Mr. Rabin let go one of his finer sighs. "Is most difficult c***d," he pronounced, and moved back into the fray.
Pettie Corbin's legs were becoming lividly bruised. The cane upon the leg is quite wicked. She would have fared better naked. The pursuer got in another pair of stingers before. the fleeing girl considered the wisdom of an armistice. Backing away and furiously tugging at her handcuffs she kept a frightened eye on the quivering cane and demanded sulkily: "Alright then, you tell me what to say."
"Just polite sorry. no smartass." Mr. Rabin was prepared to be kind.
Petulance looked from one to the other of her audience. She unceasingly fought the handcuffs as though convinced there must surely be a way..... If she hadn't been such an absolute little vixen I might have felt sorry for her. It was easy to see that, even in pain, the idea of an apology was anathema to the panting girl. "I'm sorry I was rude, Mr. Rabin," she finally contrived in bitter humiliation.
"She'd never have said that in the good old U.S.A." Mrs. Corbin conceded. "Pettie girl, we've come to the right place. Pettie girl wept. They were tears of anger.
"Can now leave in good hands," said Mr. Rabin with satisfaction. He turned to me: "But would suggest removal of clothes. Is much best."
"You can cane her can then," said Mother.
Pettie accepted a peck on the cheek which she did not return. Her eyes were smoldering. Between the handcuffs and the cane she must have concluded her cause of lost. She did not plead. Just stood there and watched her mother go away. It was not hard to imagine het state of mind.
Returning from seeing my guests out of the house I found three pairs of youthful feminine eyes assessing each other. In Terry's and Dorinda's there was sympathy. In Pettie Corbin's only venom.
"Your best bet is to set me free and let me go," Petulance announced in grandiose disdain, doing us a favor.
"You needn't to think I'm going to be naked whore like you two!" More tugging at the handcuffs.
"Whatever your game is, I'm not playing." Petulance planted herself in an arm chair and studied the disign in the rug. She leaned back against her chained hands as though no longer caring. Haughty indifference was to be her weapon. Right here I have to admit that, left to myself, I'd have been a bit stymied. Pettie Corbin was a very different kettle of fish to the two gorgeous creatures I had fallen in love with. But I need not have worried. Dorinda must have guessed my every thought.
"Master, may we remove our guest so that we can talk?"
Petulance did her best. But Terry grabbed one ankle and Dorinda the other. They hauled her from the room like a sack of potatoes. I need not note her comments. They were unedifying.
"We locked her in one of the rooms, Master," Dorinda's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Or would you prefer to, er, train her yourself?" She put a heavy emphasis on the word 'train'.
Once again I found myself far from my beginnings. I was now the beneficiary of a veritable cornucopia of adoring slave girls, with a hostile captive maiden tossed in for good measure. My cup did indeed 'runneth over'. Suburbia could look at its lost son and gloat or envy or mourn. Bit of all three, I expect. "Which will she respond to best?" I asked, delaying the issue.
"May I speak frankly, Master?" How glorious she was! I nodded regally.
Dorinda knelt before me, her raised eyes amused assessing the possibility of getting her bottom caned if she said too much.
"It's a lot different with Pettie," Terry butted in. Dorinda nodded. "Yes Master. We are afraid you may feel brutal before us two if you do what you must with this absurd girl. She will need very firm and painful treatment. She isn't very nice."
Amazing, aren't they? Think of everything.
Dorinda concentrated. Her words were slow. "We think, master, you may have become accustomed to us. We are slaves. Real slaves. We know we can never escape. We know we must do what we are told." She smiled ruefully. "It took a lot of time and a lot of pain to bring us to where we are now. But we will do what you desire. You may tie us or chain us or whip us to your heart's content. We will try and please you."
She paused and grinned in genuine humor. "Pettie Corbin isn't going to be like that at all."
"The thought had occurred," I admitted dryly.
Dorinda flushed. "Do I offend, Master?"
I was about to let go some shocking blurb about hou impossible it would be for anyone as beautiful as she to give offence, when I realized I had a position to maintain. "Don't woory, dear girl," I said firmly. "I'll whip you when you cross the line."
"Thank you, Master." She made the three words reek with gratitude. Then gave me a small apologetic smile for what she had to say: "In our slavery, master, we have come to learn that there are two ways in which a captive girl can give joy to men. One is to be submissive and obedient, the other is to fight him with tooth and claw so that he must beat her into acknowledging him master." She looked at me winsomely. We both knew which category I belonged in.
But I wasn't having any. Dammit! I was in the middle of everything I'd ever wanted. I might as well know it all. "I think I'll try a spot of breaking-in." I announced bravely.
"Probably not my cup of tea, but after all there's a sort of noblesse oblige. How'd you two girls like to tie her up on tiptoe with her hands far apart and high?"
"Of course, Master." Was there hidden laughter in the voice?
"Oh.... and leave her clothes on, eh."
"Yes, Master." Definitely laughter.
I'll admit I paced the floor feeling a bit of an ass. I'd have been just as happy if old rabin had taken his Pettie Corbin somewhere else. From the sounds that were reaching me in considerable volume I suspected my two girls were probably feeling the same. Pettie was meeting her Waterloo noisily. When my slave girls returned they were panting and arranging their hair. "She's an absolute demon, Master," Terry said with feeling.
"We think you'll find her positioned to your liking, Master," Dorinda said demurely.
I had no doubts on that score, and was about to embark on my impersonation of the Duke of Wellington when two girlish voices asked: "What about us, Master?" I detected sadness and pique.
Damn difficult, y'know? Figure it for yourself. Worse than having three wives. Wives don't expect much from husbands, not after the honeymoon. But with these three damsels I was obligated to play the ruthless Pasha whether I wanted or not. I'd bl**dy well paid my cash, and they were honor bound same as me. Amazing.
"What would you suggest?" I had a feeling I'd asked that question before.
"We are slave girls, Master. You must instuct us." Gentle reproof!
I wasn't doing too well. I'd have been glad to have ém read a book while I dealt with the recalcitrant vixen. But I realised that wasn't the proper drill. And besides, I didn't want them watching or walking in and uot while I was doing a bit of softening up on Miss Petulance. Maintaining my tenuous hold on authority I gathered up two pairs of handcuffs and beckoned in masterful fashion. Leading the way to a room notable for its total absence of Pettie I snapped the cuff round Dorinda's right wrist and clasped the other one to a ringbolt in the wall. Then did the same for Terry on the opposite side. There they stood, Captive by a wrist. About as innocuous an imposition as I could devise. But no matter how they tugged or twisted they could not get away. They would await their master's return as slave girls should.
"Thank you, Master." Their litling voices followed me as I shut the door.
Miss Corbin eyed me with disfavor. She was beautifully tethered. The girls had done a marvellous job. She was well up on her toes, her arms strained upwards. She was a pretty picture, but I did not tell her so. I could see her wrists were hurting.
"Fuck off," said my guest in welcome.
I stood in majestic mastery. It was a lovely feeling. I smiled to show tolerance.
"Look here," said Petulance, evidently having done a bit of thinking, "you've got me. I can't get loose from these damn cords that are hurting like Hell. So O.K. I admit I'm a nothing. You can hurt and humiliate me so I suppose I'll say whatever you want me to say. I'll beg. That's what you want.... So let's consider it all said. I concede everything. You've won. So now let me loose and i won't press charges. I'll go back to mother and tell her a few things."
Females are incredible! Petulance was looking at me with bright expactancy. I believe she honestly thought I'd buy it. She was spoiled rotten.
"That's not quite the idea," I said gently.
Her face wa pure dismay.
"Your mother mentioned a few preliminaries, y'know."
"You aren't paying any attention to that nonsense, surely?"
"You are grossly overdressed." Talk about cat and mouse! I should have felt a bastard. But I didnt. The remark hit home. She tensed. She'd been thinking about that one too. "Oh very well." Her feigned indifference wa laughable. "I suppose it's something you feel you have to do. You'll find I have nice breasts and there's a good growth of hair round my vulva. They are the main points of interest to sex maniacs, I believe."
I was beginning to enjoy the situation. Pettie Corbin was the sort of girl a chap could whip with an easy concience. Anything you did to dent her massive self satisfaction was a kindness. Confidently I stepped on stage for Act one.
The heel of her shoe narrowly missed my genitals. It still hurt on the thigh. "Five strokes for that little trick," I told her casually.
"Drop dead." She had abandoned sweet reason and returned to normal.
I worked at her back. Her kicks and squirms were ineffectual. My fingers found buttons, hooks and zippers. But first I relieved her of her shoes. Their heels were a weapon.
It hit me all of a sudden. I was about to strip a girl naked. It had taken me one Hell of a while to get round to it. I savored each moment. Let me be honest about it: those moments were damn precious. One more dream come true. The tally grows....
"Well, I hope you're satisfied."
When I circled her and stood out of range of her bare fet my naked captive was actually blushing.
Damned irrittating, but I was too.
"Have I provided you with an erection?" she inquired icily.
"That will be two more strokes," I informed her matter of factly. "You are going to have to learn to curb your tongue."
"Do I get ****d standing up or laying down?" she ignored my warning.
"You are now up to nine. Are you sure you're not doing it on purpose?"
"Don't be absurd! Girls haven't been whipped for a century. Forget the whole thing, Buster."
"The word 'Buster'is an opprobrium I cannot endure. It will cost you four. You are now up to thirteen."
She was panting. Never mind her emotions. I expect there was a bit of everything. She glared. Then softened enough to ask in a rational tone: "Are you really serious?"
It was a sensible question that deserved a sensible answer. I realized I'd better get on with the job before she racked up a score that would half kill her. "I am absolutely serious. I am going to start now before you earn more. Remember, keep a civil tongue."
I went and fetched my favorite cane. Pettie eyed it in fascinated distaste. "You're going to use an awful thing like that on a naked girl?"
"Where? I mean, where on me?"
"Like k**'s stuff." She sounded offended.
"Was it k**'s stuff on your legs?"
She shifted uneasily and lifted one leg. The loss of her clothes made her aware of vulnerability. She came out with the inevitable. "Can I say I'm sorry?" "No."
She digested the negative. Then offered: "I'll make the apology as humiliating as you want.... You tell me what to say."
"Thirteen." I loved the sound of it. "Don't you know by now that we can't wiggle out of everything in life by saying we are sorry? Sententious but satisfying! Pettie twisted in her bonds, hurting her wrists without caring, realising, for the first time, how truly naked she was. Searching for the right words without finding them. She looked at me dejectedly. "But after... after, you've hurt me.... I'll still be me?"
"I'll let you answer that one by yourself." I told her cheerfully.
There is something quite heartbreaking about the apprehensive female face that looks back at you over an upraised arm. The conflict of certainty and disbelief makes magic of a face. Feminine eyes are never so lovely as in that last appeal before they turn back in horror to be ready for what they can no longer evade.
I slashed the petulant bottom as hard as I could.
Pettie did not move, She did not cry. She had tensed herself into frozen immobility. Had it not been for the wound springing into livid life acros the curves of her cheeks I might have wondered if I had struck her. Whatever Pettie Corbin may or may not have been, there was steel in her.
But the second stroke turned her back into a hurt naked girl. She fought the cords and screamed. When she was half composed she sobbed: "You dirty rotten son of a bitch!"
She screamed as though I had struck her again. Screamed in fury and frustration. Contorted in hopeless determination to rob me of her nudity. Before she could spit out the words that would increase her penalty I cut into her with number three.
It was the same as before. Except that this time she flung atme in sobbing exhalations: "No! Oh no! No, no, no!" As though the negatives could erase her agony.
After the seventh Pettie made so rational a plea that I paused. "Please stop! Oh stop, if only for a minute.... please!" I stopped caning her, but did not move. Her tear streaked face sought mine over her shoulder in wide eyed appeal. "I can't stand it!" she choked. "No one could stand this. It's more awful than I ever dreamed."
"There are eight more to go."
"Yes. I counted. I can't bear another eight likt this."
"You'll bear them very easily. You'll be surprised. Think a bit. Is there anything you can do but bear them?" I swung again.
When her writhing on that one had slowed, she asked weakly: "Please don't whip me any more. Do that...... that, other thing."
"What other thing?" I'd made her say it.
She swallowed a few times but managed to sob it out: "Do what you have to so I'm not a virgin any more.... Do in instead of whipping me.... please!"
A smasher! One for the book! Gengis Khan, Attila the Hun and the current movie hero: none of ém touched a moment like this. I was d***k with power.
"I will give you two more," I said grandly. "Then you will ask me nicely, using the four letter word."
She did not protest. Perhaps I was being kinder than she dared hope. I gave those two strokes all I had. She danced like a puppet on a string, moaning and sobbing. But she managed it: "Please fuck me, sir." That 'sir' was a real killer. Showed sincerity.
"I'll untie you. You'll immediately go and lay on the bench and open your legs wide...." I was a conquerer.
"Oh yes! Oh, thank you.... Oh yes....!"
I untied her. She brimmed over with thanks, rubbing her cut wrists. I bent and picked up the cane, just in case... It was when I straightened up that she got me: her heel squarely on my testicles. All the f***e of her lithe body was behind the kick. I doubled over and lost interest in everything except myself. I had a blurred image of my asailant grabbing her clothes and making for the door. I couldn't have care less....
It's a standard joke. Sure, I know. bl**dy funny when it's someone else or a cartoon story. Fact is it had never happened to me before. Don't suppose it ever happens to most chaps. But it's one of the few things that's every bit the way it's supposed to be. Too damn awful for words. I hgged myself and twisted and turned in agony. Serve me right! Well, O.K. maybe it did. But it hurt!
I really don't know how long it took me to get to where I could stand up and think. When I did I was flooded in pure horror. I'd let that damn girl get loose. Goodness knows what would happen to her running around half dressed in a place like this. Then the next one: Old Rabin and Mrs. Corbin! I'd let ém down. Let ém down bad! But then I came to the worst of all: Terry and Dorinda! My darling girls. They'd have to laugh at me. I'd look a fool, an absolute jackass. Chain them helplessly with those handcuffs and then let that slippery little vixen make a fool of me! My Empire crumbled at my feet.
Without Terry and Dorinda I wasn't safe.
The sounds followed the thoughts. They were equally disturbing. Noises!
I had not been told that hallucinations were a part of being kicked in the groin. Or was it illusion? It did not matter. There they were, large as life and smiling broadly, at least Terry and Dorinda were. Darling Petulance looked thoroughly cheesed off. Her wrists were once more handcuffed behind her back. She was naked. She was controlled by Terry's firm grip in her hair.
"We grabbed her on her way out," said Dorinda.
"She's a really terrible girl," said Terry.
Pettie Corbin said nothing. She looked scared.
"She tried to kick us in the same place," Terry explained.
"But it's not quite the same with girls....."
"I'd like to shove a red hot poker up yours!" Petulance said tenderly.
Terry shook her fistful of hair vigorously. "Naughty, naughty! Mama spank."
"Oh, fuck off you naked bitch!"
Dorinda thoughtfully took one of the captive's nipples between thumb and finger. "How about another apology, you ill-tempered little b**st?" "You're another naked bitch too -- Yow!" Pettie fought strenuously and uselessly. The hand in her hair was implacable. "Let that go you miserable whore...." Her ugly words trailed off into a cry of pure agony as Dorinda pinched harder. "Oh alright! Alright! I'm sorry."
The apology was obviously insincere. But the punished nipple was released. It was an angry red. Its owner looked down at it without pride. Pettie turned to me. "You going to let these lousy whores- " She let out a howl of protest as her nipple was once more put in a vise.
"I'm.... I'm sorry! I forgot. Oh please...!" Once again Dorinda released the hurt bud. Pettie finished her sentence, her voice dripping sarcasm: "Are you going to let these dilightful young ladies do what they like with me?" She tacked on the word, sir for full measure.
My girls exchanged a glance. This time each of them possessed herself of a guilty scrap of flesh and pinched hard, holding their captive as she went through all the motions with which I now had a sneaking sympathy.
"I'll be good! I'll behave! Honest.....!"
"We've heard that before." Terry said thoughtfully.
"We can't believe a word you say," Dorinda sympathized.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry....! Ohhh! Oh please... anything!"
The two nipples that came back into view looked as though they were on fire. Pettie groaned. Her hands worked uselessly at the cuffs.
"Would yoy like us to, er, immobilize her for you, master?" Dorinda asked respectfully, eyes twinkling.
"If you would please?" It was ineffectual but the best I could do.
They marched their prisoner out, I suspect with glee. Pettie wisely refrained from comment. I tottered to the living room and found my favorite chair. The dear girls did not take long. "We just pulled her hands way up behind her back," Terry explained.
"It's very uncomfortable," Dorinda added with what I suspected was understatement.
I looked at them proudly. What a treasures!
They seemd ill at ease. They came and stood solemnly before me. "How will you punish us, master?" Terry asked sadly.
Punish? Good heavens, I'd award them the Victoria Cross, the Legion of Honour and the Congressional Medal.
They surveyed me with soft meek eyes in which there was the faintest glint of mischief. It hit me like a ton of bricks. They beheld realization down. They laughed. "How the devil did you manage it?" I demanded.
"I picked your pocket, master," Terry said demurely.
My hands flew to my pocket. The key to the handcuffs was gone.
"It's on the table, master," Dorinda confirmed.
"We wanted to powder our noses, master," Terry supplied.
"We were just readdy to lock ourselves back on our rings when little Sweetheart came leaping by. So we grabbed her."
"You mean, you had the key to freedom, but you'd lock yourselves up again?"
"Of course, master! We are slave girls. We know our place." They said it in unison. A trick, I suspect, they had deliberately cultivated.
I expect I looked thunderstruck.
"Besides, our ankles were chained, master." They offered that as if it was excuse for good behavior.
"You are utterly too much!" I told them with reverence.
"Yes master. We know we must be punished." Again in unison.
I knew with certainty that if it took every penny I had I must buy these girls and take them home. With two such treasures life could offer no challenge I could not face. "I would not dream of punishing you," I said firmly. I love you too much."
They looked at each other. They were by no means twins. But there was that same empathy between them.
"We know we did wrong, master. We want you to punish us."
What would I have done? Think before you answer! With one girl you could kiss her and dry her tears, if any. Or pick her up and carry her to the couch and arrange her legs. But two! Each beautiful beyond a man's wildest dreams. You can't do that to two, not at once.
They looked at me soulfully.
"You'd better whip me, master. It was I who stole the key."
Terry managed to make the confession sound like George Washington and the cherry tree.
"We are both equally guilty, master," Dorinda said firmly. I had a feeling that, married to Dorinda, a chap would have to toe the line.
"You both want to be whipped?" I asked unhappily. I was trying frantically to think of a way out.
"Yes please, master!" The duet sounded as though I'd offered a trip to Acapulco. Happy anticipation.
Those two girls proved something I suppose we all know but don't quite believe: that females get the best of men every time. We struggle and protest - I expect we enjoy it - but relentlessly they push in the direction they want to go, and all of a sudden we are there too. Damn remarkable!
Not so! You say. Why would two girls ask to be whipped? Seems like you have a point. But you haven't. They want to be whipped because every stripe I paint on their lovely skins makes me more their captive than they are mine. Besides, women have a sense of the rightness of things. The situation called for them to be whipped. So whipped they must be! each stroke would make them stronger and me weaker. They would weep. But their tears would melt my male armor... Oh, never doubt it. Women are stronger. Women are The Establishment.
"How would you like to be whipped?" I capitulated.
"It is for you to decide, master," the duet cooed.
A devil took hold. The male ego dies hard. "How about across your dear little quims?" I asked nonchalantly.
The silence was pregnant. But short.
"Thank you, master." They sounded ecstatic.
"How do we go about the job?" After all, it was their idea. Another silent sibling sensory. "One of the rooms has rings, master," Dorinda ventured without enthusiasm. I was glad of the absence of zest. Teach 'em a lesson. I let them lead the way.
Terry tied Dorinda. Then I tied Terry. They apologized for asking me to unlock their ankle chains. Obviously their legs had to be spread. By the time I was through there were three lovely blushes in the room.
It had the genius of simplicity. They lay on their backs on the floor, a noose round each ankle. The ropes went up and over pulleys in the ceiling. When the ropes were pulled hard enough the lovely legs rose up and spread wide so that by the time their bottoms left the floor each girl seemed to be about ninety percent sex. No one could imagine two delightful quiffs more invitingly displayed or more helplessly held. The fact that the girls had the use of their hnds altered nothing. About all they might use them for would be to beat upon the floor.
"I hope you like this, master," Terry said doubtfully.
I could see her point. If I was a girl I would never choose that pose. Even on her wedding night a girl does not open it quite that far - at least I wouldn't think so! There they were, two hair ensconced vulvas screaming to be whipped. I chose a very slender riding crop that was nearly a whip itself.
Again the problem of two. Which one to weal first? Whichever you chose you left a question mark. On the basis that terry was the most culpable I laid a truly lovely stripe flat over her sex.
She wasn't a bit heroic. But then she never pretends to be. Having so much freedom, she used it. She went wild. But no matter how she tried she always ended up where she started. The ropes round her ankles won. Even while she writhed she was open. When she lay still again her cunt screamed for attention.
I hit Dorinda. In pain the two girls are different yet the same. To writhe is to writhe, to moan is to moan. But each has their own distinctive way of telling you they hurt. Dorinda is the most voluptuous of the two. To whip dorinda is to know an agony yourself. The agony of desire. With her first twistings and small cries I am aflame.
Two red weals bisect two female quims.
"It hurts terribly, master," Terry tells me as though I need the information.
I whip them back and forth, one to the other. Their cries merge. Their struggles become continuous. Girlish hands beat against the floor and rach down to appease their wounds. When their eyes catch mine they smile.
Once more I am all the conquerors of the world. But I use judgement. I hope they would agree. I stop whipping the appealing cunts before there is damage. Besides, I love their owners. I go away. I leave them tied, moaning. They are so involved with their hurts they do not see me go. Miss Corbin is not happy. She looks at me sideways as I enter. "Alright, beat me," she invites bitterly.
I am indeed going to beat her. But not at her request. I survey her plight. My girls have, as usual, done an admirable job. Pettie's wrists are still handcuffed behind her back. But a rope drags them up to the ceiling so that she stands on tiptoe, bent forward to ease the strain, helpless. But in pain. Rope on het wrists would be bad enough, but handcuffs...!
Her bottom is beautifully displayed. It exhibits nine gorgeous wound and asks for more.
"I suppose I get whipped to death?" Pettie asks without hope.
It is a good thought. But not to death! Why waste a perfectly good girl? I tell her so.
"Fuck you, Buster!" she exclaims so that I know she has relinquished hope.
My power is complete. All three girls are helpless and exposed to whip and cane. I could make an orchestration of agony. It is at such times that we display mercy. It inflates our egos.
"You said that deliberately to annoy me, didn't you?" I ask.
"Whip me and get it over with."
"It will never be over."
It sinks in. Pettie is faced with the unknowable. heroics are no match for the forever. Faced with it, discomfort wins: "Please lower my arms. I hurt dreadfully."
"What else did you expect?"
"I know." Pettie speaks without any of her usual sarcasms. "But I have to ask. You might be merciful. How am I to know? Please lower my arms. I'll still be helpless." She flung tears from her face by a vigorous shake of the head. She was learning. She should learn more. "How many strokes would you ask for to gain the relief yoe seek?" I ask callously.
She hears my brutal question with joy.
"Any number you wish, sir."
"Why call me sir?"
"It is a title of respect. I have supposed it required."
"Call me master."
"Yes master." I could sense her loathing. But she kept it from her voice.
"Well, how many?"
How cruel a question!
"Five, please, master?" her voice was a question mark. How vividly her mind had computed. To ask for as few as possible without giving offense. I was pleasantly surprised by the five. She was learning.
"Five it is. I shall lay them on hard."
"Thank you, master." I could scarcely believe my ears. I struck the exquisitely bent derriere and watched the resultant gymnastics. Pettie's vocals were as erotic as her body.
I had expected pleas and excuses. But there were none. Agony aplenty. But no evasions. Her bottom was to be cut five tomes. The vulgar hoyden was reconciled. I struck again.... and again.... and again. Pettie rose to heights of pain undreamed of. I shared it all. Never once did I feel other than that I was doing her a favour.
At the end of the fifth I let her agonize awhile. Hers was a beautiful pose from which a girl might proclaim her anguish. But after a little while in which Pettie herself did no prompting, Suburbia gave me a few prods. Hastily I loosed the tether. Pettie's hands fell normally behind her back. I think she simply soaked up the relief. It was quite a while before she whispered: "Thank you master." It sounded genuine.
I let her enjoy. I was quite sure those handcuffs had been rough on her wrists. Probably a damn sight worse than the six with the cane. She didn't seem to want to do or say anything. Just stood.
"You know you have to be punished?" I asked offhandedly after awhile.
"Yes master." That 'master' had become automatic.
I recalled something. It seemed pertinent. "Do you remember asking me what good pain was: what difference it made: what point there was inflicting it on you?"
The naked girl searched her mind and shuffled uneasily.
"You were right, master. I did not believe it then. I do now."
"When was it you find out?"
She gave my question the same careful consideration.
"With the first stroke, master."
I was awed. the power of the whip on female flesh! Had those old buffers down through history been right! whip your woman into submission and damn the rest! Damn the niceties! Damn chivalry! A woman was a chattel. Keep her so.
"How do you wish to be punished?" I used my weakness to probe.
"It is for you to say, master."
"I'm going to whip your loins."
Pettie tensed. I watched the knowledge of what awaited seep through her being. She gave me a quick sideways look as though to verify. "You are going to whip across my cunt, master?" She wanted it specific.
"Thank you, master." She had abandoned hope.
I went back to my girls. They were happily engaged in feminine chatter as though they had not been cruelly whipped. The words died as i entered. I was more important. They looked up at me hopefully. "I have work for you," I said, and loosed their ropes.
They untied their ankles themselves. Then stood, quite free. On impulse I asked: "Why don't you run? Why don't you jump me?"
"We are slave girls, master." They had an answer to everything.
They picked up their ankle chains and offered them to me.
"You should chain our feet, master, lest we be tempted."
"You want me to?"
"Yes, master." Their female desire blended as one. On impulse I asked: "When did you first become slaves?"
They exchanged their sibling look. "When the whip first marked us, master."
It is as though all the women of the world are one. But men are s**ttered far and wide. I adored them. They knew I adored them. They glowed. "I have a task for you," I said.
They adored that too. I am in danger of belonging to them utterly instead of they to me. Pettie surveyed their glowing entry without hope. "Fuck off," she requested, "I've had enough of broads."
"You prefer our master?" The question reeked of approval.
"All I want to do is get out of here." Pettie surveyed them disdainfully. "I suppose you're going to whip my bum?"
"Not exactly your bum, darling."
"You needn't call me darling, you lousy Les."
Dorinda turned shining eyes to me. "May we, please, afterwards, master?"
I signified approval.
Pettie saw the interchange. "About the best thing that can happen to a girl in this nut house is to get her arse whipped," she declaimed bitterly. "You'll love it, darling," Terry was enthused.
"Lick your own cunt," Pettie tugged at her handcuffs in despair.
"You're being very silly," Dorinda reproved. "Besides, if you're a woman's libber, wouldn't you sooner have my tongue than a man?" Pettie moaned in exasperation and tugged away at her bonds. "I don't want anything. Can't you understand? All my cunt wants is to be left alone." "Awful waste," said Terry.
"It's not going to be left alone now," Dorinda promised.
I stood to one side and watched.
It was a very feminine affair.
They left her handcuffs on. It simplified their job enormously. She made quite a to-do about laying on her joined arms. But Terry and Dorinda paid no attention. The female thing delivered to them was of no consequence. They went about their work absorbed.
When they had her spread helpless as they had been, they handed me the whip and retired to separate walls.
But I sensed something wrong. Pettie expected me to whip her. Thus, obviously, she should be shocked. I handed the whip to Dorinda, and myself retired to the sidelines. Pettie's eyes widened in fear. Women are merciless with women. Dorinda struck.
All in the mind? Perhaps. But, watching, it seemed to me that Dorinda knew things I did not. The weal across the pouting lips rose up to proclaim female dominance. the keening cry of anguish was totally feminine. Pettie was in good hands.
The two girls took turns whipping her sex. Sometimes the prostrate girl with her spread legs turned to me as her only hope. "Master, oh please master. Make them stop. make them...."
I did not make them. Pettie screamed and screamed.
"Please master, I'll never try to escape..... never!"
The whipping went on and on. Each girl intent as she accepted the cane. The female vulva staring up in mute appeal, the skin around it scarlet, turning purple.
Suddeny it stopped. "May we tie her, master?"
"Is she not ideal as she is?" They nodded, eyes aflame. "Thank you, master. Do you wish to watch?"
I did not wish to watch. This was a female thing.
"Don't leave me alone with them. master, oh, please...!"
I went away. I looked back only once. Dorinda's mouth was buried deep within the hair between our delinquent's legs. She was sucking lustily. Terry was not even aware of me.
I was not alone. The Grand Marnier kept me company. That and the sounds..... I expect it was more the sounds. I wished I had had the courage to stay. But I knew it best to allow them their own joys in their own way. I had no wish to envy them more than I already did. To be female must be wonderful. They have no need of men. I turned to the Grand Marnier. It was a small comfort.
I dreamt of Suburbia and longings. Of how a girl's breast beneath a sweater could send me bonkers. Of how a bit of thigh revealed in the underground could fill my day with passion and loneliness. Someone would marry these breasts and thighs and enjoy them. I pictured myself on my wedding night, taking off the clothes that had cheated me. What would I find? Nothing like Dorinda or terry. I was sure of that. But I was curious. Why didn't I k**nap one of those self satisfied little bitches and find out what was underneath her clothes? I laughed inwardly. I had no need. Dorinda and Terry and Pettie offered me finer breasts and better handfuls of cunts than any underground. Their agonies were more rhythmic than the clickety click of the tube train's wheels.
"We have her ready for you, master."
Dorinda's words brought me back from far away. My naked slave with her chained feet was smiling at me from the doorway. "We have performed our task, master. We would not presume upon yours."
I went to see what they had done.
Petulance lay upon a bench. Her handcuffed wrists were drawn back over her head and tied. Her shoulders were also bound. Her feet were pulled asunder but not rigidly fastened. She could do much with them and her legs save bring them together. They were held open. Pettie was an invitation. She looked up at me malevolently but dared not speak. The lines of salacity were still upon her face. I knew why. Pettie knew I was aware. Her face flamed. She tugged at her pinioned ankles, seeking to close her legs and deny me entry. But she was beautifully tied. My girls had served their master well. I entered into my kingdom. Pettie Corbin moaned and moaned. I could not tell whether in pleasure or in pain.
Perhaps there is no difference.
"Should we punish her more?" I asked.
It was the next day.
"She has not been punished, master," Dorinda affirmed.
"She has been made aware of womanhood. That is all. She will instantly revert."
"In training, master. She must be made to speak the words. She must want to speak them."
"Bring her forth."
Twenty-four hours. For pettie Corbin it had been life. Now her ankles were chained. She wore her handcuffs like bracelets. For her, escape had become a pretty dream. She looked at me without adoration. "I suppose you are going to fuck me," she said listlessly. "Which of the thirty six positions?"
Terry whips her. When it is over she is more humble. "Tell me what to do, master."
I tell her what to do.
Terry and I hang by our thumbs. It is one of the cruelest punishments. It goes on and on. We hang that we may see each other´s tears and share our moans. Our searching toes cannot find the floor, but the chain between our ankles loops down so that a couple of links find the contact we are denied. We are exhausted and without hope. We may hang like this for hours or for days. When we are lowered there will be something else..... I suppose I deserve it. But poor Terry does not. Darling Terry...
It´s all my fault. They trusted me. They looked to me. I don´t know why. I´m no stronger willed than Terry, no wiser than poor Cedric. But he fell in love with us both: with Terry as a girl and with me as some remotely beautiful Goddess from his dream world. He was all wrong. I´m only a girl too. A girl who sheds tears and hurts the same as Terry does.
I´d seen the danger signals from the moment old Rabin rented me to poor bewildered Cedric. He was just a boy from some stuffy little nothing place in London. A little boy lost. I don´t think poor Cedric really knew what he was searching for. But he believed he had found it in us. Perhaps he actually did. Certainly Terry and I possessed a power to give him tremendous happiness. He´d been so lonely. Suddenly we filled his life. He fell in love.
It was the day Mrs. Corbin retrieved her chastened daughter that we all made the awful mistake. We were suddenly alone and intimate. Two naked chained slave girls and a man who adored them. That word does not fit him. Cedric was a boy. A boy who was ashamed to whip us any more and wanted to take us back to England.
“I´ll never know our price. It must have been right. The poor boy looked a bit white and strained when he came back from the battle of wits with Rabin in which h purchased us. You can be sure the old Shylock would try and drain him dry.
I should never have let him go. But think of it! I´m only human. All of a sudden freedom was dangled in front of my eyes. Cedric wanted us. He would pay Rabin: Not only for two girls but for the sure passage of all three of us back to somewhere safe. Somewhere outside this desert society of you scrach my back and I´ll scratch yours! Even in this weird part of the world there exists the banking and wire services by which money can be made available. If you have it, poor dead Cedric evidently had enough.
The way he explained it, I couldn´t pick holes. There seemed no reason it would not work. Rabin was the key. Money would buy Rabin. Simple! There was an awkwardness when I asked Cedric what he´d do with us in England.
“I don´t know,” he laughed ruefully. “Can´t take you there in chains,” he grinned at us frankly. “But I want to. May as well admit it. I never want to let you go. But when we get out of the plane you´ll be free. You can kiss me good-bye and go.”
Terry and I cried. It was too much emotion. After slavery it just did not seem possible. No more chains or whips or cords that cut our skin. No more rotten little cells or dungeons. No more men using our bodies. .... We looked at each other through our tears. Terry knew what to say.
“ We´ll stay with you, master. We´ll be your slave girls there for as long as you want. We know you´ll let us go sometime. That´s what matters....” Her eyes lit up in mischief.
“Make old Rabin throw in all the handcuffs and the chains. You´ll need ´em.”
Cedric was close to tears himself.
So I let him go. Why, oh why, oh why?
Sudden entry into freedom takes about the same adjustment as being thrust into slavery. When Cedric came back with Rabin´s blessing and all the papers and clothes for us to wear, it was an almost frightening moment when the chains were unlocked from our ankles and we could take a normal step. Talk about feeling naked....! Cedric watched and shared our laughter at our exploratory steps. Then blushed with us when we dressed. Crazy, I suppose, bur putting on a pair of briefs was about as obscene an act as I had ever performed. It was as though I was suddenly ashamed of something I´d been carrying around all my life.
We made such a holiday, such an occasion. We were so happy loading Cedric´s car. It was like being born again. On the road we were tourists seeing the country. Each town or village we passed was a milestone back into life. Terry and I found it hard to express our gratitude. Cedric had given us something so precious there were no words. Only acts could tell him. We were glowingly resolved to perform those acts. We both wanted nothing more than to make him very happy.
Terry and I were busy with the road map. We could tell we were getting close to safety. All we needed was an American or British Consulate. We would soon be free.... free..... free!
The two trucks converged on us from either side. Directly we saw them we knew. There was no exciting race. One behind and one in front at a place where we could not turn. There were not even any arguments. There were eight men. They dragged us out of our car. One of them immediately drove away in it after tossing out our laggage. It was thrown into a truck, our hands were tied behind our backs and we were pitched after it. The truck sped away. We knew not where.
Poor Cedric! To him it was unreality. He tried to talk, to bargain, to promise and to threaten. The mahogany faces listened impassively. One of them struck him across the face and said gruffly: “No talk.” To Terry and I it was all so familiar. The cords cutting our wrists. The knowledge of helplessness. Of being pawns in someone else´s game. When they tied our elbows, savagely and tightly together, we knew there was no hope. When they do that to you they want to hurt. They want you to know you are a nothing. They want you obedient.
After a long time they stopped and pushed us out on the sand. Just the one truck and four men. We were in a quiet sad little gully with a dubious-looking water-hole and a s**ttering of dejected vegetation. The four were hungry. One started preparations for a meal. The other three made arrangements for the floor show. Terry and I were the star performers. They were very confident. They untied us, even Cedric.
“Take off clothes.” It was a very casual order.
I suppose Terry and I hadn´t expected anything else. The first thing you do with a slave girl or a captive female is strip her. Why not? It´s practical. The things you are going to do to her certainly don´t call for clothes. We started to undress. Apart from being frightened and heartbroken we were almost bored. It was all too familiar.
But poor Cedric! It was all a bit too much for him. He laced into them in no uncertain way. One of the crew hit him with the butt of a gun. There was about as much emotion displayed as if he had brushed away a fly. Cedric was knocked down but not out. bl**d came from the wound. He fingered it in disbelief as he sprawled on the sand. We tried to go to him. But that was definitely out. The moment we stopped our strip act dirty fingers reached out to help. We were soon naked. We did not care. Cedric was our main concern. “Don´t interfere over us,” I warned, and got slapped for my pains.
What do you do with a captive girl? Of course you do! The answer is the same on every continent and every century. Terry and I knew what the first thing would be. Poor Cedric did not! Hen the first ruffian took his erect sex out of his scrap of dirty blanket and motioned to me to kneel before him and pay the eternal female homage with her lips, I was about to obey when Cedric went wild.
to be continued....