Chapter 6

Discipline & Daphne

"You may as well whip me now and get it over with, I'm in a vile mood."

Jason examines me with interest. I expect it's the weals in my skin left by Daphne's ropes he finds pleasing.

"You didn't need to humiliate me so ... in front of that little snippet."

"She's not a little snippet, she's a very beautiful girl."

I am panting and spoiling for a fight. I can't help it, I am female. Jason makes his voice sweetly patient.

"Bring me the handcuffs, darling, you need a balance. Oh, and ask me nicely to use them."

I flounce to the chair where he had placed them with their key, and I flounce back. A whipping seems altogether too probable, so I make myself meek. "Jason dear, please handcuff me." I turn and put my hands in back.

Gently, Jason turns me back round again and locks my wrists in front of me, good and tight. He then kisses me. "These always have a beneficial effect on you, Carrie. Be grateful for them."

He's right, damn him. When he locks handcuffs on me it's like a sedative. I suppose I could analyse this but why bother. Ridiculously, I start to cry.

"What the devil are you crying for?" Like all men, Jason hates tears. "You've been handcuffed before -"

"It isn't the handcuffs, it's her."

"Oh that! I wondered how long before -"

"You were all over her. After she came you never noticed me."

"Jealous, eh!" He is delighted. "Don't worry, sweets, you're my number one."

I generate more tears. "I don't want a number two around." I sniff, sniff pathetically. "Aren't I enough for you?"

"Dammit' Carrie, she offers herself on a plate, and she's certainly decorative. I don't see why you can't be amused."

"I want to be amused with you, not with another girl."

"Let's drop it, sweetheart, and go to bed. Get over there and I'll chain your ankle."

The frustrations of Daphne's ropes and Jason's gag still irk. I forget prudence and become feminine. "I don't want to sleep with you, you'll be thinking of her all the time -"

"Get on that bed."

"You can chain me on the floor tonight, I expect that's where I belong -"

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" I have got under Jason's male skin. "You're going to sleep with me whether you like it or not. Between the two of you you've give me the damndest hard -"

"Don't include me in that, just to be polite."

"Dammit', Carrie, I didn't fuck her on the floor down there!"

"You were ashamed with me watching."

His heavy patient sigh tells me I am lost. I could have shut up while I was winning, but I have chosen to wallow in feminine pique. I am almost glad of what Jason will now do to me, it will add fuel to my righteous martyrdom. It will also hurt. My Master shrugs and shakes his head in mock sorrow. "You know what to do, Carrie love, get with it."

I fetch the whip. My tears dry up. I am now the proud beauty, disdainful and aloof. I hold out my cuffed hands. "I'll let you say you're sorry, Carrie?"

I do not answer. I watch Jason loose the metal bands from my wrists. I go to our four poster and raise a bare arm up each side of the corner post designed for the punishment of recalcitrant girls. The straps are ready and waiting, Jason buckles them tight.

"Too late for being sorry now, darling. You're a damn silly girl."

I make my voice icy. "Never mind, you'll enjoy whipping me."

"I'm not going to whip you."

My heart thumps as I look past a raised arm. I feel very naked, and am beginning to feel sorry for myself. I am an idiot. I watch Jason go to the cupboard and exchange my whip for the most detestable riding crop in our collection.

"Oh, Jason, no! Not that thing on my bottom!"

"Why not? Beneath a lady's dignity?"

"I have to sit down tomorrow at work. Please whip my back instead."

Jason whips my bottom.

The crop is hateful. Slender and sleek, it cuts at my cheeks with a personal venom. I try and stand still but I can't, I tug at my strapped wrists and writhe. The post holds me. No matter how I weave my hips my bottom is Jason's, exquisitely available. From his flashing arm the crop bites my curves with searing pain. I am an idiot indeed.

"Jason, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Oh ... please!"

"Well, well, not proud and haughty any more?"

"Owwwww ... oh no! Oh, Jason, do please stop."

Jason does not stop. My bottom is aflame as it is steadily slashed. His voice is very casual. "Hardly started yet, love."

"Ohhhhh ... that was six - Oh, wowwww! Seven! Oh, Jason, that's enough."

"I'm doing the counting, sweetheart."

The pain is awful, and I've brought it on myself. Now I'm going to be so damned ashamed - I'm not all that brave. "I'll be nice about Daphne." I wail. "Ohhhhh, oh wow ... ! Jason, darling, please not so hard?"

"You called me darling?"

"Of course. Why not! And thank you for stopping."

"I haven't stopped, it's just a pause while I marvel at the feminine mystique."

"But, darling, I feel much more sensible now, you don't need to whip me any more."

"Are you telling me?" His voice has lost its laugh.

"I'm sorry!" I am instantly contrite. "I don't know when to keep my mouth shut. Jason, I really am sorry."

I am to be sorrier still! My Master's only reply is the worst blow yet, it cuts both cheeks and laps my hip. I howl at the hateful burn, then yelp and contort as he hits the same spot again.

"Jason ... P-L-E-A-S-E-..."

The crop and my bottom make a steady continuing contact. I capitulate shamelessly: "I won't sulk - Oh, oh Ohhhhh! I'll be polite and obedient Wahhhh, oh damn! I won't play the haughty bit ... Wowwwww ... ! Oh, Jason, do S-T-O- P-P-P-P!"

I get fifteen. It is severe. I weep. When I am unstrapped I fling my arms round my master's neck and kiss and kiss. We don't seem to need any words as he locks my wrists back in the handcuffs. With indecent eagerness I put my foot up on the bed for its shackle. Then we make love. We are both wonderful.

I am very happy.

I can't explain it and I don't care.

The Office is bad, bad, bad. For me, that is. I'm so damn self conscious, like a bride who goes back to work the morning after the wedding night, and everybody wondering ... ? I should be used to such mornings by now, but I am not. And this time there's Daphne.

My derriere is outrageously tender. To sit down and show no sign is well nigh impossible, if I set my features in grim determination they are as revealing as a wince. And its so damned erotic, my pussy palpitates every time I move. At noon I'll have to slip out and buy dry panties.

And there's the iron band. His Majesty didn't forget. It is locked snugly on my right wrist, not my left. It had to be my right to get maximum exposure. In less than an hour I've had to explain it four times, and I haven't yet lowered a raised eyebrow. The damn thing is heavy enough to make my fingers unkind to my I.B.M. My day will not be easy, I am a punished slave.

Daphne is decent, she waits two hours. But her first words flame my cheeks. "He whipped you, didn't he."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Just to me."

Daph' is really a delightful girl, and my burning bottom makes me tolerant of today and ashamed of last night, so when she gushes, "Oh, darling, please may I see?" I go with her to the restroom without demur. Fortunately it is empty.

"But they're beautiful ... they're gorgeous!" Enraptured, she fingers every one of my welts. To give her complete enchantment, I gasp over each as I bend down with my saturated panties round my ankles. "Do they hurt terribly?"

"While I was getting them they did. Now, they're just sore."

"It's true about it making a girl excited? I mean, your panties are all wet."

"Yes, dammit, it's true."

At noon we lunch together. We have never done this before, but between us now there is a strange bond. A cynic might ask if the bond is Jason or a length of rope.

"Darling, you two are incredible." Daphne's eyes are sparkling. "I suppose it's Jason who's locked that thing on your wrist? I've been looking at it all morning."

"So has everyone else."

"Carrie, you often sound so bitter, like an irritated wife?"

I suppose she's right. Ever since Jason stole me I've been fighting a sort of rearguard action, trying to hold on to a bit of myself, and always losing. Disjointedly, I tell her what is relevant of our story. At the end I frankly admit: "And right now I'm so jealous of you I'll get myself into nothing but trouble."

Daph' nods, understanding. "You mean ... he's going to take me?"

"Oh, he'll take you alright if you're crazy enough -"

"But it's so wonderful. You're ... fulfilled."

"I didn't walk into slavery with my eyes open. Jason kidnapped me."

"And then you fell in love with your kidnapper. Carrie dear, it's pure romance."

"It's a pure puzzle. I belong to Jason or Jason belongs to me, I don't know which."

"But does it matter?"

"It does when another pretty girl comes on the scene."

"I'm a threat?" Her eyes are searching. "I never meant to be, I didn't dream love got mixed up with ropes and handcuffs and -"

"Don't be silly, Daph. Where there's a man and a girl there's fire."

She becomes serious. Daphne Pilgrim is a nice girl. She lays it nobly on the line. "If you want, I won't go home with you tonight. I won't see Jason again?"

I put my hand on her's, the hand that bears Jason's iron. We are two girls who want to like each other. I manage a pale smile. "It's too late, Daph', we can't dispose of Jason. If I don't take you home he'll punish me terribly and go and hunt you down." I give her a wry grin. "I don't suppose you'd run too fast."

We leave it at that. Once more the neophyte glows in animation. "Carrie, may I ask Jason if I can wear an iron, like you?"

"If you wish, but it's awfully heavy. Take my advice and don't ask for anything, you'll get more than you want anyway."

She nods; uncaring. At this moment she would wear a hundred pounds of irons and be happy - or so she thinks! Her voice trembles delightfully. "Darling, about the whip?"

"What about it?"

"Well, I never knew it belonged. I mean, the way Jason talks about whipping me ... ! I hadn't realised. I suppose that's the `D' in B & D?"

"Along with a few other quaint notions."

"I don't think I want to be whipped."

"Neither do I!"

Daphne makes an appealing little moue. "But it's the price of admission, isn't it? And, anyway, I suppose -"

"That's right. Once you've allowed him to handcuff you or tie your hands behind your back a whipping becomes implicit to the scene."

Miss Pilgrim wriggles deliciously. "Do we really want it, Carrie? Subconsciously? We do, don't we?"

I would almost love to whip this tasty morsel myself. Daph' is radiating musk in potent waves, it gives me ideas. "Well, there's one good thing about being whipped." I console, "It's excruciatingly erotic when you're waiting and know it's coming, and it's wickedly erotic after - you saw my panties. While it's happening it's not so good."

"Jason's testing me, isn't he. If I go, I get whipped?"

"Yes. He likes his slave-girls abject. But you can't bet on Jason. If you show up he's proved a point, but he might let you off and whip me again instead."

"Would you like that? Darling, I mean ... would it reassure you about his affection?"

"Sort of. For sure, it won't stop me going home."

"And I'll go with you." She is once more breathless. "Oh, Carrie, I'm so grateful. Try and like me ... Please try."

It is not hard to like Daphne Pilgrim, she is so beautifully shining eyed. Being her mentor gets me half excited. Reaching the apartment, her exclamations are a series of accolades, the first is when I undress.

"But naked, Carrie? Must you be? He isn't even here."

"Well, I can't do a quick strip when he's at the door. Besides, I've given up trying to deceive Jason, he always finds out."

"Should I be naked too?" Again she is breathless.

"Wait until he tells you. We don't need two naked girls in one small kitchen. Look, Daph', I have to wear handcuffs, orders from His Majesty. Snap 'em on for me please."

She accepts the bright steel things with reverence, Daphne is trembling. I hold out my hands.

"I've never done this before. Oh Carrie -!"

"The double circle on top please. It looks nicer. Get them up close to my hand and click them tight, I don't want them flopping while I get supper."

"I don't see how you can do a thing when you're handcuffed. I thought they were supposed to stop -?"

"They don't stop very much unless they're behind my back. Then I'm foxed. I guess with the police, and with Jason, they're mainly symbolic. They make you captive by embarrassment. Just imagine going to the corner store with them on! I could, easily, but I haven't the nerve."

Poor Miss Pilgrim, she handcuffs me with great care, wincing at each click. "I'd sooner this was me." She admits wistfully. "Wearing them last night set me on fire."

"Don't worry, Daph', Jason may get tears out of you. Another notch on each please."

Two more clicks and an exhalation. "They look so silly when they're off and so yummy when they're on, Carrie. Gosh, with them on you look so sweet and helpless."

"Helpless! Just you watch!"

I go into my nightly act. Food flies, pots clatter, the taps splurge. My companion is entranced. But, Carrie, you do it so easily!"

"I have to. He kept me handcuffed for a week once, day and night, and a whipping for each broken dish. By the way, that still holds, don't break anything."

I am positive Daphne has an orgasm when The Master arrives. I kneel nakedly in my slave greeting, I mix his cocktail and serve it daintily with the one knee pose. I remove his shoes, kiss them reverently, and put on his slippers. Jason has ignored her totally so she is free to take in the show.

"We have a guest, Jason." I want to give Daph' a cocktail and I want one myself.

"You refer to what that overdressed spectator I've noticed around?"

"Yes, Master."

"I've told you not to call me Master. Call me Jason."

"I thought on this occasion - ?"

"Don't think. It is not your forte. Inform that hovering female that, in this house, girls do not wear clothes."

He really is a S.O.B. The poor girl is blossoming in her panties and blushing and doesn't know what to do with her hands. His Majesty's edict catches her less ready than the night before. She looks at me, stricken by embarrassment, but I can only shrug. She and I are slaves, we do not talk back. Cheeks flaming, Daphne Pilgrim reaches for the clasp of her dress.

"You may mix three more drinks." Says his Lordship. By the time I have done so Daphne is rude. She gets her first order. "Serve me, slave-girl."

She is in seventh heaven, but slops the drink when she tries to kneel as I had knelt.

"Handcuff her, Carrie. Give her three strokes on her bottom."

There is a truly awful silence until I go to the cupboard. Daphne the delinquent eyes what I carry back in a mixture of awe and ecstasy. She holds out her hands before I ask.

"Three hard one's, Carrie, square across her bottom. I want her to feel them."

There is a general quickening of breath as I clasp the delicate wrists in rings of chrome. Our guest looks at them in bug eyed disbelief.

"Touch your toes, Daph', knees stiff."

She obeys with alacrity. She has entered Nirvana, but has bent in the wrong direction. I firmly turn her round so that our Master may get the best possible view of the cane marks to come, as well as a glimpse of a plump puss.

"You will not move girl. When it is done you will thank me." Jason is savouring glory.

I hit Daphne's bottom three times. I stroke her cruelly, knowing that nothing less will satisfy the watching man. I swing and cut the yellow cane bitterly across her tautened skin, it flexes to give full contact to her pretty curves. She gasps and gasps.

But Daphne Pilgrim does not move!

Much later she confides in me that if her punishment had been six she would have been rolling on the floor. As it is, Jason is impressed. The three scarlet bars are vivid, coming sweetly to life under the cane and flowering in agony. As though rehearsed, the punished Daphne turns and kneels before The Male. The way she says her lines flames me into lust, goodness knows what it does to Jason. "Thank you for having me caned ... sir. I deserved it for being so clumsy."

The damn girl must have been reading books, she's letter perfect. If I was a man I would fuck her right now. However, she is not yet done. She hesitates, prettily, and asks, "How should I address you, sir ... ? I do not know."

Jason is breathing hard. I hope he goes off in his pants, it would serve him right. "You struck a nice note there, girl." He says suavely. "You may address me as 'sir'. Pay no attention to Carrie and myself."

"Thank you, sir."

"You may now serve the drink properly."

She does so, and she does it well. The cane is a good teacher.

"Before she returns to her duties Carrie will seat herself for a minute or two. You will serve her, girl. The same penalty awaits."

"Thank you, sir."

I am faultlessly served by cuffed hands that are all too willing. Our eyes seek a female communion but we are scared. We both have tender bottoms. I sit and sip until I am dismissed. I hear the murmur of their voices as I work. It pleases me that Daphne's is hushed.

Dinner and candlelight is a success. Jason is a delightful host, he swings back and forth across the spectrum of gambits from the Federal Budget to the whipping of our backs and behinds. We are hard pressed to keep abreast of his range. Daphne is sitting on her stripes and, if the conversation becomes too carnal, may have a second orgasm. With the dessert, Jason announces that Daphne is to receive ten more cuts on her bottom after she has helped with the dishes. He will administer them himself. Daphne says her 'thank you', her wrists glitter as she makes her discoveries about handcuffs. I suppose mine glitter too. Our nude breasts point at each other across the table.

At the sink we whisper. "Ten will be pretty awful, won't they, Carrie? Is he breaking me in?"

I nod and provide a sympathetic smile, but she has brought this on herself. I am hoping her intrusion into our home won't get me whipped any more than I usually am. "Be very docile." I caution, "He loves it. And don't hint about being tied, he'll tie you plenty."

Demurely, we present our nudities for our Master's delectation. Our handcuffs clink and gleam, they are our only dress.

"For ten, she'd better be fastened, eh Carrie?"

"I think so, Jason, yes."

Our punishment room is a bit of a shock for our guest. She looks at its appointments and at me in mute question. She is feeling very naked. I shrug and clink my handcuffs, it is all I can do.

"A room for bad girls." says Jason cheerfully. "We can do a lot of things to you in here, Daphne."

"Yes sir, so I see." She is looking at the pillory, the post and the hoist, their intent is easy to divine. Then she does something that tells me she is stiff competition. Daphne Pilgrim kneels at Jason's feet, head bowed, the picture of innocent submission. Her words are sweetly tremulous. "Please do all of these things to me as it may please you, sir. I want you to."

Jason's cock is threatening the fabric of his pants. If I had one it would be the same. He raps the whipping bench with his cane, his voice is husky. "You may position yourself on this please."

The straps make it self explanatory. When the little so-and-so has positioned her person within their loops Jason buckles lustily. I can tell she is scared half to death, but she offers me a small sad smile. She shares my knowledge that this is all her own fault. My heart goes out to her. I have been on that bench myself - once strapped, a girl can't move. Her bottom is ripened into taut resilience for the cane to splat itself upon with a nauseating sound and demoralising pain. Poor Daph' is consoling herself that she gets only ten strokes. On that bench ten can be bad.

Thoughtfully, The Master slicks down some of his victim's pubic curls which are playing peek-a-boo from her rear. Jason is in his element, his demand is merciless.

"The delinquent requests her punishment - if you please."

I watch the little beauty swallow protest and pride. She knows she's had it, there is no retreat for Daphne. But she makes the best of what she's got. Her voice is clear. "Please give my bottom ten strokes with the cane, sir." She pauses, then plunges, "And thank you very much."

"You thank me afterwards."

"Yes, sir, I'll remember."

Jason proceeds to cane Daphne's bottom. I wince at every splat, and find myself tugging at my handcuffs as though it is my turn next. Daphne's eyes widen at the first impact, they stay wide in shock and disbelief. She cannot move, her bottom glows rosily.

"Please, sir, I can't stand this I'm ... I'm sorry." -

It bursts out of her in lieu of the scream she is fighting to control. Daphne stretches to look back in fearful hope. "One extra for speaking during punishment," says Jason blandly. "Would you like to be gagged, Miss Pilgrim?"

"Yeeeees please, sir." She swallows mightily.

She wants the gag for two reasons: she loved mine yesterday and she genuinely does not want to scream. For Daphne, the gag will be another erotic first. She opens her mouth obediently for the rubber phallus thing, then closes !t as much as she can so that the black leather band may lock and compress her lips. She will be very silent. Jason tugs the buckle over her hair with gusto. Jason isn't really cruel, but this whole damn thing is just too erotic for words, I'm sexually aroused myself. Daphne must be bursting.

The poor thing's caning continues. Jason is not being a bit kind to his voluntary submissive. If I was Daphne I'd pack up and go immediately I was unstrapped if - and when! It wouldn't have hurt the S.O.B. to break her in easily. I thrust aside the thought that, if our little heroine comes out of this smiling, I may no longer be number one.

"Accepts them beautifully, eh?" says Jason.

"She has to, she can't move."

He slashes hard into her soft crease. "And not a peep out of her."

"She can't, not with that gag."

He is goading me. If I am not cautious I may end up strapped to that bench myself. The ten on Daphne's derriere will have gotten Jason nicely warmed up. Hastily, I add: "Yes, she's a real little trooper, she's doing fine."

Jason is caning Daphne fairly slowly. She has time for a lot of head tossing and staring eyed appeals. She makes what sounds of denial the gag permits, they are small. Her bottom has become a flaming delight, a Turner sunset in flesh. The bench and her straps creak, it is her most eloquent sound.

It ends. Daphne's head rests limply, eyes closed, her lovely nakedness is bedewed with the perspiration of pain. Without a word, Jason unbuckles the straps but ignores the gag. He grabs my handcuffs and leads me upstairs to the lounge.

"Drinks, sweetheart."

I clink busily. Hesitantly, I point out. "She's free, y'know. She knows where her clothes are, she can just walk out."

"That's right, love."

"You're playing your Russian Roulette with her too?"

"What better test!" He eyes me dourly. "Look, precious, if you're going to act sulky you can have ten on that bench yourself."

Below the glass I hold, my handcuffs shine. I am not free. I can be punished. Meekly, I say: "Sorry, Jason, I'll try. It's not easy for me, y'know, this having another girl. Don't be mad because I want all of you."

He allows me to kneel and rest my head on his knee. I have always found this very comforting. I am just getting snuggy and happy when Daphnes shows up. She is still naked. She carries the handcuffs taken from her when she was put on the bench. She is radiantly lovely. Her whipped bottom is not visible at the moment but it would seem to have endowed her with a vivid new life. Gracefully and without a pause, she kneels.

"Thank you for caning my bottom, sir. I am grateful." The little fox, she is doing it to perfection. Demurely, she offers the handcuffs. "Should these be locked on me, sir?"

"Turn round and back close."

When Daphne obeys we get a good look at what the cane did. It is most impressive, in its own way beautiful. Our pulses quicken.

"Hands behind."

Jason handcuffs the eager slender wrists. To me, he says: "Have her kneel. Get her a drink, a big one. Feed it to her." So I am everybody's little helper! Seething inwardly, I do as I am told. Daphne, with her beaten bottom, looks very cute kneeling there on the rug. She takes huge gulps from the glass I raise to her lips. Like every novice, her hands work ceaselessly at their cuffs.

"You did well, kid. We're proud of you." Jason sounds human.

"Thank you, sir."

"Carrie, when she's finished her drink tie her up. Tie her anyway you like. Be mean."

My heart leaps in eagerness. I see her tense, her eyes glow. Daphne gasps and gulps until her glass is empty. I hold out my fettered hands. "Please, Jason ... ?"

"Hmmmmm, oh alright."

Jason unlocks my right wrist but clasps it anew with the cuff on my left. The key is on a loop of tape which he hangs round my neck as a necklace. My hands are free for their delightful task. I go in search of rope and twine. Darling Daph' wants to be tied up. She is going to be ... but good!

I use a heavy wooden kitchen chair. I place it before our omnipotent Male at a distance of ten feet. Jason is going to see every crevice of dear Daphne. I beckon our starry eyed neophyte and use my key to free her hands. The way Daphne is about to be tied she has no need of handcuffs. I proffer the sinister metal to my master.

"Clip both cuffs on your right wrist, Carrie, keep 'em handy."

"But, Jason, its already got the iron band."

"I like it. Clasp 'em above, tight."

I obey. I am very naked but my wrists are well endowed with chrome. I, too, want them tight. I don't want handcuffs slipping up and down as I work. Again, I beckon.

Daphne gasps as she sits, the chair is cold and her bottom is blazing, the two surfaces should find comfort in contact. We exchange female vibes with an intensity I can feel.

"Going to be a good girl, Daphne?"

"Of course, sir. I'll do whatever Carrie tells me."

"Your arms over the back of the chair." I order crisply. How sweet a task it is! Her wrists and arms roped to each outside bar of the chair's back. She is now helpless but I have scarcely started. I belt her tummy with half a dozen strands, and make her gasp as I tug them tight. Her waist was small, it is smaller now.

Daphne's breasts and shoulders are my piece de resistance. I am going to make them hurt, but for Jason's pleasure I will make it a pretty hurt. Daphne is breathing fast, soon each inhalation will bed a cord deeper in her flesh.

I tie back her shoulders, not that there is need but the effect is good and it is painful. Next I band her breasts. No rope touches them, the cluster of strands is above and below their swelling curves which are already exaggeratedly prominent, I do a little weaving job betwixt and around them to further enhance their contours, tight, tight, tight. Her nipples are huge, screaming for lips. In a sudden inspiration I go to the cupboard and return with the wicked little clips which elicit twin gasps as I allow their small jaws to close upon Daphne's helpless buds of sensitivity.

"Who told you to do that?"

Jason is on the prod. He will score points. Why in hell didn't I think, or at least ask, before I acted! Oh, shit! "Take them off her and put them on yourself. Do it properly. Wear them until I give you permission to take 'em off."

"Yes, Jason, I'm sorry."

I really am sorry. The little devils hurt, and now I am shamed before the girl I am supposed to be tying up. Our eyes meet, and I cannot be sure of what I see in her's. In mine there is only chagrin. Carefully, I unclasp each small metal jaw from her tits and clip them on my own. My breasts blaze.

"Come here, I want to make sure."

There are ways of attaching the clips so that they hurt more or hurt less. Jason inspects my breasts to ensure they are receiving maximum discomfort. I take a tip from Daphne's book and whisper "Thank you, Jason." The little metal torments bob prettily on my breasts as I go back to my work. The temptation to reach up and take them off is well-nigh irresistible, but I resist. There are worse things for a girl than wearing clips on her tits. Oh, damn!

I was going to be mean anyway, so what I now do to Daphne is not because of my twin humiliations which bob up and down before her interested eyes. I bring strands of thin twine down from her waist: In order to get them within her crotch I have to lift her thigh and do a lot of tugging which hurts my nipples more than it hurts her. When I have the several slender strands in place I deliberately thrust apart the lips of her pussy and pull them inside. From the rear I pull each separately for a nice cutting penetration. Daph' grunts and tries to get her hips further back. But the waist bands have already got her as firmly against the chair as is possible. I give a final tug on the twine and knot it. She makes no protest but her eyes reproach.

I grab an ankle and tie it fast high up the side, then the other. Her knees point at Jason: I noose one and tie it out and down. When I have done the same for the other she sits with pussy well in view, her bush of pubic hair a black triangle of delight, bisected by twine which disappears within the cleft of her crotch. Our beauty is bound. I am well content. But I wish I did not have to wear the clips.

Jason is pleased. He sanctions another cocktail. Heavily braceleted in chrome, I attend the bar. I discover we are short of mix. It is my fault, I forgot. I am delinquent.

We are a strangely potent trio. I suspect the immobilized beauty tied to the chair is having orgasm after orgasm, her gaze is lost and far away. Daph' hurts but is happy. I have been bad and must be punished; I am trembling. Jason is euphoric.

"You can go and buy some, Carrie."

"But, Jason, couldn't we just phone?"

"That's your punishment, to go and pick it up the way you are."

"What ... naked?"

"You may wear a cape and shoes. Nothing more."

I look, unhappily, at the handcuffs and the iron band on my wrist. Then, hopefully, at him.

"Wear them, and wear the clips on your nipples. Don't you dare take 'em off."

I button my lip. I absorb Daphne's delighted stare. I flounce to the bedroom for cape, bag and shoes. The clips on my nipples mock my cowardice as I go down in the elevator. It would be so easy to take them off and put them on again, just as it would be easy to remove the superabundance of handcuffs-the key hangs from my neck. But I am too frightened of Jason. He is quite capable of leaving Daph' tied to her chair and to come and meet me on the way back. Then I'd really be for it. I wear my punishments with the best grace I can muster. They are better than being whipped. The doorman stares and winks, I have long supposed him suspicious. The girl in the tiny grocery just stares and stares, bug eyed. But I walk out with my purchases, relieved and victorious. It wasn't so bad after all.

The man is laying on the sidewalk half way down the block. He had not been there on my way up, his accident is recent. I put down my packages beside him, and ask "What's the matter? Are you -"

The shapeless hulk uncoils like a spring, a wet wad is thrust against my face, a car door opens and I am grabbed from behind. Suddenly there is nothing.

I have slept for a long time, I am sure of it. Something on that wad knocked me out. But I am comfortable. I am on a bed. I drowse peacefully. When wakefulness becomes insistent I sit up and find everything about par for my course. I am still naked. I am handcuffed. Someone has taken the key from my neck and used Jason's handcuffs. One pair is on my wrists, the other on my ankles.

The room is pleasant. I have never been here before. The air is warm. Everything looks expensive. There are two doors, the one to the bathroom is ajar, the other is certain to be locked. When I stand the handcuffs bite painfully at my

ankle tendons. But I am an old hand at this sort of thing, and take my tiny hobbled steps to where I have to go. It is a very nice bathroom with a lot of feminine stuff I can use. I feel grubby, and suspect I have been brought here in the trunk of a car. In two sets of handcuffs my chance of escape is zilch, so I have a bath. Hell, why not!

I refuse to panic. This could be some quirk of Jason's humour. The warmth, the perfumes, the soaps, are all delicious. I take my time. Knowing I look my best, I hobble back. On the bed sits the dark bulk of a man.

It is good old Bill.