This is a print version of story The Island (Chpt 2) by wastedaway from

The Island (Chpt 2)

Chapter 2

Kyrexos was a delightful island. Dorinda could see most of her captor’s small kingdom from the rock on which she sat with Terry. The sun was warm. For the moment her condition was charmingly relaxed.

"Nicer than that room with the rope, love?" Terry asked shrewdly.
"Calm before the storm?" Dorinda asked with frank suspicion.
The younger girl giggled. "The dear boy really laced into you. You’re a beautiful zebra. Like the swimsuit?"
"Pure haven. I’m tired of looking down and seeing breasts and hair. Sweet of you to let me wear it."
"Doesn’t hide all that much, darling. But the little belt effect makes it handy to hang your handcuffs and that bit of cord. I hate carrying things. I like being naked."
"Why the bokini then?"
"Can’t very well have the mistress naked and the slave clothed, can we?"
"You’d better brief me a bit," Dorinda suggested diffidently. "I’m still a novice, y’knnow. Mark really made me come to heel yesterday. Are you going to do that too? Should I call you ‘mistress’?"

Terry giggled. "You’ll have to play me by ear. I’m a butterfly. Sometimes I’ll be very brutal to you, darling. Quite often I’ll love you to bits." She directed a puckish grin at her captive. "Tru to remember, love. Little Terry’s never been a mistress or had a slave girl to play with. It’s been me that’s been the slave girl. If you think Mark has made you come to heel, I can tell you a few stories. You are no more a zebra than I often am."
"Why do you put up with it?"
"I love it, silly. You know I do. Mark’s told you. I’m a natural born slave girl. But only for Mark."
"Aren’t you going to be jealous?" Dorinda asked mischieviously. "Now I’ll get all the whippings and you’ll be home free."
"I’m a bit curious to see how he does with both of us," Terry’s eyes sparked with a sudden thought. "If I feel neglected I can always make you whip me." She giggled. "Would you like that?"

Dorinda was about to affirm that after yesterday she would not wish a whipping on a dog, when there dirfted into her inward vision a delectable vision of a naked Terry bent well over and herself lustily caning a pert round bottom. "I’m afraid I’d love to," she admitted honestly. "Good heavens, this is contagious!"

Whilst not wanting to be burdened with things to carry, the newly elevated mistress had ostentatiously brought along on their stroll a long, slender crop with which she neatly decapitated any convenient growth along their path. Her slave girl had been constantly aware of it. Dorinda was suddenly horrified to find the wicked length now placed in her hand.
"Whip my bottom, darling, until I tell you to stop."
Joyously the younger girl stepped out of the skimpy fabric that had hugged her hips, selected her spot, then bent and garsped her ankles. Dorinda had never seen a girl’s btoom more enticingly offered. She felt herself blush. A bringht and expectant eye was watching her with avid amusement. "Scared, aren’t you?" the young voice taunted.

Dorinda felt herslef adrift. But knew this moment in life to be lived vividly while it lasted. With a tremendous sense of release she swung the crop in a slahing arc and both felt and heard it sink into the puppy cheeks with a sensual thrill such as she had never before known. She watched, fascinated, as the red weal formed and became a ridge of scarlet. The punished girl held her pose heroically, but gasped with heaving breasts. The right eye discretely looked alsewhere. Enthralled with sudden power, Dorinda was readying herself for the next blow ...

Had the idol feet of clay? Dorinda was disappointed.
"Damn," Terry straightened up chagrined.
"Damn and double damn!" she repeated. Turning, she donned her briefs. "I’m not chicken, y’know!" she affirmed savagely. "I just thought of something."
Dorinda waited and wondered.
Terry pushed the fabric off her hips and offered her bottom again for view. "I say, darling. I’ll bet it’s a real corker of a mark?"
Dorinda affirmed it was.
"I’ll have to keep these damn things on." Terry pulled the scanty protection about her loins. She looked at her companion in sudden appeal. "I should have thought. Mark will probably give me hell. He’ll say I’ve broken his pattern with you. I’m supposed to whip you, not you me."

Dorinda was intrigued by the maiden dolor. "Why so concerned?" she langhed. "The worst he’ll do to you is whip you some more. You adore it. So why worry?"
"I don’t adore it the way he does it when he wants to teach me a lesson." Terry grinned ruefully. "I’m not made of leather. Besides, it might not be the whip. Mark thinks of the damndest things."

The puzzled slave girl was prevented from asking hwat ‘the damndest things’ were by her mistress’s evanescent mood reverting to her normal sunshine exuberance. "Darling! I’ve just thought .... The absolutely most gorgeous thing to do to you. Come on. I’ll race you."

How good it was to run. As she spen in persuit, Dorinda could not forbear the speculation that it should be possible for her to overpower the younger girl and make her captive with the handcuffs in her belt. The thought was plausable. But to what end? The island would defeat her. Retribution would probably be too awful to contemplate. Besides, she liked the youngster. Terry would be easy to love ...

It was a small secluded spot among sparse trees, one of which had remained standing in the little clearing as though forgotten when its fellows had gone. Within minutes Dorinda found herself divested of her swim suit and tightly tied to the trunk. Terry kissed her excitedly and dashed off in the direction of the house.
The puzzled girl tested her bonds. Good use had been made of the scraps she had been made to carry. Her waist was cinched tight by a single strand of cord. It hurt. Her legs were seperated, one on each side of the bole. They, too, were immobilized by single circlets which were very tight indeed and hurt as much as the waistband. Her wirsts were handcuffed at the rear. She could wriggle her shoulders and toss her head. That was all. A familiar sense of vulnerability enveloped her. Ruefully she glanced down at what she could see of herself. Sure enough: breasts and pubic hair! She supposed she had better get used to it. She was only mildly concerned about her immediate situation.

When a flushed and obviously highly amused girl returned with a parcel, her captive watched perplexed as busy fingers hastely strewed a white powder on the bare rock. Sugar ... salt? It could be anything. But ths ebeacme instantly and intimately concerned when the giggling girl opened the lips of the captive sex and pushed within the secret orrifice several gobs of honey and then annointed the hairy triangle with the sticky stuff so that the whole area bore a half inch of the sweet. "Don’t worry darling. Lots of room in there ... at least if it’s anything like mine." Chuckling, as at some funny joke, she retired with her her paper back and seated herself on a smooth rock, about forty feet away.
"What’s this for?" the prisoner felt entitled to ask.
"No questions, darling," Terry admonished. "If you insist on asking, I’ll whip you."

Dorinda did not insist. But her mind was active. She could not fail to note that the white stuff on the ground led, like a trail of gunpowder, to where she was bound. It was probably sugar. Sugar and honey spelt ants! How long would it take for them to find her? And when they did, what then?

It was not ants! The first goat wandered into the clearing with the air of a first arrival ta a meeting place. He was a hoary male, well endowed with beard, horns and other accountrements. Examining him with wide eyed dismay the helpless girl found it easy to give credence to the satyr legend. She guessed her fate.
"Please Terry. Please ... don’t let him."
"I’ll whip you for that too," Terry said equable. "And if you shout at him to try and scare him away I’ll really let you have it." She chuckled happily. "Best thing you can do is to keep quiet altogether. It’s quite an experience for a girl. Mark did it to me once. I’m going to love watching."

Several she-goats joined their lords. But it was he who claimed the price. Having sampled the salt that led to the mother load he raised his nozzle to sample the nectar provided by a thoughful Providence. The bound Dorinda carled up inwardly in a spasm of shrinking withdrawel that availed her nothing. The venerable goat lapped happily.

A goat’s snout is peculiarly mobile facility designed for the inaccessable. Terry’s ingenious provision of a hidden store presented no problem. The old billy parted Dorinda’s nether lips as easily as he did his own. A nibbling probosciis and an eager sandpaper tongue havested the treasure from its warm sheath so that the helpless maiden, tied to her tree, was driven into paroxyam after paroxyam of vivid and unbearable sensation. No matter how she fought the cords or tugged at her handcuffed wrists, she could move no portion of herself that would discommode her unwanted guest. She turned frantic eyes to an imperturbable Terry.
"Oh please! Don’t let him. Shoo him away. I can’t stand it!"
"You’ve had only two orgasms, I can tell."
"But I don’t want any!" The captive wailed in between gasps and spams.
"This is ‘Be kind to a****ls week’," Terry announced complacently. Her eyes bright with enjoyment.

The tortured victim groaned and writhed again.
"That makes three," her mistress stated approvingly. "You’re a lucky girl."
"Get rid of him!!" It was a cry of anguish.
"You know you’re loving it."
"I’m not! I’m not!! Oh, how can you sit there. Please ..." The naked girl fought her bonds uselessly.
"You are up for four now."

Dorinda had never known such an intensity of sensation. It engulfed her loins in wave after wave that gave her no time to renegate. No sooner had the rasping tongue provoked her palpitating flesh than the cycle of agonized ecstacy began all over again. In panic she could see little chance of the ordeal ending before she was reduced to some sort of disaster.

"Five .... and now six!" Terry sounded jubilant as though vicariously sharing joy. "Can’t possibly stop the old dear now, darling. I’m sure you don’t want any honey left up there. Let him get it all."
The sweating, panting captive’s moans were ounctuated by sharper cries and fresh struggles. Terry watched her slave with growing eyes and counted happily as the tally rose. The hairy recipient of unexpected largesse nibbled and licked assiduously until, having garnered every trace of his favorite desert from the hostess’s quivering sex and pubic hair, he reluctantly turned and led his harem from the scene of his triumph.
"You’ve never been so clean, darling," Terry assured her prisoner helpfully. "Frightfully hygienic and all that."
Dorinda relaxed against her tree and panted her way back into the world.

After the swim they lay upon the beach and dried.
"What happened to my swim suit?" Dorinda accused.
Her companion giggled guiltily. "One of the she-goats ate both pieces while I wasn’t watching. Sorry, love. I’Ve got the rest of the stuff in the paper bag." Like a tail wagging puppy she leant over and frankly sbiffed the sun drenched sex of the naked girl beside her. "Good, we’ve washed him away. He did smell a bit. So did you." She trilled laughter. "Sort of an appropriate smell for that particluar place, daling. But I’m sure we’re both fastidious. Go arrange yourself on that rock over there and spread your legs."

Dorinda sat upright, startled. "No!" Her negative was from the heart. Terry enjoyed her slave’s dismay. "Don’t paninc. Always one more left. That’s the nice thing about being a gril."
"I don’t do that."
Terry surveyed her companion with interest. "Well, I’ve never done it," she admitted. "Mark never gave me a chance with a girl. But I’ve got one now. You don’t think I’m going to pass it up, do you?"
"But I’m not a lesbian."
"Who says anything about lesbians? That’s just a name. If we want to explore each others cunny woth our mouth, we don’t have to wear a label."
"Mark would flog us both half to death."
"Well, he might if he found out," she admitted reflectively.
"I’ll tell him."
"You won’t, y’know darling."

Dorinda had to admit to herself that Terry was right. She began to glimpse that, whilst her b*****r would subdue her with the whip, his s****r would devise more devious and colorful ways to enslave. Terry had risen to her feet and was flexing the riding crop thoughtfully, her eyes hungry for whatever excitement the situation might engender. Dutifully the slave girl did as she was told.

The female psyche is a complex thing. Its responses are triggered by subtleties not always understood. Faced with a fresh assault on resources already frayed threadbare, Dorinda was bereft. She knew she could only earn the whip by attempts to dissuade, so composed her nudity to best advantage to absorb attentions which, no matter how gentle, were basically similar to her recent ordeal against the tree. She felt sure of disgrace.

But Terry’s magic was not only in her sunny laughter and elfin spirit. She was vibrantly female, exquisitely feminine. Her hands were enchanted hands. Her lips were enchanted lips. To be touched by them anywhere was to feel the shock of electric senuousness. Dorinda, who had thought herself depleted, was washed now in a fountain of youth that endowed her with infinite renewal. Gasping to keep herself afloat in a sea of pleasure she allowed herself to be led into the scented pathways of a girl who loves.

"Wasn’t it super?" Terry cooed. "Girls would be silly not to enjoy themselves."
It was after. Long after! Dorinda lay gratefully in the sun, replete and at peace as she watched her mistress fumble with her bikini. "I say, darling. How’s my bottom?" The curved facility was offered for inspection.
"It’s a very lovely bottom and it’s got the most beautiful purple stripe right accross the middle," the slave girl assured her with satisfaction.
"Oh golly, I’m sure it has. I’ll have to mear these damn things for a week. Mark will be suspecious. Come one, darling, think of an excuse."
"You could claim a defense against my rapacious tongue."
"He’d whip you to pieces ... If he believed it."
"Alright then. Not me, the goat."
"Be serious. I should whip you until you think of something plausable."
"Time of the month?"
Terry tottered. "He knows that."
"Tell you what. We’ll both confess our sin like good little girls and ask to be punished. Then he won’t do it."
The angel brightened. "You might have something there love. But - knowing Mark - I’d suspect we get about five apiece."
"You’d enjoy only five. And since I suppose I go back into training with him tomorrow I don’t suppose five one way or the other will make much difference. He’s a real ‘spare the rod and spoil the c***d’ enthousiast."
Terry looked at her slave searchingly. "Are you sure we aren’t tarred with the same brush?"
Dorinda’s indignant negative died stillbron. "I hate the damn whip," she averred vehemently. "But I like the man who uses it on me. Does that make any sense?"
"You mean you’re in love with Mark?"
"I don’t suppose I am. I was frightened of him half the time yesterday. But when he’s whipping me I have to respect his motives. I wish he’d tie me to a tree or something instead. But I can understand his fantasy thing. He explained it very well. I can understand, too, that I sort of happened along at the right time and got elected. It’s funny, but I’ve come to recognize that this island affects my reactions. Anywhere else I’d be resentful and trying to escape all the time, always alert. But because I know it’s quite impossible for me to swim away from Kyrexos I don’t resist. I’m as much the island’s prisoner as I am yours ..."

"I’ve just thought of a wonderful game!" Terry was typically irrelevantly enraptured. "You’ll adore it, darling."
From something in the youngster’s voice Dorinda felt she would not adore it at all. But followed tinglingly curious. She was made to carry the paper bag.

It had been an old warf, fallen into disuse. An unptrentious bit of ruin. Terry led the way beneuth it to the water’s edge. Divesting herself of the bikini’s halter she giggled portentiously. "I want to blindfold you, love. But I promise, no shocks. When I take it off you’ll have the loveliest surprise." She went into further evidences of merit. Dorinda allowed herself to be blindfolded with the bra. It was effective. She stood quivering, expectant.
"Hold still and don’t be scared." Terry’s voice had become authorative and absorbed. Her nimble fingers unexpectedly were working her captive’s bushe triangle.
Dorinda relaxed. She could imagine regaining her sight to behold some absurd coiffure effect with that abundant bush with which she was endowed. At least it was nit painful.
It took a long time and many impatient exclamations. At last a breathless voice apologised: "The handcuffs now, darling. Just so you don’t spoil the effect."
The victim offered her wirsts without question. They were locked tight behind her back. It felt surprisingly natural. The bra was whisked from her eyes.

"It’s frightfully clever, darling, don’t you think?"
It took Dorinda a little time to comprehend her new predicament. It was not quite the c***dish game she had hoped.
A sizable tuft of her pubic hair had been owven or spliced into the end of cord. The join had been reinf***ed by sevel knots ot lighter threat, prbably unravelled from one of the other bindings. It appeared a very secure union. The cord itself fell away from her sex across the sand and into the water.
"It’s knotted round an old bolt down in the sand. Wtach, darling." The younger girl tugged at the cord with all her strength. It did not move. It was an impressive demonstration. Dorinda was tethered tight by a tenuous link as compelling as steel.
"It’s like a parlor game, love." Terry explained gaily. "You can’t fee yourself. The tide is coming in. It won’t submerge you. But it will rise enough so you won’t like it and can’t sit down. Now the thing you have to live with is that you can free yourself at any time. Just take a big leap. You’ll loose a bit of hair, but you’ve got plenty more. I suppose it will hurt. But slave girls have to put up with that sort of thing, don’t they?"

"I can never bring myself to tear loose," Dorinda vowed flatly. "It would be like tearing off a finger or a toe nail. Even the thought curls me up at the edges."
"You dramatize a bit, darling. You’ll get loose when you want to. Just as a further inducement you’ll be expected back at the house for dinner tonight. We are even going to let you wear clothes, lovely, gorgeous clothes. But if you’re a ‘fraudy-cat and stay here, you’ll het fifty strokes."
"Of course. Why not?"
"But fifty would kill a girl!"
"I expect you’d survive. Girls do. No problem really. Think of that noble soul who declaimed ‘Give me liberty or give me death’. All you are going to lose is a few cunt hairs ... Forgive me love, but that awful word is so absolutely right."

With the last bit of cord Terry circled her captive’s waist and cinched the handcuffs tight in the small of her back. "Just in case, darling. I’m sure you’ll try." Gally she picked up the bag and her crop and left Dorinda alone with an awful decision.

She tried. She tried desperately. First backing away from her tether until it sprang tout and the prisoner hairs made their painful protest. Fiacinated by the ingenuity if her new captivity, Dorinda continued the pressure until the tuft and the skin beneath were stretched out alarmingly. Not a single hair had come loose. She realised miserably that the yielding skin made a quick, simple yerk impractical. She would have to lunge, risking whatever injury might issue. Next she sought the knots that kept her hands at waist level. Simply handucffed she might have reached something. She was defeated there too. Entering the water she explored the anchor of her tether with her toes. But found that the most hopeless prospect of all. She was foxed! Despondently she stepped back on to the dry sand. But already the tide was claming most of the small margin Terry had left her with.

Reason dictated that she risk all in one quick dash immediately. In the end she would have to. Why spend miserable hours waiting and hiping that the exuberant moppet would return and set her free as the finale of a big tease? But did they tease? They had not done so yet.

Frantically Dorinda plunged.

The pain was sickening. The shock devastating. Instead of freedom the tether swung sideways and held. A foot raised in flight was all that saved her from an agonising fall. Looking down at the intimate bond she saw that not a single hair had yielded. The tuft of shining, wirey stuff stuff so cleverly woven was too alrge to be plcuked in one piece. The beautiful black bush, of which she had always been so proud, had been her downfall. Most girls could not have provided so hirsute a fetter for their own containment. Leaning against a rotting pole she gave herself to tears.

She was knee deep in water by the time Mark came and cut her loose. Thankfully she padded him back to the house, answerring his curt questions, sensing a storm. Terry was clasping her pillar naked faing the stone, arms chained high so that she seemed to embrace the column against which she normally leaned. Looking past the raised arm she viewed them with an apprehensive eye.

"Did you you do that?" Mark pointed to the purple line on his s****r’s seat.
"She tell you to?"
"Yes, I told her to," Terry broke in hotly.
He looked from one to the other of them. The intensity of his scrutiny was such that each girl sensed his probing. Dorinda blushed. Terry blushed. Without a word spoken their bl**d had confessed their guilt.

"Whose idea was it?" he demanded grimly
"Mine," Terry ackowledged bravely.
"Don’t punish her, master. It was my fault too. I didn’t fight ... Or run. She didn’t even whip me."
"Kind of her, I must say."
"It was sort of an experiment, master. It was my fault too."
"Nobility, nobility! Well, let’s get it over with. Or at least let’s get started," he amended.

Dorinda felt sure Mark was enjoying his mastery over two girls delinquent by his own code. There was that in his eyes when he looked at her that left her uncertain.
Without pause he removed the bit of cord round her waist and unlocked one cuff. Raising her hand he locked it again to one of the rings by which his s****r was chained, so that now she, too, was fastened to the stone, but with one hand free. She felt foolish and uncertain of what pose was required of her. She had little doubt she would be whipped. He walked into the house, leaving them alone.
"Scratch my nose, darling." Terry sounded contrite.

Dorinda obliged. "I ought to scratch more than your nose," she chided irritably. "That was a rotten thing to do to me." She described her debacle in detail.
Her erstwhile mistress wept. "I’m a bratty little b**st and I deserve what I’m going to get." She cocked a damp eye at her companion in distress. "I0m really in for it. Mark’s angry ‘bout what I did to you. Said it could have scared you scilly. Did it?"
"Yes. And it hurt horribly."
"I’m sorry draling, honestly I am. I made a mess of my day. I was supposed to train you in obedience and bring you home a well whipped but good little girl." She smiled wanly. "Y’know, love, I don’t think I can ever be the sort of mistress Mark would approve of," she considered soberly. "’Spose actually I don’t want to be."

Mark returned. He carried a whip. Tapered leather.
"Oh Mark, not that one," Terry wailed in genuine anguish. Catching Dorinda’s eye she added: "It’s simply awful. You can’t bear it."
"You’ve borne it before, kitten."
"Oh, but only when I’ve been very, very bad. I’ll howl terribly."
"I don’t mind," said Mark simply. "You can howl too if you want," he added for the benefit of his new slave girl.
"Thank you, master," Dorinda felt inadequate to the whole situation.
His s****r wept reproachfully. "You could cane my bottom," she suggested.
"You’ll like it."
Fresh tears. "It still hurts like billy-o."
"So does this one."
"Couldn’t I be locked up?"
"With your slave girl, I suppose. Nice."
"All right then, you horrid thing. Alone." It was the ultimate concession.
"For how long?" Mark sounded interested.
His s****r tensed hopefully. "All night?" she tried tentatively.
"I was thinking more in terms of weeks. Say four?"
"Oh Mark, you’re teasing."
"With really heavy chains. I’ll go and get the cell ready."

Once more they were alone. The new whip had been left where both could see it. Dorinda shivered. Not after yesterday. She prayed. Not the whip again ...
"I think he’s up to something," Terry observed sagely. Her tears had disappeared. She was able to wipe her wet cheeks on her raised arms.
"Sounds awful," Dorinda mourned. "Do you think it’s better than being whipped?"
"Not four weeks in chains! He never kept me in a cell that long. A week at the most. If he hadn’t come in and whipped me often I’d have gone crazy even with that. It’s awful just to sit or stand with nothing to do. I was sort of hoping he’d toss us in together for maybe a couple of days. Even if he did put some chains on us it would still be fun."

Mark came back and released them. They were quivering and anxious to please. "Stand back to back!"

They obeyed, wondering.
He passed a chain round their middles and heaved it very, very tight so that they both gasped at the conrtiction that welded them as one. A padlock snapped. They would not release themselves.
"There you are, ladies. I couldn’t bear to part you." He picked up his whip, the handcuffs and the bits of rope and disappeared into the house.
"The absolute rotter!" Terry’s vehemence held both relief and anger.
Two pais of hands sought the chain that joined them. They found it unsympathetic. "I suppose it’s better than being whipped?" Dorinda vertured doubtfully.
"It’s because of what I made you do," the youthful captive wailed. "I know him! Thinks of all your wek point. Then that’s where you get it. He’s done a bit of thinking here. I suppose you realise we can’t do anything .... for fun, I mean."
"The thought had occurred," Dorinda admitted dryly. "But I’m also wondering what happens now."

Nothing happened. That was their punishment. With a bit of practise they managed slow and cautious motion. They were not denied their hands. If they came upon Mark in their handicapped perambulations, he affected to notice nothing wrong, passed a polite word ot two and left them to their own devices. Neither girl dared utter a word of complaint. Their motto was ‘leave well enough alone’. Both remembered the whip. It was still around somewhere.
Dinner was formal at the appointed time. They ate it standing, taking turns to twist this way or that as their need arose. Amity did not raise an eyebrow. Mark maintained a politie conversation to which they responded woth equal gentility. She was sure the servants guessed their sin.

Their night was pure frustration.

"Cute bit o’stuff, ain’t she?" Dave enthused. "Nice clean lines, but a bit foul in the mouth."
He was a young man, cheerful of mien with a sly eye. The female to whom he made reference was an angry damsel partly attired in a torn and dishevelled pant suit
Her hands were tied on her back. She glared furiously at the small welcoming committee. "I’m going to make trouble over this," she informed them darkly.

"Name’s Mabel," Dave vouschafed. "Got more threats than a dog has fleas."
"Fuck you," Mabel dismissed him and turned her attention to Mark. "Untie my hands, you silly bastard. Don’t just stand there." She turned her back and offered her bound wrists confidently.
"He’s the bloke that bought you," Dave jeered. "Ought to be polite to him, you ought."
Mabel looked uncertainly over her shoulder. "Aren’t you going to untie me?"
"I’m in a good mood to gag you as well." Mark was amused
"Do you realise I’ve been k**napped?"
"Of course. I placed an order for you."
Bafled Mabel turned to the two girls. "You in on this?" She examined the naked Terry’s shaved pubic hair. "Your twat alwys been like that?" she asked incredulously.

Dorinda had been ordered to resume her expensive habilment which Terry approved as making her ‘a slinky sex-pot’. She made a vivid contrast to her happily bare companion. It earned her Mabel’s puzzeld attention.
"You his wife?"
Feeling a bitch for compounding the newcomer’s bafflement, Dorinda held up handcuffed wrists and smiled sweetly. "We’re just slave girls. Same as you," she responded innocently.
"I want to go home," Mabel affirmed without dubiety.
"You’re home now, you silly bitch," Dave told her helpfully. "Proper little harem old Mark’s got. You’re a damn lucky girl if you ask me." "Nobody asked you, you grinning arsehole," the guest told him conversationally. She obviously had no confidence in her a*****or, so gave her attention to her new owners. "d**gged me, he did. Two days ago I woke up on his damn boat. Now look at me. Where the hell am I?"
"You’re on an island."
"Oh gawd, and I can’t swim!" Deflation was evident. She called on her reserves. "Okay. I ain’t no bleedin’ nun. How about if you all screw me and let me go?"
The generous offer met only silence.
"Show her your bottom, Terry," Dave suggested.
Pleased to prove her virtuosity Terry placed her favorite curves on prominent display. Mabel’s eyes fixed in fascination on the purple stripe. "Whodunit?" she demanded virtuously.
"It wasn’t Agatha Christie, duckie," Dave assured her.
"Well, are you going to do it?" Mabel demanded. "I ain’t like her. You don’t have to whip my arse."
"Mark’s a gentleman, he is," Dave admonished. "He ain’t going to fuck the likes o’you here on this warf. And I ain’t going to either. I done it last night to you twice." He turned helfully to his audience. "Bit’o allright she is too," he offered informatively.
"Let’s all go to the house and have a drink," Mark suggested.
"Gawd, what I couldn’t do for one of those." Mabel’s voice was fervent.

Dorinda found herself subject to strange sensations, She loved her clothes. But being clothed felt odd. Did three days of nudity change a woman? Make her wanton? She felt guilty about her present enjoyment as a watcher of Mabel’s introduction to a new status. No doubt she should be adding het protests to the newcomer’s verbal indignation. She should appeal to Dave. Two raving females might dent his composure and invoke second thoughts about what he was doing. She knew she would not do these things. She asked herself why. Was she already so broken into slavery? She faced the fact that she would not bring herself to injure or to cross Mark and Terry. The whip was in there, too, of course. She was unsure which influence most potently dictated her decisions. She wondered if two days of slavery would have as vivid an an effect on Mabel as they had on her. She doubted it. Lastly she tried not to admit to herself that she was jealous of the attentions Mark must inevitably give his latest possession ...

She held her drink easily in her chained hands. Sipping it comfortably she watched the little play unfold.
"I ain’t wearing no bleedin’ handcuffs!" Mabel seemed to have a gift for firm negatives.
"No handcuffs, no drink," Mark ruled.
"Crikey. I’m no ruddy criminal. Couldn’t you hold the glass up for me the way I am?"
Mark spoke with authotity. "We are going to untie you. You’ll hold your hands out for the cuffs or we’ll use f***e."

Mabel surveyed the company. She was outnumbered. She was thirsty. Sullenly she extended her hands, blushing furiously in shame as the metal bands clicked tight upon her wirsts. Dorinda deduced that, for Mabel, handcuffs invoked a stigma that rope did not. "Think I was a bloomin’ shoplifter," she complained bitterly. She held up the offending objects and examined the mechanism, by which she was confined. Distatse and revulsion exuded from every pore. Her blush deepened. She accepted her drink awkwardly, her first act with chained hands. She gulped it greedily and turned her attention to Dorinda.
"You just let ‘em put these rotten things on you?"
"Of course. What else can we do? I’m a prisoner the same as you. We can’t escape. We can do what we’re told or be whipped."
"Come off it, dearie. I wasn’t born yesterday."

An amused Mark handed Dorinda a small key. Their eyes met, mrthful. With no word uttered she knew his thought. She wished that Dave was not present. But she would obey. Awkwardly, she unlocked her own handcuffs.
Mabel watched, incredulous, as her fellow captive captive stripped. She obviously still considered herslef the victim of some unkind hoax. "I seen one bare arse already," she said huffily.

Dorinda staged her strip with artistry. It was not until her last scrap of covering had been set aside that she turned her zebra back. Had it not been for Dave’s heavy breathing and a shocked gasp from the girl with the empty glass, there would have been silence in the room. It was broken at last by a heartfelt exclamation.
"Oh, crikey!" Mabel was bemused. Blindly she held out her joined hands. "Could I have another drink?"

Everyone had another drink except Dorinda. It would have spoiled her pose. Happily she held it so that the full enormity of her master’s whip upon her person might be plain for all to consider. Mabel’s verdict was incisive and obtuse.
"You are a damn fool to put up with it."
"I’m a slave," Dorinda said simply. Then added mischieviously: "So are you."
"Must have hurt something cruel."
"You asked why I was so obedient."
"He do that to you?" A coutious finger indicated Mark.
"He’s our master. He does what he likes with us."

The proposition hung heavy in the air. The new prisoner responded to it slowly, with great emphasis but small conviction. "Not with me, he doesn’t." Then, in a much weaker voice, "Could I have another drink, please?"

Dorinda felt the word ‘please’ was a concession to her stripes. Once more she caught her master’s eye. Once more she divined the message his sardonic lips need not utter. She brought the whip, knelt before him, kissed the cruel length and proffered it humbly. She stood erect, hands clasped hebind her neck. Her eyes on infinity. The slender crop sliced and curled round her wealed body. Exploding inwardly, she said her ‘thank you’ in a pleased and eager voice.
Now it was Terry. An exact replica. A second bar across her bottom. In addition to her ‘thank you’ she kissed the man who had put it there.

Dorinda dressed. Awkwardly she managed to lock the handcuffs back on her wrists. Dutifully she ensured their grip, then offered the key to her master and her bonds for his approval.
"You lucky bastard," Dave exclaimed enviously. "How the hell d’you do it?" He winked at Mabel. "Think of it, love. Next time I come you’ll be like they are."
"Kinky lot ok kooks, if you ask me," Mabel affirmed without conviction. "Make a fortune they could, back in Soho."

Mark’s voice was a pistol shot.
Terry handed the bewildered girl a pair of scissors. "There’ll be a piece or two you’ll have to cut, darling," she advised sweetly.
"Everyhting off. Just like me."

The actions of the captive girl were purely instinctive. She dropped her empty glass and the scissors on the floor. Uttered an angry ‘up your arse’ that held all the indignation in the world. Then dashed out rhough the french windows on to the terrace and out of sight. Mark restrained persuit. "Let her go." He chuckled. "After lunch we’ll have a hunt and pick her up again.. Or maybe just let her un and see what happens."


Dorinda was glad when, after lunch, Dave accepted his cheque and said his goodbyes. His presence was disturbing. She knew that had she been able to use him to effect escape from the island she would have done so, more from a sense of duty: the feeling that any prisoner owes it to the general rightness of things to end captivity of the chance offers, rather than an urgent wish for freedom. She was wryly aware that, even though she might often feel the whip, she had an emotional need to play out her role in the small drama being enacted on Kyrexos.

She was inordinately pleased when, instead of hunting the errant Mabel, her master took her arm and announced: "Let’s carry on where we left off, slave girl." His boyish enthousiasm crinkled his eyes in laughter.
"Can I come too?" Terry was an eager c***d.
They left her in what Dorinda felt sure would be an infuriating captivity. It was a large simulated dog kennel. A leather collar was padlocked round the the angry young neck. It was tethered by about five feet of quite hevay chain. Terry could crawl on her hands and knees in and out as she chose. That was all she could do. She stuck her tongue out at her b*****r. "You’re dimply horrid to me," she complained.

Dorinda was quite sure that, beneath the pout, the youngster was happy with her lot.
She was not so sure about herself. The walk had been short. It was pleasant among the trees. But the thing planted there posessed a sinister quality as though it had been waiting for her alone.
"It’s very simple," said her owner non-commitally.
A post. Six feet high. A narrower crosspiece resting on it’s top to form a T. She cringed. A perfect whipping post! Yet there were no rings or attachments by which she could be fastened. She looked at Mark inquiringly.
"I’m an absolute bastard, aren’t I?" He inquired pleasantly.
"I’m going to be cruel to you."
"Of course."
"You know why?"
"It’s because I’ve slipped part way back to normal. Yesterday I was with Terry. This morning I became a sort of guest. I enjoyed it all immensly. But I’ve slipped. I know I have. I’ve been forgetting to call you master."

"You are something special," he said with frank tenderness. "Tes. That’s as good a summation as I could have given myself. Not to worry though. It’s natural to have regressions. There will be a lot of them. I’ll be cruel to you every time it happens, so as to bring you back to heel. The cruellest thing of all is our demand for a sort of duality from you. You’ll constantly have to switch bach and forth between companion and slave and be sincere and natural in each. You see, little slave, Terry and I are sort of in love with you in our own paricular ways, so we won’t be willing to relinquish the companion bit."
Dorinda sighed. Was ever a girl posed such a complexity? "I’d like to try without the ... persuasion," she ventured.
"That’s the eternal woman talking," Marks eyes glowed. A woman always feels ‘oh why must he’ or ‘does he really have to’ or ‘if he loves me he’ll do it to me anyway’. So the only way a man is going to have a perfect woman is to make her a slave girl right from the start."
"Don’t we have anything to say about it?"
He laughed at her lugubrious voice. "Women always have too damn much to say. No matter how abject a slave I might make you, you’ll still get a word in here and there. You’ll search my weaknesses and exploit them." He grinned at her confidingly. "You see, the trouble really starts with us men. We’re lazy. Actually we are subconciously glad to allow you to nag us into your decisions. It saves us the trouble and we have someone to blame if the decision’s bad."
"So I have to be whipped regularly?"
"That’s right, love."
Their eyes met. They laughed.

"I still think I can be a maverllous slave girl wothout looking like a zebra or a tiger all the time." She twinled at him. "This morning, for instance. It seemed quite natural to me to pose and ask you to whip me for poor Mabel’s benefit. I don’t think I was acting. I wanted to. I did it well, didn’t I?"
"Granted, but for just one stroke. And remember, you got a bang out of it personally. Supposing it had been for ten or twenty, would you have been quite so spontanuous?"
Dorinda considered. "I really don’t know the answer to that," she admitted.
"Ah!" said her master triumphantly. "That’s what this afternoon is all about."
She made gesture of bafflement with her chained hands. Then accepted the small key.
"Take’m off, darling. The clothes too, of course."
Dorinda blushed. She was very concious of the scarlet. She knew Mark was too. "You only let me wear clothes so I feel this rediculous shame every time I have to take them off in front of you," she accused.
"Of course. Besides, you do it so damn well. And never underrate the view when you’ve done. By the way, would you like your hair shaved the way Terry has hers?"
"Good heavens. Have I blushed all the way down there?" She looked down at herself, then back at him. "Shave me any way you like, kind sir," she said.

Mark ahd brought a cord. He tied her arms behind her back, then threw the rest over the crosspiece. "I’ll lift you," he explained. "Youll slip your arms over the crosspiece and let your arms hang down over the other side."
He backed her against the post and kissed her soundly. She melted instantly in a way almost frightening. So great was her response that, when their lips parted, Mark placed his finger over hers. "Silence, little slave." He grinned down at her. "Because we both enjoyed that, you are about to ask me not tot do what I’m going to do, right?"
Dorinda was furious. He could read her like a book. She would never win with him. But, prudently, she contented herself with grinning back and saying: "Yes, master." With what she hoped was appropriate humility.

Mark lifted her high with ease. She resolved never to provoke a test of strength with him. She managed to get her arms as he had directed, then felt him drag them down and back with the cord in one hand while he held her in position with his other arm. Shifting her to suit his design, he pulled until her shoulders were well back over the cross. Gently then, he let her down and bound the cord round her tummy and the post while she gasped in pain as her underarms and shoulders took her weight. Her searching toes would never get closer than six inches from the ground. No matter how she striggled she would hang. Even at the beginning the pain was excruciating. She had no hpe that it would lessen.

The master stepped back and examined his prize. "You are very beautiful," he said, almost with awe.
"I hurt. Oh, master ...."
"I can’t be whipping you all the time, darling," Mark said reasonably. "Up to a point stripes on a girl’s skin are beautiful. But too many ruin the effect. Fortunately there are all sorts of delightful things I can do to keep you in a proper frame of mind."
"This isn’t delightful."
"Depends on your poinjt of view, love. Right now you are as lovely a sight as I have ever seen."

"I don’t feel lovely."
"You wouldn’t be quibbling, would you?"
Dorinda wanted to cry. She was sure he could have no idea how she hurt. She probably did look exceedingly attractive in her strained suffering. But she was beginning to remember the whip almost with nostalgia. Her breath was coming irregular in panting gasps. It took her all her oncentration to keep back the moans and cries. No doubt they would come.
"No master. But ... but ... I can’t stand it!"
Mark paid no attention but sat comfortable leaning against a tree. "I could have made it much worse for you by using the handcuffs," he consoled.
"How long must I hang like this?" She made her voice pitiful.
"Oh, I don’t know," he drawled offhandedly. "The afternoon, I suppose."
The bound girl moaned.
"I’ll sit here and gloat."
Dorinda wept.

"This whole business of training you is intriguing," Mark admitted ruminatively. "Once we have accepted the premise that I’m a right bastard the rest follows naturally. Sets the old concience aside too. I’m a bit worried that you may hate me. These sessions when you come starkly face to face with your new condition have to be a bit traumatic. But I’ve studied Terry. If she’s a sample, girls must be damn resilient."
"Mabel will hate you," his victim gasped.

"Well? What gave rise to that thought, darling? I’d forgotten Mabel." Dorinda wished she’d kept quiet. She knew perfectly well hwat had promted the outburst. But she was not going to say so. "You can’t expect her to enjoy it …. Master," she offered lamely. Then gasped with definite sincerity. "I’m not."
"Bit of feminine thinking in there somewhere, I suspect. But we’ll let it pass. By the way, dear girl, I owe you an apology. With Mabel showing up on schedule, you must have been telling the truth. I mean about good old Mike or whatever his name is."
"Of course I was telling the truth! Anyone but an id..... Oh gee! I’m sorry, master."

"Idiot was the words, no doubt." Mark’s tone was caustic. "Weren’t you the girl who suggested that training is superpluous?"
"I’m sorry. Honest I am, master. But I hurt so damn bad I can’t think straight. And anyway, you ... Anyone looking at me would have to know I’m not Mabel’s sort. Where does your amateur k**napper shanghai his victims?"
Mark chuckled. "I really don’t know. Some cheap pub, probably. I didn’t give him specs to follow - apart from her being easy on the eye, of course. Couldn’t expect a product of Vasar or Girton. Would have been nice perhaps. You know: the haughty maiden brought low. But with them there’d be repercussions ..."
"How d’you know there aren’t with me?"
"If there are any, they’ll be on Mr. Mike’s plate, not mine. And that reminds me. Since my favorite slave was telling the truth I suppose the dear old boy will show up looking for you one of these days. What do you suggest?"
"Don’t you give me to him?"
Mark was genuinly hurt. "You don’t suppose ....?"
"Oh again," Dorinda wailed. "Oh master ...... It’s hanging on this damn thing. I don’t seem able to behave. I say anything wrong."
"Much the same as ‘in vino veritas’ I suppose. You weren’t thinking of asking me to let down?"
"No master."
"You were, y’know. But what shall we do with your boyfriend?"
"He’s not mu boyfriend! He’s what you English call a rooter. He more or less k**napped me. I suspect he’s bound to come up to the house looking. You can make up a story for him. Ohh master, this hurts ...."
"You are bearing it with great fortitude, dear girl. I can almost see the character build."
"Don’t joke. It’s awful. Please whip me instead."

Mark appeared to consider. "You sound terribly wistful, darling. Perhaps I should do as you suggest. It did occur to me that your present position is ideally suited to what you have in mind. What say I give you some nice round number, then let you down?"
"But you asked."
"Not on my front! Oh please, don’t ever whip my front. I’ll try and shut up and behave." Dorinda was frightened.
"Tell you what, puppet. Damned unsporting of me to sit and watch you suffer. No help in your time of trial, eh? So I’ll trot along and leave you to do some quiet thinking. You know, seek the elusive attitude we’re trying to engender."
"Oh, don’t leave me." She was stricken.

"Wouldn’t it be easier for you?" he asked kindly.
"I don’t care! I don’t want you to go!"
Mark was touched. "I was thinking of unlocking young Terry’s collar," he said teasingly.
"Doesn’t she have to stay there all afternoon too?"
"Thinking of unfair treatment?"
"Well, she does actually enjoy most of the things you do to her, doesn’s she? She loves you terribly."
"Glad you inserted ‘most’ in that sentence, love. There are some things the dear c***d can’t bear. They drive her up the wall. Remember that whip? She wasn’t acting. She hates it. She’s a little heroine with the cane or the crop. But not that. She loathes this thing you are enduring now. Sitting on a rail is another. When she gets particularly bratty there are all sorts of things I keep for special occassions to make her mind."
"But you love her."
"Yes, I may love you. But that won’t get your feet on the ground."

Dorinda wished he did love her and that he would indeed put her feet on the ground. She knew that, threatened with this punishment in the future, she would really come to heel. There was a nagging awfulness about it that made a girl curl up inside.
"She is a darling c***d," Dorinda avowed, setting aside her own misery.
"I gathered some mutual attraction yesterday," he said dryly.
Dorinda flushed scarlet and squirmed. Her legs where all she was free to squirm with. But she used them.
"Properly repentant, I trust? Should have used that whip on you both."
"What you did was bad enough. Try sl**ping like that sometime." She suddenly remembered and added a belated "Master."
"Not bearing up very well, are you, love? Anyway, I’m quite suree you’ll both be nibbling away at each other the first time my back is turned."
Dorinda’s lips were mute. But her legs betrayed her.
"I know this sounds naïve," he continued hesitantly. "But I’m curious. Is it very good?"
"Yes." The admiration had been long in coming. Then she burst out rechlessly. "I won’t lie about it. It was morw wonderful than I even believed. Terry’s a darling."
Mark nodded. His face was not the thundercloud she had expected. "You know I’ll trash you every time I catch you at it."
"Yes master."
"I think you are telling me a trashing is a small price to pay."
Dorinda’s mind was a turmoil. They were on such treacherous gorund. But, hurting as she was. The truth seemed easiest. Her words came slowly. "I suppose that if we could buy some happiness for the price of being whipped, we would make the pruchase," she said simply.
"It’s Terry, y’know. She’s pure magic."
"You love her very much ... and you love whipping her?"
"Can youi believe the two things go together?"
"I can believe it very easily," said Dorinda. "I couldn’t have done a week ago. But I can now."
"How come?"
Dorinda blushed. She could not answer.

Opinions: Terry

We are terriblye lucky of course, Mark and me, I mean. b*****r and s****r you say. Well, perhaps. But ever since I can remember Mark has been an adventure. Everything you do with him is right, so absolutely right that there is a sort of magic to it. He triend other girls and I tried other boys, but they were a waste of time. Whether he whips me or even does something really awful to me, or when he takes me up in the clouds with that lovely, silly thing he has between his legs - I’m glad I’m not a man and have to carry one of those around - it’s always fresh and new and sparkling.

Kyrexos came to us as a sort of Garden of Eeden in reverse. You know, we got put in there instead of taken out. The girl was Mark’s idea. I didn’t mind. His fantasy demanded her, so that was that. I’ll admit to a touch of jealousy, but that was offset by an exciting hope I’d get to whip her sometimes. I was curious, too, about that other thing: the two girl trick. I didn’t tell Mark that. He’s male and possesive and I was sure I’d got a sore seat if he knew.

Dorinda was a happening. She’s super. When Mark brought her home all naked with her hands behind her back I nearly exploded: you know where. I was naked too. And chained to the pillar on the terrace. When she looked at me in ashtonishment I got that same gorgeous crinkly feeling I get when Mark looks at me or teases me when I can’t do something about it.

The masochist thing! I’m sure you have to wonder. Bit silly, I think. Same as lesbian. Just names. Some people like boiled turnips and others like chocolate eclairs. If you’rw wise, you like both.

I’ll admit I’ve wondered about me and the cane. For me it’s a nice yellow whippy cane or a lovely slender riding crop. We get them at a place in London and always have them laying around all over. That way I can get that crinkly feeling in every room of the house. I won’t pretend I’m exactly joyful at the moment one of them laces into my bottom. I won’t bother with all the flowery descriptions of pain they go in for in those books you get in the backroom in Soho. But it’s really something! I can’t stand still for too many. I have to be tied. But the before and the after! Nobody, not even me, can tell you how wonderful they are. It’s like going up in the clouds the way I wold you. Mostly after Mark has whipped my bottom I absolutely attack him. I just have to. Except those times when he has me tied or chained. He knows I’m in agony. But he just laughs. It does something for his male ego.

I can twist him a bit, of course. I don’t think he’s caught on to all my little girl tricks. I can almost always get my bottom caned by using one of them. But if he thinks I’M twisting, then heaven help poor little Terry. I still love him all the more afterwards. I can’t help it. Mark’s terribly good to me and we both agree that when he thinks I deserve one of those awful punishments he’s also terribly good for me. I knnow I’m a bit of a brat. So I’m really grateful for the bad ones. I mean, afterwards, of course.

I really thought I was going to get it that day with Dorinda when Mark found about us doing - you know what. I was really scared and I felt guilty because it looked as though she was going to get it too. He did give us a bad time with that chain around our middles. I was angry enough to pop. Just think of it! Two naked girls fastened back to back. We tried with our hands but nothing worked. So we had to talk and giggle. The day had been a discovery for both of us: a couple of explorers stumbling on Eldorado. We both knew we’d do it again in spite of his silly old punishments. I didn’t tell Dorinda, but I was a bit worried in case Mark foxed us by keeping us chained or tied so we never could. You can never be quite sure about Mark.. I know I’ll just go pop if I can’t get at her again. She’s darling.

Mark keeps a lot of things to do to me up his sleeve. They are things that leave me uncertain whether I’m enjoying myself and getting the crinkly feeling or not. Sort of teasing things. Or some awful frustration. Or something that makes me look and feel like a c***d who’s been a naughty girl. I’m not a c***d, though I sometimes have the feeling he still thinks I am. That’s only when he’s in big b*****r mood.

That kennel thing is a good example of the ones that leave me not knowing. It’s cringe making. I suppose a girl kneeling there with a collar chained round her neck just has to feel like a little puppy dog. The only thing that’s missing is her tail and if it was there I wouldn’t wag it. I can just barely stand upright. The chain’s that short. So I have to sit and kneel or move in and out the little hole in the box on all fours. If somebody was watching - someone like Dave for example - I’d feel so terribly ashamed. I’d go inside and curl up. But even when there’s no one there I still find myself blushing. I always try and get loose. I never can. But it’s something to do. Mark often leaves me in these binds for simply the longest times. When he comes to let me loose I’m so terribly glad to see him I’m ashamed of myself. Talk about slave girls. I’ve always been his!

Then Mark collared me to the kennel and took poor Dorinda off into the tress I knew what she was in for. I’d spent a bit of time hanging on that damn posr myself on occassions, when he’d decided I’d been a bad girl. It’s not a punishment I have to wonder about. It’s just plain awful. He fastens me up with my toes a few inches off the ground and goes away and leaves me alone. I get scared and there is no crinkly feeling and I’m shockingly humble when he chooses to come back.

Sometimes he comes back and I think it’s all over, but het just checks the cords and goes away again. I always cry when I see him disappearing for the second time. In can’t help it. I’m so lonely and hurt. So, you see, I could feel really sorry for Dorinda.

Sitting there with the collar ‘round my neck I got to thinking about Mabel and Dorinda. How different they were! I was amused about Dorinda and Mark. He doesn’t know it yet, but she’s in love with him. She isn’t completely like me, but because she wants him she has been able to take some really frightful whippings for him and come up smiling. I think he could do anything to her and it wouldn’t dent her feelings for longer than the pain lasted, probably not even that. She has it for him bad: what the Americans call the hots.

So what has happened is that the darling is a bit ahead of Mark all the time. He doesn’t need to whip her into slavery at all. She’d do anything he wanted, same as me. But poor old Mark has laid out a course and he has to follow it through, whether there’s any need or not. It’s hard luck for the poor girl. She understands and is putting up with it nobly. He’s like a chap who has prepared a speech and discovers someone else has said it first. He’s put all he’s got into the damn thing, so he reads it anyway. His audience can’t very well pack up and leave any more than Dorinda can.

But I bet when her training’s over she’ll really twist him, same as I do.

I think Mabel’s different. Mark’s ‘prescribed course’ is probably just what the doctor ordered. Whether she was on Kyrexos or somewhere else it would do her a lot of good. I was sitting happily thinking about whipping her bottom and hearing all the rude things she would yell ate me, when I’ll be darned if she didn’t saunter up cool as you please and rub me the wrong way at the start by saying in baby talk "Is poor little puppy dog all chained up then. Puppy dog likes a bone?"

Well, I ask you. That was a time I wanted to go inside and curl. I was about to let het have a good broadside when I suddenly realised that little Terry had better mind her Ps and Qs. I was alone. I was chained and I didn’t know much about Mabel. Previously when I was helpless there had just been Mark. This was a new experience.
"Just fun and games." I hoped it sounded casual.
Mabel looked around cautiously. "Not some sort of trap, is it?" She must have read about the lady and the tiger.
I was about to give her some good advice. But that old chestnut about ‘giving yourself up’ sounded just too corny. While I was thinking of something more appropriate she came out with "That guy screw you both?"
Mabel brought out the worst in me. I couldn’t resist. "Only once a day," I explained casually. "But now you’re here it will make it a lot easier."

I confirmed her worst suspicions. "What’s this whipping business? He’s one o’ them Johns can’t get it up no other way?"
"Oh, it’s up all the time," I said enthousiastically. "We get whipped if we don’t put up a good show. Very demanding, Mr. Esmond is. Gets very angry if a girl just lays there."
"Wants a bit of the action on your ass?" Mabel seemed to be on familiar ground.

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