It's not long after that I start to run.
To run is fatal. Ghosts give chase, and goblins, and evil men, and Sabrina with a whip! The big old trees look down benignly at my fleeing nudity but, they too, harbour spirits and watching eyes. Soon, I think only of the small unlocked door.
The handcuffs are infuriating, they slow me down, they hold my hands in limbo where a runner's hands should never be, but just the same I cover a lot of ground, old leaves are soft beneath my bare feet, the Park is silent except for my panting breath.
In my self induced panic is a small severe voice telling me I am crazy to run from heart's desire. All my life I have desired the captivity of cords but now I flee! I flee from a beautiful woman who is probably as close to my fantasy as I can hope to get. But Bill has devastated my confidence, his whips, his jail, his irons were never what I sought, they gave me only fear and pain. He took away my freedom and gave me in return only a somber menace without love. Sabrina is adorable, but she too will whip me, my hand still throbs from the cut of her cane... I love these handcuffs and all else she has locked on me--but still... !
I reach the wall, it is of brick and stone, as old as the house, and far too high for me to climb, standing there in my slender nakedness and chained hands I am daunted. I see no door, and suddenly realise I know not the direction in which to search-left or right, and the wall is at least four miles in circumference... ! Dejectedly, I turn right and jog determinedly along the shadow of my prison. I am beginning to wonder if I should retrace my steps and pretend I have just been for a walk, or is it already too late!
The doors are real, small heavily ironed timbers brutally locked, they mock my puny hands and bare feet. I estimate one about every half mile. I make a wide circle away from the main gate with its Lodge in which some staff reside. I am now plodding along, doggedly and without much hope, surely I am past my point of no return, if I am caught I will be punished! I don't know why I feel so sure of it, but I am sure.
The next door is betrayed by a faint footpath showing no sign of recent use. The portal is as depressing as the rest but when I press its latch I find it oiled, I need no thrust of shoulder to push it open. Smiling at me on the other side is Sabrina Comstrock.
"Hello, darling."
"Hello, Sabrina."
We stand and smile, but mine is false! I am trembling, I have not felt like this since I was a small girl caught stealing pennies. Beyond my owner I see a country road and fields... no sign of life. Simply and directly she enquires: "Are you going to struggle, Daphne?"
It is my handcuffs who really reply. They say, unhappily: "No, I won't struggle, Sabrina." Then add, accusingly. "It was a trap, wasn't it?"
"Of course, dear. You should have guessed. I expect you did but couldn't help being silly."
I stand and look, stupidly and resentfully, at this lovely creature who owns me. I feel like crying. I don't want to be whipped, I just don't! It's so unfair--! I voice vexation: "You wanted me to get it out of my system, Sabrina, that's why...?"
Her laughter trills. "You're so perceptive, darling, of course that's why. I'm so pleased. You'll be pleased too after you've been punished."
"You'll have me whipped?"
"Mmmmmmmm... among other things! Sure you don't want to struggle?"
I shake my head, I watch her beckoning hand. The chauffeur appears from the waiting car I have not seen, he hands my Mistress cruel thin ropes.
My handcuffs are unlocked and taken from me, I am sorry to see them go. I am turned around, my hands placed palm to palm and tightly tied. I stand, passive and unresisting, there is something inevitable about what is happening to me, I have no will to fight a force against which I cannot prevail.
"Thank you, Ludlow, you can go."
I hear the motor start at the same moment the rope slips round my elbows, it is looped again and again, then laced up tight with the now familiar pain, with the wracking of my shoulders and the pouting impudence of my breasts. Sabrina has me helpless. She ties a length of rope to the silver collar on my neck. I am leashed.
"A pleasant walk, Daphne?"
"Yes, Mistress."
Sabrina laughs. "That slipped out. It shows how you think of me. Don't worry, you won't be punished for it."
Sabrina leads me back to life imprisonment, tugging mischievously at my collar to remind me of what I am. My elbows burn under her cords, I am completely hers. Suddenly I am enveloped in a wave of lust such as I have rarely known. I am a captive maiden... bound!
"You love it, don't you, darling!"
Sabrina knows! But I am shamed by such transparency. My blush reaches almost to my breasts, compelling confession. "Yes, Sabrina, I--I can't help it... I feel so foolish."
"Don't be idiotic, girl." Her reprimand is blunt. "Don't you see how lucky you are- how lucky we both are. Enjoy!"
"But you're going to whip me!"
"So what!" Sabrina gives my collar an impatient jerk. "You're not a child, and I'm not going to use a Cat-O-Nine-Tails with metal inserts on your pretty back. Grow up!"
"I'm sorry. But Bill had me whipped so much "I'll whip you myself, idiot child! You don't think I'd forgo the pleasure of planting stripes on your delectable skin?"
"Well... thank you--I suppose--" I bog down, uncertain of gratitude. Piteously, I start to cry. "Oh, Sabrina-!"
Her arms are warm, her body compresses against mine as though she too is nude. My taut breasts with their hard nipples nuzzle themselves against her twins with a devastating effect on my libido. I flame with heat, my crying degenerates into hard small sobs against her cheek. Without thinking, I plead: "Love me... love me... " and her lips find mine to quench my grief while her hand reaches down... When it cups my mound with tender wisdom I shatter into a thousand orgasmic particles...
"My, my, you needed that, sweetheart!" Sabrina is amused. "You were tensed up like a bowstring. Feel better?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"I told you not to call me that."
"Please, Mistress, just for today-while I'm punished?"
"You mean, I've a penitent on my hands! Why, darling girl...!"
"Yeeeees... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have wanted to run away. I'm lucky you bought me, I know I am."
Sabrina is magic, her laughter has dispersed my panic and most of my apprehension. I am absurdly abject, and want to be cuddled instead of punished, but even the punishment fails to dampen my happiness in belonging to this radiant female who holds my leash and gives it playful tugs as we-walk together to my fate.
"That's sweet, Daphne. Things falling into place for you?"
"They must have, I'm not frightened. Even if you untied me I'd still walk beside you." I turn impish, "You could still keep me leashed."
"Delightful! But, Daphne, you're going to be whipped. Doesn't that bother you?"
"Not as long as I'm with you. If I was with someone else I'd be scared to death, I'd be complaining about how my elbows hurt. But there's a rightness about belonging to you, I think that's why I want to call you Mistress."
Sabrina gives me a sharp shrewd glance, I know myself assessed. Sabrina stops, she turns me round, she unties my elbows and then my wrists. I am free! She hands me the ropes warm from my flesh. "Coil these neatly, carry them." She tugs on my leash to emphasise control. "Feel like a wrestling match, dear? D'you want to test the two of us out?"
"No, thank you!"
She is watching me coil the ropes and rub the weals they have left in my skin. She knows she has thrown me a curved ball. "You're free, darling, or hadn't you noticed?"
"I don't feel a bit free." I say slowly, puzzled. "And it's not the leash you're holding--and I'm terribly grateful, I was only being bratty about being untied." I look at Sabrina, hungrily. "May I kiss you?"
"No. You've been a naughty girl, remember? Come along."
I am a naked girl on a leash, walking demurely beside her Mistress. I seem to have nothing to say, and she is frankly amused, laughing at my collared obedience. When we catch sight of the distant house through the last of the trees, she stops and I stop too. I am enjoying the leash immensely. "You did say you love being tied, Daphne?"
I am breathless as she positions me between two saplings, their boles no more than four inches thick. I surrender the ropes and watch my right wrist tied to one of the slender trunks, then my left wrist to the other. To make this possible I must stand erect and stretch my arms at shoulder level, that way I just fit. I wonder if Sabrina has tied girls here before.
"I'll leave you the leash, darling, it has a nice effect."
It hangs between my breasts. I cannot touch it, I cannot touch anything. Shyly, I respond. "Thank you, Sabrina. Is this where-I mean--is this how I get whipped?"
"Daphne, you really must try and forget the whip, in between times... It's a fact of life, that's all. I don't even have one with me. So now I'm going to kiss you and let you enjoy your lovely, lovely bondage."
Sabrina does more than kiss me. By the time I have to watch her walk away I am indecently aroused, homy as a girl can be. I am sure she is laughing at the condition in which she has abandoned me, but she does not look back. I dare not plead, but watch her longingly until she vanishes from sight. I then try and finish what she has started but in my condition that is indeed a forlorn hope. When my fire flickers back to normal I look around.
It is a lovely Park, and Mounthaven is a stately pile of masonry, but the view is bland, no human is in sight, I am alone, so turn my attention to my two trees, in which I already feel a proprietary interest. They may be only saplings but they possess my hands as though they owned them. I make a tentative struggle which hurts my wrists but changes nothing, my trees do not even have the decency to shiver or shake a leaf.
I am tied up! I repeat the phrase over and over, savouring its implications and remembering the years in which it was a dream thing much to be desired but unlikely to happen. Now I am tied for sure: not exactly trussed up but certainly not going anywhere. I gaze along the bareness of my arms to where the cords circle each wrist and are cinched tight by a stricture between my skin and the smooth bark. I twist and tug to make sure, but I will never get loose, not ever! Somewhere, Sabrina is laughing. Quite probably I am being taught a lesson.
I enjoy! I am gorgeously helpless, erotically foxed, a true maiden in distress: except I am not yet distressed. For the first hour or so I think of distress only as a figure of speech, for the next period I regard it disdainfully as something to ignore, but as the sun sinks into late afternoon I become aware of fatigue and start looking longingly at the ground on which I cannot possibly sit, my tensioned arms complain, my wrists burn. I look down at my bare breasts and the leash from my collar which hangs between to remind me of Sabrina. Suddenly and ferociously I long for her with every fiber of my being. But I cannot leave the spot on which I stand, my saplings hold me as she intended they should, her cords cementing our union. As the day wanes I become increasingly apprehensive of the night. To stand like this on into the darkness... ! I shudder and start to cry.
I shout into the gathering gloom, but the trees absorb my sad small sounds. I struggle in brief periods of panic I know I must contain. Ruefully I recall my first hot pleasure in this bondage, but I know now I am being punished. Sabrina has not whipped me but I know, for sure, I would prefer the whip to standing bound like this until morning or beyond. I am so tired... !
The dark of night brings fear, an atavistic reaction to sound or the mischief of the night wind. Because I can move so little I feel a chill and shiver in self pity. I try to sink to the ground but that is impossible. Fitfully, I fall asleep but am instantly awake as I slump against my tied wrists. How gratefully I would accept the whip if only I could be freed from this captivity. Sabrina will know this and will be amused as she lies snug and warm in the big bed I cannot share.
It is a fearful moment when I see the shape and hear the breaking of a twig. My wrists scream as I surge against the cords. A girl's voice laughs at me in the night. "Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you."
She is young and pretty, blue jeans and a shirt. She finds my nakedness intriguing and, without preamble, plays with my nipples as she speaks. "I'm Billie-Jo. I know you're the new one." She chuckles, "You were scared."
I am so grateful for human contact I can think only that she may go away and leave me as I am. Her fingers on my nipples re-awaken longing, my voice chokes in urgency. "Please untie me, I've been tied like this so long."
"You're being punished."
"Yes, I know. But I've had enough. I can't stand any more."
Her fingers are far too wise, so is her voice. "I bet you have, but what can you do about it! You're tied real good."
Vehemently I declare: "I'd sooner be whipped than have to stand here the rest of the night."
Her fingers pause. "O.K. then, ask me to whip you. If you ask real nice I'll whip you right away and get you untied."
"Please whip me, Billie-Jo."
"Gosh, you are cheesed off with this, aren't you!" While I stare stupidly, she produces handcuffs, snaps one on my left wrist, then frees the cords. "If you want to fight I'll hurt you." She warns cheerfully.
I do not fight, but I gasp painfully as my arm is dragged behind my back and raised to where Billie-Jo can snap the other cuff to my right wrist before she unties that too. When both my arms fall into position at my rear she tightens each cuff to make me helpless. "There, that looks after that." She says gaily as she grasps my tether, "Come along, sweetheart."
"But you haven't whipped me!"
She chuckles at my absurd exclamation. "You're so silly. Can't you see, I don't even have a whip. You make a real honey to tease." She pulls on my leash, meekly I follow.
We are very silent as we tip-toe to where Sabrina's nudity is discernable beneath the covers in the huge bed. A firm young hand in my hair compels me to the floor beside the bedpost, from which extrudes a very short chain and a very large padlock. Billie-Jo takes away my rope leash and replaces it with the padlock, my head is forced down lower, there is a daunting click. When I strive to rise, I cannot. I am chained to the base of Sabrina's bed by no more than eighteen inches of links, the padlock is heavy on my neck.
"You've been naughty, so you sleep on the floor." Billie-Jo's whisper is close to a giggle in my ear. "If you make a noise or a fuss you'll be whipped. I'll give you one blanket--" I watch in flaming jealousy as Billie-Jo strips and slips into the big bed with Sabrina. But I dare not make a sound. Handcuffed and collared, I won't be comfortable. But this is a thousand times better than my two saplings. I twist sensuously on the rug beneath my blanket and go to sleep.
Morning brings surprises. The principle one is this incredible girl shape into which I am strapped. It is a work of art and must have cost a fortune. It is of moulded black plastic in the hollow shape of the front half of a girl. There are circles for each of my breasts and, in some positions, I can look down and admire their ripe fullness resulting from constriction and the straps. There is also a blank space for a girl's sex. The plastic shape has no sex down there, but I do! It is well revealed. I have been told there are attachments... ! This gleaming, polished simile of a nude girl reaches from beneath my chin down to my ankles. My nakedness has been inserted into the voluptuous curves, tucked, pushed, pressed and strapped. There is a strap round the back of my neck, another round my waist, and one for each of my ankles. All have been buckled very tight, I cannot move. My wrists are strapped to the frame on either side.
"It's so amusing, darling. You see this lever...?"
I hate the lever. When Sabrina pushes it in one direction it turns me upside down. Another push and I am upright. One more and this blasted thing jackknifes in the middle to make my bottom stick out so outrageously she can reach out and tickle my pussy as it sticks out indecently behind.
"I did promise you a whipping, Daphne."
"Yes, Mistress."
"And I didn't leave you out in the Park all night the way I should have done -and Billie-Jo tells me you said you preferred to be whipped?"
"Thank you, Mistress."
"What do you think of my 'Lady-flipper,' it's so versatile?"
"I'm scared to death, Sabrina."
"And so you should be! 'Lady-flipper' is so flattering to a girl, it can feature her bottom, her back, her breasts and her pussy. But don't worry, dear, you won't get them all today. And I'll use this lovely whip. See, I'll place it here where you can look at it while you're waiting. You do have to wait, y'know, I want a thoroughly repentant maiden. Bye, bye-" I am repentant now. I would do anything to evade being whipped. I look at the beastly snake-thing waiting to slice my back. But the straps mock me, I cannot move. Sabrina is going to whip me and there's not a thing I can do to stop it happening. Outrageously, the carnal heat spreads from my loins. I am not a 'tied up girl' I am a 'Strapped up girl,' but what's the difference!
In the bath we did not mention Billie-Jo. Sabrina saw the jealous reproach in my eyes and laughed it away. "Just part of your punishment, darling, I told you there were more things than getting your pretty bottom whipped."
"Yes, like being tied to two trees--"
"You loved every moment."
"Well, I did the first hour or two. But, Mistress, you're going to whip me now I just know you are?"
"I did promise you one before you took your walk in the Park, dear, or don't you remember?"
"I remember. I'm sorry. I'll try and not sulk."
"You'd better! Sulking gets you extra."
I do not want to talk about getting whipped, it is bad enough knowing it will happen. Quite suddenly, there pops into my mind a question I can never forget for very long. I give it voice: "Sabrina... What happens to me... after years...?"
"Solemn thought, darling." She frictions my mound with her toes. "You have the most wonderful pubic thatch-"
"Yes, but-"
"Don't interrupt, darling. If you want a brutal answer, I'd say you'll be my prisoner for another ten to fifteen years. When you approach forty I might let you go."
I suspect a twinkle in her eye, but the brutal frankness of what she has said carries conviction. It is so damn practical and plausible. I honestly don't believe I can escape, she's got me! The years stretch out, but with a happier vista than they did in Stubbinsburg Jail. Even strapped into this plastic mould the way I am, I'm happier about being whipped by Sabrina than I ever would be with Bill Coro. But, just the same... ! I look at that damn whip she's left for me to admire, and I shiver.
The waiting time for my penance is maybe an hour.
Sabrina kisses me warmly. "Enjoy the wait, Daphne?"
"No, it's been awful. I'll be glad when it's over."
"The wait's over, dear." She pats my bottom. "Your time has come." Her laughter is totally carefree. "What d'you say we start on your bottom, such a sweet round little bottom, it seems most appropriate?"
"If you say so, Mistress."
"A nice springy riding crop, darling, the whip's for higher up."
"But, Sabrina, must I get it both places? Wouldn't one or the other be enough?"
"You're quibbling, dear. That's naughty! You must never quibble with the woman who owns you."
"I'm sorry... Oh, gosh!" Dismayed, I watch the approach of pain.
"I expect you've worn clips on your nipples before, Daphne dear. I simply adore them--on you, of course! This pair really bite."
"S --A --B --R --I --N --A --... P-L-E-A-S-E-... ! Please don't put those on me, not when I'm going to be whipped as well." My plea is a wail of anguish.
"You are being taught a lesson, dear. You know that as well as I do." Sabrina sounds severe. "Now, accept the little darlings gratefully and tell me a nice 'thank you' when they're on."
I can't move. My breasts are positively asking for what they are about to receive, they pop out from the plastic shamelessly. When I look down at my nipples I perceive them flint hard and about twice the size they should be: I can almost say to myself it serves them right.
"I like to clip them on so they stick out perkily. That is the way you want them, dear?"
"I--I suppose so, Mistress."
"Do try and show a bit of enthusiasm, sweetheart. I'm going to a lot of trouble to make sure I get them on most painfully. Isn't it lovely that you can't move."
The visual effect is lovely, the pain is not. I gasp twice but dare not scream. My breasts flame with fire. It takes a deep breath and all my fortitude to sweetly say: "Thank you for the clips, Sabrina."
"You're most welcome, dear. We'll now move on to your bottom--or have you any other imprudent remarks...?"
"No--Gosh gosh, no!"
"I'm sure we can both think of a place for two more clips?"
"I'll behave, Sabrina Oh, dammit, I will try. Jeepers, these hurt something awful, I don't want two more down there."
I am suddenly jackknifed. I am looking at the floor. My bottom, if it had eyes, would be looking up at the ceiling. Sabrina tickles my pussy. "My, my, a saucy thatch! It may be sorry!"
It is sorry with the first cut of the crop, so am I! I yelp and jerk in my first spasm of agony. I will never get used to being whipped, I just know I won't. Sabrina's tone is dulcet.
"Did you feel that one a bit?"
"It's awful! Please, Sabrina, I can't stand it."
"Now five real fast, darling, it's like the first plunge in the pool--" I scream like crazy. The five strokes on my bare flesh ignite a flaming inferno which roars in an increasing crescendo with each blow. The plastic torso and its straps mock my struggles. I might bear this awfulness if only my derriere was not bent so cruelly, its skin so taut. The crop impacts on my female curves with a sound I cannot describe. It is a sound to tie knots in my tummy.
"Love and pain, Daphne--" I am levered upright. I am wonderfully and beautifully kissed, and kiss back hungrily. A wicked hand reaches down to cup my lips so swollen from the crop. I gasp and pant in a pain I cannot tell from pleasure. If only she would keep me thus forever!
"The poor dear thing has to have six more, Daphne dear. How d'you want 'em, fast or slow?"
"Oh, slow, P--L E A S E...!"
It is a thoughtless choice I regret. I am sure each slash is harder, each pause between more fraught with suspense. But I asked for them slow, and six slowly delivered cuts with the crop is what I get the spaces between are good for catching my breath and screaming. Oh damn, how did I ever get myself into this!
"Daphne, you're so beautifully responsive, a perfect female subject for the whip." My owner's voice is warm with pleasure. "I can't ever imagine setting you free or selling you."
I can't imagine it either! My bottom burns, I can't move, the clips on my nipples mock me with their assurance of continuing pain. I will never sit at my desk again or change a ribbon on the I.B.M. Dully, I wonder if Carrie and Jason will search. But, if they can find me then so could Bill, and I don't want that! My future is Sabrina. Maybe I'm lucky... ! But, gosh, I hurt! Demurely, I venture: "Thank you for caning my bottom like that, Sabrina."
"I loved every stroke, darling."
"Would I be punished if I asked you to take the clips off my nipples?"
She laughs delightedly at my outrageous hint. "Yes, Daph', you'd be punished. Besides, you've still got to be properly whipped, your bottom's just enjoyed the hors d'oeuvre."
I try to squirm within my plastic feminine shell, but it holds me strapped in lesbian love. I am replete and repentant with pain and want no more. I long to plead, but my clipped nipples warn me against the risk, I could easily acquire two more on the lips of my pussy. I whisper only: "Oh, Sabrina, I'm scared."
"And so you should be, darling, I'm going to stripe that lovely back with the most beautiful etchings."
The plastic mould snaps erect, and me with it. My arms and wrists are strapped in front to give the lash full access to my back. I grit my teeth and utter a small involuntary moan of despair. I am innocent but am about to be flogged. Whatever my reactions to the strokes may be, Sabrina will enjoy them. She will enjoy Me, I am a pretty pleasure slave for her delight. She will show me no mercy, perhaps I don't deserve any... !
It is always the same, the pain dissolves my courage. I manage not to plead as my back is cut and bitten by the thong, but my screams are urgent to evoke pity. If they touch Sabrina's heart I will never know. The impacts on my skin never lessen. She has a strong right arm. The straps binding me into the female shell have the decency to creak under my surges of agony, it is my only victory.
"Feeling penitent and docile, darling?"
The whip pauses long enough for me to gasp and blurt: "Oh, yes! Oh, Sabrina... Mistress... P--L E A S E... I'll do anything!" Even as I say it the words sound trite. The whip scorns them and stripes my back again.
We do not count strokes, she will stop marking me when it pleases her. Why not, she owns me! I do not wonder why I do not hate Sabrina: I know! After I have paid my dues within these straps we will make love. She holds me doubly captive.
Sabrina is unpredictable. When she stops whipping me she goes away. She says no word but leaves me sobbing and making shameful sounds. She also leaves the whip where it fills my horizon and tells me she will return to use it on me again. But, when she comes, she holds two more clips and I moan anew.
"I can't resist you, darling, you're made for pain and anyway, they're so damn cute."
My legs are not spread, but she burrows into the softness of my un-whipped thighs to bare my pussy and its cringing lips. With care, and an intent absorption, she positions the first of the tiny horrors and allows its open jaws to close upon me flesh. I squeal in shock.
"N-OOOOH... ! Oh... O H-H-H-H H... ! Oh, Mistress, not T H E R E... O W-W-W-W, Ouch!"
"Why, darling, is it that good! I'd no idea--" Sabrina's fingers busy themselves once more. My opposite labia is positioned for the small hungry jaws. When they close I go as crazy as the straps allow.
"It's a really cute effect, darling. I wish you could see."
"Take them off! Oh please, Sabrina, take them off, off, off!"
"How delightful! We must use them on you again." Her tone becomes quizzical: "Have you a suggestion?"
"Yes! Take them off and whip me some more instead!"
"Darling, how delicious! I won't do it, of course, but that you should wish me to... ! It's an immense tribute to the clips, y'know."
"I can't stand it! O--H--H-H--H... ! Oh please, not in both places?"
"Wellllll... Just supposing I relieved you of a pair, which would you like to part with first?"
She is teasing but I fall for it. "My nipples, my nipples...!"
Sabrina flicks the clips on my breasts. "Darling... these!"
Her playful finger is still flicking them when I pass out.
CHAPTER THREE - CARRIE
It is typical of Bill Coro that he barge in of an evening when I am half suspended, and entirely naked, in the centre of our living room. I have forced myself into a sort of "Captive's trance" and Jason is enjoying my female attributes while he spares an occasional glance at the T.V. It is a quiet evening at home.
I wish Jason didn't treat Bill as an old Buddy, but he lets him in and doesn't bother to cover me up. Bill speaks to him but looks at me.
"That damn Jollie's let Daphne loose, they've both disappeared." He glares at us both. "What d'you know about it?"
"Nothing."
I improve on Jason's single word. "Serves you right, Bill, the way you treat a girl."
He sneers at my taut nudity. "Would you say Jason's treating you kindly right now?"
I blush and snap back: "Never mind us. Go hire yourself a chippie."
"Look, Bill, search the place." Jason says wearily. "Daph' isn't here. The thing is: where is she!"
Bill can't take his eyes off me, I have no doubt I look enticing. But, as usual, he has punishment in mind. "D'you let her talk like this, Jason? Look at her, tied up by the wrists, and impudent as all get out. She needs a thrashing."
"It's the way I like her. For Pete's sake, man, stop looking at her cunt you've seen it before!"
My cunt must indeed be potent. Bill has forgotten his mission. He breathes heavily as he surveys us both. He nods in my direction. "I want this girl. Look, Jason, I've forgotten what I offered you before, but I'll double it. I won't rest until I get her."
"Forget it, Bill! Now, about Daphne: you must have a clue?"
They natter but I do not hear. Bill Coro's offer for me is now half a million dollars. He has the money, so I have to take him seriously. With that kind of wealth striving to enslave me I've got a problem. Jason may be loyal, but it's so damn easy to kidnap girls... Some evening when I'm not alert--! He can use his money for bribes. Damn the silly idiot, I can't possibly be that exciting! Or can I--I am back on Bill's wavelength.
"I'm bound to get Carrie one way or another, Jason-be reasonable--"
He goes, muttering. But our mood is spoiled. It is not long before Jason frees me and we sit together with a drink. I look at the T.V. but see and hear nothing. All I can think of is half a million dollars and the chloroform pad pressed against my face--it's so easy. I have become the most costly kind of merchandise.
It happens quite soon, but not the way I thought.
Jason allows me very few friends, all female. When I visit a distant address across town he lets me drive the car. I am within a few blocks of Dorothy Houghton's place when the police car flags me down. It is a quiet street, so I pull in to the curb and fumble for my papers.
That was the end of normalcy, what began at that moment progressed into pure nightmare and beyond. A uniform, a gun pointed squarely between my breasts, a hard face and a hard voice.
"Out of the car, lady. Keep your hands in sight. Take position."
I've never been arrested, this is T.V. melodrama in which nothing happens by my own volition. By some weird magic my hands are against our car and my legs are straddled while trained hands probe every crevice of my person while other hands possess my keys and open the trunk.
"Yeah, she's here, Sam."
She is indeed! A frightened fifteen year old girl peers up at us above the gag which keeps her silent. She is most competently hogtied into a neat bundle, she cannot move. When the wad and the bandage are taken from her mouth she bursts into accusation: "It was her, that woman there, she done it!"
The T.V. script continues. While I stand, speechless in horror, my arms are gathered at my back and my wrists feel the familiar steel, the clicking of the handcuffs as they make me captive to the Law has the sound of doom. I am now inserted, hind end first, into the back seat of the blue & white, where I sit in helpless indignity to be peered at while the girl, for whom I feel an intense loathing, is tenderly lifted from our trunk, untied, and generally made a fuss of. She points frequently in my direction and scowls. The boys in blue listen patiently, she is quite pretty, and usher her into a second vehicle just arrived. When my arresting officer and his mate join me and start the motor, he sums up my situation with terse precision: "Looks like you're for it, lady."
I weep as silently as I can, and watch Jason's car as it precedes us down the street.
I don't know how to tell about the rest. None of it was possible in relation to myself but it happened anyway. It happened over many days and terminated when I was popped into a cell in a prison to stay there a long, long time. No one liked me, no one came to my rescue, Jason had vanished. I refused to appeal to Bill Coro. I spent my days and nights in a strange mixture of tears and tumescence.
From the first, I had to fight back a hysterical urge to giggle whenever I was handcuffed or locked behind bars. If the officers and the matrons and the rest of them only knew... ! For a girl who had sought bondage all her life I was getting it full measure. They dressed me in a neat little prison tunic and kept me restrained or contained as though I was valuable merchandise. In an effort to cut my losses I got what thrills I could from the manhandling and the woman-handling and the cuffs and bars. Except for my time in Court and the gloomy sessions with the grave faced men in the austere room, I was constantly aware of captivity. I was a pretty bird caged.
As a person I was not admired. The lies that little bitch told about me made sure of that. But, as a female prisoner, I was admired a great deal. My breasts got a lot of male attention and my pussy was well scrubbed by the matron when she gave me the initiation bath. But there was never a wrong word or a hand in the wrong place. The premises were much pleasanter than Stubbinsburg Jail, implacable but bright and clean, rather like a hospital. My handcuffs were always removed when I was put in a cell so I could do the few things allowed, and I could hold on to the bars and peer through them to my heart's content.
The disposal of my delinquent person, now distinctly criminal, was handled with dispatch. The Law had a good look at me and consigned me to where I now am: The Rainsville Security Institution for Women. It sounds innocuous but isn't. A girl in Rainsville knows she's a prisoner for sure, and for a helluva' long time.
Being the way I am, I can divide my arrest and subsequent adversities into two categories: The dreary and the frightening on one side and the erotically exciting on the Other. The latter has etched on my mind a series of cameos, beginning with my frantic, but cautious, efforts to slip my hands out of the handcuffs as I sat in the back seat of the car after my arrest: I was a trapped wild thing that wanted out. It did me no good, of course, and I was ignominiously led into the Station to be booked, a chained captive and a bad, bad girl, probably dangerous.
I liked the way they turned me around when I was to be handcuffed or when the cuffs were to be unlocked. They could have gone to my back, but no, my back must be turned for their convenience, and it was. In the course of being taken back and forth I got so I knew when to turn, so I did it for them and wiggled my hands, invitingly, for their attention. I baffled them. They knew there was something odd about me but couldn't place their finger on it.
Locked in a cell, I could never resist the business of holding the bars and looking out. For most, it would be a profitless exercise, faintly pathetic, but not for me! I remembered all those pictures of forlorn maidens looking longingly at lost freedoms through their grids of iron and latticeworks of steel. Now, I was one of them! I suppose I was ridiculous, but I'd stand against those bars for hours, dreaming... and with a damp puss.
My transportation to Rainsville Prison was a gala Day. I am sure some of my excitation showed and must have puzzled those who dealt with me. In the other context it's a sad day for any girl, but when they fitted the chain round my waist I knew it was something special. I positively trembled as my left wrist was cuffed, and then the other cuff passed through the big ring over my navel before it was clicked tight round my right wrist, held sternly in position by The Law. It was simple and ingenious, not a bit what you'd expect from authority: it also made me helpless. In the back seat of the car was a cuff for one of my ankles. They snapped it on me apologetically, explaining how some girls might do themselves an injury. I got the most erotic ride of my life and wished, longingly, that Jason could see.
From the moment I'd beheld that damn girl in the trunk I'd sensed something wrong, something way, way out. Here at Rainsville that atmosphere intensifies, it is as though those who keep me captive are watching and waiting for something to happen. They've all had their look at the naughty, naughty Kidnapper: The Warden, the Doctor, the Psychiatrist, the Matron: all intrigued by a 'nice girl like me' kidnapping an innocent child for purposes at which they darkly hint. The whipmarks on my skin give them a delicious leverage for speculation. My weals are faded but still visible and I refuse to explain them. How the hell can a girl like me explain why she's been whipped! I long for Jason but he does not come.
I think the erotic part of me annoys them, it shows as though I'm being insolent to their authority. They all take pains to explain that Rainsville may be modern but I must understand it possesses, in some dark depth below, the means to make delinquent damsels toe the line. The wardress who shoves me in and out of my cell put it most succinctly: "You gives us trouble, gal', we whips your little ass." After she has locked me in and gone away I was consumed by lust.
Prison is limbo, I don't exist except to Me. In my cell I am vividly aware of my body, I am a girl-thing caged and held and alone. There is no one to talk to or touch, so I talk within my mind and touch myself with hopeful fingers as though seeking an erogenous zone previously undiscovered. But I ration my masturbations, they seem such a waste. What I want is Jason! I dream of Jason owning this cell with me inside-Mmmmmmm... !
A girl in Rainsville isn't allowed visitors her first month. But I get one after two weeks. Premonition defeats shock when I see Bill Coro beaming at me through the wire mesh. I take my seat across the divided counter and try to kill his grin.
"Sorry, Bill, no dice."
He wilts only slightly, and demands: "You mean, you like it in this place? Good gosh, Carrie-!"
"It's better than that place you imprison girls in-and they haven't whipped me yet."
"That can be arranged." His voice is full of hurt. "Dammit, Carrie, why can't you be reasonable, I'm in love with you."
"No you're not, Bill, you just want a pretty girl's body to be mean with."
We glare at each other in hostility. I find myself wishing I'd been more tactful. I am a girl very much in prison: Bill Coro is very rich and very free. Heavily, he drops his bomb. "I can get you out of here, Carrie?"
A question is implicit in his statement. I evade it by denial: "Nobody can get me out, Bill, I'm here for years and years, unless that damn girl -?"
"That's right, Carrie, she's the key I can turn."
I am suddenly frightened. I am a prisoned prey with the hunter leering through the bars, a hunter with a key! Desperately, I plead: "Tell Jason... Please! Make him come and see me?" Feebly, I temporize, "Maybe we can work something out."
The hunter waves Jason into oblivion, his words are slow with purpose: "You haven't been here long, Carrie. Maybe it doesn't seem all that bad, but it can get worse, a helluva' lot worse."
"That's a threat, isn't it."
He shrugs resignedly. "I suppose so. But you should understand I don't enjoy making it. I make it because I want you to come to me willingly. I want you to ask me to get you out of here and to promise to be my girl--forget Jason."
"D'you think my promise would be any good?"
"Yes, I'd accept it." He gives me his best Bassett Hound look. "I'd make it decent for you in Stubbinsburg--?"
"Bill, you actually expect a girl to exchange this place for that moldy dismal Jailhouse of yours--?"
"Alright then, I'll sell it. I'll keep you somewhere else. I'll let you pick the place?"
"But I'll be a prisoner for life and you'll whip me regularly and keep me chained."
"Well, you're Jason's prisoner, aren't you! You like what he does he's whipped you-!"
"You know how it is with Jason and Me. Oh, Bill, it's no use trying to compare--"
"You don't like me, eh? That's your trouble?"
"It isn't you, Bill, it's what you do to girls, what you want to do to me. I don't think I can stand all that pain."
"Oh, c'mon now, I'm not that bad!"
"You covered Daphne and me in whipmarks Where is Daphne?"
"How should I know!" He glowers. "I'd like to see her in there with you." His voice softens. "Look, I want you. It's a fact of life you have to live with. So, O.K., I'll give you time. You won't enjoy the time, but you can always end it by mentioning my name. O.K.?"
"No, it's not O.K. Bill... please! Bill...?" My voice turns to panic. "B--ILL...!"
But Bill Coro has gone. The steel mesh mocks.
If my wardress has a Christian name, her prisoners do not know it. I call her Harris. If I wish to be placating or humble I can make it 'Miss Harris.' She must be treated with respect. Her manner is acidly informal.
"You and me's going downstairs, kid."
I have had to wait only overnight for Bill Coro's influence to reach out and touch me. But I ask, innocently: "What is there downstairs, Miss Harris?"
"As if you didn't know!" She combines a sneer and a wink. "It's where we take our naughty girls."
"But what have I done!"
"You know that better'n I do, kiddo. You've made someone real mad. Come along--or d'you aim to give trouble?"
I say, no I won't give any trouble, and I allow my arm to be grasped. Downstairs is about what you'd expect, everything about it is implicit to the punishment of girls. Whatever sunshine falls on Rainsville above does not penetrate this far below. Here is a place of tiny heavily barred cells and several bare stark rooms containing only ugliness. The hand guides me into one of them.
"Get your clothes off. Miss Carstairs."
I'd expected it, but it's still a hell of a shock. I don't know if they'll do anything to me here any worse than Bill would in his private jail, but I'm quite sure I won't like it, there'll be no comforting heat between my legs, and I'll never know what else Harris may have waiting. Dazed, I exclaim: "You mean, naked, you want me naked?"
Her use of my surname is jeeringly satirical, it emphasises my lowly condition: "Don't tell me no one's seen you naked, Miss Carstairs?"
"Well... no - "
"Then strip! Get everything off. Gal's don't need clothes down here, and the heat's on, you won't get pneumonia." How different this is from Jason! From him I'd already be wet and trembling with eagerness. It would even be different with Bill! But from Harris! Everything about Harris makes me cringe. Obediently, I remove the sparse prison garb and drop it in a bag she holds ready as though I will never need clothes again.
"Good!" She pulls the drawstring tight and puts the bag out in the passage. "You see that thing there?"
I have been looking at 'That Thing' ever since I entered the dismal room. It is a whipping post, its intent screams aloud. Abandoning pretence, I unhappily ask: "Are you going to whip me, Miss Harris?"
"Right on the bit, aren't you! Go and arrange yourself, you can figure it out."
It is not hard to figure. A timber upright, horizontally across its top a shorter span, at each end of which is the chrome bracelet of a handcuff attached to the hardwood by a single link. I press my nudity against the post and insert my wrists within the open jaws. My heart thuds painfully and I'm scared.
"It's a useful facility." Harris says as she cuffs my wrists tighter than she need. "A girl can be turned either way." The picture she evokes is devastating. To be fastened like this, but facing her! My breasts prominent... my sex... ! Facing either way, I'm helpless, totally helpless! She can always tie my feet if she wants to. Tremulously, I venture: "But it can't possibly be legal to do these things to a girl these days?"
"Who said it was, Miss Carstairs!"
"But this whole place?"
"The little cells are for solitary. They came with the building. These other things have been... added."
"For girls like me, who've been framed!"
"Sure, for you! And any who make a nuisance of themselves upstairs."
I am naked and delivered to a sort of torture. Harris's matter-of-fact explanations are frightening. No pity, no hope, no second chance -! I stop right there. For me there is an alternative. I can speak a name! I am not going to speak that name, but suppose I am tortured until I do! I voice the thought: "You're going to torture me, aren't you, Miss Harris?"
"A whip isn't torture, girl, you'll just scream a bit. No one can hear."
It is closing in on me. I have become a subject from whom a confession must be extracted by pain. I shiver, but not from cold, I test the cuffs and hurt my wrists, through my mind runs a fearful knowledge: I cannot win... I cannot win... !
"Any preference about whips, Miss Carstairs?"
I look back over my bare shoulder. Harris has selected a wicked black thing that is, I suppose, as good as any--or as bad! In panic at the sight of it, I blurt out: "But please, Miss Harris, isn't there anything I can do or say--I don't want to be whipped?" "Guess you know the answer to that one too, kid. Looks to me like you're going to get that pretty back marked up again."
I know the answer! I turn back and thrust myself against the post. Harris whips me methodically and viciously. Soon my wrists are bleeding within their metal bond. I scream all I can. Screaming helps.
Harris has left me fastened to this post quite some time. The sweat of pain in which she left me has long since dried. My back smarts, my wrists are sore, I am terribly tired but I have to stand against this wooden horror with my arms outspread as though I'm greeting the sun, or some such fanciful notion.
I cry a little and view my prospects, they are bleak. I have no future other than as I now am. If it is not the whip it will be something else. I long for Jason, he is my only hope. But Jason has vanished from my life! Bill Coro has devised something, I am sure he has, some rotten lie to take him away. So now I must make a decision, a decision based on a guess as to how much punishment Rainsville dare inflict on an inmate like me. Will it be more or less than what I can expect if Bill takes me back! I do not know the answer. I can suffer and suffer in the hope they will give me up in disgust and tell Bill where to go and put me back behind bars. It is a dismal appraisal of my state that any of their cells appear as a haven of refuge. I look up my bare arms to where the small metal circlets hold my hands safely imprisoned. There is no hope none! I can never escape! Hell, I could never escape from anybody.
"A drink of water, Miss Carstairs. And you'd better pee before we go on to the next." Harris is nothing if not practical. She unlocks the cuffs and hands me the glass.
"Don't try anything, Carrie, I could tie you in knots." Listlessly, I do what I must. I am tired and hurt and have no will to fight. But I have no will to suffer either, I am without conviction. Apathetically I will do whatever Harris wants. Perhaps somewhere deep inside she can feel pity. "You ride a horse, Miss Carstairs."
I know instantly what she means, but say a sulky "No."
"You're going to now. We got one waiting."
She takes me to the next room, and there it is! Two high trestles and a bar between. "You're going to make me sit astride." I tell her bitterly. "I've read about it. Please, please, don't do that to me."
It is as though I have not spoken. Harris crosses my wrists behind my back and ties them with thin rope. She loops each of my ankles, the ropes trailing. "Up on that box, Carrie, a leg on each side of the bar. Face this way."
I do not move. It is as though I cannot move. Fear roots me where I am. I know little of this beastly thing she wants to do to me but, instinctively, I know it will be terrible.
"I can easily summon help, Miss Carstairs. If I were you, I'd just be a good girl. It hurts less in the long run."
Her dispassionate logic is insidious. I mount the box and place myself astride. The bar is hard against my puss between my thighs. From above, a rope is hooked to my wrists and they are raised enough to make me lean forward. "You can use this to keep from falling while I attend to your legs." Harris says helpfully. "Hold on."
My ankle ropes are taken out to rings far away in the floor. Harris has to move swiftly in this anchoring of my feet. For a few moments I am scarily unstable. But then, in two heaving tensionings, my legs are drawn out tautly to either side and sit astride the bar without support. The pain takes away my breath as she tugs in the final adjustments which keep me from falling to either side, but also add a hard downward pull to anchor me fast and add its own compulsion to the weight of my body on my crotch.
Fighting down hysteria, I gasp: "I can't handle this, I just can't! It's too awful!"
"All the girls say that, Miss Carstairs."
"But I've tried--I do want to obey you--" I gasp frantically, "But it's too much... no girl could--"
"But they do, Miss Carstairs, believe me they do. And so will you." She consults her watch. "We got a good early start, so I can let you have a good few hours on this one."
"I'll faint. It will kill me!"
"No it-won't. But should you faint, it doesn't matter. You can't fall off. Oh... and I'll just tension your arms a bit more. That rope on your wrists is most important, it makes you sit on the most painful spot. You'll find you won't be able to move."
I plead and wail while the final touches are added to my torment. Even in the first minute while Harris does her worst I know I have no fortitude with which to cope with this atrocity. When she nods brightly and leaves me to my fate I call after her in panic not to go, not to leave me like this: "Harris, Harris... Oh please. Miss Harris!" But it is to no avail. I am alone.
The pain between my legs gets steadily worse. I cannot imagine that no injury will ensue. I cannot struggle, I cannot easy myself. My tractioned arms defeat me in everything. They keep me exquisitely poised upon my cunt. As an added bonus they wrack my shoulders. It is not long before I am glistening with sweat. I moan steadily.
Harris will leave me here for hours, hours and hours, five at least. We have all day. As agony spreads from my crotch I realise Bill Coro never hurt me like this... nor Daphne! Soon I start to scream. A girl screaming in an empty room is frightening even to herself, but I do not stop until my throat hurts and my strength fails: I think I fainted several times during the afternoon. I existed only in a maze of pain during which one single determination replaced all others. When, somewhere towards evening, Harris came back to me I wasted no time. My voice was almost gone but I managed to whisper: "Please ask for Mr. Coro... Mister Coro... for Bill-"
* * *
Once more we gaze at each other through the steel mesh. Bill beams. I know only a dull ache of misery to match the distress between my legs. His voice is almost human.
"I'm so glad you've decided, Carrie."
"When can I get out of here?" It is all I can think of. Bleakly, I add, "Please stop them doing any more... things to me."
"Of course, of course!" He becomes paternal. "But you are terribly difficult-"
"I won't be difficult any more."
"Wonderful!" He is the hearty old buddy. "Now, the papers to reverse everything are going to take a few days. I'm afraid you'll have to stay here "
"Will they torture me?"
"No, you won't be... punished. But, first, you and I do have to come to an understanding?"
"We understand each other now. I'll do anything you want."
"You sound so bitter, Carrie." He is eyeing me dubiously. "Are you quite sure you're ready?"
Thoughts of going 'downstairs' again with Harris panic me. I become the humble supplicant. "I'm sorry, Bill. But I was tortured all day yesterday and I'm still hurting. Please forgive me."
Humility is the key, Bill's beam returns. "That's a better tone, honey. But I wish you'd stop talking about torture."
"In the morning I was whipped. In the afternoon I was tied, naked, straddling a bar for five hours."
He has the grace to turn pink. "I won't do that to you, Carrie." He visibly battles embarrassment. "But I would like you to call me 'Master'?"
"Very well, Master, I will."
"Gosh, they must have hurt you!" He peers at me with fresh interest. "And I was thinking... about obedience, and things like that?"
"I'll be humble and obedient, Master. I promise. I'll let you tie and chain me without complaining." For good measure, I add: "And whip me. I expect you'll want to whip me."
"Well, yes, I suppose so. But I won't be cruel." His voice is warm in admiration. "Gee-whiz, honey, you really have improved!"
"There's no mystery about Me, Master. Yesterday they went to work and broke me, that's all. I'll do anything rather than be taken downstairs again."
"Carrie, I promise, I'll get you out of here just as fast as it's possible. I don't want you in here."
"Thank you, Bill-Master!"
"Bill will do for now, sweetheart."
His step is jaunty as he strides back to freedom. Mine drag as I turn back to prison. Harris is caustic as ever.
"Made a deal, eh!" She chuckles. "I'll let you in on a secret, Miss Carstairs. Most gal's don't last out the first day." She inserts me into my cell and locks me in. "Look, gal', you're in for a worrying wait. If you get bored, I don't mind taking you downstairs again?"
"But why -?" Panic grips me again. "Bill promised?"
"Hell, you like it, don't you! I don't mean rough as yesterday, but enough to keep you hot?"
"I never want to go downstairs again."
"You're going to get awful bored in this coop, girl."
"So alright, I'll be bored."
Harris nods complacently and leaves me behind my bars. I make one more quick survey of my wound, but can find or feel no injury. It is incredible that such agony should leave no malformation, but my pussy is still there and still responsive. Harris has a good thing going in that 'horse.' No matter how a girl may complain, she can exhibit no incriminating evidence. I sit down cautiously.
My cell is a vacuum I share with anxiety. The days are endless and drive me to consider Harris's offer of mild punishments as a relief. But the eighth day brings the uniformed officers, the handcuffs, and the small bag containing my clothes. My hands are locked behind my back and I am once again inserted into a back seat. It is not what I expected.
Bill Coro awaits us on a dirt track twenty miles up the road. I am extracted from the blue & white and handed over to him with quaint formality. He looks at me hungrily, the officers say a sheepish good-bye. In a ridiculous concern, I call after them: "I'm still handcuffed. Don't you need them--they're yours?"
They touch their hats and grin. "It's O.K., Miss, they're paid for." They drive away.
I turn to my new Master and say, with some sincerity: "Thank you for getting me out of that place, Bill- and I'll call you 'Master' from now on."
"You're welcome. You mean a lot to me, honey. I'm happy 'bout you coming to me like--well-the way you are."
"Handcuffed?"
"No, I didn't mean that. I suppose I mean you're not screaming and kicking."
"I made a deal, Master. I'll try and be what you want."
Bill is embarrassed with happiness. He preens, and mumbles: "I've always known you're wonderful-Oh, Carrie-!"
"Shouldn't you tie and gag me some way, Master? I mean, you are sort of transporting me?"
"Yes, of course, I was getting around to it. I'm wondering about the front seat with me, or in the trunk?"
"I've had both, Master." I manage a grin of reminiscence. "It's whatever you want, y'know."
"I'll tie your elbows while we're deciding, honey."
I am watching Bill rummage in the trunk of his car, sorting out rope, when the battered farm half-ton coasts to a silent stop. Its driver is a rustic type, well weathered. He assesses us with leering amusement. "You folks in trouble?" Bill is scarlet. I am sure he has never thought of this contretemps. But I have memories of a similar confrontation long ago with Jason: The confrontation is with myself. This stranger has seen the handcuffs on my wrists, because of them he will believe anything I say, but he will not believe a word from Bill. Here is freedom within my grasp! Bill's eyes upon me are wide with appeal. Like the dumb idiot I am, I respond brightly: "Everything's fine." Bill adds his piece with: "Sure, everything's O.K." Our farmer regards us severely. "The young lady's handcuffed. That don't look O.K. to me."
Surely, oh surely I can have some sense and use this happy chance to get myself out of bondage forever! But I am in the grip of something I can't control. I turn my back to the half ton and wiggle my chained hands. "Oh, these! Is this what you're worrying about?"
"Yeah, I'd think you'd be worrying too."
I give him my best smile and giggle. "It's sweet of you to worry, but please don't. The handcuffs are a thing we've got going, and we've mislaid the key. But we're on our way home and there's a spare in the house. Please... ! I'm alright."
He remains suspicious but intrigued. "This guy here, maam, is he a detective or something?"
I laugh gaily. "Who, Bill? Bill's my husband."
Matrimony is indeed holy! It makes my handcuffs respectable. All the better wives wear them. My farmer rescuer winks at us both and steps on the gas. Angry at my own intransigence, I watch freedom recede.
"I say, Carrie, that's damn big of you!"
"Yes, isn't it! I must be out of my mind. You'd best tie me tight and lock me in that trunk real quick."
"You gave me your word, and you kept it. Dammit, Carrie, I owe you on this one. I don't want you hogtied in the trunk, I want you up front with me."
"That's nice of you, Bill. But you'd better fix me good. I'm not sure I'll be so noble next time. You'd be safer with me under the lid."
But, for this moment, Bill sees me as a paragon of slave virtue. Apart from the impossible thought of granting me my freedom, he is anxious to be magnanimous. He ties my elbows with care and does not make them meet. He immobilizes me gently and with love, apologising for the wad of cloth he must use as my gag. I open my mouth for it obediently.
"I'll tape your lips, sweetheart. I've got some stuff that's absolutely clear, you can't see it a few feet away."
Bill is a happy child again. I feel like a Barbie doll. Under his direction, I arrange my lips whilst he studiously plasters them with the latest thing in silencers for naughty girls. From the look and feel of it I can well imagine no one will notice. I try to speak but can't. My Master arranges his trussed purchase to his satisfaction beside him on the seat and climbs behind the wheel. He grins at me reassuringly as he starts the motor. I am on my way to a slavery that could last my life. Even if I was not gagged, I wouldn't know whether to laugh, cry, or scream.
"We mast get rid of that tunic." Bill considers me gravely. "Actually, it's not all that bad: sort of the latest fashion for female prisoners. But you won't be wearing clothes from now on."
We are in the familiar living room above Stubbinsburg jail. Bill has untied me and I stand before him as submissively as I know how. "Would you like me to undress, Master?" I ask politely.
"Well, no. I thought we'd have a drink together and sort of get into a rapport. But, first... would you mind? I mean, I don't want you to undress yourself, I want to do it for you while you stand still?"
"Of course, Master. If you need any help, buttons or clips or things, just tell me."
Bill is not finding his heart's desire easy to take. I suspect I am too much too soon. Harris's torture changed me. I'm a bit shocked at Me myself. As he reaches for my prison tunic he is breathing as heavily as if he'd run a mile.
"Three buttons, Master, on my left shoulder."
"Thanks, Carrie. Ah, there they are!"
Goodness knows, I've been naked enough before this man, but now, with him doing my undressing, I'm squeamish. Fortunately he's blushing too, so mine doesn't matter. Bill grapples successfully with my bra', and my panties simply push down. I raise each foot, daintily, for him to take off my shoes. Since Rainsville did not run to stockings, I am now naked.
"Put 'em in the bag with your other things, Carrie. Then mix us the drinks."
I flit upon these errands while my Master's eyes positively burn my skin. I serve his drink kneeling, and remain upon my knees. I sip demurely and ask: "Shouldn't I be chained. Master?"
"Yes, you should. But that performance of yours impressed me, and don't think I'm not grateful!" Bill fixes me with a masterful eye. "Suppose I didn't chain you, suppose I left you as you are?"
"But you'd want to whip me, wouldn't you?"
"Not in the condition I'm considering, sweetheart. Suppose I did nothing worse to you than lock you in a cell or the cage?"
"What good would I be to you then, Master? You've never wanted to fuck me, it was always the chain and the whip."
"Suppose I've changed?"
"We never really change, Master. Bondage is a part of us. I'm grateful for what you're thinking about, but if you leave me around loose I'm going to be tempted... ! Please don't tempt me, Master. If I try to escape and you catch me you'll punish me terribly."
"Yes, I suppose I would." My Master sighs. "But it's a nice idea."
"We're both grateful to each other right now, Master. I don't think we're safe to make promises."
"Wise little girl, aren't you." Bill admires my nudity in silence, then concedes: "I've been looking at your back. That woman really slipped it to you good. Any use saying I'm sorry?"
"I wouldn't be here like this, and I wouldn't be calling you 'master' if it hadn't happened, that and the 'horse,' Master. Please let's not talk about it, I'm all confused. I should have been free right now but I'm not, and it's my own fault. Anyway, I'm your property, you can do what you like with me."
"Wow, that's a fine declaration! Like I said, you're really something. O.K. then, go get the handcuffs out of the drawer. Bring the black pair."
I am blithely obedient. So far so good! Bill hasn't changed as much as I have but he's a more bearable Bill than before. I prefer the lovely black bracelets on my knees and watch them locked carefully on my wrists. The old thrill is back. They look gorgeous, and hamper me scarcely at all as I mix fresh cocktails.
"You wear those things like they're a part of you, Carrie."
I actually laugh. "They probably are. If I had a child it would be born handcuffed. Seriously though, handcuffs in front don't stop a girl doing much."
"Can you see yourself escaping while handcuffed?"
"Why not! The worst thing they do to a naked girl is to stop her getting dressed. They'd be an embarrassment, that's all."
"Why are you being so damn frank, Carrie?"
"I expect it's the drinks, Master, they make me feel deliciously slavelike and anxious to please. If you really want to stop a girl escaping you'd best chain her feet, that foxes us for sure."
"Even then you can hobble."
"Well, if we could hobble to a car we could make a getaway. But just to hobble... ! Gosh, we'd be easy prey to an avenging Master."
We talk and talk. It is nice. It may not be nice tomorrow but it is today. Bill has not mentioned whipping me or hanging me by my wrists. I would like to think I'm promoted. But, of course, the time comes when he says: "I'll have to put you in the cage, Carrie."
"Of course, Master. Do you want to leave me handcuffed?"
"Sure, why not?"
"I thought you might want me in something heavier."
He is pleased with me, I can tell. But the jailhouse accepts me with its usual gloomy indifference. My nakedness does little for so much space, but the space and the bars are as daunting as ever for me. When I walk through the door of bars which Bill politely holds open and politely closes and locks behind me claustrophobia strikes me like a blow. I am a bird in a cage that is definitely NOT gilden. In a premonition of impending loneliness I turn back to the bars and plead, wistfully: "Please, Master, take me upstairs and fuck me?"
"No."
"Then fuck me here? I want you to."
Perhaps he understands. My need is not complex. But he shakes his head. "Don't ask that, honey. If I want to sometime, I will." He frowns, puzzled. "Why d'you use that four letter word. I'd never pick you as a four letter girl?"
"You're right, Master. I think maybe if you did it to me down here in the jail I'd call it fucking. If you took me upstairs to bed, even though you kept me chained, I'd think of it as making love."
My Master reaches through the bars and chucks me under the chin. "You're a temptress, sweetheart. Watch out it doesn't get you whipped."
I watch Bill Coro turn and leave a beautiful naked girl who has asked permission to sleep with him. Everything is normal, I am back to square one, even his mention of the whip. Morosely, I sit on the hard bench and play with my handcuffs, they are a beautifully expensive pair and look good on my wrists. Then I gaze around at all the bars, and long to weep or scream or throw hysterics. Most of all, I long for Jason, Daphne, or Jollie... and in that order. But I'm not going to get any one of them, am I! I'm not going to get anything except imprisonment. Oh, damn, damn, damn!
The passing days tell me I am a pet. Pets are kept in cages, or on a leash, or allowed a limited range. I get a bit of all three. It's ridiculous, but Bill Coro and I have a relationship that flits back and forth between slavegirl and Master, and husband and wife. He even took me to bed with him, and it wasn't all that bad. But it seems to spoil something for him as though it leaves me soiled. I can't tell if it's likely to happen again. But he often takes me with him in the car, well trussed of course, but not always gagged. I think he's a lonely man and likes to talk. But he fobs off my questions about Jason, and I got myself mildly whipped once for being too insistent. But before I got strung up for punishment I learned of the police returning Jason's car, and of Jason making a couple of raids on Stubbinsburg Jail to make sure it didn't contain any girls. On his last one, so Bill says, they had a bang up row and now are no longer friends. Bill claims Jason has searched all over but finally given me up as lost. I only believe half of it, but I'm not going to get myself constantly whipped because of nagging. I can see how a nagging female can get under a man's skin. Maybe whipping us isn't a bad idea, it shuts us up.
Bill used to be mostly brutal in his punishments, now he is quaint. His punishments reflect the affection he claims to feel for me. Right now, for instance, my hands are through the bars and handcuffed outside. I can't pull them back because of a bar between, but I can move them up and down at about waist level, though they do stop me sitting on the floor. This small penalty isn't that bad. I stand and look "through the bars a lot anyway, so what's it matter if I'm attached! Yesterday it was the same deal but with my feet. Sure, I could sit on the concrete but I like this better.
I am mostly taken upstairs for meals. I am never given clothes but am usually handcuffed. We make an oddly domestic pair, chatting across the table. At other times I am chained beside his chair and he feeds me. None of these things have any relation to my behavior. I am unquestioningly obedient so there is nothing to punish me for. I do not try to escape because escape is impossible. I am glad of this. I don't want to go back to severe punishments.
Mr. William Coro is in big business and must often leave me alone. He chains me in a cell or the cage and these times are the worst. I feel small and nude and helpless in this immensity of bars. If there was some real need for me to get out, like a fire maybe, I couldn't. Between the chains on my limbs and the lock on the door there's no way! I try and not think about it but I'm shamingly glad and grateful when Bill comes home. Even if he just leaves me the way I am it's good to know he's around. Like all pets, I'm terribly dependent on whoever owns me.. If money means anything I most certainly belong to Bill. He must have spent a fortune in bribes and lawyers to get me in and out of Rainsville.
I am allowed to kid him about getting some other girls to keep me company. He likes the idea. He assures me I would remain number one even though every cell and cage contained a nude damsel with palpitating puss and clanking chains. If only Bill truly realised how easy it is to kidnap a girl I think it would happen. Selfishly, I wish it would.
I also get after him about a wardress. He used to employ Jollie to attend his slavegirls, but now he looks after me himself. He likes it when I ask if his dignity isn't impaired by such menial chores as caning my bottom or locking a collar on my neck. He promises to 'look into it,' but that will be the day!
He's really mad at Jollie. I think he'd like to give her a rough time if he knew where she is. I can understand his pique: she let me loose and then ran away with Daphne. She was not a good and faithful servant. But she was kind to me. I hint, archly, that I wouldn't mind some extra punishments if it was a girl who gave them to me.
Chained, I think a lot, I have the time. I realise Bill and I are not the same as we were. The change may be superficial but it governs our behavior. I have chosen obedience and docility rather than an endless pain of punishments. Sure, say it! I'm broken. But all I've really done is adjust to captivity. Bill is different because I am now what he wants. He adores his demure slavegirl who calls him 'Master' and offers herself to be bound and chained. He is getting a tremendous sexual excitation out of my submission. But I cannot tell why he refuses to use me. That one time must have been an experiment for him, an experiment that failed to jell. So now he sublimates everything I am and do and say into his own brand of ecstasy. I wonder how long it will last.
The days and weeks pass and I remain a prisoner. Never once had Bill given me a chance to escape. I would be bored out of my mind if it was not for the stuff he buys for me. It's not the gifts a man usually buys for a girl, its chains and clamps and sundry odd devices by which I am constrained. Some of them are beautiful and must have cost a mint, he sure must be rich! For beautiful Carrie in Bill's jail there are no silks and satins, but there are exquisitely wrought fetters, shackles, handcuffs and chains. Some are daintily light, others are not! It is the latter kind which hold me now.
Today my lord and master is away on business and I am in the cage. Dead centre in the concrete floor there has always been a heavy ugly iron ring, to which I am now expensively attached by a great number of shining links from anklets and wristlets that might have been forged by U.S. Steel but finished off at Tiffany's. Their heavy strength is masked by a craftsman's skill. Separate chains run from each of my limbs. They are mockingly secured to the ring by equally implacable padlocks.
"A different key for each, Carrie my love. You're really foxed."
"I'm always foxed, Bill. Gosh, they're lovely! But you shouldn't spend all this money. Plain old iron would hold me just as well."
"You deserve beautiful things." His voice is tender. "I like the contrast between their weight and the workmanship. They're not too heavy for you, are they?"
Long ago I told him there wasn't any need to chain me at all since I couldn't get out of the damn cage anyway. But he didn't like it, and I understand why: pets have to wear whatever their master wants. Horses are haltered and dogs are collared, I've seen cats in a complete harness... ! So why would I be any different! Blithely, I reassure: "Oh, no, master. Just as long as there's not one on my neck."
Sheepishly, Bill produces the collar. "It finishes off the ensemble, sweetheart?"
It's so damn lovely I want to wear it. But with forty pounds of chain... ? "I'll have to carry the weight in my hands.." I tell him wanly. "Or else lay on the bench all day."
I am allowed to examine the lovely thing before it is locked round my throat. When it clicks shut, Bill decides to forgive me the chain. "The effect's there." He muses happily. "I like it. We'll forget the chain. The other four sets keep you secure."
"They'd keep an elephant secure But, thank you, Master, they're so lovely." I hand him the expected cliche, "I'll be sure and be here when you come home."
Bill kisses me. This only happens when he is pleased. I am told to 'walk around.' While I clank around the ring, he watches entranced. "Gives you the run of the cage, Carrie. Just for frustration's sake I'll leave the door unlocked." He kisses me again. "You're so damn beautiful--!"
"Thank you, master."
So here I am! And Bill was right. I keep looking at that open door, and I repeatedly clank towards it until my chains snub me short. I can't even reach out and touch! It is one of the dull days, I sit on the bench and play with the shining links and finger my collar while I wonder when my master will return. But when he does come he is busy and preoccupied. I get kissed and told I'll have to stay as I am. I am still fastened in my lovely chains when I fall asleep.
I am awakened by the breaking of glass. The sound is faint but has to do with Stubbinsburg jail. Nakedly, I sit up, but with care not to move my chains. There is menace in the sound in this depth of night and I look to the open door, this time wishing it safely locked. I have no wish to be raped by burglars or maraudering delinquents. When the silent shadow manifests itself the scream rises within my collared throat but is choked back by some female instinct warning me the ghost is no enemy but someone I know. Suddenly, I am irradiated by joy.
The ghost is Jason!
"Carrie, you are here! What the devil?"
We hug and kiss crazily. I weep, I snuggle, I hug. Our whispers are urgent. "C'mon, sweetheart, I want you out of here."
"But, Jason, I can't! I'm chained."
It is cruel, it is frustrating, it is anti climax. In fiction the hero breaks the fetters with his bare hands but this is not fiction. A bulldozer might tear one loose, nothing less. Jason fingers them savagely while my heart thumps.
"Any idea where the key is, Carrie?"
"Bill has them. It takes a whole ring full to unlock me. Oh, Jason... I expect he's asleep upstairs."
"He keep you like this all the time?"
"No --it's so infuriating. Yesterday I was only handcuffed."
"I'll go upstairs. If the bastard wakes up I'll bop him "The bastard's already awake, Jason. Why the hell can't you leave us alone!"
A second ghost materializes as Bill Coro. He has slipped on shirt and pants and socks, and is glaring at Jason with bitter hostility. "I could have you arrested for breaking in like this, it's the third time."
"Go ahead. You can explain Carrie at the same time." They are no longer buddies. They face each other like cavemen with me as the prize. Plaintively, I ask: "Would one of you please unlock me?"
"You're staying right where you are, Carrie." Says Bill. "I'm taking her home with me." Says Jason.
"She's mine. She's made a promise, haven't you, sweetheart?"
"Well... to get out of Rainsville-" I find myself on treacherous ground. "I promised to be an obedient slave."
"You were under coercion: It doesn't count. And she's not your sweetheart, Bill." Jason is furious.
"Carrie and I have a pact." Says Bill doggedly. "I think she's honest enough to honour it."
Bill has switched on one sad sixty watt lamp hanging from a cord. It spotlights a strange tableau, in which I wish ardently I was not chained. Jason switches his glare.
"What's he talking about, Carrie?"
"I was in prison, Jason. Bill got me out."
"Hell, you're in prison now! Look at all that metal he's locked on you!" He snorts angrily. "I knew there had to be something going on. You couldn't just disappear."
I get to my feet to fully display the manner in which I am made helpless. Maybe it will shame Bill into using the keys. Lamely, I venture: "I did give Bill my word, Jason... " I take a couple of aimless steps to effect the full metallic dolor of a damsel in distress. "I've been trying to keep it. Bill's been kind "
"You've heard her. Get to hell out of my jail!"
Jason's fist is deadly. My disputing owners become a vortex of flailing arms and legs. I stand in my chains and get hotter and hotter between my legs. I am ashamed of my arousal but this is the real thing. I am being fought for by two amorous males. Jason is very quickly the winner. Bill has eaten too many good dinners. "You've no right to come barging in here." He complains bitterly from where he sits, legs wide, on the concrete. "You can beat me up all you like but she still belongs to me and I've got the keys." He wipes a bleeding lip and looks pathetic.
"With a pair of bolt cutters I'd have her loose in one minute flat." Says Jason forcefully. "I've got a pair in the car. If you value that expensive hardware she's wearing you'd better unlock it pronto "
"I'd sure be grateful if one of you would set me free." I suggest without optimism. "Couldn't we go upstairs and talk? If you'll let me loose I'll make you both drinks... or maybe coffee?"
My offer is not well received. I can imagine these two idiotic males becoming buddy, buddy again and blaming everything on me. They'll probably get their own coffee and I'll get whipped. Being a slavegirl is a thankless job. "What's this about his owning you?" Jason demands sourly.
"He spent a fortune getting me out of Rainsville Women's Prison, and I did promise "
"Dammit, girl, what d'you think it cost me to get you in there in the first place. If this asshole Bill had kept his nose out " Jason snorts again. "Hell, it was one of our experiments, and I had everything fixed with that fool girl " I raise my chained hands to my face and stare at my real master. "You... you... you put me in Rainsville?"
"Sure I did." Says Jason.
CHAPTER FOUR - DAPHNE'S WHIPPING
I adore Sabrina, I may as well admit I am besotted with almost everything she is. There are periods here and there while she makes me scream... ! But I am then so busy with my pain I don't have time to hate her. And afterwards the pain goes away...
She may get to whip me today. But this is only a delicious possibility... hovering. It is the penalty if I lose this game, the game Sabrina invented for us, and for us alone. It is hide and go seek with me as the quarry. We play it in Mounthaven Park I must not get tagged!
I have come to love this Park as much as does its owner. It is a beautiful place of greensward, trees and tiny ponds. It has an atmosphere ideally attuned to damsels in distress, and I contribute to this olde worldly atmosphere to the full extent of Sabrina's imagination. At this moment I stand, breathlessly, beneath an ancient tree, listening. If I can hear Sabrina coming, she is then too close for the comfort of my skin. If she catches me I have to yield her twenty strokes on my back and bottom.
On the face of it, this diversion should leave us about even. I am allowed a half hour start in which to run and to hide. I am allowed to be home free if I can evade capture for the full four hours of the hunt. But I do have handicaps to offset the generous start. I am naked and with bare feet against Sabrina's clothes and shoes. My wrists are handcuffed behind my back but hers are free. This does not stop me running but it doesn't help. There is one other small outrage with which I must contend...
"But you'll love it, Daphne dear. Come along now, step inside."
"But, Sabrina, that awful penis thing!"
"Lovely soft rubber, darling, can't hurt a thing."
"Weeeeelllll, noooooo... Oh, Sabrina, I'll be having orgasms all over the place!"
"Lucky girl! That's right, now the other foot. I'll ease him inside while you tug up on the panties. Keep your legs apart as much as you can."
"But, Mistress, how can I run!"
"You'll be surprised, darling!"
She is right, I am surprised. Girls are really quite amazing the things you can do to us and we survive or even flourish. I would love this wonderful stretchy white encasement of my loins if only it was not locked upon me by a padlocked belt, and if it did not contain within its smooth snug fit a rubber phallus now deep within my sheath. Our hunt is not two hours old but, already, I have climaxed four times and want to go to sleep. I stand still now mainly because I want a fifth rising tumescence to subside. Running with this thing inside me is worse than being in the arms of an unusually potent male! If I cannot inhibit these orgasms I'll be too weak to run.
What I seek is a good hiding place. Sabrina will search all the really good ones, so I have to find something inconspicuous. I could maybe contrive something if I had hands. But I do not have my hands, they are locked securely behind my back. Sometimes I twist and strain and have a look at them. It does no good, handcuffs do not stretch nor do my wrists shrink. Tentatively, I step out again, but my own potency is treacherous. On my fourth stride I blossom into number five. I am still gasping moaning when I hear the snap of a twig beneath a pursuing foot. I turn to run, but the spasms are still twisting my loins so I must stop and let them have their way with me. The intensity of sensation generated by the huge thing inside me compels surrender to its thrust. By the time I have finished clutching myself and gasping, I find I am looking at a pair of amused dark eyes.
"Was it that good, darling?"
"Oh, Sabrina... Oh, Mistress!"
"I must try it sometime. I'm so glad it's made you happy."
"It's made me happy five times. I'm worn out. Sabrina darling, can I surrender for just ten strokes?"
"You've been told not to bargain. The penalty is now twenty-five."
I am off and running. I honestly don't want twenty-five, it's a lot. I have a terrible premonition of defeat, but a girl must try. With my arms the way they are, and because of the enemy inside, I cannot run faster than Sabrina. I head for a clump of tree-trunks and start to dodge.
"I'm bound to catch you, darling. You do know that, don't you?"
"Maybe you'll sprain an ankle--" We circle warily, making occasional leaps. We are only a few yards apart. I want to surrender but pride forbids. Even a slavegirl must stand up for herself a bit. No doubt number six will herald my defeat, but in the meantime... !
"Well alright, I'll put it back down to twenty, Daph'. We could run round tree trunks all afternoon."
"With a strap instead of a whip?"
. "Daphne, don't you ever learn! You're now back up to twenty-five. I may even make them hard."
"They always feel hard to me." I am panting. "Mistress, this isn't really fair, y'know. You're certain to catch me on my next orgasm."
"Feel it coming, dear?"
"Sort of. How about you wearing this thing for awhile to even things up? We could call a truce while we change over?"
"Daphne, that's pure impudence. You are now up to thirty."
My wail of anguish is genuine. Thirty strokes will leave me with a flamingly tender bottom. I am so intent on wording my appeal I fail to see the root, it trips me into a thudding fall into the leaves. To fall when you have no hands is a real shocker.
"Oh, poor darling! Are you all right?"
"Yes, Mistress, I think so." I twist myself to sit up on one bare hip. Sabrina's leash snaps on my collar with the sound of doom... thirty!
"You should be but you're not. I'm too kind hearted. Of course, you've got the whole walk home in which to make some more bloopers."
I struggle to my feet. Handcuffed and leashed, I am quite helpless, my surrender had best be meek and total. But there is one thing on my mind.
"Sabrina... Mistress, must I go on wearing this... thing?"
"You mean the rubber dink? Yes."
"But I'll keep on climaxing it's indecent."
"I won't mind, darling, I'll watch. You've no idea how cute you look."
"But it must be a couple of miles."
"Mmmmmm, maybe. Good for two or three climaxes, wouldn't you say."
"But they deplete me so! I won't be any good in bed!"
"What makes you think you'll sleep in bed! Whipped girls sleep on the floor... well chained."
"I'd be ever so grateful if--" My plea is cut short by a tug on my leash. Resignedly, I follow this woman who owns me. I had best relax and enjoy.
Sabrina is adorable. We make sheep's eyes at each other as I am led to punishment I can almost feel the scald of her whip. But there is no absolute certainty I will receive it. She is capricious. She will not allow my sentence to stand in the way of forgiveness, or she may increase my penance to forty or fifty or stop after two! I will palpitate like a scared kitten until it is over.
"Wasn't that fun, darling?"
"Yes, Mistress, it was fun."
"Glad I own you?"
"Oh, yes... Oh, yes!"
"Even with what's in store for you?"
"Sure, why not! If you don't whip me for one thing you will for another."
"Was that impertinence?"
"Jeepers no! Oh gosh... Oh please!"
"Oh alright. If I punish you more I'll have to think of something else. Thirty pretty marks on your back is enough for today."
I walk beside my mistress in a strange content. I think it is the impossibility of escape that engenders my docility, but it is real. The leash links us, my punishments are a kind of sharing, Sabrina's total possession of me makes us akin to one. When she whips me I will wish for escape, but I do not wish it now.
It is one of the strangest walks of my life. I try and chatter gaily but my voice falters as the friction within my belly works its magic on my most intimate sensitivity, soon my steps falter with my voice. Sabrina's imperious tugs upon my leash keep me in motion until the shaming moment when I explode and come to a full stop, uncaring for the whip or for command. I am enveloped in flame. Through an ecstatic haze I catch glimpses of Sabrina's amused scrutiny of my contortions. I think she gives me a few admonishing strokes with her crop but the pain cannot compete with the conflagration within my loins, they serve only as fuel to my incandescence. I moan and writhe myself into abject mortification.
"Daphe darling, that was beautiful to watch."
"It wasn't, Mistress, I must have looked awful, and now I'm all sweaty." I gaze at her piteously, "Please take these pantie things off and get those... things... out from inside me?"
"Don't be silly, dear, we both enjoy your orgasms." She tugs at my neck. "Come along now, I'd judge the distance as producing at least two more."
I stumble forward, I really have no choice. I feel hot and silly and petulant. "I don't want two more." I say sulkily. "Please, Mistress, please...?"
"I know what you do want, dear. Bend over."
I have brought this on myself. I could have kept quiet and saved the pain I am about to receive. I pull fretfully at my handcuffs and contrive to look pathetic. Sabrina will have none of this. "Stop being coy, Daphne, over you go." I bend down. Within me the rubber prongs protest, the panties stretch to receive two of the sharpest cuts of my enslavement. I wriggle myself erect and try to look forlorn. Hopelessly, I realise the couple of strokes across my taut buttocks have lit the fire of a fresh tumescence.
"Stop looking sad, Daphne, or I'll give you some more. And stop worrying about your orgasms... who cares!"
"But... Mistress " I let it die. Sabrina's crop hurts atrociously. Ruefully, I accept the fact of one more painful lesson. I step out briskly to keep loose the leash from the hand of this woman who owns me. I disgrace myself but once more on our way to the house and my more formal punishment.
"We deserve a drink, Daph'. You probably need one." She is full of surprises. Sabrina delights in alternating me between joy and dismay. I remain handcuffed, but relieved of leash and panties and prongs, while I am bathed. Sabrina shares the bath with me and laughs delightedly at my helplessness. Then, in the lounge, I kneel beside her chair while she feeds me sips, of the cocktail she herself has mixed. I smell nice and feel good and am most anxious to please.
"I've had the most delicious idea, darling."
"Yes, Mistress?"
I register dutiful attention but have to wait until we go downstairs to the punishment room where I will be striped. Even there I am lost. Nothing happens as it should. The straps on the trapeze bar await my wrists, but I am not led to them. Instead, my right ankle receives the weight of a massive shackle which clicks shut on me with positive venom. From it runs a chain of equal weight. A quick judgement tells me of a limited range. I cannot walk to the door or to the wall on which hang the small instruments designed to give me pain. My excitement mounts as my handcuffs are unlocked.
"Curious, sweetheart?"
"Of course I am." I stretch my arms deliciously and rub my twin weals. "What are you going to do to me?"
"Nothing."
Under Sabrina's direction I rattle around the diameter allowed by my chain. It is heavy and drags at my foot. So far as escape goes, I might as well be hogtied. Suddenly, I recall Sabrina's single word. "What do you mean, Mistress nothing?"
"I'm not going to whip you. Daphne, you're going to whip me."
She enjoys my open mouthed wide eyed stare of disbelief, then continues her tease. "Can you think of any good reason why I should not be whipped, darling?"
"But... you're a Mistress...!"
"So? There's nothing against a Mistress having herself whipped by a slave if she thinks she'll learn by the experience."
"But it hurts terribly!"
"Yes, I've sort of picked up that impression?"
"But it's all wrong and I couldn't possibly!"
"You can if I tell you to."
We stand there, a younger girl and an older girl, staring. Sabrina is enjoying this immensely. I am not. I can feel fresh stripes. Stupidly, I ask: "But how...?"
She goes to the wall I cannot reach and selects a whip. I accept it gingerly. Sabrina's explanation is neat and concise. "I trust you, Daph'. but I've relieved you of awful decisions with that chain on your ankle. The key to it is nowhere in this room. Even if you tortured its hiding place out of me you still could not get it. So you don't have to think of escape any more than of how cruel you can be to me while I'm helpless. When whatever happens is over and done with you'll still be shackled here safe and sound."
"Mistress, I daren't. Being whipped hurts so much you'd half kill me after."
"You thrive on being whipped, dear?"
"But I'm a slave... ! I'm... I'm different. I can't bear it while you're doing it to me but I actually get a delicious thrill out of it no matter how I scream. I've always been that way. Back in the office I used to fantasize and dream before I got in with Carrie and Jason... It's those dreams that brought me to where I am right now."
"You're terribly sweet, dear."
Slowly, Sabrina removes her clothes. It is a deliberate strip for my benefit. It is more carnally exciting than to see her naked in our bed at night. Her eyes sparkle mocking my timidity.
"You're too beautiful... You're my Mistress. I can't possibly whip you. Please, Sabrina, don't tease. You'll only get angry at me and punish me for sure."
"I shall make you a better Mistress for having been whipped."
"No you won't. You're perfect now. I love you." I clutch at a straw. "And... and after the first lash you'll order me to stop. What do I do then?"
"Pay no attention, dear. Go on whipping me as though I was you."
She is so beautiful and so sure of herself. Sabrina is reading my chaotic thoughts and enjoying every one. And why not! She has me safe with the chain on my ankle and my adoration. She will seem helpless and I will seem free but it will not be so. I will still be Sabrina's obedient slavegirl but, now, I will be terribly afraid. It is a most awesome thing for a slave to whip her Mistress.
"Poor little slavegirl!" Her laugh is silver. "Come, stop agonizing. Here are my wrists-ready for their straps."
She is holding out her bare arms to me as though in love, her eyes intent on mine. As though striving against a great weight, I drag my chain to where her slender nudity is now raising its arms to the trapeze. I wonder if she can hear or feel the thudding of my heart as I circle the straps and buckle each of them tight to hold her hands two feet apart above her head.
"Do you want to stretch me, darling, or leave me enough slack so I can dance under the lash?"
What a choice to place upon my shoulders! I know Sabrina mocks me, she is curious as to how I will handle this impossible dilemma in which she has placed me. Inadequately, I plead for mercy: "Whichever you like. Mistress- "
"It's no longer what I like, stupid, you're the Mistress in this little production. Stop dithering." She grins back at me over a bare arm. "I'll give you an incentive, sweetheart, you blow this little job I've given you: and you're punishment will be reinstated and doubled... with a night in the dungeon thrown in. I know you hate the dungeon."
She is right. To be chained alone in that black place all night simply curls me up-and sixty strokes as well... ! Resolutely, I press my finger on the control and do not lift it until my Mistress is in danger of standing on her toes. This simple act seems to me to have moulded her into the most beautiful thing in the world.
"My, my, a decision!" Sabrina is delighted. "Tell me, Daph', why you want me just like this?"
"Because it's so shaming to prance around when it hurts." I tell her practically. "A girl can't possibly stand still while she's whipped, then afterwards she's ashamed of how she's acted."
"Thank you, pet. You really are precious. I'd sort of like to see if I could stand contemptuously still while my skin was wealed, you know, like the girls in fiction. But I expect you know best." She titters, "You've got the experience."
So there I am! Naked, an ankle shackled, with infinite distaste I hold a whip. "Where... ? How... ? My voice falters over the silly hesitancies. I long, most ardently, to change places.
"Shoulders down to my knees, darling. You know as well as I do."
"Yes, but--?"
"Think of the dungeon and the extra heavy chains, dear."
Sabrina's curved bottom pouts at me impudently. I slash the whip across it hard.
She is gorgeously human. Her muscles tense to raise her from the floor, she kicks at nothing in a silent expression of agony. Sabrina does not scream but her gasping gusts of breath are eloquent of shock. I stand there, stricken by the awfulness of what I have done. Slowly, the raised feet resume their duties, and her husky feminine voice comes to me in a whisper.
"Thank you... ! Oh, Daphne, that was hard, wasn't it? I mean, you weren't being kind?"
"It was hard, Mistress."
I hear Sabrina's sigh of relief. She now knows the measure of her pain. Forgetful of my role, I stare fascinated as the crimson weal rises on the rounds of her flesh to mark the bite of my whip, the whip I cannot possibly use on her again.
"Number two, Daph'--come, don't just stand there!"
"I can't." The voice is mine, the words are automatic. "You know what it's like now, Mistress. I'll let you loose."
"Daphne, don't you dare!"
"But, Mistress--?"
"You let me loose now and you'll be the most pained and unhappy girl in ten States. I promise!"
"But I can't possibly hit you twenty-nine more times like that... you'll be all marked--" The whisper is gone, her voice is again imperious. "A whole week in the dungeon then, Daphne... day and night."
I strike my Mistress again. Sabrina is stronger than I can ever be. She is imbued by a purpose I do not fully comprehend, but perhaps... ? An exquisite red line now etches her shoulders. I lash her nakedness with a savage joy I had not known I possessed.
"Alright, Daph', you can free me now. You win." Her darling voice is choked by the screams she has not uttered and by the pain I have inflicted by the ten strokes now done. "It's worse than I ever imagined. I can't stand any more."
I cannot tell by what feminine intuition I detect her ruse. Sabrina is testing her slave. If I free her she will be furious and reward me with the dungeon. Almost jauntily, I retort: "Sorry, Mistress, twenty more to go."
Her laugh is as carefree as my cruelty. Her command vibrates passion. "Come and kiss me, you most perfect slave."
I rattle my chain to where I can enfold her whipped nudity in my arms. My whip falls to the floor while our nipples harden and our breasts compress. We kiss ravenously for a long time before I pick it up.
I learn about myself. Nothing has changed between Sabrina and I, but the impossible has become a wicked delight. I no longer care about the dungeon. If I end up in it, well and good! In the meantime I will have experienced an ineffable happiness in a way new and strange and never to be forgotten. Sabrina will sense my mood and may resent it: She may be shocked and hurt by her slave's inconsistence. But if she punishes me for this unexpected pleasure I find in whipping her I will not mind. I may even be glad. It will put me back where I belong. Freedom and authority are heady potions quite foreign to what I am.
Ten more! I whip Sabrina's ivory flesh with tender cruelty: the terms are inconsistent but they are all I have. I shiver with sensory savagery as weal laps on weal and each of them is mine. The strapped taut nakedness of my Mistress flinches and writhes and makes erotic motions and sounds all its own. Even in semi suspension she achieves a lyrical fluidity of response. I choke with adoration for this woman who I whip.
But there are other forces at work within us both. It becomes immediately evident those rubber prongs did not exhaust my femaleness. Within my crotch flares the familiar flame. Each cut I place on Sabrina's tender skin is like the bellows to a forge, the heat of lust impels my arm to swifter strokes to. paint more livid weals. When the second ten have left their mark I clasp her once again, straddling her helpless- hip, to explode instantly into a conflagration which draws from my fervid lips the moans and cries of a kindred agony. When I am replete from the frictions of our flesh I feed most avidly upon my love. In this moment she is mine, and her cries are louder beneath my tongue than beneath my thong. Soon I return to whipping my Mistress without a spoken word.
I am drugged with power, a power thrust upon me and which I fear. It is an intoxication of sensuality in which I see my Mistress as no more than a lovely naked girl strapped securely for my pleasure. How gorgeous it would be to keep her thus forever, whipping and feeding on her in alternate orgies of intense sensation. Her hairy sex is as lush with secretions as is my own. When, between the whip strokes, she looks back at me her eyes are aflame with speculation and desire. She is picking up my vibrations and no doubt wondering if I can bring myself to stop her whipping at thirty strokes or whether I will whip her, on and on, in a feast of carnality I cannot control.
But I love Sabrina. When the last lash of her sentence has left its scarlet line I throw away the whip, swirl my ankle chain, and take her in my arms. When my hand reaches for the control she whispers urgently: "No... not yet! Leave me like this... just a little while."
I sense her need, she is in the throes of something wonderful, something she may never know again. Reverently, I clink away and take a seat upon a bench close by. I watch.
Sabrina Comstrock is a beautiful woman. But now, as she stands by her own will in whipped nudity, she is more lovely than I have known. She is tired but the bar to which she is strapped allows no relaxing. She must stand, a little stretched and taut, while tiny droplets of sweat form in her armpits and trickle down her flank. Her breasts glisten, her concave belly is wet with the dew of suffering. Head bowed, she is delivering herself to sensation, to the vast relief of torture past and all bills paid. I cannot see them but I know her eyes are shining. Sometimes she raises one leg then lets it slowly fall.
When the time comes for me to loose the straps around the pinioned wrists I am trembling. Sitting on the bench and gazing at the sweat drenched nakedness of the woman who owns me, I am fearful of the enormity of what I have done. The scarlet lines on Sabrina's skin are beautiful but it is I who put them there. Before I lower her arms I kiss her as a child kisses its mother. Then, when she is free, I fall to my knees and clasp her thighs and press my head against her pubic hair in the ancient supplication of the slave.
We stay thus a little while, her hands resting gently on my head. But soon she raises me to my feet to cling and to kiss. Tumescence had died in each of us, we arc tired. Only love is left, but I am still quivering as Sabrina takes my hand and leads me to the door.
"But, Mistress, my foot is chained!"
We share a smile over this forgetfulness. Sabrina takes the key from the wall I could not reach. She unlocks the shackle from my ankle. I am free! She holds her finger to her lips to enjoin silence. We re-commence our journey to my fate.
There is a rightness about the dungeon. For what I have done it is less than I deserve. Both of us are too choked by emotion to speak, but I know what is being done to me is not in anger or as a punishment. It is a restatement of what I am, a return to normalcy. I have whipped my Mistress at her demand but it is a terrible thing no slave should do... and I found joy in it! That joy and my guilt will now be cleansed.
I am oblivious to my freedom. I bear no bonds but am doubly bound by what I am. I offer my hands and then my feet for their chains. Then I kneel for the collar to be locked upon my neck. Sabrina has chosen the heaviest of this dungeon's irons to tell me my tremblings were instinctively correct. The weight of metal is implacable on me as the last band clicks shut upon my nakedness. I am kissed lightly, my cheek is patted, then Sabrina is gone to leave me alone with the thud of the door and the slamming of its bolts.
It is then I bow my head in my weighted hands and weep.
The dungeon is not entirely dark. There is a high little barred window through which light filters in a pale apology for the sun. I see beside me the straw provided for a prisoner's rest. It is in keeping with the period and the desired atmosphere. I dispose my bare bottom on it and hug my knees. Short of lying down full length, it is the best compromise with discomfort I can make. The iron locked on me is an outrageous weight, unhappily I turn my collar and drag its chain to fall between my breasts and relieve my throat. I do not consider shuffling the few feet of movement it allows. I know its limits well. In a dungeon induced dolor, and knowing not how long my sentence here will be, I return to my weeping. In such circumstances tears are a girl's best friend.
It may have been ten minutes or an hour before Sabrina releases me. My tears become those of joy and she laughs at them as she unlocks my irons and snaps my wrists into handcuffs behind my back. She is herself again, her weals hidden by the scantiest of fabrics, her eyes aglow. I still smell on her the pungency of sweat and musk.
"I saved my bath for you, darling. We'll share it."
"Oh, Mistress!"
How inadequate are words. But we need them not. I am led to the steamy feminine heat of the sunken tub and its perfumes and a fresh sight of my naked Mistress and my work upon her skin. She soaps and laves us both most tenderly. It is as though I too wear weals. I have no hands but I do not need them. The steel on my wrists mocks my return to slavery. It bites me hard in a reminder of how brief my freedom had been and how unlikely it is ever to recur. If the shining chrome was sentient I would tell it of my joy in the tightness of its jaws.
Our bathing is long and includes the ancient female rites which my cuffed hands impede but little. Both of us are highly skilled and ravenous. Replete, we are made more beautiful with the artful wisdom of my Mistress's hands. Our hair takes on a sheen it did not have before. I am taken and tossed upon our bed.
"Want your hands, dear?"
"If they were in front I could touch you...?"
My foot receives its familiar shackle, my handcuffs are changed from back to front, my fingers fly instantly to the nipples I adore, my Mistress moans with pleasure.
"I will never set you free, Daphne."
"No, Mistress, never, never, never...!"
It is all we need to say.
CHAPTER FIVE - CARRIE'S PUNISHMENT
The enormity of Jason's vehemence sinks in slowly as I realise how sadly things have gone wrong for me. I belong to the wrong hero and am angry with both. Everything about our absurd trio is inappropriate and, locked in Bill's expensive hardware, I am as ridiculously helpless as I have ever been in all my slaveries. I long, most ardently, for Jason to gather me up and take me back to our apartment. I don't care what he does to me when he gets me there, I just want out of this mess I am in.
"Unlock her. Bill, I'll write you a cheque." Jason's tone is incisive.
"Like hell you will!" Bill is nursing a bruised jaw. "You don't have that kind of money."
"I'll get it." Jason avers doggedly. "Unlock those chains, they must have cost you a mint, or do you want me to cut her loose?"
"Absolutely not, Jason! Carrie stays chained. Go away and leave us alone. You're trespassing."
"And you butted in where you'd no business. I had it fixed to get her out of Rainsville. I didn't need you or the way you threw your money around."
They glare at each other. I shiver deliciously at their need to possess me. But violence is in abeyance. It is hard for Jason to resume fisticuffs with a man sitting on the floor, and Bill knows when he's well off. Jubilantly he repeats his winning theme.
"That's as may be, Jason." He says sourly. "But it was me who paid and got her out of there. She might have been half dead by the time you got around to it. She and I made a deal. It's a verbal contract Carrie respects."
Jason turns his glare in my direction. "What's he talking about, Carrie?"
"He's right, Jason." My cheeks are flushed in this untenable plight. "They were torturing me in that... place. Bill came to see me and made me an offer. I accepted it: In return for freedom from Rainsville I'd revert to being his prisoner in this jail " My voice breaks. "Oh. Jason, don't you see, I didn't know! You'd vanished out of my life and I was a prisoner for years and years in a place where the wardress tortures girls for fun. If I've got to be forever punished I'd sooner it was here."
"And so he's punishing you now?"
"Not really. I'm just a prisoner. Bill hasn't whipped me or anything like that." I raise chained hands. "I can't call these things I'm locked in a punishment.
"Most people could." Jason says grimly. "They must weigh a ton."
I let my hands fall in despair. Jason is never going to understand, he has never known Harris and the disciplines of Rainsville. He can never comprehend the agonized despair that drove me to make my compact with Bill. I long to ask Jason to take me home regardless, but I am aware of Bill's kindness to me since he locked me back in Stubbinsburg Jail. Others might not see kindness in my chains, but compared to that bitch Harris... ! Lamely, I say: "We both know Bill's Thing, Jason. Bill wants his slave maiden captive behind bars and well chained... It's his fantasy."
"So, O.K., he had Daphne. If he lost her that's his hard luck. He can find another girl. You belong to me. He acts as if you're the only female in the world."
"So do you!" Bill says it with spirit but remains sitting.
I shrink from the question I behold in Jason's eyes. "Look, Carrie, this promise thing? D'you really wish to honor it?"
I bring tears to my aid and sniff out a muffled admission. "I know it's you I belong to, Jason and I want to belong to you. But that promise was a terribly serious thing. When I made it I could almost believe my life was on the line, and Bill's bent over backward to be nice to me-I wish he'd release me from the promise: that would be wonderful."
"That will be the day!" Bill sounded adamant. My chains suddenly weigh two tons instead of one. "A deal's a deal."
"Dammit', Bill, you're willing to keep the girl knowing she and I love each other?"
"Don't you think I love Carrie too?" Bill asks weakly.
"So, O.K., you say you love her. Have you fucked her since you got her out of Rainsville?"
"Don't be offensive. You know my feelings for Carrie are far finer "
"Oh, for Pete's sake, man!" Jason waves a disgusted arm. "Can't you ever grow up? Doesn't it enter your thick head the girl might want to be fucked?"
"That's disgusting."
"In this gloomy hole any girl would welcome a good fuck after a few days of nothing but bars and chains." For good measure, Jason adds a sneering: "And You."
"I refuse to be provoked, Jason."
"Then how does this hit you: Carrie and I are going to be married."
"And have your honeymoon in Stubbinsburg Jail?" Bill matches sneer for sneer, then turns to me. "Is that true, Carrie?"
"Yes. We were going to make a few experiments first "
"Ridiculous!"
"Jason, please try and make Bill understand?"
"What Bill has to understand is you belong to me. Your promise was under duress, it doesn't count."
"Look... please? Both of you! Unlock me and let's go upstairs. We all need a drink. I'll serve it, and we can talk... Everything will seem more rational than it does in this cell?"
"The only rational thing I want to hear, Carrie, is for you to tell "Bill you're coming home with me right now."
I turn to the owner of Stubbinsburgh Jail. "Bill, please, will you release me?"
"No."
I turn back to the man I love. "Jason, I made a promise."
"To hell with your promise and to hell with this moth eaten Jail!" Jason turns and strides away. His last words filter back to me through the bars. "Maybe I'll come back next year." Jason has gone. I am sure he has gone forever. I bury my face in my chained hands and drench myself in tears.
Bill lets me weep. After quite awhile he gets to his feet and says, awkwardly, "I'm still here, Carrie."
"Yes, I know you are." I weep afresh.
"I know how you feel--" He searches for appropriate words but ends up saying: "Thank you... I really do have to say a great big 'thank you,' Carrie."
Poor Bill! We are all losers in what has just happened, and he's such a blunderer. But today he has gained some sensitivity. Without a word, and while I am still snivelling, he unlocks the irons from my wrists, ankles and neck. He picks me up and carries me upstairs. "We'll have those drinks." He says heartily. "And you can serve 'em, just like you said."
For once. Bill has done the right thing. I mix our drinks, then kneel at his feet as we sip. My desolation over Jason's departure modifies to a dull ache.
"Carrie, I can't tell you how I appreciate this." Bill's hand strokes my hair. "After awhile Jason will come to understand how you've done the honourable thing. I'm... I'm immensely happy with you."
"Then take me to bed, Bill."
I am ashamed of my demand but have an aching need of human heat upon my flesh. But Bill dismisses the whole idea with a shake of his head and a couple of negative clucks.
"Please fuck me."
"You're overwrought, Carrie. It's some sort of a reaction. I'm sure you don't want that at all. You're too nice a girl--"
"No I'm not. Girls aren't as nice as you think they are. D'you want me to start calling you 'Master' again?"
"Yes, please. And you are nice. You are!"
"Thank you, Master. Would you like to handcuff me... or something?"
"No, this is nice. Enjoy your freedom, Carrie, and don't talk about that... that... nastiness. Have another drink." I make the drinks and gulp mine gratefully. I speculate on making a dash for freedom. But he could catch me easily and he's trying his damndest to be kind... and there's still my promise! As from a long distance, I hear my voice: "But, Master, I need something... something!"
"Give the drinks a chance, Carrie."
"And then you'll chain me back downstairs?"
"Just the handcuffs for tonight, dear."
"Look. Bill, I'm desperate for drama after what's happened. I need some sort of jolt, shock therapy. If you won't fuck me, then I want you to whip me."
"Carrie!"
"I mean it, Bill. See, I've stopped calling you 'Master.' Please whip me terribly and then take me to bed."
"Carrie, dear, you're not yourself. It's the drinks."
I poke a bulge in his pants. "This isn't the drinks, Bill. It popped up when I asked you to whip me."
"Carrie!"
"It wants you to whip me--and you want to, I know you do."
"Such talk! You probably deserve it-" Bill is going to whip me, I know he is! I've won some sort of battle but I expect it's just the alcohol. Anyway a good whipping will break this ice in which I am frozen, and will give Bill a huge erection so maybe afterwards I can persuade him... ! Hopefully, I mix our third drink.
It is a long while since Bill has whipped me, I am well healed so he will enjoy a virgin back. His erection is my ally.
"Do you really want to be whipped, dear?"
"Terribly."
We are both a little tipsy when we go down to the room where I will feel the lash. It is a very familiar room. The bar and the straps await my wrists. I am already naked. Bill goes to the wall to make his selection of a whip to suit our mood. I stand beneath the bar ready to raise my arms.
It is then that Jason walks back into my life. He carries a massive pair of bolt cutters.
"You again!" Bill's disgust is inadequate.
"You keep an easy jail to break into, Bill."
"Well, break your way out. Carrie and I are busy."
"Just getting ready to whip her, eh."
"I asked him to." I interject.
"I'll whip you when I get you home, Carrie. In the meantime--" I am suddenly handcuffed, my arms behind my back, "In the meantime I've decided to be sensible. I'm taking you by force. That way you break no promise."
"Look here, you--!"
Bill is red faced, his arms are waving. Jason hits him neatly on the chin. Once more the man who purchased me sits stupidly on the floor. I am gathered into a pair of strong male arms, carried out of Stubbinsburgh Jail, then dumped into the trunk of Jason's car. He drops the bolt cutters in beside me and slams the lid. It is the happiest ride I have ever had.
* * *
I stand in front of Jason's chair. My hands are still cuffed in back but now my elbows are tied together with bands of cloth which compel them to meet and tell me I am a prisoner in disgrace. My ankles are tied, my knees are tied. I am very helpless and very happy.
"You are an idiotic female." Says Jason.
"I never pretend to be anything else." I can afford to be pert, I do not care how hard I am whipped, "thank you for rescuing me after all. I love you."
"You are slightly drunk."
"It's wearing off, darling, can I have another?"
Jason mixes two and almost literally pours one down my throat. "You may need this, Carrie my sweet, you're about to get the whipping of your life."
"Oh, thank you, darling! Mmmmmm...!"
"It's going to hurt bad!"
"Oh goody... and afterwards you'll take me to bed?"
"You don't deserve it, but yes."
We savour our situation. I am glowing with a great thankfulness that forgives Jason everything. I am also having to watch my balance, bound as I am I am inclined to teeter. I expect this is part of my punishment and I love it. "What the hell am I punishing you for, Carrie?"
I giggle. Whatever turpitude I may have committed is now hazy in my mind. I do my best to defeat a too easy forgiveness.
"Well, in that prison I lost faith in you. I thought you'd abandoned me." I pause perkily. "Then I made that promise to Bill. Then, when you gave me a chance to break the promise I didn't feel I should." I smile at Jason lovingly. "But mostly, you're punishing me because I want you to. Before you showed up the way you did I'd already asked Bill to whip me, and he was going to--"
"What the devil did you want him to whip you for?"
"Because I was so unhappy over losing you, and because of having to stay a prisoner in Bill's Jail for life."
"You idiot girl! How would a whipping help?"
"Because the pain of being whipped would take my mind off the whole damn thing."
"Hmmmmm, makes a little sense. Feminine sense, that is. But why now?"
"You love whipping me, so it's my coming home present to you, darling. Besides, I do deserve it a little."
Jason is beautifully competent. Perhaps he, too, is a bit tipsy. My bonds vanish but are replaced by a new simplicity. My right wrist is handcuffed to my left ankle, my left wrist to my right. I am neatly bent over, I cannot walk. My bottom is undoubtedly in for a bad time.
"I'm starting out with the crop across your seat, love." Jason informs me kindly. "I'd advise you to stand as you are and take your medicine. If you decide to flop on the floor I'll change over to a whip and let the blows fall where they may."
"Thank you, Master."
"Don't call me that! You're not talking to Bill. What am I to you?"
"You're my lover, darling."
It is long since I was whipped. But the searing pain across my bent bottom would have jolted me at any time. I jerk at my handcuffs and hurt my wrists. A couple more like that and I'll be sober.
"Hurt, sweetheart?"
"Intensely."
"Good! But I expect we're both out of condition. Try this for size and let me have your comments."
The second hurts worse than the first. I am wriggling ludicrously. I am blazing with pain and lust. I had overlooked the latter but feel it's too early to mention. Penitently, I plead: "Could you hit me a little bit lighter please?"
"I'm afraid not, love."
"Thank you, Jason, you know best."
"My, my, something's done you a world of good, my girl! Now, let's get one well in under " I scream. I am indeed out of condition. The crop seems to cut me in two each time. I can by no means keep still but I do manage not to flop on the floor. Humbly, I suggest: "Best to gag me, Jason. Can't have the neighbors "
"Control, sweetheart, that's the thing. I don't want to have to gag you yet. Here, bite on this."
It is a chunk of rope, thick enough to extend my jaws. My teeth clamp on it gratefully in time to keep me mute when the crop slices me again. It is a wonderful, incredible and truly awful pain and I wonder why it has never seemed like this before. I expect it is because of my stretched skin and the rising lust of my need for a man. The blows devastate me and I am sure my bottom weaves back and forth as though prey to the wind. But when the tenth stroke has bedded itself in my flesh there comes a pause, the rope is taken from between my teeth. Instantly, I plead.
"Jason, fuck me. Oh please... ! You can, y'know just as I am. From behind. I'll try and bend lower."
"Carrie, where are your manners?"
"Well, I can't help it. I need you so bad. I haven't had it since Rainsville. And now, getting my bottom whipped...!"
"Hmmmmm, yes I see your point. It's a nice idea if it was not that you'd feel the crop twice as bad after."
"I don't care. I want you to do it to me. Oh please, Jason? If you go on cropping me like this I'll have an orgasm anyway all on my own."
"Ah, yes! Well, we mustn't waste it, Carrie-" I am impaled from the rear. I scream with joy and climax instantly. Jason withdraws. "We'll keep the rest, love. You may need it later!"
The rope is again between my teeth. The crop resumes its cadence across my cheeks. Is it my fancy, or are the blows a trifle kinder than they were? Perhaps... ! But anyway, they still hurt horribly.
"Twenty, dear, that's enough for your bottom. Here, I'll take the rope."
"Oh, thank you, Jason! Ohhhhh, thank you, darling. I'm so glad that's over. Did I behave well?"
"You behaved very well, and it's not over."
"No, of course not, darling, you've still got my back to whip. But my bottom's grateful."
"You're really something, Carrie."
"It's just I'm so glad to be home with you. I think I could bear anything."
"The whip on your back will hurt too, y'know."
"Sure I know, and I don't care. Jason, if you're going to keep me cuffed like this for my whipping could I have a breather first? I mean be allowed to stand up and stretch?" It is done. I stand with a handcuff dangling from each wrist. Ecstatically, I stretch, I walk, I do all sorts of silly things before I put my arms round Jason's neck and kiss him passionately. With lips close to his ear I whisper: "I don't mind what you're doing to me. I adore you "
"Want the same position, love?"
"You mean, fasten me some other way to be whipped? No, darling, I've got the cuffs on and it's nice and simple. Even if I do fall you'll still be able to whip quite a lot of me- especially if you turn me over."
The handcuffs click, my hands embrace my ankles, the whip cuts me from my shoulders to my waist. Bent like this I offer more of my back to be lashed than if I stood. Also, my skin is stretched. I scream with the shock of number one.
"Sorry, love. Forgot your bit of rope."
My teeth bite hard on the hemp. I wonder how many strokes Jason will plant upon my back. I have forgotten to ask and it is now too late. I bite viciously as my knees bend under the agony of number two. I have never been whipped vertically, it is a new experience in pain. I manage to absorb eight blows before I fall sideways to the rug and lay there with my legs doubled up against the tug of the cuffs. Numbers nine and ten streak my flank. I am relieved of my gag- "I'm terribly sorry, Jason. I mean, falling like this."
"Don't worry, love, you're still enticingly whippable. Only ten more to go. I'll give you four more, then turn you over."
"Darling, if you want to stand me back on my feet I really will try."
"No, I'm pleased with you as you are. It opens new vistas."
"Yes, I bet it does."
"Bother you this way, Carrie? Cramps or something?"
"No, darling. My wrists hurt when I struggle after each cut, but that's nothing new. That bit of rope's a real life saver."
"You're handling this very well, pet."
"Because I started out drunk, and I'm so glad to be home, and I'm terribly in love with you. Maybe tomorrow I'll return to my senses."
"Don't ever do that, sweetheart, I like you as you are. Ready for the last ten?"
I open my mouth for my gag. As the whip bites me I wince and tug in a whole new set of motions on the floor. Jason's whip finds my bare places easily and stripes them with skill. I am turned over like a piece of toast to get my other half marked too. My wrists and ankles are cut by the time the last lash has had its way with me.
I spend a delicious day in bed. Jason released my shackle for an hour when he got up and went to work, then locked my ankle again when he kissed me good-bye. I am handcuffed.
Jason and I spent an erotic night of lovemaking. My wealed back provided me with an endless replenishment of lust, my behavior was outrageous, leaving me exhausted to sleep and sleep after Jason had departed. Now I am awake again and every movement I make frictions my whipmarks against the sheet to a constant arousal. It is the same with the chain on my ankle. I deliberately move my foot to feel the drag and admonition of the links like my Master's hand upon my flesh. It is all gorgeously exciting and luxuriously comforting. I am an erotic package panting for Jason's return.
I am ashamed of myself. Even quivering with desire, as I still ant, I look back at yesterday and wonder what my lord and master must think of me. My longing to be whipped so cruelly leaves me wondering myself: Am I abnormal? I shrug away the doubt. My forty lashes were a catharsis, cleansing me of Stubbinsburg. I am reborn.
Reborn to what? I am adult. I cannot be a concupiscent kitten all my life, I don't think Jason kidnapped me and trained me for that. I am Carrie Carstairs, his slavegirl who used to go to work as he did every day. I think of the Office. I cannot imagine my job is still there. Then I reflect on poor Bill, and get myself into a dither of panic at thought of him breaking in on me while Jason is gone. I am beautifully helpless, an easy prey. For a few minutes my fretful tugs at the shackle on my ankle are not erotic at all. That metal band and those links could return me to a slavery I do not want. Thoughts of Bill's bars and bolts send shivers up my spine.
After dinner Jason confirms my fear. Bill had actually sought entry but had been repulsed by the security guard who Jason had warned. It is a sobering bit of news. With Bill as a constant menace I will never be safe. I respond to this problem with feminine logic.
"Darling, please marry me. Bill would respect that."
"I'll marry you for other reasons, Carrie, not just to refute good old Bill."
"But you did say you'd marry me?"
"And I still will after the experiments. You did promise to go along, y'know."
"Not another Rainsville!" My exclamation is a wail of anguish.
"No, not that!" Jason considers while I tremble. "We'd best try and confine ourselves to the cute."
I hold up handcuffed wrists, I finger the lovely collar locked on my neck. I kick the chain joining my feet. "Isn't having me as a slave like this enough for you, Jason?"
"Mmmmmm, in its way. But. sweetheart, this bondage thing means something to me, I want to explore it all." He frowns in concentration. "If we're honest with ourselves we have to face the fact that most of what we do is in some way contrived, it operates within margins and limits. For instance: you were chained to the bed today but you knew when I'd come home and release you. And yesterday, that whipping you got was a feast of eroticism. It was not a punishment at all, and you were sure I wouldn't carry it too far... ? See what I mean?"
I see what he means. I hadn't thought of it that way before but he's right. The bonds and bars of Rainsville or Stubbinsburg affected me in a vastly different way, they weren't a bit like what Jason does to me. I don't always like what he inflicts but I'm not frightened and I know there'll be an end. In that lousy women's prison I was always scared and there was never an end to anything. I put it into words.
"You want me to experience realities and tell you of them?"
"Yes."
"You haven't asked me about Rainsville."
"We'll get to it. Right now I'm ashamed of Rainsville."
"Well, alright." I concede grudgingly. "But, Jason, why couldn't I do these things for you after you marry me? I'll still be your slave after the wedding, why can't I do the rest too?"
He laughs at my simplicity. "Carrie my sweet, you don't really believe that, do you? A girl will do all sorts of things for a man before marriage that she won't even sniff at after the ceremony. Marriage changes perspectives. I've seen it happen-."
"But, darling, I'd promise?"
"And you'd weasel out of it. You'd feel, and quite rightly, it was not the sort of adventure a wife should engage in."
Jason is right. I have seen it happen too. I sigh in resignation and clink the metal I wear, it is a nice sound we both enjoy. "O.K.. what's my first assignment?" I ask as cheerfully as I can.
"Isn't it best you don't know, love?"
"You mean, something will just happen to me, like the police finding that girl in the trunk of my car?"
"Sure. That's realism. If you knew it was going to happen your reactions would be false."
"So I'm in for a series of shocks?"
" 'Fraid so, sweetheart."
I let it sink in while I clink, unordered, to the bar. Then, kneeling at my master's feet and sipping, I probe again. "But, darling, you must know people... or have influence... or something?"
"Oh sure. There's a couple of Clubs and a group or two I used to go around with before I got you. They're always willing to help."
"Why did you bother with me if you already had them?"
"For the same reasons I've just given. They're limited. They put on a show but that's all it is, a show. It's real enough while it lasts, but the distressed damsels know they'll go safely home when the evening's over. They have week-end affairs sometimes but they're up against the same limitations, no girl's experience is total."
"But, Jason, how do they go about it?"
He is pleased by my interest. I am intrigued. "Lots of ways, pet." He tells me complacently. "Maybe there's a stage and an audience. A girl from the audience can volunteer to get herself bound or whipped, or what have you. If there are no volunteers they draw lots for the victim." He laughs. "I never saw them have to do that." He grins down at my wide eyes. "Or they arrange a kidnapping on the street for a girl, or a rape fantasy, or an imprisonment. But, like I say, it's an arrangement."
"It could be fun."
"You have a date on Thursday." Says Jason.
CHAPTER SIX - FANTASIES
Miss Winslow is addressing the Class. I stand beside her. I am both frightened and intrigued: conditions by no means strange to me, and nowhere as strange as the Class itself. They sit at desks in a schoolroom but they are all adult, mostly around my own age. The sexes are scattered but about equally divided in number. All of them gaze upon me with a proprietary expectation I don't much like. Miss Winslow herself is a willowy blonde of about thirty who does not look like a schoolteacher at all, but her voice is pleasantly modulated and compellingly resonant.
"I am pleased to introduce Miss Carrie Carstairs." She informs her Class. "Carrie is a slave who has been placed in our care for discipline and safe keeping. She must not be injured nor is she to be allowed any total freedom from restraint. I am sure you will have noticed her feet are already ironed."
Gosh, I would hope they do notice! The chain between my ankles is heavy and makes a frightful clatter as I walk. I suspect I won't be doing much walking- and I don't like the sound of that discipline. I sure hope Jason knows what he's doing with me.
"Carrie will be our prisoner indefinitely." Continues my mentor. "She does not know the terms and conditions of her incarceration. But I can tell her now that much of what she must suffer with us depends on her own behavior." She bestows upon me a radiant smile. "Please do give the Class your comment at this point, dear."
I feel a fool. Amongst this sophisticated lot, and considering my own faultless attire, my chained feet are an incongruity. But I must not let Jason down, so I stutter out what comes first to mind.
"I think I've been sent here for a purpose, Miss Winslow. I promise I'll be a good girl."
It gets a laugh, but not from Miss Winslow. "We presume your previous behavior has left something to be desired or you would not be here." She reproves me coolly. "Since, in our eyes, you are already delinquent I will ask you to remove your clothes."
Oh damn! These people play for keeps. Standing before them like this, the last thing I want to be is naked. But I'm stuck with this deal, and there is a little thrill at work inside me which I can't ignore. Slowly, I remove my dress then pause.
"You will retain only your shoes, dear. Our members enjoy feminine footwear."
I sigh. I remove panties and bra'. At least, my chains will seem more appropriate now I am naked. I blush but stick my chest out when there is a slight round of applause.
"Thank you, Carrie. Your hands please?"
I am turned about, my wrists are crossed and deftly tied. I suspect Miss Winslow has tied a lot of hands. She uses only a few strands of cord but they are tight. I will not get loose.
"I would like you to stand in the corner, dear, over behind my desk. You must stand erect and keep your breasts nicely out as you've been doing. Just look at the wall, you must not turn round."
I'm going to hate this. It's too damn simple and I still feel an idiot. This is a punishment for small children. But there comes a small snicker of some sort of approval from the class.
"You will note Miss Carstairs has been well whipped recently. I am sure the Class will share my enjoyment of her exquisite markings. Congratulations, Carrie, you must have been a very wicked girl?"
If they only knew! This whole thing is crazy. But I say a demure, "Yes, Miss Winslow." and manage to stop myself from turning round. I just know I'm going to hate this wall.
"I am now going to ask Miss Sally Becker to step out in front with-me." Miss Winslow intones. Evidently she feels I am well disposed of. There is a patter of eager feminine feet and a perky voice.
"Here I am, Miss Winslow. Do you want me to undress for my punishment?"
"No, dear. No need. I am going to cane your hands."
"Oh, thank you, Miss Winslow!" The damn girl actually sounds pleased. My internal thrill speeds up and I wish I could turn round and look.
"I will cane you slowly, Sally, to give you time to arrange yourself after each cut." The Mistressy voice drips honey. "We all know how much it hurts and how you need a few moments to compose yourself. But there must be no delays and no unseemly contortions. You are to receive three strokes on each hand. May I count on your co-operation?"
"Oh yes, Miss Winslow!"
I detect a quaver in the swift assurance. I'd quaver too if it was me. Miss Sally Becker's hands are going to hurt like crazy in a little while. Three cuts of the cane on each... Ugh!
"We will start now, dear. Whichever hand you prefer. The arm well out and your palm nice and taut please."
I can picture it. When the cane whirrs I wince. I almost match Sally's moaning gasp on impact. There comes a near silence in which Miss Becker's agonized breathing is the only sound. I picture her clasping her wound beneath a comforting arm.
"You are welcome to hug your hand in your armpit, Sally. But only for a limited time. I think we are now ready for your other arm."
Dammit', I've got to see this! I must. Looking at the lousy wall is torture. Following the sounds again I visualise the tableau and I wince and gasp where indicated. From the sound of it, the poor girl is really getting whacked. Abandoning caution, I steal a quick glance. Sure enough, the hurt beauty is bending forward, doubled over and with a hand compressed within the pit of each arm. I think there are tears but I do not look long enough to be sure.
"If you hold your hand very steady, dear, I will try and not strike the same wound twice."
Real white of Miss Winslow! The sounds and I do a repeat. When it comes time for the fourth stroke I hear a faltering feminine plea. "Please, Miss Winslow, this hurts a lot more than I thought. I'm not sure I can manage."
"You'll manage, dear."
"I was wondering...?" The voice has become girlish and pitiful. "Could I have just four strokes instead of six? Or maybe you could make them not quite so hard?"
"Your caning has already been discussed by the Class, Miss Becker. It cannot be altered. I am sure you recall the terms and conditions of your enrollment?"
"Yes, Miss Winslow. I'm sorry. I just hoped "
"Your hand again please."
More agony! The sounds are graphic. I forget my condition. I steal more than a quick glance at the picture of an adult girl nursing two wounded palms and trying not to moan. Slowly, she stands erect and extends an arm... When the cane cuts she yelps in dismay and falls, writhing, to the floor. Hastily, I return my gaze to the wall. Miss Winslow's voice oozes sympathy.
"I am sure your hands hurt, dear, but we cannot possibly allow such behavior. You look very silly there on the floor, especially since you had only one more stroke to bear. Your lapse compels me to add to that: You now have two. If you do not immediately get to your feet and hold out a hand for the cane the number will be increased to three."
I dare not push my luck and look again. Sally Becker is audibly weeping and audibly getting herself back into position for more punishment. From somewhere she gets the courage to take her two stripes. Her punishment is over. The Class claps heartily. If I had my hands I think I'd clap with them. The poor girl deserves it.
"You may return to your scat, Sally."
Miss Becker's steps are no longer jaunty. No sooner do they cease than Miss Winslow's voice comes crisply. "Yes, Miss Cooper you are raising your arm?"
"Please, Miss, that girl... Carrie. She turned and watched."
I shrivel in the awful silence.
"Is that correct, Miss Carstairs?"
Considering that twenty people may have witnessed my lapse there is no use lying about it. Meekly, I admit: "I'm afraid so."
"You may turn round."
This doesn't help much. The Class is positively gloating and enjoying my breasts and pubic hair. I'm in trouble!
"Have you an excuse, Carrie?"
"Not really... I just felt sorry for her."
"Then we must now make you feel sorry for yourself."
"Yes, I expect you must."
I feel ten times naked. I am sure I look hangdog and guilty. I have never felt more helpless. With my hands tied behind my back like this I have no choice but to be a very obedient little girl. The whole thing's a plant, a trap I fell into, and I can guess what's coming.
"Perhaps three on each of your hands too, dear?"
"If you say so, Miss Winslow."
"I like your attitude. You may turn about to be untied."
Unhappily, I obey. Never have I less desired freedom. If only my poor hands could have remained bound! But then... ! It would be my bottom to get the cane and my bottom is not yet ready.
"Considering you are a novice. Miss Carstairs, we will relieve you of the self control implicit in this punishment. It is a severe tax upon her fortitude in her first caning. Perhaps a couple of gentlemen from the Class will be kind enough to move forward the frame?"
A frame is what it is. It's heavy and solid and loaded with gimmicks. It is adjustably versatile. I suspect it could hold a girl in any position desired. When I am fully prepared for my caning I am strapped to something like a cross, strapped immovably from ankles to neck. My arms are strapped down hard to a crosspiece out to each side. Needless to say, my hands are fastened palms up with the last strap positioned three inches above my wrist to leave each hand well extended and exposed beyond the frame. I look at them and realise how terribly they are on their own.
"I must advise against clenching, dear. The stroke will be delivered regardless and hurts twice as badly on the back of your fingers or across your wrist. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Miss Winslow."
"I am sure you do, Carrie, you are an intelligent girl. Now, we will vary your punishment slightly, I will require of you a sincere thank you after each stroke. I am sure you can mange that."
I am not as sure as she is. I am curling up inside. This thing holds me so I can't even quiver and there's my poor hands sticking way out in space! I realise these people are all playing roles the way Jason explains, and I expect their roles do limit them and they've got deadlines and no-no's. But I'm not! For me this is real and I don't know where it's going to take me. I feel like crying and asking to be sent home. But it wouldn't do me any good, they'd just laugh. What I'm scared of is maybe Jason fraternized with this bunch when they were being kinder to their girls. Without waiting to be told, I open my right hand and make its palm as tautly stretched as any old-time schoolmarm could have wished.
"Thank you, dear, you're very sweet."
The pain is excruciating. It's hard to believe any girl's hand could survive such a cut. I blurt out a frantic "One" while my other responses actually cause the frame to which I am strapped to quiver and groan on its own account. I evidently struggle so visibly as to prompt Miss Winslow to tug once more at the buckles and get them tighter another notch. From the feel of it I can't even vibrate. It's a good thing the final straps aren't right on my wrists or my hands would be turning purple. I open my left hand and cringe and wail and wince under number two. And I number it out loud, she isn't going to catch me that easy.
"The real test for you is the repeats, dear."
As if I didn't know! Oh, Jason, Jason, why have you done this to me! Only my head can move now as I intone "Three" and surge against the straps. It hurts so bad I'm in a mood to plead for mercy. But that didn't do poor Sally Becker any good and, who knows, it might get me an extra stroke. Up to now I have made my 'thank yous' most sincere, I hope I can keep it up.
"We're so pleased with you, Carrie. You're a very lovely girl, most eminently punishable. I will now stroke your next hand."
Stroke! What a word to use! It cuts my palm to send my head into the only motions I can make. I say 'Thank you,' I moan, I count number four. I hope 'The Class' enjoys my face, it is twisted in agony, and I am sure every male has an erection at my expense. Five and six take their toll of me. Then I stand in the frame, strapped tight and sweating, my flaming hands limp at each end of the crosspiece. A pretty picture for the Class to enjoy. Miss Winslow kisses me and rubs my nipples. The trifling affection is strangely comforting.
"Yes, Miss Spencer?" Miss Winslow recognizes a raised hand.
"I have a confession. Miss Winslow."
"Very well, dear. We are listening."
My pain and my captivity here are against my will. But I feel certain I now witness a charade. Miss Spenser's eyes are shining as she recites an absurd list of transgressions.
Miss Winslow holds up an amused hand. "That will do. Nancy dear. We accept your guilt, it seems more than adequate for a severe punishment. What do you think. Class?"
livery hand is raised, including Nancy's.
"Excellent! I am now going to ask you all to recognize Miss Carstair's superb performance during punishment."
The handclaps are sincere. I blush with pleasure and exposure. I still feel my pubic hair the most prominent thing in the room.
"Thank you. And now, if two gentlemen will move Carrie to one side...?"
Two gentlemen move the frame and me as requested. Both have erections. Evidently I am to remain helpless but with a fine view of proceedings. My hands throb horribly beyond the straps.
Nancy Spencer trips lightly to centre stage. I suspect her of a damp pussy and racing pulse. "Please sentence me to punishment, Miss Winslow." She asks blithely.
A show of hands confirm the caning of Miss Spencer's derriere. She strips to display a neat round bottom. Nancy is an exhibitionist. She poses prettily for all to admire.
"A slightly unorthodox posture for you, dear. Bending over has become so trite."
Nancy Spencer has to sit on the floor and watch her hands and feet get tied. Then a chain loops her wrist ropes, goes down between her legs, then up to a hook lowered from the ceiling. Loss of dignity spurs protest. "But. Miss Winslow, it's my bottom that gets punished...?"
"And so it will be, dear, just be patient."
Nancy gasps when the rope tightens. This has the effect of dragging her hands down to her feet and then to raise both hands and feet up in the air. In a few moments her shoulders leave the floor and her bottom is elevated to a height convenient for the cane. Nancy is bent double, arms and legs strained up, back bowed, hair falling towards the floor three feet below. Distressfully, her head seeks a comfort it cannot find. Like a pendulum, her jackknifed nudity swings and turns... The Class claps.
"Thirty strokes, Miss Spencer?"
"Ohhhhh, oh, Miss Winslow, this is sort of awful. Couldn't I have just twenty?"
"No. Remember your confession, dear. You are a guilty girl."
Nancy gulps. I am sure this faintly obscene exposure of her person was not what she had in mind. As she swings I can see her plump pussy and some fronds of dark hair extruding themselves from between tight thighs. This distortion of her most private part will not be welcome.
"Please then, Miss Winslow, not too hard?"
"Hard is the only way, Nancy."
The suspended maiden cannot control her swings and turns. She can struggle and raise her shoulders by her bound wrists but this in no way affects the invitation of her taut behind. Miss Winslow and her cane are well placed and waiting. When the twin rounds come into range she strikes.
The awful pain of my hands diminishes as I watch. Maybe I'm as bad as the rest of them, but this Play enacted between Miss Winslow and Miss Spencer holds me entranced. I know it is contrived, yet Nancy's pain and her reactions to both anguish and indignity are vividly real. The only difference between she and I is that she asked for hers.
The impact of the cane across Nancy's rump imparts motion to her suspended nakedness. This means a pause while the jackknifed beauty turns on its chain. No one begrudges the time. Nancy screams whenever the withe bites her pussy, but otherwise confines her plaints to moans and gasps and a few uncontrolled wails. Half way through the thirty strokes Miss Winslow cups the swollen pussy in an enquiring hand and exhibits her wet palm to us all no doubt to prove Nancy is enjoying herself. She then wipes the glistening secretions off on her victim's bottom and returns to caning it again.
If I was a free girl I would not join this Club, livening brings me to stand before Miss Winslow's desk in her office. My ankles are ironed again, I am handcuffed and nude. I am being scrutinized by amused and speculative eyes.
"It has been arranged for your stay with us to be short, Carrie. But we do want to give you a memorable experience."
My throbbing hands in their chrome cuffs are all the memory I want, but I say a meek: "Thank you."
"There are many things we can do to a girl."
I just bet there are! But I'm scared. I keep quiet.
"There are other situations than pain and confinement, dear." Miss Winslow smiles as though she loves me. "We are informed of a desire for you to be placed in conditions where the end result is not predictable, an open ended tribulation."
Damn Jason, I can hear him chuckling. Primly, I say: "Yes, Miss Winslow, I understand."
"It is now dark outside, Miss Carstairs. We are going to place you, just as you are, in the alleyway behind this house. You must find your way home as best you can. I am sure you will manage, it's only a couple of miles."
The enormity of the thing holds me speechless for several moments before I explode. "Naked... chained!"
"Yes, dear. But we will relieve you of the fetters on your feet. You will have a need to walk, and perhaps to run."
"But handcuffed?"
"A small piquancy, Carrie. Being handcuffed will remove the stigma of being merely a naked girl running around outdoors. It adds tone."
"No! Oh, please... no?" I am overwhelmed by the shame of what they propose. "Please don't do that to me anything could happen...!"
"Precisely."
They don't care if I'm raped or murdered or abducted. I'm just the active part of an amusing experiment. Miss Winslow puts a crimp in my complaints.
"If you make a fuss or embarrass me, dear, you will spend the night sitting in our stocks with your feet well spread and clamped, and tomorrow receiving punishments before the Class. In the evening you will find yourself outdoors anyway but with your hands behind your back instead of in front. Do I make myself clear?"
Does she ever! I nod in dumb misery and suppose things might be worse... maybe I'll be lucky... ! I stand meekly while she unlocks the shackles from my feet.
I am used to being naked, it has come to be my natural state. But the night air is cool on my skin as I stand and look at the brick wall and the closed door through which I have just been ejected. I raise my hands and examine the handcuffs locking them together. Neither that door or these cuffs will open. I'm in trouble.
My first hazard is a large dog. It wishes to sniff my pussy and goodness knows what else. I am thankful for free feet with which to kick, and for hands cuffed in front so as they can lift a rock and let him have it in the ribs. Yelping, he departs. I feel this a promising start but pick up another rock just in case.
I am half way to the lighted street when a dark shadow detaches itself from a cluster of garbage cans. It utters a startled but delighted: "Holy cow!" and grabs my arm. I knee him in the groin and bang my rock hard against his teeth. Then I run like crazy while he is doubled over.
It is not a main street but it is well enough lit and there are a few pedestrians. What I need is a dime and a phone. I determine to be bold. My first contacts are women. One gazes at me in stark horror, then flees. Another sees only my handcuffs and pubic hair and hurries off to tell the police of an escaped convict. Another tells me I should be ashamed of myself and stalks away. Then I find a middle aged man who regards me as a gift from above. Fortunately I can run faster than he so escape fairly easily. Then I try knocking at doors. They open for a startled moment or two then slam. My prepared speech never gets used. But I decide to keep on trying. Houses seem my best bet and surely one of them will shelter chivalry. It is when I emerge from the gate of my seventh rejection I find the blue and white waiting for me at the curb. I leap gleefully into the back seat and gasp out the address of the apartment.
But it is not going to be that easy. They are the usual pair and are young enough to appreciate my nakedness which they view with obvious pleasure.
"What's the deal, lady?"
"It's a party, and a silly joke that's gone too far. Please take me home."
"Them handcuffs...?"
"Oh, of course! They're part of the joke. Would you unlock them for me please?"
One of them leans over the seat, unlocks one cuff, turns me round, and locks both my hands behind my back. I remember the T.V. and Rainsville, and assure myself this is just routine. But I still exclaim: "You don't need to do that... really! I'm telling the truth, and what can I do in this condition anyway!"
"You'd be surprised, lady. If the officer who arrested you had cuffed you in back you might not be running around the way you are. What were you arrested for, maam?"
"You're crazy. I'm not "
"We'll read you your rights, maam just in case."
Their politeness is scary. It means they can't comprehend my innocence-and I suppose I don't look innocent. With my hands where they are, I must seem like I'm flaunting my breasts at them. Oh damn, why couldn't someone have let me use a phone! I listen, woodenly, to my rights and plead to be taken to Jason and safety.
But that's too simple for these two, they are not yet ready to relinquish my bare charms. I am a free strip. They report me and my condition in jocular fashion over their intercom and are instructed to take me 'down to the station.' The only good thing about the Precinct House is I get rid of the handcuffs and acquire a male shirt which hangs on me slackly but falls low enough to cover my pussy. I almost feel dressed. While I am rolling up the long sleeves I am told I must be fingerprinted. Meekly, I allow myself to be manhandled and inked. The result is inevitable. I am a criminal. I have been sentenced for kidnapping. I have spent time in Rainsville Woman's Prison. Everyone but me is elated. I am tossed alone in a cell. The clanging and locking of its door is my knell of doom. It curls me up utterly with too many memories. I fling myself down on the cot and weep in a storm of overtaxed emotion. My shirt is rucked up above my bottom but I do not care.
"It could have been a helluva' lot worse, sweetheart. I got down to the Station pronto. You weren't in that cell long."
"I nearly died... I was so scared. Oh, Jason!"
We are in our familiar living room. I am gulping intoxicants like crazy while I sit naked at my Master's feet. Under some Pixie impulse he has tied my ankles together with rope so I can't walk. I do not mind, it feels nice. Once more I am engulfed in thankfulness.
"Was the Club all that mean to you, Carrie?"
"They almost cut my hands to shreds--that's all. Then tossed me, naked and handcuffed, into the street. Hell, they treated me real good."
"Oh alright. I'm sorry. I'll have to be more careful what I get you into."
"Don't get me into anything, Jason. Keep me tied up here. You can whip me every day and I won't complain. But these experiments... Ugh!"
I hop my bound feet to the bar. Returning with my fresh drink I must edge awkwardly across the rug on my bottom. Jason is vastly amused. I manage a giggle myself.
"They've given us what we expected of 'em, love. You could write a graphic story around each one-"
"I don't want to write a story, I want to be your-slave. And don't try buttering me up."
"O.K., O.K., be mad at me. I'll take you to bed in a minute and you'll feel better. I've thought of the cutest notion for your next little trip."
"Piss on your next little trip.!"
But it is very nice in bed with Jason. I forget easily. I lose the rope from my ankles and gain handcuffs on my wrists, all is normal. I sleep soundly... afterwards!
My day is gorgeously domestic. Sure, I'm chained but I clink around with the vacuum and a duster and I cook up a storm. It's lovely and I wish it was for always. But I know it isn't. At least, not yet. When it is good and dark Jason drives me to the old School with the playing field and the goalposts. He has me wrapped in something dark so we're a couple of shadows flitting across the grass. He has made me carry the rope with which I am to be tied.
Jason is trying. I am shivering with dread as I slip out of the cloak into total nudity and back myself against the post, but I have to admit I see fewer hazards in this bit of whimsy than in the others. I really do love Jason, so I refrain from nagging and snide remarks as he does the best tie job on me I have ever known. Secretly I am thrilled. But I keep quiet while I am bound.
"Bon voyage my most precious girl."
Jason kisses me, then is gone. I watch his shadow recede into the dark. I cannot stay angry at what he does to me. He and I share a destiny in which I am forever bound. I have pledged myself his slave. I close my mind to regrets over my foolishness in backing so willingly against this post, I turn it instead to a half rueful speculation about the night ahead. My pussy is perking busily, of that I am sure. So what the hell... !
I am tied in the fashion of Jason's most admired artist. I am woven artistically in rope. My hands are tied behind the post and my arms against it, the rest of my nudity is accentuated and defined by cunning strands sinking deep into my female curves to hold them motionless. My concave belly is well cinched as are my knees and ankles. Jason has even used two ropes from my waist to cut down into my pubic hair and bind my pussy, a strand to the side of each labia then under my crotch to the unyielding post, tight, tight, tight... ! Telling me I'm female. Perhaps during the night I may struggle but I believe it impossible for me to get loose. Dammit', I can't move!
The roads are my enemy. There are people on those roads and I am afraid of what people could do to me while I'm like this. I am bound to the goalpost farthest from the road. Cars are unlikely to notice me but their headlights as they turn a corner often bathe my nakedness in pale luminescence for a brief moment, a moment in which I cringe but cannot move. I am exquisitely helpless and at the mercy of chance. I am Jason's pawn in this flirting with fate, and I think of maidens bound thus in ancient days as a sacrifice to some misshapen monster lurking in the night.
Apprehension wears thin and I catnap. It is easy because I am so tightly bound. My head falls forward but nothing else sags. My goalpost holds me in tight arms of rope and some of my night's captivity slips away in dreams. In this last of them I awaken to company.
He is a middle aged man of average stature, a bit thin, a bit tired, a bit worn. After my first flash of fear I see him as harmless. I use the set formula I have thought up for the occasion. "Oh, thank goodness you've come! Please untie me."
Nothing happens. He stands and looks at me and I look back. Something odd is hovering... After a minute I try, louder: "I'd be ever so grateful if you'd untie me."
"I heard you the first time," He says without reproof. "Say... that's a mighty fine tie someone's done on you! Mind if I look?"
"I can't stop you, can I? Go ahead."
He goes about it gravely, trying to insert his finger under the ropes but they are too tight into my flesh. He does not touch me in the ordinary sense of touching a woman, but he does show great interest in the bindings in my crotch and the criss-cross bands of rope from which my breasts are nakedly extruded. "Damn fine job." He approves in a voice as colourless as the rest of him. "Who done it?"
"Some friends. They did it for a joke. I sure would like to get loose?"
"I don't believe you." He says gently. "Weren't no friends and weren't no joke. Whoever tied you thisaway done it 'cos they wanted to, 'cos it means somethin'. I ain't a bit sure you want to get loose."
"Oh, but I do!"
I am telling the truth. I have been tied a long time and I sure would love to get one up on Jason. But I can understand this faded man's disbelief. I expect I exude a concupiscence to belie my words. I am in heat.
"You're a damn lovely girl."
"Thank you, but would you mind--?"
"Stop fretting. I won't untie you. Don't want to spoil nothin' so beautiful."
"Well, yes, that's nice of you. But have a real good look I honestly don't mind! Then untie me after?"
He does not hear a word. This man is off in a reverie all his own, seeing me like this has sparked a dream. I cannot move but if I could I would be holding out my hand, he seems so lost. But he isn't going to untie me, I just know he isn't!
He speaks again, heavily. "I'm a lot older than I look. I'm the caretaker of this here school... It's a damn rotten deal I have to wait 'till now to see you. I'm so lousy old... " It is as though he's talking more to himself than me. There falls a silence in which I feel I'd better say something. "I don't mind about you not untying me yet, I'm sure it's nice to look at me the way I am "
"I don't have no words for it. Never ever expected "
"If you'd like to feel or touch any parts of me I think you should. Please... I think you should?"
He shakes his head. "It's too damn late. But you're mighty sweet, sweetest gal' I ever known, 'cept her."
I wait, breathless, and am rewarded. He talks to me out of something deep inside. "Ever since I first remember I've wanted to tie up a girl like you. I mean, lookin' like you. and all naked. Seems like I was born with that dream in my mind. You bin' there always... " I begin to feel embarrassed and a bit uneasy. Bui he rambles on. "Every night I go to sleep I dream about it. about you I guess, though you wasn't born then. Always figgered I was the only one, and as I grew up I knew this was the most important bit of me. I mean it was the thing I wanted most in the whole world. But the older I got the more sure I became I wasn't goin' to get it--not that I didn't try!" He laughs disgustedly. "Got my face slapped plenty, and worse. So I just dreamt about my tie up girl and kept a lookout for pictures... In about fifteen years I found maybe twenty. Pretty girls tied up, or chained, or with straps... There was one with you in the pillory: historical, that was. And one with you behind bars and peering out... I was grateful for whatever I could find." He sighs, way off somewhere. "But I never did find a real live gal' who'd let me do it, not until I found young Margie and she was just a kid: seventh grade in this here school... " I'm beginning to wish I was untied for sure. This is creepy. He's a poor old coot who just might have a notion about keeping me chained up in the basement so's he'd have a pretty girl to look at and tie up and talk to. Nobody would ever find me.
She was a sweet kid. Bright, Not like you, of course, she was too young. But she understood right off, I didn't have to explain nothin'. She even brung the rope for us to use. We'd go down the basement after school and I'd tie her every way from Sunday. I didn't have to tell her 'bout clothes neither. She stripped off first thing like she knew it was the only way. She sure was a lovely little thing. Sometimes she'd manage to come on a Saturday or Sunday or through the holidays. Lasted better than a year it did before her folks moved and took her to Kansas someplace. Never did find another, not 'till you. And now I'm too old, too bloody old."
"You're never too old." I say inanely. "When you let me loose I'll give you a great big hug."
"I sure do envy the guy who tied you that way." He rambles on, bypassing my hint. "I ain't goin' to be a spoil sport. I know all about the both of you, even if we didn't ever meet. I'm leavin' you just the way you are. If you ain't gone by first light I'll untie you then."
He rambles off towards the dark bulk of the school building, a sad old man who'd seen me as part of a dream. It takes me a few moments to realise the wet place on my cheek is a tear.
Jason surprises me. He is not disappointed by my night oh the goalpost. He sees it as what he calls a 'human document.' He is intrigued by the old man and his dream. He even speaks of being charitable and giving the old buffer a chance to tie me up. For my part I'm thankful for an adventure without pain, whipmarks, or being frightened out of my wits. The interlude in the night left me feeling sort of creepy and sad. That poor old chap and his schoolgirl, he could have been lynched or jailed for life... and yet been innocent.
"The next one's equally simple." Says Jason.
I know I should put my foot down and say 'NO!' But my fire burns brightly, and that goalpost did give me a few thrills, and I suppose I've sort of promised. I notice, too, I'm never free any more, my hands or my feet are always linked someway... !
It's a posh part of town and a neat little park with lots of trees and shrubs, all elite and immaculate. Some have been railed off to form a small copse, inviolate. "We're not supposed to climb the rail." I protest. "It's a sort of preserve."
We climb the rail and thrust through the greenery to the inevitable small tree. I shrug and hand over my cloak and shoes. I am now naked. Jason thrusts my breasts against the trunk, encircles it with my arms, then handcuffs my wrists on the other side. I am comfortably attached for a love affair with a tree. "See." He says proudly. "Simple as can be. See you in the morning." He rustles away like some nocturnal denizen of the night.
It is very still. It is dark and eerie with a mysterious gloom. Someone wrote: "The night has a thousand eyes." He was right. There are strange small sounds... This would be a wonderful place for a murderer to dispose of the body I shiver. I tug irritably at my chrome encircled wrists.
The principle is the same as the goalpost but I have more freedom. An expensive residential street runs close enough for my pale nudity to be spottily touched by headlights. My main hazard of discovery is by a patrolling cop. If I get yanked off to the Precinct like this again it's going to be awful hard to explain. I wish the young growth around me was more dense, there are chinks in my armour. But I suppose that's the name of Jason's game, isn't it. Oh shit!
I'd better try and sleep. It stops me worrying and passes the time. Embracing my small tree, I lower myself down and wriggle and twist until my bottom is not cut by roots and rocks. I lean my bare shoulder and cheek against the bark and I clasp the four inch stem as though it was Jason's thigh. The handcuffs don't bother me much, they just keep me where I'm at. I think about getting married. I drowse away into a brief oblivion which is brutally shattered by the uncompromising approach of a large black blob, noisy and breathing hard. I wrench in terrible fear at my handcuff and cut my wrists. The black blob says: "Hiya, honey."
It is Bill Coro.
CHAPTER SEVEN - GIRL PRISON
Bill sure must have a lot of money. When he lifts my trussed nudity out of his trunk everything is different. This isn't Stubbinsburg. Everything smells and looks new. The car is in a garage so I can't look around. Bill carries me through a small door and I moan at what I see.
"Been preparing this a long time " Bill says proudly. "It's new and clean and a lot more cheerful than my old Jailhouse. It's the lower floor of a damn nice house on an ultra respectable street with security on the whole development. Very private and exclusive. That asshole Jason doesn't know where it is and couldn't get in anyway."
"I'm in love with Jason and I'm going to marry him."
"No you're not, honey."
So that looked after that! I now hang at the end of a rope dead centre in a cell. Bill was very kind and placating as he explained about how he'd been too kind to me and how it would be better now for me to suffer a bit to take my mind off Jason and The Great Change, the latter being that I'm a prisoner for life without any hope of escape, not ever.
I can't help a few tears. I don't deserve this, it's just not fair. I'm too young to spend my life in a prison even if it is spanking new and has a bit of daylight. And Bill is such a fatuous ass: "You may not like this, honey, but believe me it's best. You really do belong to me and I want you to think about that and realise it properly while you're in this sort of welcome home punishment."
He is busy bandaging my wrists, and you can bet he's told me how kind he is to use bandages instead of rope. The hell of it is I suppose it's true. Miserably, I ask: "What am I being punished for?"
"It's really a sort of cleansing, dear, to get rid of the Jason influence."
"Hanging me up by my arms isn't going to make me love you, Bill. I'll just hurt and think about Jason."
"I won't listen to a thing you say, honey. I've reached the conclusion no man should pay attention to the way girls beef. Girls need a firm hand. There, I think those bandages make a nice neat job, won't hurt so much and won't stop the circulation."
"Thank you, it's lovely."
"You're being sarky. It is tight enough though...?"
"Tight enough I'll never get loose. Do I also get hot irons and the Rack?"
"Carrie, I wish you wouldn't talk like that. You know I adore you."
"Is that why you hang me up by my wrists?"
"There you go again, twisting my motives. I won't do anything to you that you don't deserve or helps you to take a good look at yourself."
"Oh sure."
"You're in a bad mood, so I'll make allowances. Come along."
So here I hang, with my toes about three inches off the concrete. Even though my wrists are bound with bandages this isn't fun. I've had it before, of course, but it's a lousy way for a girl to spend her day. I look down at myself and I'm all drawn and stretched, and I look up at the lovely bandage job and the rope suspending me from the ceiling. It's not much of a view.
Maybe if I'd acted more pleased about being imprisoned for life Bill would have given me the thirty cent tour. But as far as I can see through the bars there's quite a variety of cells and rooms around a central space. There's a post in the centre of that and I can guess what it's for. Some of the doors are solid, some are bars, others are half and half. Maybe I'll get to enjoy them all in rotation. It's an awful lot of prisons for one girl.
Bill shows up again real quick. I make an instant offer: "If you'll let me down and untie me I'll do anything you want.".
"You will anyway, honey, you have no choice." He beams. "I'm figuring on a nice surprise for you real soon."
"You're going to whip me?"
"Carrie!"
"Don't sound so hurt, Bill. It's hard for me to be optimistic the way I'm fixed."
"Don't harp on it, nothing's forever. If you promise to marry me you're a free woman "
"I'll marry you right now!"
"You're just saying that. I can tell. Dammit, Carrie, there's times when you make me feel you ought to be whipped."
I am on the verge of sulkily telling him to go right ahead, but I'm in trouble enough, it would hurt like blazes to be whipped while I'm strung up. I expect I'll get whipped soon enough with my owner going through this fine big macho kick. And I bet the idiot figures I should have escaped from Jason and delivered myself back to Stubbinsburg jail to finish my life sentence. Oh boy... !
My poor shoulders! Oh shit, this is for the birds! And my poor arms and my poor wrists and my poor everything. I really must watch my tongue and not hurt Bill's precious feelings. Dammit, the twit's half right about this punishment, it's making me think more about me and how I hurt instead of mooning about Jason. It is also causing me to remember that promise I made to get out of Rainsvillc. I made it for sure. I'm not certain anything that's happened absolves me from it. Oh damn and double damn! Jason and I should have guessed Bill would have us watched and shadowed. That little copse delivered me back to him as a helpless little package. He is now looking at me hungrily through the bars, so I switch to humility.
"I really am sorry, Bill, about... everything."
"Good. But you'll still hang like that all day."
"Well... maybe I deserve it. But, Bill...?" I turn on the pathos. "What do I have to do to become a trusty? I mean, if you're imprisoning me for life...?"
"I'm not sure I can ever trust you, Carrie, not while Jason's around somewhere."
"Yeah, I'm sorry. I know how you must feel." I turn on some more honey. "Then how about keeping my feet always chained? That way I couldn't escape? Gosh, Bill, I don't want to be locked in a cell for always?"
"I'll give that some thought I was going to anyway."
"Bill, if only you'd fuck me I think it would help. Maybe help you more than me?"
"That's out! You know my sentiments."
"Oh alright. But please don't whip me a lot instead?"
"Hmmmmm..."
"Please, Bill, let me down now... ? I really haven't been naughty. I mean... I really didn't escape, y'know. Or at least let my feet down on the floor so I can stand-that's still a punishment--" That's as far as I get. A bell rings somewhere. Bill departs. I listen like crazy and can tell a car has driven into the garage. There are voices and male laughter, starting out faint but getting closer. It is not long before Bill leads the way for a pair of heavily laden roughnecks. He opens the door to my cell to allow the burdens to be placed inside on the floor. One of them is Daphne, naked. The other is an older beauty I do not know, this one is clothed. Both are hogtied and gagged. It is not hard to guess they have just come out of the trunk of a car. They look up at me in silent wonder. The hoods depart. Us three females exchange stricken gazes while Bill looks after his employees. All of us are helpless, two are mute. When our kidnapper returns he is obviously in a seventh heaven of jubilation.
"Well, well, well! No loneliness now in my little prison, and plenty of cells for all."
No one says a thing. Bill stoops and unbuckles gags. The clothed woman gets her mouth working, then says in a cold controlled fury: "I am rich. I am influential. I will be instantly missed. You have no hope whatever, Mr. Coro, of getting away with this."
"I already have." Says our Bill.
"For only a few hours. Incidentally, Daphne and I are in considerable pain. Release us from this trussing."
"It will do you good, Miss Comstrock. Sabrina, isn't it?"
"For instant release I am prepared to be generous?"
"I've probably got more money than you. You're just a rich bitch, I earned mine."
Bill smiles down, Miss Comstock glares up. Daphne says "Hello, Carrie." and I say "Hello Daphne, sorry about this." Bill says: "That's enough out of you two, keep quiet." Then returns his attention to Miss rich girl.
"I'm going to let you both loose in this cell with Carrie. The three of you can natter, it will save me a lot of talking. I'll leave you alone for awhile, but when I return I want to find your clothes and shoes tossed outside the bars, all of 'em."
"Drop dead."
"If your clothes are not out there you'll be hung up like Carrie and stripped, then whipped. Make your own choice." He cuts rope to leave only Daphne's ankles tied. Then leaves, slamming the door.
"The son of a bitch! Daphne, untie yourself and get me loose."
Daphne says, "Yes, Mistress, right quick, but my fingers are numb--"
"It would seem we have lots of time, darling. Great Heaven, what I'm going to do to that man!"
It is a busy few minutes. Questions and answers fly like bullets. Immediately she is free Sabrina Comstock says: "The first thing is to get this poor girl's feet back on the floor."
"I don't think you'd better." I warn. "I'm being punished.
"Nonsense!" Sabrina reaches up towards my bandages, but l am far enough up to prevent effective reach. It's tantalizing.
"She's right, Mistress." Daphne offers timidly. "If we let her loose we'll all be punished."
"Hmmmmm... " Miss Comstock actually chuckles. "Well, being a slave owner myself, I see your point. Discipline is so damned important. I'd do the same myself." She pats my cheek tenderly. "If it was just me I'd risk it but I don't want young Daphne whipped. Sorry."
"I don't mind. I'm used to it. Just pretend I'm not hanging up. We can talk... We sure need to talk."
"But, Mistress?" Daphne is distressed and has a loving hand on Sabrina's arm. "What Bill said...?"
"Nobody expects me to strip for that bastard, do they?"
"I think you should, Mistress. You're not used to this end of things but we're all prisoners, we can't get through those bars."
"She's right." I agree. "Naked girls in prison always end up doing what they're told. There's not much choice."
"Poor dear, you're in pain suspended "Sure I am, but I still know you'd better get those clothes off."
"Absolutely no! I'm not a prude but I'm not going to bare my cunt for that jackass. I'll already be missed, the hunt will be on. We'll be rescued in no time."
I can't bring myself to tell her we will never be rescued, that all three of us are in for life. Glumly, I repeat: "Undressing is really the wisest thing. Slaves are supposed to be naked... I haven't worn clothes for so damn long -" Sabrina sniffs. "Bill Coro and his money why, hell. I could buy him up and throw him away."
It takes a little time for Daph' and I to convince her. I watch the lovely features take on the shadows of realisation. No slave girl finds her first strip-off easy, and Miss Comstrock is now a slave. For her it will be twice as bad, she has been a Mistress. Daphne's adoration of her is obvious.
Sabrina Comstock strips herself naked in slow disgust. She is certainly no prude, she glories in her body, and I can sec why. It is one of the loveliest ever. Bill Coro does not rate any one of us three, and without ropes and chains he wouldn't have us. But he does have us, he has us good! Poor Sabrina... Oh, damn, damn, damn!
We have a new girl. Tossing her clothes and shoes out beyond the bars where they cannot be retrieved is an act by which she sheds enough years to be truly one of us girls. Most of her authority goes with her clothes and I realise she is only a trifle older than me. I visualise the headlines about the 'Vanished Beauty.' Bill Coro sure does have his nerve.
By the time our fortunate owner returns we have talked ourselves out, we are all fully informed. Three pairs of feminine eyes gaze at Bill through the bars in a way to gladden his heart. He produces handcuffs. "Stick your hands out between bars."
Daphne sticks her hands out as ordered. When she retrieves them her wrists wear shining steel. But Sabrina sneers. "Good gosh, Coro, d'you think I'm crazy!"
"No food or water for any of you until you do."
Sabrina looks round at us and sees only defeat. We know we are slaves, she is not yet sure. Sulkily, she pushes her hands between two bars and brings them back in tight chrome. As though puzzled by a new and strange confinement she tugs and twists the single link which makes her now doubly captive. She stares her owner in the eye and hisses in fury: "You son of a bitch... you dirty lousy bastard!"
"Hard words break no bones, Sabrina."
"So you've got me naked and you've got me chained!" She glares jeeringly, "What comes next? Do I get fucked?"
"That's not a bad idea." He says it slowly, meaning every word. I'm not sure whether I'm jealous or shocked. He won't fuck me but he's anxious to impale Sabrina. It's mental, of course, he won't so much be shoving his prick into Sabrina's flesh as into her money. It's strange what turns men on.
"I'll make you a deal." She tells him with equal seriousness. "Cut Carrie loose and I'll spread my legs for you."
"No deal, Miss Comstrock, I can take you when I please."
"Sure, you can take me kicking and clawing or tied down so I can't move. But wouldn't you sooner have me willing? I'll even kiss your ass as a bonus." She holds up her handcuffed wrists. "With these on I surely can't cause you much trouble?"
This woman has class, it radiates from her like an aura, she is also gloriously lovely. Bill knows a bargain when it's offered. He unlocks the cell door and beckons. When Sabrina is outside, he plays it safe with an extra pair of cuffs, one on her ankle, the other clipped on her wrist. She has to stand on one leg while he comes back in and cuts me down. Then the door slams and he carries her away.
Daphne and I are shocked. I am terribly grateful for release but we both hate what is taking place upstairs. Mine is an expensive freedom and anyway. I'm still behind bars. I sit, exhausted, on the bench while Daph' tugs and bites at the bandages still binding my wrists, their knots have become costive under my weight and my struggles. I reassure her dismay by speaking my belief Sabrina has more in mind than my comfort, she will have a plan, even if it is only woman's oldest weapon of seduction. When my bandages are defeated I stretch in animal ecstasy and we speak of making love. But we do not have the heart for it. Instead, I clutch her tightly on the bench, our only comfort is the heat of our own girl flesh.
It is a day of disaster. There is blood all over Bill's face when he tosses Sabrina back in our cell and hurriedly departs. Both her wrists and ankles are tight in handcuffs, she is crying hysterically.
"I hit the son of a bitch with a chair." She sobs into her joined hands. "I can't let him do what he's doing to all three of us, I just can't... But he's so damn strong, and I didn't hit him hard enough... and the blasted chair broke to bits... We never got around to the fucking bit, but I'll get that for sure now, and worse."
She sobs herself into a quiet acceptance of helplessness. Our hands and lips are gentle and compassionate on her lovely nakedness. Perhaps we are all in for it now all that blood! Oh, how we hate the bars behind which we are caged" We cannot run. We must stay here, three naked girls, awaiting judgement.
Bill returns. He had washed away the blood, his head is roughly bandaged. He carries more bandages and tape in his hand. He opens the door and beckons to me.
"I'm going to trust you, Carrie. Fix me properly."
No threats. And anyway what else can I do! I rearrange his fumbling work, I tape and stick adhesive over several wounds. They are ugly but don't need stitches, it could not have been a heavy chair. As I wind the bandages I wryly reflect on their use. They were probably purchased to bind my wrists.
"You going to behave, Carrie?"
"Yes, I know I can't escape." I put the finishing touches to my work, I am proud of it. Bill looks heroic. "Tell me what you want."
"Let's have your hands for starters."
He handcuffs me. He must have bought the damn things by the gross. As he clicks them tight on me I venture, weakly: "Please don't be too hard on Sabrina. You know where she comes from and what she was. All this is harder for her than for me." I tug and clink my new cuffs. "I'm a slave and I've worn a lot of these, it's different with her."
"I'll deal with the bitch, forget her. I'll deal with you too. But anyway, thanks for this bandage job, you've got sweet hands."
"Bill, be kind to us. We don't have much to look forward to?"
Handcuffed, I am again under control. Bill inserts me back in the cell and drags Sabrina out like a bag of potatoes. Our door clangs and we watch through the bars as Bill Coro hangs Miss Sabrina Comstrock up by her wrists in the cell next door. He suspends her the same way I was except there are no bandages. Sabrina is cuffed hand and foot and that is the way she hangs. She moans.
"Master, her wrists will be cut to bits!"
"Too damn bad, eh." He could not care less.
"Master, use bandages on her. Whip me instead."
"Can the sympathy, kid, and don't tempt me."
He is not the old Bill Coro. He has had a shock. I am trembling when he beckons me from the cell. I start out to say: "Please, Bill, go easy--" But his finger admonishes silence. He is going to punish me, I know he is. Oh damn, what have I done... !
It is one of the solid doors. The small room behind it contains a pillory and a set of stocks. They are massive and solid and menacing. "She broke her word, honey." Bill says heavily, "And you didn't finish your punishment... I'm damn fed up with the way girls act."
He unlocks my handcuffs and lifts the top yoke of the pillory invitingly. Meekly, I insert my neck, arrange my hair, then place my wrists where they must go. The yoke falls and there comes the solid snap of a padlock I cannot reach.
"Look, kid, there's worse things I could do to you."
"Yes, Master. Thank you."
He goes away but soon returns with Daphne. She has not transgressed so gets off easy. She must sit on a hard bench with her ankles firmly clamped in the stocks. Her hands just stay handcuffed. For Daphne, it could be much, much worse. She looks at me and explodes.
"Oh, Carrie darling, what a beastly way to fix you!"
I wriggle unhappily and admit: "I'm not quite sure, Daph', but I think it's going to be better than suspension."
"But you can't move, and you look so sad and pathetic with your hands and head on one side and the rest of you on the other."
"I'll just have to put up with it. A lot of other girls have had to. You're not all that well off yourself, darling."
"Well, yes. But if he leaves us here for the night I can probably nap, you can't."
The prospect is too awful. In a small panic I wrench and twist. The pillory mocks my feminine strength and holds me fast. I divert my terror into sympathy. "But, Daphne, think of your Mistress! We're both better off than she is. Poor darling--!"
"Her wrists were showing specks of blood when I left." Daphne shivers. "The way Bill's hung her up is pure torture."
I am tremendously thankful for Daphne. It would be too awful to have to stand in the clutch of these baulks of timber all alone, and we have much to talk about. We are not gagged, and I suspect this an oversight Bill may correct, so we chatter while we can, and dispose our nudities this small way and that seeking a comfort we will never be allowed. Significantly, in all our talk, we neither of us mention escape. Escape is now something too remote and improbable to even talk about. We are slaves. After awhile our aches and tiredness still our tongues. I hate this wooden monster with an increasing hate. After a very long time Bill returns and unlocks my padlock and lifts the yoke.
* * *
I don't know what to call this relationship between Bill Coro and me. Sure, I'm his slave and he's my master. He owns me and can do what he pleases with my person. But there is more to it than that. He has known me socially. He has made deals over me with Jason. In the course of my forcible entry into, and my escapes from, his lousy Jail I have come to know him very well. He does not know me or any woman, he never will the way he goes about it with us. Poor Bill, he's so damned inept. But, absurd as this may be, there has grown between us some sort of relationship in which it is not hard for us to talk. He sits with me now in the small cell in which I have spent the night alone. My feet bears shackles, that is all.
"Honey, I don't treat you all that good, do I?"
"No, Bill, you don't."
"I'd meant to leave you in that pillory through the night but I got to thinking--" He sighs heavily. "You've really been a damn good girl. You were keeping your promise when Jason yanked you out from under my feet. Honey, how 'bout you and me get married?"
"Bill, you've got me already, and you've got this Thing about refusing to sleep with me...?"
He nods. I think he'd have been shocked if I'd dumped a wedding in his lap. "O.K., Carrie, we'll let that slide. How'd you like to be a sort of Mistress over the other girls, with authority?"
"How can a girl be a Mistress when she's chained herself?"
"Would I have to keep you chained?"
"Well... wouldn't you? Gosh, Bill, no girl wants to be a prisoner all her life. You must know I'd escape if I could, why else would you lock me in this cell or chain my feet the way they are?"
"I'd sort of figgered on a bit more freedom for you after you get over the hassle of this last time I had to kidnap you--getting my own property back is what it really amounts to."
"Bill, this freedom...?"
"I'd thought maybe just your feet chained so you can't run and you'd be in a cell at night "
"Well... thanks. I'll accept." I kick my shackles. "These are a lot better than that damn Pillory."
"Of course, there will still be punishments if if--"
"If I'm a naughty girl? O.K., I'll accept that too. It sort of leaves it up to me. But, Bill, on this Wardress, Matron, Head Girl thing, neither Daphne or I would be much good, we're both submissives. Who else but a submissive would be talking to you now. The girl for you is Sabrina Comstock, she's a Mistress for sure."
"Maybe, but she's going to get broke down into a submissive." He glowers indignantly. "Hitting me with that chair...!"
"But, Master, a kidnapped girl's desperate. She'll do anything--"
"Not to me, she won't." He snorts. "That bitch is going to be taught a few lessons. I'll whip the ass off her--and in case you're bothered about it, I didn't keep her hanging by those cuffs. I gave her an hour of it and then hogtied her for the night." He chuckles. "Right now she's almost polite."
"She's dangerous, Master. The whole country will be looking for her. You're playing with fire--"
"Huh, that's just the way it looks to you, honey. But no one's going to find her here, nor you either. I'm going to fuck her until she whimpers." He laughs at a mental picture, "Maybe I'll bring in some help."
As we talk I become aware Bill's interest wanes, he has something on his mind. I suppose it is the other girls who he has locked away somewhere I cannot see. But, in this I am wrong. He makes an excuse about a phone call and departs. I try the door, it is firmly locked. I suspect, for all his talk, I will never know very much freedom again. It is about mid morning when we get our next shock.
It is the noise in the garage again. It is the same two men. With brutal competence they tie Jollie to the whipping post. They tear the clothes from her magnificent femaleness to leave her nude. They go away. Jollie struggles for awhile but her wrists are bound high above her head, she is helpless. When she concedes victory to the ropes she turns and sees me peering through the bars. She tries to wave but cannot, instead she nods and kicks playfully with one foot. She repeats the greeting twice more, evidently Daph' and her Mistress are visible in the same caged manner as myself.
I am beginning to be impressed. Bill Coro now has four naked women subject to his will. He is kidnapping girls high wide and handsome and, quite probably, with impunity. But if he is caught... ! Strangely, I have no wish to see Bill Coro go to prison for life. He is just a bumbling idiot with too much money and a dream of girls... or is this another evidence of my submission. Most likely it is because I have worn his chains so long. Seems like a girl can get used to anything... ! Oh shit!
When Bill makes his entry he is not an amiable man. He carries a whip and wears a look so grim I shudder. With his latest captive he wastes no time.
"You let two of my girls loose." He pauses portentously. "You know what I'm going to do to you."
"Yeah, I let 'em loose, and sure I knows what yer gonna' do to me, Mist' Coro. Ain't nothin' I can do 'bout it."
Their words drift to our cells. Soon, too, does the awful whine and snicker of the whip. It snaps across Jollie's shoulders with a nauseating impact to send her into gyrations of bucking and heaving at her bound hands. She neither screams nor pleads. When the thong cracks across her firm round rump she does no more than thrust her pubic triangle and her breasts against the post to weld her flesh to the wood for whatever help she can get, it is sadly little.
Thirty strokes, you brown bitch."
I shiver at my owner's mood. I hope when he has whipped all of us enough he will return to being the bumptious idiotic bumbler who has held me captive in the past. Breathlessly, I watch the flash of his arm and the rising weals on Jollie's skin. Thirty strokes is a terrible sentence and he delivers them slowly with a heavy hand. Poor Jollie's motions are mostly with her head and the kicking of a leg. She expects what she is getting, she will not plead. But there are sounds, small terrible pathetic sounds the whip extracts... I wince with every blow. When Jollie has been striped thirty times Bill stands back.
"It's for life this time, Jollie. Understand?"
"Yes... I understand." Her voice is pale and sulky.
"You can stay where you are awhile. Think a bit. Get your head space right."
"Yes, Mist' Coro."
Bill stalks away, victorious. Jollie rises on her toes to get a bit of slack, then shakes herself like a dog. She looks my way and grins, I could swear she winks. We are too far apart to risk talking, we could be overheard.
When our owner comes and takes me from the cell Jollie remains with her hands bound high on the post. She must be hating the position by now, it keeps her taut, and she cannot know if there are not more strokes to come. I think she cries a little but why not!
Upstairs is gorgeous. Looking at the immaculate kitchen I almost decide to marry this rich oddball who holds the key to my chains. But he has made coffee and sandwiches and I am suddenly ravenous. I forget all else except this lovely domestic comfort. I eat and drink like a pig.
"Well, sweetheart, this is it. Just chained feet. You've got the run of the place."
I almost stop eating.
"Everything's barred or locked. If you tamper with a door or window a bell rings and you get whipped but good. When I'm away I'll have to fix you some way but I'll try and make it easy."
"But, Master, you can't spend your life playing warden to four naked females!"
"Don't aim to." He's really pleased with himself. "I got an office here and a phone-you won't ever get near that phone."
"Of course, Master." Gosh, these sandwiches are good! "But if I'm free... I mean like this with my hands and not behind bars I can be kind to the girls? I could go down now and untie Jollie?"
"Yeah, I thought of that. But if you act that way you both get whipped. If a girl's being punished leave her alone."
He has covered all the bases. Seeking chinks in his armour, I ask: "I'll have a lot of time on my hands, Bill. What do I do with it?"
"Talk to the gals. Make 'em coffee and a bite to eat like this here, and you can keep this place tidy and clean."
"Do I get whipped if I don't?"
Bill examines the idea. "Well, I 'spose you should, eh?"
"Yes, Master."
"I love the way you say that, honey. Butter wouldn't melt in your mouth, and all the time you're figuring how to get out of here." He laughs. "You're going to be one awful frustrated female."
"Can I send a letter to Jason to tell him I haven't been murdered or something?"
"Pushing your luck, kid. But, O.K. After I've read it I'll maybe mail it for you."
"Thanks, Bill... honest!"
When night comes poor old Bill is up the creek as to what to do with me. Resignedly, I suggest the cell. At least I can sleep well on the bench, it will be better than being chained someplace like a dog. He is relieved. He locks me safely inside and kisses me goodnight through the bars. This whole thing is nuts.
My Master is like a kid. When he's got a surprise he can't wait to share it. He's almost starry eyed as he leads me to the room where he's got poor Sabrina Comstrock. My chain clinks more or less cheerfully beside him to the door, then he says: "Go ahead, go on in. I've got something to attend to."
I am still taking my chained freedom with a grain of salt. It's lovely but I'm sure if I do something wrong I'll be chained in a dungeon with my back and bottom well striped. But I show willingness and go on in.
It's a sort of table. Sabrina is spread out on it, well stretched into an 'X.' She is gorgeously naked and her bushy sex stares me in the face pleading for attention. Her wrists and ankles are tightly bound to four rings. We stare at each other, assessing what is possible under the Law.
"I don't suppose you dare let me loose, darling?"
I shake my head unhappily and stoop to kiss her red lips. "I can't, Sabrina, we'd only be whipped or something horrible... " I sit beside her and wave my shackled feet. "See, I'm not really free."
"But you must have some sort of deal? You're sleeping with the son of a bitch?"
I explain my status. She is a mature woman, computing odds while I tell her of my privilege. "Good gosh, Carrie, you're a trusty?"
"Yes, but it won't get us any closer to freedom."
"Let's make the most of it, dear. Haul that damn pillow out from under my rump."
I see it for the first time, a cute obscenity doubly exposing Sabrina's hairy slit. I pull it out. "I'm not sure I should do this." I quaver doubtfully. "It could get us both in trouble."
"Well, O.K. Put it back in a few minutes. It will give my back a rest. That bastard's got me stretched so damn tight...!" She gives me a wry grin. "You know what I'm fixed like this for and that damn pillow! I'm going to get fucked to a fare ye well."
I'd guessed that first thing. If ever any woman was an open invitation for the thrust of pricks Sabrina was right now. The pillow would be an added assertion of male convenience. I nod unhappily, "He's sort of funny about... what you said. He won't do it to me."
"You offered?"
"I thought it might be a way of getting around him. I never guessed he'd tie me down like this."
"Oh, I'm being punished, sweetheart. Remember the chair? Say, is the asshole alone with us or are there others?" I was in the middle of telling her Bill was the only male when he comes back in. He sees the pillow first thing. "Put that back under her ass, Carrie."
I do it. I am trembling. Suddenly I want very much to stay as I am. I don't want to be punished or go back in a cell. I should have known... ! But my owner has other things on his mind than a pillow. "Run along, Carrie." He tells me abruptly. "I've things to do."
I slip out the door, knowing damn well what he's going to do to Sabrina. She'll live, of course, there's no sense getting maudlin over a girl getting herself fucked, it happens all the time. But just the same... !
I clank and rattle my way across to where I can see a bare arm waving through the bars. For a girl to have her ankles joined by chain may seem a little thing in her life but it sure does put a crimp on her mobility. I can walk but with cautious steps for fear of stubbing my toe in a link or stepping on the damn chain. I cannot run at all no way! And the noise I make keeps me shamed and very much aware of what and where I am. But the rest of me is free, and this is wonderful.
Daphne is locked in a neat little cell with stone walls and a barred front. Her neck is collared and padlocked to the wall by a long chain which does no good except to tell her where she's at. If the door was open the collar would keep her prisoner, but the door is locked. Daph's a darling, she wants me to persuade Bill to chain her feet and allow her to walk around with me. I'd like that too but I bet he won't do it.-Bill Coro has a fetish about girls and iron bars, he believes we should spend half our life peering through them wistfully at our lost freedom. If someone handed him an iron bar on the street he'd hold it up against a girl for proper perspective. I think his underlying motive in kidnapping girls is the same as a collector of fine paintings: they are valuable, there is a tremendous pride in possession, and they are beautifully decorative. The picture hangs lonely on the wall, we languish in a cell same difference.
Jollie is next door, she is still being punished. She stands forlornly in the centre of her little prison and holds one arm up in the air. She has to, it is chained to a hook in the ceiling. She is a mahogany Juno sentenced to an uncomfortable day because a man is mad at her. But she is still the old Jollie: "What ah'm gonna do to that mizzable bastard when ah gits outta' here...!" She grins. "You got promoted?"
"Sort of. Oh, Jollie, we'll never get out of here." I shake at the bars that keep me from her. "It's all hopeless, look at the chains on my feet!"
Jollie turns so I can view her whipmarked back. "Look what that son of a bitch done to me. I'm gonna' git him fo' sho', And it ain't hopeless, honey, nothin's hopeless. That there Mist' Coro he's just a man. Ah ain't never seen no man ah couldn't git around someway. Men don't 'mount to nothin'."
I am strangely comforted. Jollie is more helpless than I am, and she is suffering punishment, but her courage is infectious. If I wanted a champion for my femaleness it would be her. Wanly, I look at her taut arm and the metal band biting her wrist. Even if I was in there I could not help. I am about to condole when there comes sounds and we are joined by company. It is Bill's two hired thugs. When they get close enough Jollie spits: "What you two fuckers want now! Ah'm gonna make yo' sorry enough as it is."
Appreciatively they examine my breasts and pubic patch before turning their attention through the bars.
"You just said it, coloured gal'. Had us a key we'd bang you too."
It fits. I think of poor Sabrina with the ropes cutting her wrists and ankles and her belly concave from the pillow and the stretch. That chair really must have hurt Bill's dignity as well as his head but this is a horrible way to punish the girl who used it. I think it would be bad enough to lay still, scared to death, while three men raped you, but to be tied down the way Sabrina is and not able to move while you see one impaling weapon after another make its approach and enter your sheath-Ugh!
They turn to rape me mentally with sardonic scrutiny. With my back against the bars I wonder if Bill has given them carte blanche. But their manner is simply offensively jovial. "Boss man keep you chained all the time, honey?"
"She can still spread her legs far enough."
"Won't do no runnin' though. Every gal' oughta' wear 'em."
I sense a faint and guarded respect. They do not touch me. Evidently I am a perquisite of Mr. Coro only. They saunter away to where Sabrina waits. They knock and enter. A few moments later Bill appears and beckons. Obediently, I clink my shameful way across the wide expanse of floor. Passing the whipping post, I shudder.
"Honey, I want you watching this, there's a lesson in it for you."
"Bill, please... no! It's horrible."
There is always a whip around somewhere. Bill picks it up and cuts it savagely across Sabrina's loins. She and I gasp and cringe in unison. The red line forms.
"Every time you ain't watching, she gets another." Bill warns cordially. "You be a sensible girl."
So I'm a sensible girl. What the hell else can I be! I try not to look at the exposed hairy triangle that is the hub and centre of what is taking place, but my eyes inevitably turn... It is a gorgeously plump and swollen vagina and there are secretions... Hastily I turn away. I try and offer sympathy with a glance but this naked woman tied down to the table will not look at anyone, her eyes search for sanctuary where none can see. Sabrina Comstock is utterly shamed.
To myself I call it a plowing match. The men cut a furrow and plant their seed. Perhaps once might be bearable but this goes on and on until all three of them are exhausted. One of our visitors looks at me and says: "I could get it up again for her?", but Bill tells him to forget it. Raping is over for the day.
But the day itself is far from done. It appears Bill's virile retainers are on a dual mission. When the door opens my admiration for my Master's audacity receives another boost. Out on the floor are a pair of girls. They can't be a day over eighteen. They are quite lovely with silken platinum hair and pleased expectant smiles. They are linked by a single pair of handcuffs on adjoining wrists and wear the metal and their joining with the unconscious grace of Siamese twins, and twins is what they are--identical.
"Who the hell let them out of the truck?" Bill growls.
One of his rapists looks sheepish. "Guess I forgot the door." He admits. "Ain't no harm done, they can't get out."
"It was so dull in the garage and we didn't think you'd mind." The young voices are bright with goodwill and undismayed by what they see. "I expect we've been kidnapped?"
"Damn right you've been kidnapped."
"Don't it bother you none?"
The twins beam. "You put something in our coffee, didn't you. That's an awfully kind way to do it. I mean... we aren't even bruised." They hold up cuffed wrists delightedly. "And these are so cute. Please don't take them off, we'd like to wear them awhile."
They speak and act delightfully in unison. They are altogether too good to be true or are mentally retarded. It is Bill's turn to look sheepish.
"Yeah, you're kidnapped O.K.."
"White slavery or ransom? We haven't any money."
"Just for me, actually. I keep girls for pets-look, kids, are you putting on an act?"
"Oh, no. We're just so terribly thrilled. We think every girl ought to be kidnapped once-" They break off and peer into the room where Sabrina's glistening sex bids them mute welcome. "Oooooooo, are you going to do that to us?"
"Not unless you're bad."
"You mean we have to be naughty...?"
I repress a giggle. I can't believe this is happening. Bill nods shortly and his henchmen melt away. Obviously their brawn is not required for these two sweet young things. A truck roars, a door bangs shut. Bill Coro's prison is back to normal. The twin's eyes flit around, missing nothing.
"Girls don't wear clothes here, do they. Do you want us to take ours off?"
Bill is aware of lost initiative, it is diminishing his pleasure. If these two now asked to be whipped, I think he'd cry.
"Might as well." He concedes gruffly. "Stick 'em in a corner someplace, you won't be needing 'em again."
Handcuffs impede them but little, their insouciant strip reveals lubricity of such luscious innocence as to get Bill Coro about three life sentences if he gets caught. "We hope you like us." They say anxiously. "We think we're nice."
They are a lecher's delight. They delight me. Forgetting proper respect, I gasp: "Where on earth did you find them, Bill?"
"We do an act round the Clubs." They look me up and down with approval. "Will we get to wear those groovy chains on our ankles?"
Bill seems out of this. I speak for him. "I'm sure Mr. Coro will arrange some for you. He's our Master. He owns us."
They spare Bill a polite but brief attention. "How'd you do. Our names are Sandy and Sue." Their interest returns to the bound nakedness on the table. "Shouldn't someone untie this lady?"
"No. She stays. She's misbehaved herself." Bill has become heavily macho. "You can pull that pillow out from under her ass if you want."
Their step is light, their fingers deft. The pillow falls on top of their clothes. Sabrina says "Thank you." with great sincerity.
"Those men all fucked you." They giggle admiringly. "We know what it's like."
My Master eyes me sternly. "I'm taking a shower, Carrie. Show 'em around and tell 'em the rules. Make lunch if you want. When you're ready you can put 'em in any cell. Lock yourself in with 'em, I'll be along to let you out."
"Can we untie her now he's gone?" The twins ask brightly.
"You'll get whipped if you do."
"He wouldn't?" They look more pleased than frightened.
I point to Sabrina's scarlet line, entranced, they run exploring fingers along the weal. "You mean... Mr. Coro, that man... he'd put lovely marks like this on us?" Their eyes sparkle.
"Look, leave me alone." Sabrina says wearily. "He's mad at me and I can understand why. It isn't much fun being tied down like this but it's better than being whipped, and that's what will happen to all of us if you let me loose."
"Gollies... Jeepers!" They stand, awed by fresh vistas, and turn their radiance upon each other.
Oh, Brownie...!"
"Pinkie, darling...!"
"You said your names were Sandy and Sue...?"
They giggle. "Well, yes they are but these are our pet names. I'm Sandy, and one of my nipples is brown. See!" She pokes out a pert breast. "Sue's are both pink. So that's where our names come from." More giggles. "It's the only real way to tell us apart but we do have to be naked... or sort of." They spread their radiance on Sabrina and myself. " 'Course, that doesn't matter here where girls don't wear clothes. While we're here you'll be able to tell us apart."
"Are you sure you understand?" I ask gently. "You're not just visiting, you're here for life. We all are. We're prisoners."
This time they are NOT entranced. "You mean that guy won't let us go after he's had his fun! Gee-whiz, we've got a booking for next week...?"
"You'll be kept in cells, and chained, and have things done to you like what's being done to Sabrina here. Sweethearts, you'll have to forget freedom."
I watch their radiance fade as realisation takes hold in a dismal silence. Sue puts her head on Sandy's shoulder and weeps. It is a sweet undemonstrative shedding of tears which Sandy dries with her one free hand as they wet her skin. These two are heartbreaking to watch, they are so beautiful. When Sue's salt drops cease to fall Sandy reverses their position and has her own small storm of weeping which Pinkie ministers to with maternal love. They are out of this world.
Sabrina and I watch as the twin's unquenchable radiance slowly returns. Urgently, she pleads: "Good! You've had your cry. Now run along a minute while I speak to Carrie." They nod. They make play with their handcuff, delighted by a new toy. They depart. Sabrina's whisper is exultant. "Carrie, we've got a hope. I had a chance to whisper in one of those bastard's ear while he... while he was"
"But they're both Bill Coro's men, they won't?"
"Yes they will. I offered a million cash. A cluck like that isn't going to turn down that kind of money."
Hope flares within. Sabrina is too big a bite for Bill to chew. He should have used more judgement. Daph' and me and Jollie, we're nothings, he can kidnap us without making ripples. But the Mistress of Mounthaven... ! I kiss the poor soiled darling on the table. We agree to keep the secret to ourselves. Uncaring of consequence, I slack the rope round one of Sabrina's wrists to ease a hand slowly turning purple, then clink hurriedly after the twins.
They are engrossed with Jollie, peering through the bars of her cell as with a sideshow at a fair. Half way across the floor I hear her voice. "Don' yo' worry none 'bout me, girlies, yo' watch yo' own little asses." To me, she adds: "That guy he's plumb crazy. He'll have every gal' in the State behind bars afore long."
The twins are sincerely interested in Jollie's plight. They survey her stretched arm and shackled wrist. Their enquiry is polite: "Docs that hurt real bad?"
"It's damn mizzable, honey."
"Will he do that to us?"
"More'n likely. Yo' best treat him real sweet."
"And does he screw you too?"
Their reference to the sex act has an innocence all its own, they are amoral. As yet. the world has not managed to soil their kittenish naivete. They do not belong in this place in the sense that Daphne and I belong not that we want to be here but bondage put its hand on us long before Bill Coro did.
Poor Daphne, she has been ignored. Like visitors at a Zoo, we move on to the next cage where she is having a tussle with the bars in an effort not to miss what's going on. We bring her up to date. Our eyes meet and we shrug. We cannot yet tell if these girls will lighten our captivity or darken it.
"Remember, Carrie, you promised?"
I look blankly at their expectant faces. Their spasm of tears has wiped clean their dismay. With the quick adjustments of children they have accepted imprisonment and are avid for whatever novelties captivity affords. I can see in them a seething sensuality, anything erotic will intrigue them. I doubt if they have ever heard of Bondage but its connotations of enforced submission has them agog. They are intensely female. My memory clicks.
"Oh, you want your feet chained?"
"Of course. Those things are gorgeous, they make you yummy."
"They also make a racket when you walk, and stop you running away."
"We can't get out of here anyway." They giggle. "We've already tried but everything's locked tight." They hold up their linked hands. "We think these are really super, especially for twins like us. So we'd like those things you're wearing too... Please?"
"I could get punished..."
"No you won't. That silly big man will think we're real sexy with our feet chained. Besides, you've got them and Daphne in the cage has got them?"
They are irresistible. I have a lovely vision of them wheedling Bill into some fatal mistake. I shrug. I have already discovered a cupboard full of metal and rope and leather to keep girls in their place. There are no keys, but every item is ready. When I open the door there is a peal of delight.
"Owwwwww... Wow!"
"Can we try everything?"
If I was a prankster I could load them each with a hundred pounds of metal and then break the news about no key. Instead, I let them rummage and inspect and then choose their own shackles for their feet. I lock them on the all too willing ankles.
"J don't have the key, y'know. Only our Master can unlock you.
"We don't want to be unlocked, not ever. Oh, wow!"
In adolescent excitement they take their first fettered steps. I can see the tragedy of this innocence locked in irons but they do not. Their handcuff compels them to swirl their chains together. When one snags her toe they stumble together and get back up laughing. They are as delighted to wear Bill's shackles on their feet as they would be if he gave each a mink coat. Soon they are walking with feline grace. They are very happy. I take them to a cell. When I am safely inside with them I add my touch of drama.
"Listen to this sound, girls." I slam the door closed, its lock snaps shut. It is a sound I fear. "Now I can't open it. Only Bill Coro has the key. We're prisoners."
Pinkie and Brownie are delighted. It is one more thrill. I must admit, myself, to the old familiar heat between my thighs as they go and push and pull at the bars to make sure I am not kidding. It is only then I remember I should have made a lunch.
CHAPTER EIGHT - NO ESCAPE
Bill's doing things in style. In this imprisonment with him, and I've forgotten how many I've had, he has changed. He is kind to me and seems to have glimpsed some of the sensible ways for a man to act around a girl. In spite of my chained feet I'm a lot better off, and there's a silly sort of comradeship. I suppose it's simply that we've got used to each other. But I'm the only one he is kind to.
We are all lined up to watch Sabrina whipped.
We don't want to watch but we have to. Even Jollie has been released for the occasion. It is a quite military affair with Bill as the drill sergeant. I look down our short line of nude females at a variety of bonds, Bill is taking no chances. The feet of each girl are chained same as mine. With me that's all. But Jollie's hands and elbows are tied cruelly behind her back, there's a collar on her neck. Daphne stands beside me with her hands tied behind her back. I sort of get the idea Bill's used rope because it hurts more than handcuffs and, the way he ties, no one's going to get loose. Our cuffed and fettered twins stand between us all constrained only as I had fastened them, they are helpless enough. Their eyes shine in bright anticipation, they are the only one's happy.
"I've told her what's she's done and what she's going to get for it." Bill is heavily macho. "She has the nerve to proposition one of my boys while she's getting screwed. A million bucks! Milady High and Mighty forgot about the family, a million's no damn good to a guy when he's dead."
My heart sinks, a hope is shattered. Miserably I blurt out. "Don't be mean to her, Bill... Master. Any of us girls would have done the same."
"And any one of you would have got the same as she's going to get." Bill assures me jovially. "What I'm doing is giving six girls a lesson, best you all pay attention."
What the hell else can we do! We are all helpless. Sabrina is helpless too. When he leads her from the shameful room her feet are ironed, heavy ugly things to demean her. She walks in them with difficulty. To shame her more he takes her to the bathroom, every step a clank and rattle of big links. They are gone quite awhile.
"Will Mr. Coro whip us after he's done with her?" The twins enquire hopefully.
"Yo' watch out fer them little rumps." Jollie reproves maternally. "The first couple hots up yo' cat. After that yo' wishes yo' was dead."
When Sabrina clanks back her dismal path to punishment she is crying. Reaching the dread post, she makes a stand.
"Look, Coro, I may have a lot of money but I won't be able to stand the way you whip a girl. I'm no heroine, I'll break down. I just know I will."
"Good."
"I've done you no harm. You've taken everything away from me. I don't deserve to be whipped, not any more than Jollie did."
"I'll be the judge of that. Get over to the post."
"Must it be a flogging?" Poor Sabrina blushes. "Couldn't you hurt me enough by using a crop or something on my bottom?"
"Don't want that pretty back marked up, eh."
"I don't want to be marked up at all, but I know when I'm beat. Look, all I'm doing is asking for mercy?"
"Maybe there's mercy in whipping you." Bill warns heavily. "When it's over you'll have gotten rid of a lot of that lady of Mounthaven stuff. Naked and chained you're no better than the rest of the girls I've collected."
"Look, Coro, let me buy freedom for all of us? I don't care the price. A million for each of us if you want?"
"Get your ass over to that post, woman!"
Sabrina has said the wrong thing, I know she has. Desperately I say the wrong thing too. "Master... please! She doesn't understand. Whip me instead?"
"Shut up, Carrie, don't you know when you're well off?"
I know when I'm well off. I shut up. Sabrina takes a metallic step towards the post when Pinkie and Brownie make their pitch. "We'd love to be whipped, Mr. Coro. Miss Comstock's had a bad day, so if you'd enjoy whipping a girl...?"
Bill is fascinated. Who wouldn't be! He has not yet had time to probe the full potential of his new possessions. He pauses to digest the offer. Eyes sparkling, the twins wait, breathless.
"If you two are putting me on you're going to be sorry. I'll warm your little seats... Get on over."
Bill's preparations are simple. He does not take Pinkie and Brownie seriously. They are already handcuffed together, so he drapes their wriggling nudities round the post and uses another pair of cuffs to join their free hands. They could play a limited 'ring around the Rosie' with the post in the middle.
"Isn't this exciting!" Their exclamation is to each other. In delicious suspense they watch Bill select a suitably pliant instrument for the wealing of bottoms. It makes me cringe but their dual reaction is: "Oooooo, isn't it lovely!"
I will never forget the expression on Sue's face when Bill cuts his first furrow. Her eyes widen, her jaw drops, she tugs against her sister with cuffed hands, then throws herself at the post. Sandy lifts her arms to enable her sibling to clutch the wood as though she was drowning. Indeed she is drowning, but in a sea of pain. Small bare feet beat a tattoo on the floor.
Whilst Sandy is preoccupied with Sue's distress, Bill thoughtfully swings and indents a real shocker across her chubby cheeks. Two red lines flame up on virgin bottoms.
These girls are delectable. We watch their performance enthralled as shackles swirl and slender wrists perform two tugs of war. They most ardently wish to embrace each other but they can't. They can only go round and round the post and get their feet entangled in their chains. Foiled in one dire need, their hands strive to comfort the hurt flesh of their derrieres. Since their fingers cannot reach, they strive to twist their bottoms to their hands. The resulting contortions excite me, and I'm a girl, goodness knows what they do to Bill. We are regaled with a feast of bottoms, pussies and pubic hair.
"We didn't like that a bit, Mr. Coro, but thank you very much."
As usual, the young voices are in unison. Anxious faces gaze at the big man with the riding crop.
"How about I give you nineteen more apiece?"
"We'd rather be screwed, if you don't mind."
Bill is delighted with his acquisition. Chuckling, he takes from them one set of handcuffs. Free hands rubbing wounded bottoms, they return into line. Standing between us they thrust breasts to breasts and cheek to cheek. They also manage to mingle their pubic hair. Sweetly, they weep.
"Well, that's the prelude." Bill announces cheerfully. "Now for the main event." He eyes Sabrina benignly, the mood has softened. "C'mon, honey, get yourself whipped and get it over with."
Sabrina senses a favourable wind. Without a word she thrusts her breasts against the post and embraces it with bare arms. Bill crosses her wrists, ties them, then hoists them high and pegs them there. Sabrina is on her toes, she can evade nothing. She presses her forehead hard against the wood. I know how she feels.
Bill Coro lashes Miss Comstock's bare back fifteen times. It is a far lesser punishment than she would have gotten an hour ago. I suspect, too, the blows are not as hard as he might have dealt. She does not scream but does all the other things girls do when they are whipped. We wince and pay our dutiful attention.
"Leave her on the post, honey, put the others in their cells. Then come to the kitchen."
"Please, Master, may I untie their hands?"
"Oh, I suppose so, sweetheart."
Bill is enjoying his dividends from female flesh, he is still absorbed with Sabrina's scarlet etched back. I motion and my charges obey. It would seem, whether I want it or not, I am a wardress. I hastily untie knots and am rewarded with kisses and ardent arms. Regretfully, I clang shut the barred doors, then rattle my chained feet upstairs.
There is something wonderfully comforting about the popping up of hot brown toast and the bubbling chortle of the percolator. Bill scorns the modern devices for producing an innocuous brew, this coffee is for real with the brown fluid busily contained within the small glass bulb in the lid. With equal industry I butter and slice. Downstairs is a million miles away. Bill gulps and munches with a fine proprietary air.
This is a scrumptious kitchen. It has everything and is a nice place in which to sit. I forget my feet are chained, I become a happy housewife. I think how nice it would be to be married and do this every morning. Not married to Bill, of course, not unless there was no one else... !
"This is damn nice, honey, I'm real proud of you."
Bill beams. I ask about those down in the cells, they'll be hungry. But he waves their need aside. For the moment it is he and I. He wants no interruption of domestic bliss. He proposes marriage and I decline. This has become a recurrent ritual in our association, I have heard of girls being worn down into compliance by persistent attrition. But it does give a female a nice feeling of an ace in the hole. Timidly, I ask: "Bill, what on Earth are you going to do with all these girls?"
"Just collect 'em." He says placidly. "It's like butterflies and stamps."
"But you don't want to use us the way girls expect to be used--except Sabrina, and I think you fucked her only because you were angry."
Bill waves carnality away, it embarrasses him. I suspect he had a puritan mother. "Forget it, sweetheart, I see more to girls than just cunts. If I want to screw I've got the twins, they'd be a panic." He grins at a vision. "Leave 'em handcuffed together and see how they act."
"You'd all end up giggling."
"Well, whatever. But anyway you look at it I'm a damn lucky man. This is the way it should be those old buffers in biblical days...!"
"So alright, Bill, I marry you. What happens then? Do you turn the rest loose?"
"Hell no!" He has become earnest. "If we were married I'd screw you and keep the rest for decoration and fun. You'd sooner it was them in a cell than you, eh?"
"Well, yes. Would you keep me chained?"
"Wouldn't figure I'd need to or would I?"
I tell him no I suppose not, we share a laugh. Then, because of this warmth between us, I warn: "Bill, I'm scared about this whole thing, not for me but for you. Jason will know it's you who's kidnapped me. If he gives your name to the police they'll find this place and there's all Sabrina's connections. You could be absolutely crucified. Think of the headlines!"
"I don't want to hear. Forget it."
"Please let Jollie go, and the twins. Bill, don't you understand how awful it is for a girl to look down the years ahead and see nothing but bars and shackles and being whipped?"
"Quiet, Carrie. One more peep out of you on that subject and you'll have a sore ass. Give me more coffee and talk about something else."
I feel guilty. I have spoiled a mood. I feel my slave dependence on my master's will. It will always be there, I will never escape. So I say I'm sorry, I pour coffee, I slip bread into the toaster. My contrition is sincere. A slave is a slave is a slave. It is best left like that.
The noise from downstairs is a shocker. Our world erupts.
* * *
"Bill, you're an absolute idiot." Jason's arm is round me tight. His two male companions are grinning from ear to ear and enjoying the finest assortment of female flesh they will ever see. Jason's tone is one of patient exasperation. "Dammit', man, you left clues all over the place. There's your main office, there's those private wires and a telex you've had installed here. You bought this property and you're on a tax roll. And your name isn't all that common--" In explosive fury, Bill lunges. There is a tangle of male exertions and then a bump as Bill's head hits the floor. While he is still groggily dazed Jollie picks up his feet and drags him into a cell. When she emerges she has keys, she slams the door. She unlocks the shackles from her ankles and hands Sabrina the key. She is once more the magnificent Juno of other days.
"What did you do that for?" Jason is amused.
"You folks will be goin' home." Jollie says placidly. "But I ain't. I'm a stayin' right here. I got a little bizness with that there mist' Coro."
It is a precious moment, we try not to laugh too hard.
Jollie is seeing visions, so are we. Sabrina's voice has regained the resonance of freedom. "Jollie. if you're going to do to that asshole what I think you are I want it permanent. Give me a statement of expenses once a month and I'll send you a cheque."
"Sho' will, Mizz Comstock, and I'll give him back them fifteen belts he just give yo'."
We sort ourselves out. Jason has me, Jollie has Bill. Daphne unlocks her mistresses ankles but leaves her own chained. She clasps Sabrina's legs and weeps in hysterical joy. This only leaves the twins. Pinkie and Brownie have kept track of events in wide eyed astonishment, they are vastly entertained. Their judgement is firm and a bit anxious.
"We don't want to go home." They survey us all in faint puzzlement. "This is the most fun we've ever had." They shake their handcuffed wrists in admonition. "And don't anyone dare unlock our lovely chains."
"You'll come with Daphne and me to Mounthaven." Sabrina Comstrock is back in the saddle, her voice rings with its old authority. "I'll keep your little bottoms warmed for the rest of your lives."
"Oooooo, and may we... may we you know?"
"I'll make sure you do."
Starry eyed, the twins embrace. Their striped bottoms wriggle in delight. I almost wish they were coming home with me, but not quite.
"Let's go upstairs." Says Jollie. "Ah sho' could use a cuppa' coffee."
We go upstairs.
Our ride home has about it the same quaint constraint as in all my previous rescues. "Does Carrie Carstairs return to bondage?" That is the question. Or does she marry her hero--or go back to being a steno'? There is also the possibility of her simply being a submissive little slave girl to dear Jason. Dear Jason gives me no clue so I go fishing.
"Darling, my feet are still chained?"
"Nice idea. I got a key from Jollie before we left."
"And I'm naked--or have you forgotten?"
"No one could forget you being naked, love. Your hands are free and there's a rug. But cover yourself only if you have to."
"Yes, master "
"You say that beautifully, Carrie, don't ever stop. I love you."
"I love you too, master. Please marry me real quick."
"Oh sure, but there's our experiments--we can't really count this Bill affair."
"Bill would marry me right quick, Jason."
"O.K. D'you want me to turn around?"
Jason has me and he knows he has me and I'm glad he has me. So I say, a bit tartly, "No never mind. Some other time perhaps." Hopefully, I hint: "Those experiments... ? Darling, they're always disastrous?"
"No, they're not. They are vivid memories we'll talk about for the rest of our lives."
"I'd much sooner you kept me tied up in the apartment and whipped me every evening. Darling, wouldn't you sooner-?"
"I'll do that too, between times."
I sigh. I do a lot of sighing with Jason. It is the lot of wives but I am not a wife.
In our underground garage we do a lot of giggling as to whether we dare risk me making a quick dash naked in the elevator. But Jason regretfully unlocks Bill's shackles from my ankles, gives me his sweater, and when I use the car rug for a skirt I am well covered. We make a short but breathless journey to our apartment and then leap straight into bed. My fire has never burned with greater heat.
Jason gives me a message without words. He sardonically accepts my suggestion and ties me up every day and whips me every evening. The whippings are not harder than I can bear and are inflicted on me with a variety of instruments which run all the way from an old slipper and the palm of his hand to a whip of wicked thongs. But my daily bondage is something else again. I get tied but good. I am very pleased to see him when he comes home at five. I think Jason would like me to beef about getting what I so rashly asked for but I do not complain, nor do I mention marriage or the experiments. Both of us are waiting for the other to say or do something.
I am happy. I belong to Jason. I spend lovely lazy days trying, without success, to wriggle out of his ropes and cords. He is giving metal a rest and I am glad. There is something warm and intimate in being bound and helpless because of the strictures this man I love has knotted me into. When I try to get loose it is to pass the time or to get one up on Jason if I actually succeeded. The rest of my bondage time I dream about Jason marrying me and about all that's happened since the day long, long ago when he tied my hands for the first time. I think of total escape from my slavery and a return to the office and a lonely freedom hardly at all. It is an abstract condition long past. I don't think I could return to it if I tried. I giggle often about Jollie and Bill.
Week-ends I am rewarded for being a good girl. Jason takes me shopping and for small excursions in the car. These innocent delights are not without small costs to me in pain or some blush making imposition: A collar and padlock: A wire belt too tight round my middle: A pair of handcuffs with both cuffs locked on a single wrist as a massive chrome bracelet: A chastity belt to chafe me as I walk. Jason adores these things. I am always angry with myself but I adore them too.
Today his mood is puckish. We are out in the car doing a tour of shopping centres and I am without pain or restraint. However, I am wearing a very expensive and very tight sweater through which my nipples are indecently visible. I am not allowed a bra'. This is the only garment or bit of clothing to keep me from total nakedness. Sitting beside Jason in the car I appear dressed and normal but am in a constant cringe of apprehension. There is not a rug in the car, no rag, no nothing, not even a Kleenex. I sit in the various parking lots, trembling, while my Master does his shopping and mine too. There are a couple of reasons for my sitting and waiting: there's no way I'm going to get out of this car naked from my navel down: but also, Jason has thoughtfully handcuffed my wrists to the steering wheel, one above one below, the linkage inside the circle. I am trapped. I have to sit here holding the wheel as though getting ready to drive. My heart thumps, my pussy palpitates. Oh damn!
For the first few minutes I am busy. I try every arrangement with my hands I can devise, but there is no placement I can contrive to wholly shield the glint of metal from public view. My breasts are no help either, this sweater proclaims them gorgeously. But perhaps if someone does peer at me they may see my nipples on their twin curves instead of looking at my hands... ! Gosh, Jason thinks of the damndest things to do to me.
At the end of thirty minutes I realise there is something wrong. At the end of an hour I am in a panic. That S.O.B. has gone away and left me like this. I am smack in the middle of our next experiment. I'm going to have to sit here and wait for something to happen.
Handcuffs can be infuriating, these two little metal circles round my wrists control me utterly, they can keep me sitting here forever. I get a sudden flash of hope out of pushing my hands and arms down, one of them through the wheel itself, to turn on the ignition. Driving won't be easy but it is possible But Jason has taken the keys. In fury and chagrin I shed a few tears and look down at my pubic hair and bare legs. I may laugh about this tomorrow but not right now.
The parking lot is busy. It is supervised by an elderly gentleman in a semi uniform. As time drags on and on and I sit and sit, attached to my wheel he looks increasingly often at our car. It is inevitable that he comes to see what's wrong. As I see him approach I pray he will come to my side where he can look at my breasts. If he goes to the right hand window he will be able to see my naked hips and hair and legs and anything else that shows beneath this tiny sweater. If he does this I am wondering how the two of us will cope with the shock.
He comes direct to my window. It is open. I sigh thankfully and make a final arrangement of my hands and fingers. Perhaps he may not notice anything I hope, I hope, I hope!
"Everything O.K., Miss?"
"Eh... oh yes." I profess surprise at his query. "I'm just waiting for someone."
"You been here a long time, maam."
"I'm terribly sorry. It shouldn't be much longer now."
My breasts have saved me, he did not look at my hands. He nods politely and departs. But now I am marked. If I am not rescued soon he will return. I debate making a frank admission and enlisting his aid. If it was only my bare pussy to explain I think I'd take a chance. He'd probably enjoy having a look and seeing me blush. But the handcuffs would disturb him. He would see them as having some criminal association. He'd have the police here in two minutes, even if it was only to unlock the damn things from my wrists. I'm just plain scared.
There is never any doubt about the two women, their approach is purposeful and to the wrong door. They smile sweetly like female tigers, then look through the glass of the closed window while I sit in dumb misery and try to hide my hands. At the very least I'm going to be embarrassed as hell. Their smiles widen as they see my nudity. They whisper, they nudge. It is evident I meet with some sort of approval. One goes to a phone booth and makes a call. When she returns she nods affirmatively and unlocks the car door. Where the devil did she get the keys? Where, where, where... ?
One gets in from each side. They say: "Hello Carrie Carstairs, You're everything we hoped." They crowd me between them on the seat and unlock one cuff then click both my hands safe behind my back. We drive away. As we slowly leave the lot one holds up a business card for me to read. It is engraved "The Alpha and Omega Club" and would not mean very much to me except that, discreetly, in the top corner there is a tiny coiled whip.
* * *
The spotlights are cleverly placed so as to leave no part of my nakedness in shadow except my face. It is good they have spared my head from the garish beams because, racked as I am, I must stare straight up or allow my head to fall back to stretch my throat and cause my hair to cascade towards the floor. Never before have I been bound in such grotesquerie.
But I am not bound. My ankles and wrists are clamped to the widespread arms of this slender configuration of punishment on which I am draped. It is a pedestal on which my lower back is supported by a scanty moulding to take most of my weight, my shoulders overhang one end, my bottom stretches in space at the other. I am bowed down and out in all directions and my back would likely break if the metal sheath on which it rests was not so cleverly contoured. I am like a ballerina splayed wide upon the palm of her partner's hand high above his head.
I am cruelly spread by the arms along which my arms and legs are neatly arrayed and to which they are clamped by bands of the same shining silvery metal as the pedestal itself. I suspect the finest steel for, no matter how I struggle, I cannot extract a quiver of response. I am exquisitely held to make my belly concave and stretch and flatten my breasts. The creator of this silvery armature to which I am moulded achieved his effect with the barest minimum of metal. From a distance I must look as though I have thrown myself thus in a moment of wild free abandonment of levitation.
But the real crux of this strange bondage is my cunt. This silver rack places it in the utmost exposure. I cannot see it but I am certain its lips pout obscenely below the shining black fronds of my pubic hair in a more pronounced invitation to attention than any other part of me. There is also something sacrificial about the way I am held. I would suppose that, for rape, I am too much bent and bowed. But this is something I may yet discover I just hope I don't.
I think this is a small stage. Behind, me is a black velvet backdrop, there are curtains to either side and there are footlights beyond which I can see only darkness and shadows hiding, I am sure, the avid eyes of the voyeurs for whose pleasure I am spread. My pedestal revolves very slowly. No one will miss an inch of me.
They call themselves (Henna and Leona, which I suspect is not their names. They are terribly sweet in all they do to me. They are also immensely strong, or maybe its karate or something. From the moment they edged me between them in the car they have handled me as though I was a kitten. They are also delightfully frank. The Alpha and Omega Club is money, money, money. I may never know if I am being ogled or used by members or by clients, not that it matters. Hither way I will be having a bad time. (Henna and Leona seem to run the place but they do not relegate me to lesser mortals, they dispose me themselves as they see fit. They assure me they are into "It" and (hey will make sure my puss is often wet. I can guess Jason has arranged this whole thing for me but they refuse to tell me so. They radiate a compelling sensuality which arouses me to a degree I hope they do not guess.
They come to me now after I have lain stretched upon this slender silver altar of discomfort for I don't know how long. They smile down at me from either side, their eyes alight with affection. Solicitously, they check the four clamps by which I am held.
"Isn't she a darling!" A loving hand strokes my nipples.
"He was right, she's got a quality." Another hand combs my pubic hair and does things to my pussy. "She can't move but every muscle of her responds."
"She'll be wonderful to whip. Did you hear what Wannamaker said about her he's coming again tomorrow?"
"Look," I say to them earnestly, "I'm not a novice at this sort of thing but I can't stand much more of this. Please unlock me."
"In a little while, darling. We want you nice and fresh for this evening. You're going to be whipped. Aren't you lucky!"
"I want to go home." I say dismally. "Please ask Jason to let me go home."
"Your pussy says you want to stay right here." Leona rubs my secretions under my nose. "Don't tell us you're not enjoying this a little?"
If I could move I'd wriggle in embarrassment under their amusement. Since I cannot move, I sniff. This silver cruelty on which I lay like an impaled butterfly has affected me. Most likely it is the exposure of my sex or the knowledge of watching male eyes. But, yes, my fire is warm beneath my pubic curls. "I secrete easily." I tell them testily. Do I have to promise something to get off this rack?"
"No, Carrie, we'll take you off when we feel like it. In the meantime you are looking very, very beautiful. Now, as a small reward, we are going to give you a really expert orgasm."
Expert is the word! These two know all about girls, their fingers and lips reduce me to a slender strip of struggling moaning female sensuality. The silver rack comes into its own. I can believe it designed for just this purpose or for my impalement by a man between my legs. A man probably watches from the shadows but I do not care.
I am freed, then handcuffed, then bathed, then fed. Resting comfortably, I am briefed. All this is done with unmistakable love. Leona and Glenna seem so grateful for what I am, for ME!
"Everyone loves to see a girl whipped, darling. You won't mind, will you?"
"Of course I'll mind, it hurts horribly!"
"That's just the right spirit, Carrie. We want you to put on a good show of struggling and appropriate sounds?"
"That ought to be easy."
"Well, dear, some girls like to be heroic. But the act isn't popular. We aren't going to whip you really hard unless you force us to in order to get you to respond."
"I'll respond. May I scream?"
"Yes, of course, but make it pretty... " Maybe I'll find out how to scream prettily. I am led back to the tiny theatre, my silver pedestal has gone. Tonight's show will be simply a naked ME. I am positioned dead centre beneath the bar to which my wrists are strapped. There is the whirr of a motor to lift me until my toes are six inches above the floor. The straps are wide and soft to take my weight but hanging like this is never fun, it just isn't. And when I'm whipped I'll dance and kick and behave disgracefully. But, of course, that's the idea of this suspension, the men will love it. I'd sooner be fastened so I can't do any more than writhe.
Glenna and Leona are suddenly nude, they are to be my Whipmistresses. One holds a whip, the other a cane. If their strokes strike me with the same impact as their radiations I am in for a bad time. I would much like to see one of them whip the other, it would be a superlative performance.
I am aware of motion. The gear from which I hang is slowly rotating. The audience will be denied nothing of the whipped girl they have come to see. To one side is Glenna, to the other is Leona. They will stand still while I am gently turned. As my hack and bottom present their nakedness mast conveniently they will strike.
Miss Carrie Carstairs is now whipped.
The show lasts quite a long time. Whilst I dance my jig of pain and kick the unoffending air my nudity is presented to each in turn to receive a weal from whip or crop. My back and bottom recognize the truth of the girl's promise: I am not being punished near as hard as is the custom. But they cut at me with an exquisite realism, to which I respond with equal fervour. It hurts like hell anyway so why not!
When the girls take their bow and I hang, whimpering, there comes a round of applause. I am suddenly alone with my strained arms and burning wrists. But not for long. I am joined by the audience who mount the platform one by one so that, for a few minutes, they may handle, caress, or arouse me as they see fit. I hang helpless for their pleasure like a dress on a rack while glinting eyes search me from behind the hood which masks each face. There are a dozen of them, male and female, maybe couples, but each has their own brief possession of me alone. I am mauled, pinched, caressed and even kissed, my sex is played with 'till I moan. I can evade nothing and do not try. I dare not kick. When I am told to separate my legs I obey. While I am still gasping after my last mauling Leona returns and sells me by auction to the highest bidder from among the shadows.
My purchaser is female.
Glenna joins us on the stage and whispers what I must do. When my wrists are unstrapped I fall to my knees before my purchaser and kiss the hem of her dress, then I rise to turn and cross my wrists. I stand with outthrust breasts while she deftly binds my hands with cord. She collars and leashes me and leads me from the stage.
It is a beautifully appointed bedroom. I can well believe these purchasers of punished girls are heavily aroused and wish to appease a sexual urgency before introducing their helpless maiden to whatever discomfort they have in mind. Along with some quality prints there hangs, discreetly, on the walls a few whips and crops and canes, the odd strap and some handcuffs: I had best be a well behaved young lady.
My temporary owner disdainfully tosses her hood into a corner and fluffs her hair. I label her as a moneyed wife but bored. She is not much older than I and quite attractive. She clips my leash to a ring in the wall and seats herself in an opulent armchair, draping a sleek leg over one arm. As though by afterthought, she saunters to the wall and selects a whip which she holds negligently across her lap when she resumes her pose. I stand, leashed and nude and very much at attention.
I tell her who and what I am.
She is entranced. She sighs. "I envy you."
Slowly, she removes her clothes, her eyes are on me all the time, unconscious of her own figure which really isn't bad. "You know what I'm going to make you do?" She asks diffidently.
"You won't have to make me. I am highly skilled at it. Slaves have to be."
"I don't want to untie your hands...?"
"You don't have to. With hands I can play better but it's delightfully erotic with them tied the way they are."
"I'm going to whip you after. Not real hard, but I've never whipped a girl and I want to." She grins sheepishly. "I've never done the other thing either. In both things you can tell me what I do wrong."
She does nothing wrong. Neither do I. Her whip gives me only moderate pain. She then returns me to stock. I don't suppose she has owned me for more than an hour or so, I suspect her husband waits.
I sleep between my gorgeous wardresses. I am leashed to the headboard of the huge bed, but the leash is long: I acquit myself well. The collar on my neck does not impede my dreams. In the morning they deal with me pleasurably and leisurely, then bandage my eyes. In darkness I am led to my fate.
Nothing is familiar. I can only guess at the giggles and the nudgings and the guiding fingers on my bare arms. I end up kneeling on hands and knees. I am told to keep quiet and keep still. I listen to shufflings and giggles until my waist is clasped and circled in a manner to thrust it down to arch my back. As my middle goes down my bottom rears: I suspect it is in for another bad time: girls bottoms provide such marvelous entertainment for all.
"That's lovely. Isn't she gorgeous!"
"We're going now, Carrie, you can remove the bandage."
Whatever it is round my waist, it holds me tightly just as I am. But my hands are free: I support myself on one and use the other to tear and fumble at the knots behind my neck...
I am in a small white room. There is a window but I will never reach it. Except for me, the room is bare. But there is only half of me! It extends from the smooth surface of the wall like some hunting trophy on a plaque. The wall bisects me above my hips, presumably the missing parts of my anatomy are in a room next door. I can detect the lines in the wall where panels have been removed and replaced to clamp and hold me fast as I now am. I kneel on a low bench.
I am inclined to giggle, but I am apprehensive of what I cannot see. I suddenly realise I have lost not only my bottom but also my pussy. By some standards, my best parts arc elsewhere. I can imagine them regaling a small audience of delighted lechers. My hands and feet have not been bound or chained, but I can see no way to use them to advantage, except perhaps to scratch my nose. After awhile my arms are going to get tired... ! After what seems a long time Glenna bustles back in. Her eyes are sparkling. I get kissed.
"What do you think of it, darling?"
"I don't understand it, and I feel so silly."
"But you will, you will. You'll have visitors. I just popped in to make sure you're O.K."
It is a man, hooded. Blandly, he unzips and thrusts his phallus at my mouth. When I clench my lips and shake my head he laughs and leaves. In less than a minute my bottom flames from a truly vicious cut from a cane or a crop. I scream. The pain is so bad I beat my fists upon the bench. In the other room my feet are active too.
The next is female. She tells me bluntly how she will hurt me if I refuse. I do not refuse but it is terribly difficult held as I am. She helps by clutching my ears. It is so beastly I mingle my tears with her secretions on my tongue.
This is so frustrating! I cannot do a thing. I wait in this posture of a bitch dog in heat. The visitors are well spaced.
I reject two more men and am rewarded by a blazing bottom that hurts so bad I sob like a small girl who has lost all hope. I am still sniffing when I am joined by a smiling youngish woman who wastes no words.
"You look so scrumptious, darling, I jus have to hurt you."
I look at the serrated jaws of the little clips she holds and am bereft. "Please... oh, please!" I put my heart into the words. "Don't clip those things on my nipples. They hurt me a lot worse than you think."
Carefully, she clips them on my nipples. I moan as the teeth bite. I could flail away at her with one arm but it would be futile. "I expect someone will take them off for you, darling, but I'm not going to." She assures me brightly as she watches my misery. "You can take them off after I've gone... but you'd just have to clip them on yourself again, wouldn't you!" After she has gone I take them off and hurl them against the wall, rather than wear them on my breasts I will take a punishment.
I am still rubbing sore nipples and trying to do something with my hair when there are steps and another male erection is thrust beneath my nose. I view it with disfavour while I debate if my bottom can stand another lashing. It is then I notice something... Dazedly, I look up.
"Jason... Oh, Jason...!"
Jason puts away that part of him I know so well. He zips up and pats my head. "I've been giving glowing reports on you, Carrie."
"Darling, get me out of here! Please!"
He pats me even more tenderly. "Ah, my love, how glad I might be to take you home, but all you'd do is pester me about getting married... ? You know how you are."
I think I am being teased but cannot be sure. In any case I am in full retreat. I shame myself outrageously. "I won't, I won't! I promise I won't even mention-Oh, darling, get me free...?"
"But to take you home short of your time... I You would have to be punished--?"
"Yes, Jason, anything! Whip me-anything. As long as it's you I won't mind. These places are so... so... " Jason frees me. I cling and wet him with tears of joy. He pats my wounded derriere to make me flare with lust. Fervently, I tell him: "You don't have to marry me, just keep me as your slave."
"Perhaps I should brand you instead."
"Yes, oh yes, I'd love that." I am absurd but could care less.
Glenna and Leona engulf me in warm feminine approval of Me being Me. I don't know quite how it happens but I find myself dressed to go home. I feel like a fifth grader on the last day of school.
"We love you, dear, and we had so many punishments for you."
"You will whip her for us, Jason, when you get her home?"
"And here's handcuffs for her. She can't possibly leave in nothing " With handcuffs dangling from one wrist I fling my arms around them both while I still can. After I have hugged Jason too, I demurely offer my hands to be joined. In this frame of mind I'd welcome leg irons too.
"Send her back anytime, Jason, she's a beautiful subject."
Jason promises to remember, and I say I'd love to come. I must be delirious!
My Master leads me to our car.
"Just in case you're worrying, sweetheart, that was the last of our experiments." Jason squeezes my knee as he drives out into the main street. "I didn't like seeing you in that position, or the thing they were wanting you to do. Sorry!"
"I don't mind. So long as it's over."
"You're a Trojan woman. I love you."
"I love you, Jason, so terribly much."
My Master hands me an envelope. In it is a cheque for quite a large sum. It is from the Alpha & Omega Club, for services rendered.
"Make your bottom feel any better, darling?"
"Gosh, Jason, it's so generous-and I didn't even know!"
We journey in enraptured silence. I clink my handcuffs, he gives me sideways glances of approval. They are so loaded with affection I begin to hope I won't get whipped. But what the hell... !
"We'd better get a house and a dungeon, don't you think, dear?"
I positively burn between my legs. "Oh, yes, Jason, yes!" I cannot get enough fervour into the words.
"Just one small errand." Jason says hastily. "Go and knock at the door and give 'em this envelope." He halts the car at the curb and points to a gate.
I am too excited to think of traps or practical jokes, but with my linked hands half way to the brass knocker I notice the bronze plaque: 'The Reverend Ian MacMurchie.' I pause and tear the envelope. In it is a marriage license for Jason and Me. It is beautifully official. I understand now why I am dressed, and very expensively dressed too! My heart bursting, I look back at the car.
Jason is walking towards me up the path. He carries the tiny box with my corsage. He winks sardonically.
I turn and use the brass knocker with an authoritative hand. It is not until I hear footsteps responding that I remember something.
