Chapter 7
Behind Bars.
"Hello, Carrie, sure good to see you."
It figures, I recall the forty thousand this fatuous ass bid for my person, everything clicks into place. Cattily, I say: "So you've decided to pick me up free?"
"Seemed like the only way." Looking at my pubic hair, he asks "Hope you don't mind?" He is absurd.
"Would it do me any good if I did?"
"Weeeel, no. Now I've got you I'm not letting you go." I sigh. The two pairs of handcuffs make it all seem hopeless. I state the obvious, "Jason will know it's you. You're only getting yourself into trouble. You've kidnapped me."
"Jason kidnapped you. What's the difference, to you, I mean?"
I dare not tell this oaf the difference is Jason. I recall Bill's inclination to the whip. I'd better go easy on his ego. Wearily, I tell him: "The police will be here at any time."
"Go look out the window."
It wouldn't hurt him to free my feet. But I am curious. I hobble and peer through the glass.
"You're in Dogpatch, honey."
I could believe him. A dusty road, some sagging wooden buildings. One red brick affair that might have been a Bank. There were a few signs of life, not much.
"Guess what building you're in, Carrie. This is the old County jailhouse. I got it for a song. It's under another name, of course, same as the car you came in. Oh, and it wasn't me who grabbed you. I was at a party, a brassbound alibi.
I am Alice in wonderland. Bill is just too much. "You bought this dump for me?" I ask incredulously. "You're going to keep me in a prison?"
"That's right, honey. I've had the upstairs modernized, as you can see. But downstairs there's the damndest collection of cells and things so I can have you peering out through bars. Pictures of girls behind bars always grab me."
The guy's a worse kook than I thought, I'm frightened. I make my sad little steps to a chair and sit down.
"You didn't ask permission, Carrie."
It takes a few moments to click. "You mean permission to sit!" I look at him in blank amazement. "You have to be kidding?"
"Not at all, dear. I want you to stand in the centre of the room and face me."
"But I don't want to, and the handcuffs hurt my ankles."
"You can earn yourself a whipping. Carrie."
I go and stand as directed. I want to cry. I long for Jason with an intensity I can scarcely believe. Holding on to a bit of sanity, I plead. "Bill, we're both adult, so you know I don't want to be whipped. I'll be obedient. But please screw me to your heart's content and then send me home. Get me out of your system."
"I don't want to screw you, that isn't the idea. I want a slave-girl, like you were to Jason."
"I can't be Jason's slave and your's too." I search desperately for logic. "Love enters into it too, y'know."
"Jason's whipped you into loving him. ... I know how it is with you girls." Bill tries to look wise, like a maudlin Buddha. "If he can do it so can I".
"Oh, Bill, you're out a mile."
The idiot makes a mark in a little book. "I intend to keep a tally." He tells me seriously. "So many demerits mean an equal number of lashes."
"How many did I earn that time?"
He makes another mark. "You're up to seven. Please try and be more respectful. There's no use getting yourself a hundred because of snippity remarks."
"Please, sir, can I have the handcuffs off my ankles, they're hurting like crazy."
"Don't call me sir, call me Master."
"Please, Master, may I have the handcuffs - ?"
He waves an angry hand. "No you can't! You've been badly spoiled. Jason wasn't good for you at all. I'm going to turn you into something a man can be proud of."
He's impossible. If Jason hadn't told me something of Bill's business affairs I'd think he was nuts. But, where girls are concerned, he's just plain simple, naive, immature. He's got whips on the brain. If I don't watch myself he'll whip me raw. Maybe he will anyway, just to hear me howl. That's what I'm most scared of. Suddenly I remember Scheherazade! Meekly, I suggest. "I'd love to see your prison if you'd like to show me, Bill."
It is the right note, he is delighted. He chuffs a bit about my handcuffs, even considering carrying me on the tour, but compromises by changing my hands from front to back and leashing my neck with a collar and a lead, all very expensive. Not 'till then does he take those blasted cuffs off my ankles.
"Don't you trust me, Bill?"
"Don't be silly, Carrie, you know you're not to be trusted yet." He tugs experimentally at the leash, It's probably the first time he's held a strip of leather with a naked girl on the end. "Come along, and try not to earn any punishments."
The stairs take us down a hundred years. I positively quail at sight of the mean bare passage and all those bars, some of the cells are just barred cages. Whoever's in one sure would be on exhibit. Others have stone walls. I'm not sure which is worse. Bill locks me in one of each just to try 'em out. The locks are new and oiled and ominous and the clang of the metal door is shattering. But, compared to the whipping I'm sure he's planning to give me, they're harmless. Brightly, I suggest: "Bill, you're figuring a sort of welcome punishment for me, aren't you. Why not imprison me in one of these old cells. I won't like it a bit?"
He is instantly pleased. He is a kid with two new toys: me and this moth eaten jail. "In chains, of course?" He says grandly.
"Oh, of course! It wouldn't seem right if I wasn't chained."
I don't care if Bill is a good business man and makes a lot of money, when he's home he's odd. If I'm the first girl he's laid his hands on, there's something wrong. He must be close to forty - he's had the time and money. I'm naked and helpless in the power of a kook. The handcuffs on my wrists behind my back weigh a ton, and the collar round my neck is a clutching hand. Right now Bill is an amiable bumbling teddy bear, but can I keep him that way!
"That reminds me, Carrie, we haven't yet gone below." Bill is off on a fresh enthusiasm. "That's where the chains are - and all the rest. I've had everything gone over and made like new."
I would rather never know what's downstairs. But there's no denying the tug on my leash. I follow my new owner and say, brightly: "Bill, this is all so fascinating."
In its way it is. But for a handcuffed and naked Me it is also scary. The windows are high so the light is subdued. The small compartments are punishment places. Bill puts me in one where it's completely dark when the steel door clangs. I don't suppose it's more than a minute before he lets me out but I was ready to scream. It's like being buried alive in a big coffin.
"Aren't they wonderful." chirps Bill. "You'll really have to behave yourself, Carrie."
I say nothing, and am led to a brighter room full of "things". If I was scared before, I am doubly scared now. The "things" are graphic and polished and have about them the air of waiting just for Me.
"I call this the Arsenal." Bill says proudly. "There's everything here you'll need."
"Me! Me need - ?"
"Well then, let's say "We", shall we. We'll enjoy them together."
I look at the whips, the pillory, the amazing collection of gyves, fetters, shackles, and just plain old chain. On a man they'd be ugly, if he puts them on me they'll be grotesque.
"There's even an Oregon Boot - !"
It appears I must try it on. I sit gingerly on a bench designed for the whipping of a girl and extend an unhappy foot. I have an absurd vision of a shoe salesmen in stores.
"It was for transporting prisoners." Bill explains. "Mostly they went by train, and this saved the embarrassment of chains and things - they couldn't run."
I am sure they couldn't. I'll be lucky if I can walk. This horrific creation is simply a boot made of iron. It is in two halves which close and lock on the prisoner's foot. Then a metal circlet goes round the ankle and is padlocked. It would handicap an elephant. I shrink up inside.
"This is the original, Honey." Bill says busily. "I've had it reproduced: the same size and the same design but for a girl's foot." He fetches a box. "Here it is. Isn't it a wow!"
It is a most frightening wow. It is new and without rust and is thus more personal. I want no part of his lousy Oregon Boot. So I try: "It's terribly interesting, Bill. What else have you got?"
"I want you to try it on."
Why argue. At least it doesn't screw up and crush my bones. I watch my bare foot encased in iron, the locks snap, and then the shackle round my ankle. The padlock seems redundant but I get that too.
"Walk around, Carrie. I want to see."
Its perfect fit is scary, its weight is daunting. The damn thing is a prison in itself. I have to really heave to get it off the ground. My progress is more of a dragging process than a walk. If I was given my freedom, but had to wear this boot, I wouldn't manage a mile in a day. "It's really lovely, Bill." I enthuse falsely. What comes next?"
He actually takes it off, and looks hungrily around. "I guess you know what the rest of this stuff is for." He sounds so damn proud. "What you're sitting on is a whipping bench, then there's that cross over there for the same purpose, and of course the whipping post. Whipping is much the best thing for a girl -"
Damn him, he makes it sound as though I'm here for therapy. The things he's named stare at me as though they have eyes. I am sure I will be tied to each of them, it is in my future. Meekly, I procrastinate. "The chains, Bill? Which of them do you prefer for me?"
"Oh, of course, you're going to be my prisoner:" He becomes dreamy eyed and I can guess his visions. "There's a set here ... it's most becoming ..."
Bill likes bars, so bars I get, just one stone wall with a high barred window. The furniture is a wooden bench and a pail. "Absolutely authentic." Bill assures me earnestly. "It was for prisoners they needed to watch."
"And you're going to watch me?"
"Of course! Carrie, you're terribly beautiful."
"Not more than most girls."
"Oh, but you are! It's being naked, of course, and handcuffed ... you're what I've always dreamed - !"
My chains are an ensemble. It begins as a metallic jumble which takes on shape and purpose as I am attached. My ankles first, joined by about a foot of links. This keeps me under control while my handcuffs are removed. I am still collared and leashed.
"You're not going to struggle, Carrie?"
"Oh, Bill, how can I!"
From each of my ankles a chain rises to a central ring. From the ring other linkage comes up to the heavy metal shackles Bill now locks on my wrists, they are joined by about a foot of chain. Standing upright, and tugging my fetters taut, my hands are at the level of my waist. Beyond that I cannot raise them. If I let my arms go limp the connecting chains hang slack.
"It's so you can't hit your jailer with the iron bands." Bill explains. "You can't raise your hands enough. To eat or fuss with your hair you have to sit cross legged. That way you have lots of scope."
"Gee thanks!"
He eyes me sharply. "Sarcasm?"
My heart pounds. "Just trying to be funny." I backtrack humbly. "I think they're beautiful. Thank you, Bill. Would you like me to walk around for you?"
He is mollified and eager. I clink and rattle back and forth between the bars. I try out the cross legged idea, and manage to tidy my hair. Bill is ecstatic. I know myself implacably chained. There will be no escape. When I again stand meekly before him, his pathetic female prisoner, he kisses me with embarrassed awkwardness, and goes outside and clangs the door. I hate the sound of the lock.
Left alone behind the bars, the place has a hundred eyes. It is inconceivable Bill will not have a peephole by which to observe his captive and her behaviour. Everything I am and do now will give him an erotic charge. I am able to reach my sex, and find it damp: I am not immune to the strange potency of what has been done to me. I may be frightened but the heat is there.
Standing here, chained, the solitude is intense. I sense a lifetime of it stretching on and on. In a little while I will sit on the bench and finger links. It is not much of a repertoire.
But I have reckoned without Bill. He now carries a quite comfortable chair which he sets to best advantage. "Can't leave you alone, Carrie." He admits cheerfully. "You won't mind if I watch?"
I mind a lot, but I'm not going to say so. I'm a naked girl in a cage, and on display. Oh, damn! "Is there anything you want me to do for you?" I ask diffidently.
"I'd like you to play with yourself. I've read so much -" I play with myself. I pose obscenely on the bench to give him the best possible view of my shame. Through the roseate brilliance of my eventual orgasm I glimpse Bill's staring avid eyes ... My chains make small music for my climax.
"Thank you, Carrie. You've no idea how beautiful -"
I tidy hair and fuss with myself, thoroughly ashamed. I make sure my chains make a lot of noise, he likes it. The heat of tumescence slowly dies. I resort to shock. "Bill, you like my breasts and my cunt, don't you?"
"I adore all of you."
"Why not use me then?"
"I am using you, Carrie. This is wonderful."
"Physically, I mean, not just as a voyeur. I'd try and be kind."
With the wave of a hand Bill dismisses the carnal use of my person. "Not now, Carrie. Sometime perhaps - but now it would spoil something."
"But this seems such a waste ... of Me."
He becomes kindly tolerant. "I know what you're saying, honey. You think if I fuck you you'll be freed. But I wouldn't have to free you for that, there's all sorts of ways I can tie you to be fucked."
"Tying isn't loving."
"You don't love me, Carrie. Not now. Maybe after -"
"Whipping a girl doesn't make her love you, Bill. Honest, it doesn't."
"I don't believe that. I've read a lot - and there's the way you were with Jason. He whipped you."
I can't win this one, so try a different tangent. Brightly, I ask: "How long is my sentence for, Bill?"
"Life."
I don't like the way he said that! "What, behind these bars!" Mv exclamation is pure anguish. "And chained ... ?"
"You like it. I know you do. You just feel you have to protest. And Jason explained about whipping a girl: she hates it at the time - but before and after ... ! Carrie, I do know something about this."
The bars seem closer, my chains heavier. Flippantly, I say: "I wonder if this place had a wardress in the old days. There must have been some female prisoners."
Bill almost explodes with pride. "You're right, honey. I researched. They had a wardress for awhile, a real tough gal."
"She'd have to be, in this place."
"You're going to get one too."
"Bill!" I am incredulous.
"She's designing her own uniform. She'll look after you. There's female needs -"
"Bill, thank you, that's sweet."
He senses my hope, and kills it. "Jollie will punish propositions ruthlessly. She is NOT bribeable. Your best bet is obedience. You will find her a stiff disciplinarian. One wrong word ...."
"She's done this sort of thing ?" --
He smiles. She'll tell you. She will also give you the whipping that hangs over your head. I have made up my mind. You simply must have a 'Welcome' flogging, just as in the old days."
I wilt. It's so damn hopeless. Bill is going to have me whipped regardless. He's obsessed with his vision of the weals springing to life on my skin, and hearing me scream and maybe beg. These chains and this cell have only gained me a short delay. Abjectly, I plead. "Please don't have her whip me, Bill. I can give you so much happiness without being whipped?"
"Everything about you gives me happiness. Whipping you is only one thing among so many, you let it worry you too much."
Good gosh, he has to be nuts! What a thing to say to a girl! I keep my chains in motion for his pleasure while I think of Jason. If it was Jason who was going to whip me I'd hate the thought of it but I'd be terribly excited, my puss would be secreting like crazy. Unhappily, I tell him. "Women are nearly always unkind to girls. Is that why you've hired this Jollie?"
"Hmmmm, not really. By the way, she's a lesbian and will make you service her."
"Oh, great."
"I intend to watch. Carrie, come to the bars and hold on to them while we talk."
I clink over to face him. It is not a long walk. "I can't hold them and peer through the way you want me to." I point out reasonably, "I can't raise my hands that high. I'll do my best."
"And keep your legs a little apart so I can see -"
"Oh sure. D'you want me to press my breasts through?"
"That would be nice. See, Honey, we're getting along wonderfully."
Sure we are! I'm doing everything he likes. I position a cold iron bar within my cleavage and push a breast through on either side. "Are you going to play with them, Bill? You can, y'know, they belong to you."
"Er ... no." He is breathing heavily. "You do such things so exquisitely, honey."
"Please don't have me whipped?"
"You're a natural slave, everything comes so easily to you."
"I expect it's Jason's training. Men are awfully easy to please if they'll only leave a girl alone and let her do it."
"Carrie, stop trying. You are going to be whipped."
"Yes, yes, ,you've told me. Sorry about that." I clutch the bars with my chained hands, I long to scream.
Bill's voice becomes moonstruck. "Carrie, those amazing breasts, and the way you press against that bar, and your hands clutching ..." He takes a deep breath. "And that thick dark triangle of hair!"
"Thank you. Please fuck me, Bill?"
He takes out his little book and I get some more demerits. "Every time you try to fox me." He says severely. "I'm wise to your little game."
It is a strange social afternoon. I stand and hold the bars and point my breasts. Bill enjoys this. We talk, and from the talk Bill emerges as a middle aged adolescent, afraid of girls but adoring their bodies, determined to prove how macho he is by having them whipped. For me the talk is far from comforting. No girl, chained and naked, could ever cope with Bill. Free, she would simply dismiss him. I wish I could dismiss his fatuous features, but I can't. Bill's got me, he's got me good!
I have cherished a dim hope about bedtime. But when twilight dims my cage he again kisses me sloppily and wishes me good-night. There are some sandwiches in wax paper and a promise of better things as my imprisonment continues. There is a cup of coffee and an apple. In silent solitude I sit on my bench and have supper. I clank and rattle like crazy. When it gets dark I lay in my chains and cry and cry. I'll never escape this place, not ever.
It is hard to sleep on bare wood, especially when you've been refused a blanket, and when every time you move you make the most awful racket, the sound of my chains echoes dismally beyond the bars. I call to mind those silly dreams I used to have - I suppose there's some psychological explanation about them, but who cares. They were damn entertaining. I could use one now if it had a bit of humour in it and I didn't get whipped. I still remember odd bits of them ... poor Frau Lotte Schopen, I wonder if she ever really lived!
What I eventually dream is a hodge-podge born of kidnappings and this cell. It is a science fiction extravaganza in which I flit from scene to scene in situations to entrance Bill, but which leave me tossing and turning and longing only for freedom. I don't want to be whipped, but that's all my free movie has to offer ...
It is pure Maxfield Parrish, distinctly Grecian. A long open colonnade beneath an azure sky. The entablature has crumbled from an even more ancient time, but the columns still stand, white and pure in their symmetry. To each of them is bound a naked girl. Their colouring varies but all are beautiful, some look suspiciously like me or Daphne. They all seem tired as though they have been tied like that a long time.
I have the dream convenience of mobility. I go from girl to girl, admiring the ropes deep in their flesh. They open their eyes for me and smile. None ask to be released, none speak. They are waiting. Whoever tied them is an artist. Their most secret femininities are cut with cord, they cannot move without pain. They do not try to twist free, it would be useless, and anyway, they do not seem to want to. But, no matter how harshly they are tied they are bound in an exquisite artistry of tight strictures.
They alternate down the line of columns. The first girl faces me, the second has her breasts hard against the marble to offer me her flawless back and curved bottom. She, too, smiles at me, looking back shyly over her shoulder. I speak to them, but they shake their head. They do not understand, or they have been forbidden. I look round for the satyr, Pan, and his pipes, but this is a place of girls; we are alone.
When the man comes he has the air of a superior slave, an overseer. His garments are little more than the girl's nudity. He is very businesslike and a trifle bored. He wastes no time. He carries two whips. Instinctively, I know how he will use them.
One is for the breasts.
She does not scream. She is mute. But she writhes deliciously under the lash, her ropes indent under the surges of her pain. The silken whip of many thongs laces the alabaster of her breasts with scarlet lines. The lashing goes on and on, her breasts become scarlet but there is no blood. Her nipples are lasciviously erect. I know if I could feel her sex it would be wet. While her breasts are whipped she is watched by the girl on the next column who is now vividly alert. She strains to see her sister's punishment but does not seem afraid. Perhaps in this place at this time it is an honour for girls to be thus punished, they may go home to glory. I wonder if tomorrow their positions on the columns will be reversed - breasts and back, breasts and back ... all down the line!
The male changes the whip. I see the second girl tense, I feel for her, oh how I feel! I share, too, the first girl's relief that her whipping is done. I palm her breasts tenderly, they are hot as if on fire. When I play with her nipples she smiles and closes her eyes. These girls are highly sexed, perhaps they have erred ... !
To the man I am invisible. This is the magic of dreams.
The second girl is being whipped in a way I know too well. It is shoulders to knees, never knowing. Her lovely head jerks back in rhythm to the blows, she strains against her bindings. But the whip has her for its own ... The scarlet etchings on her skin are indescribably exquisite.
The dream fades in the irritating way dreams have. The new one is Me ... Me ... Me! I am not the spectator, I am the delinquent damsel trembling in front of the Mother Superior's table. My arm is held firmly by Sister Mary. I am a novice who has erred. We indulge in a litany in which, I suspect, I have no choice.
"You accept your guilt, Elaine?"
"I am guilty, Reverend Mother."
"And must be punished?"
"I must be punished. I wish to be punished."
"How old are you, Elaine?"
"I am nineteen, reverend Mother. I knew better."
"Ah yes." The old eyes within the coif search my soul. "I think a hard whipping will suffice. We are fond of you, Elaine."
"Thank you, Mother Superior, oh, thank you - !"
I don't know why I'm so damn thankful. What have they got that's worse! But the old and weary voice is not done with me. "Some of the strokes to be between your legs, Elaine. It is there lies your sin."
"Of course, Reverend Mother. Thank you. Am I permitted to scream?"
"You may scream, my dear. We will not be unkind. Sister Mary, you may take her now."
The fingers on my arm tighten. I am led to the vaulted stone chamber where the post stands starkly. Waiting to behold my shame are five of my fellow novitiates. My pain will be good for them too, lest they should also be tempted to sin as I have sinned. They watch my disposition with discreet interest. Watching a companion whipped will be an exciting change from vespers.
"You may remove your coverings, Elaine."
"All of it, sister-everything?"
"Of course. Come now, the girls are waiting, they are due at Collect with sister Stephanie before long. You will not be joining them."
I strip myself naked. I am among females in a Convent, but it is my first time. As I disrobe I flame pinkly.
"Against the post, Elaine."
The wood is cold and rough on my breasts. I raise my arms to have my wrists bound well above my head. The novices are palpitating, I can feel their vibes. I tremble.
"We do not want you doing a gavotte for us, Elaine."
I will do no dancing while I am whipped. Ropes band my waist and weld my tummy to the post. My back and bottom are bare and unobstructed for the lash. Sister Mary has tied many girls as she is tying me.
"Your legs remain free, Elaine."
I can guess why. It would be better for me if they were tied. Mechanically I offer thanks. My 'Thank you, Sister' is abject.
There is a short lecture. Sister Mary points graphically at my bound nudity so the novitiates may understand what awaits them should they sin. The lecture is not for me, I am finding out the hard way. I can hear the quickening of their breathing as they behold my mortification.
Sister Mary whips my back and bottom with much skill and some venom. She does not approve of me. I scream, I weep, I make absurd avowals. I embrace purity heartily as the thong scores my skin. In this awful pain I am quite sure I will never have another carnal thought. I kick lustily with my unbound legs. When my back and bottom are blazing and I am sure I am going to die, the good Sister calls forth a girl to drag one of my ankles as far up and to the side as she can manage. In spite of my cinched waist my bottom extends in greater prominence and my pussy no longer nestles against the wood.
"Observe the penalty of lust, dear girls."
The first cut within my thigh demoralizes me totally, it is an utterly beastly pain. Pleas and promises spew from me in a steady stream between my screams as I am cut again and again between my thighs and the thong tip splats my puss. Soon, another breathless girl is called to serve my other leg in the same way so that I am obscenely spread and dragged back against the bindings round my waist. I cannot move. The girls easily control my responses as my cunt and the insides of my thighs are soundly flogged. As I howl and howl a strange new voice dissolves the dream ...
"Morning, gal, I got yo' breakfast."
Jollie is at least half black, she has a genial eye and a superb physique which deserves better than the severity of the wardress uniform she wears with seeming pride.
"Yo' sure is fixed, honey." She views my sad condition with curiosity and approval. "No way is yo' escaping outta' here."
"Please help me. This is against my will, y'know. Keeping me prisoner like this is a criminal offence. I'll get you money ... .?"
Jollie acts with deliberation. She puts down the tray, she opens the cage door and comes in with me, she unhooks from her belt a strip of heavy pliant hide and slashes my nakedness with it three times, the blows falling where they may as I twist and turn in shock.
"Every time yo' talks 'bout escape, honey, thass what yo' gits." She tells me amiably. "Now I brings in yo' breakfast and we can be friends."
I nurse wounds, Jollie's flagellum hurt horribly. I eat and tell her, unhappily. "I haven't much to say, you've taken away the only topic of interest."
"Hows 'bout yo' whipping, honey, ain't yo' interested in that? The Boss Man he's right lookin' forward to it."
"I'd rather not talk about it. I know it's going to happen, that's bad enough." I eye the leather she has returned to her belt. "Is that what you're going to use on me?"
"See, honey, yo' really is interested." Jollie says brightly. "Hell, gal', youse and me's got lots to talk 'bout." The coffee is good and it's hot. I gulp it gratefully. "You talk and I'll answer." I tell her morosely as I eat. "I don't want to be hit with that leather any more, so tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it."
"O.K. honeychile. Yo' eats yo' food and then yo' sucks my cunt. Seein' yo' the way yo' is got me horny as hell."
"You like girls in prison, in chains, and naked?"
"Shit yes, wouldn't any gal'! Yo' real pretty that way."
"If I do what you just asked, will you take these chains off me so I can do it properly?"
"Ain't no need, yo' kin do fine as yo' is. Now, hold out that pretty little hand."
Horrified, I watched her take the leather in her hand. My heart thumping, I ask. "Please, not on my hand. And anyway, what have I done?"
"Yo' tries ter sucker me, kid. Take off yer chains indeed! Hell, yo' kin do most things in them chains. They's just so's yo' look pretty, pretty. C'mon now, out with that little flipper."
I start to cry. This whole thing is too damn much. Sobbing, I extend an arm and a taut palm as far as my chains allow. Jollie cuts at my hand with swift cruelty. I yelp and moan and weep with a fresh pain hitherto unknown.
"Real nasty on the palm, kid. Yo' remember that." She takes me in strong arms and fondles me, she is strangely comforting as I sob out my misery on her blue shirt and tie. "Yo' learn my rules, honey, and yo' won't git much hurt from me. What the Boss Man wants done to yo' is somethin' else."
Our physical communion ends in my subjection as I slither down between her knees, nudge aside her skirt, and eat Jollie as dessert to breakfast. Hell, Jason made me do it for him, why shouldn't she make me do it for her! I'll do it anytime rather than be whipped.
"Yo' done that real good, honey." Jollie is admiring and surprised. "I owes yo' one ... and seein yo's so helpless ... !" She disposes my nudity on the bench to suit her convenience, thrusting my chains out of her way, and takes me deep, deep, into the turgid joy of female love. As her mouth absorbs me I realise how much I have missed Jason.
"Honey, we got ourselves off ter a good start. Even when I whips yo' later yo' gotta' remember we's doin' a number. What yo' and me does with our cunts don't hurt the Boss Man none."
"He doesn't want to fuck me. I asked him to but he wouldn't."
"He's crazy." Jollie sighs. "Men is all crazy, honey, guess yo' finds that out long since."
Jollie, unlocks my chains. I stand, amazed, as she ties my hands behind my back. She is very adept. "Boss Man's orders, kid." She consoles. "Men like a tied gal. I bin' a whore and I knows their nutty notions. Hold still, yo' don' have ter do nothin'. I gotta' hog tie yo', but I handles yo' real easy."
Jollie is right, I am a child in her hands. She ropes my ankles and lays me on the bench. My feet and hands are joined so I become a bow. I'm so damn helpless ... !
"Yo' lays on yo' tits or on yo' side, honey, yo' takes yer choice. Won't be all that long, I gotta' git yo' ready for the big deal."
She takes the tray, locks my cell door, and departs.
Jollie is an enigma, she is both friend and enemy. She gives me compassion but will never set me free. For a little while I know I prefer her to Bill, but the stress of my hogtie soon causes me to wonder, it is tight and very cruel. Bill did not use rope on me - ropes hurt. The way Jollie has me tied now is as painful as her flagellum, in a different cruelty. My nipples friction against the wood, I debate rolling on my side but am scared. This is hateful! Jason never hogtied me, not once.
"Beautiful as ever, Carrie." It is beaming Bill, damn him!
"Bill, this hurts horribly. Do you really want me like this?"
"Just for awhile, you look cute bent back that way. Say, how do you like Jollie?"
"She's nice. Implacable but nice."
"Good. She tells me she's had to whip you?"
"Yes. I suppose it was my own fault. Don't worry about me obeying her, I will. Bill, could I have my legs down?"
"No. And anyway, I don't have the key. Jollie has it."
"Oh alright, but aren't there going to be times when I'm just locked in this cage as a prisoner? Do I always have to be tied up or chained?"
"Be damn boring for you if you weren't."
In a way he's right. What a helluva' jackpot for a girl to be in. But couldn't you give me the occasional hour?" I ask hopefully. "I could stretch and walk around, and if I was free I could hold on to the bars and look out between them the way you say you like."
"Hmmmm, it's an idea, Carrie. I'll think about it. I have to go now, but I want you to know how wonderful I think you are and how sweet you look like that. I'll see you later when it's time for your whipping - that's going to be wonderful too."
Like Jollie says: men are all crazy.
So here I am, hogtied and locked in a cage. I hurt and I don't know how long it's going to last. I struggle a little but that hurts worse and I'm scared of falling on the floor. I think of Jason and our home, I even think kindly of Daphne. The bite of Jollie's rope says I'll never see them again. This is my slavery now. I blink back tears.
"Allus feels good when yo' gits untied, honey."
It feels like hours but Jollie tells me I have been hogtied only seventy minutes. I lay on the bench and pant in relief. When she handcuffs my wrists behind my back I don't say a word, it seems all too natural, I am grateful it doesn't hurt. "Now I makes yo' real boofull, sweetheart."
Jollie tends me like a child ... or a debutante, a very helpless debutante who is approaching the Gala event of her life. I had not realised that, to be whipped, a girl must be immaculately gorgeous. I expect the idea is Bill's. Anyway, I am female, and everything Jollie does for me delights my femininity, even when she paints my nipples. There is no suggestion from either of us that my handcuffs should be removed, even in the bath she makes sure I do not need my hands.
"Now we go downstairs, Carrie. Yo' be good gal?"
"This is it, isn't it?" I am breathing fast. "Oh sure, I'll behave."
I am strangely glad of Jollie's hand clutching my bare arm as I walk to my whipping. There is something about Jollie's strength I find comforting, it is such a lovely contrast to the ridiculous Bill. I wonder if she can hear the thudding of my heart as we walk abreast. I am horribly scared. There's been so much fuss made over this business of whipping me I have to suppose it's going to be damn awful.
And I haven't done anything! I'm innocent!
Bill is my audience of one, he is waiting for us in the fatal room. His face tells me he approves of what Jollie has made of me. My handcuffed nudity makes me erotic to The Male, I know it does. When we halt I say, "Hello, Bill." as though the whole affair is casual.
For Bill it is an event. He takes a deep breath. "We have a choice of things to fasten you to, Carrie." He explains kindly. "The pillory or the post, and there's the hoist ... But I do think we should carry on with authenticity, don't you?"
I feel like sulking but it wouldn't pay off. Heartily, I agree. "Oh, by all means."
"When a girl was to be whipped, back in those days they used this post with the bar across the top for her arms, you'll notice the shackle at each end."
I notice; do I ever! Ugh! "I'm surprised they didn't want her fixed more tightly." I offer with spurious interest. "She could wriggle a good deal."
"Well, not enough to matter." The idiot is actually taking this dialogue seriously. "You'll find you have to raise your arms enough to keep the rest of you in place."
"Ah yes, I see what you mean."
"And you'll notice the other shackles at the base. They've got ten inches of chain but it's not enough for an effective kick."
"They seem to have thought of everything."
"Sometimes, when they were whipping a very tall girl, she wasn't all that stretched, so they tied her waist to the post too. But they tried to avoid that because it covered an area of skin."
"How thoughtful of them."
Jollie knows I am being sarcastic but Bill is not sure. In any case I am about to be terribly punished, so what's a bit of sarcasm! Anyway, he's enjoying himself and takes another deep breath.
"It was understood that a girl's punishment could be lengthened or shortened by her attitude at this time. It is a tense moment when her arms are freed preparatory to being fastened to the cross."
"I bet it was!"
"She could struggle and earn additional strokes, or she could obediently position herself to be fastened: in the latter event there was a small remission."
"Only a small one?" "Well, something commensurate ..."
"Did the statistics show any pattern of behaviour?" It is my first sincere response, but my curiosity goes unsatisfied. "I'm afraid not. But, of course, this leaves each case of interest in itself. For instance ... your own."
"I'm not going to make an idiot of myself, Bill. You two can overpower me easily. But, anyway, if you shackle my ankles first before you remove my handcuffs I'm foxed, not a thing I can do."
Poor Bill is disappointed by this rationale, he would have preferred the battle with the naughty girl fastened by force. Jollie squeezes my arm. I am impatient with the whole affair so, since no one says anything more, I step forward and put myself into position. I know I look sweet and helpless and beautiful and I hope Bill gets a hard on out of it that bothers him. I wait.
"Fasten her." Says Bill after he's had a good look.
Jollie clasps the metal bands round my ankles, she unlocks my handcuffs. I raise my arms to the waiting shackles at the two ends of the horizontal bar. Jollie snaps them shut on my wrists. I am helpless and ready to be whipped.
"Beautiful!"
I look back over a prisoned shoulder at Bill. He is in a trance. I've got to hand it to him, he has a camera eye for the erotic. At this moment I must be as erotic as all get out. I am also shivering with fright. I turn and I peer over my other shoulder at Jollie. She had discarded her flagellum and now holds a whip. I don't like the look of it, but it's neither the best or the worst. I expect it's about right for the punishment of girls.
"You may begin the whipping, Wardress." Jollie whips me.
It is hard to believe we are the same as those two who exchanged female love in the barred cell. Everything vanishes except pain. The beastly thing to which I am shackled must have been made for me. It is the right height, I cannot escape the whip at all. My involuntary kicks are well contained by the few links of my ankle chains. Whoever thought this thing up knew what they were doing. Jollie spaces out her blows but none are light.
"A brief pause at five, Wardress."
I am almost grateful to this pontifical ass for the break. I am panting and have already screamed once, this whip is a hateful thing, or maybe Jollie's using it on me hard. Pathetically, I mutter: "I haven't done anything to deserve this."
"Your statement is duly noted."
Oh, for Pete's sake, he's playing games! Now he's the Warden. I know it's useless but I have to plead: "Please don't whip me any more?"
"Proceed."
Jollie whips me five more strokes to the next pause. I scream steadily and hope it jars his nerves, but I'm afraid he likes it. Anyway, I want to scream, so there's nothing lost. Belatedly, I ask: "Please watch out for my breasts, Jollie." "Such requests must be made through me." Says the make believe Warden, loving every word. "Wardress, inflict an extra stroke now and make sure it finds one of her breasts."
The dirty S.O.B. he's got me, and he's got Jollie! Her hands are sympathetic and she clasps my breasts and pulls me back from the post as far as my bonds allow. For my liking it is much too far. "Hold it like this, honey." She whispers. "Just for one."
When it comes I really scream, I go a little crazy and give the lousy cross a bad time with my heavings and tuggings. Jollie has struck me across my shoulders so the end of her whip curls under my raised arm and spends its force upon the curve of my right breast. My howl is not all from pain, part of it is outrage. I relapse, panting, my forehead against the post. My breast burns warningly as I press it protectively against the wood.
"You are feeling some benefit, Miss Carstairs?"
"Oh yes, thank you. I'll be very obedient."
"Continue the whipping."
He's an absolute bastard, playing with me like this. Being humble does me no good at all, but I sure won't risk being lippy. While I'm still panting from number fifteen, I, respectfully, inquire, "What is my sentence please, Master?"
"Eh? Oh, you mean how many strokes." The Warden is on his dignity. "That is not for you to know, girl. Apart from receiving them it is none of your concern. Wardress, her other breast for impertinence."
I am now too frightened to speak. I back off from the post without help. The whip cuts my shoulders and snaps over my left breast. The pain is tummy turning and I scream and scream and thrust myself back upon the cross. "Perhaps you will learn respect, girl?"
"Oh yes, Master. Oh ... Oh ... Ohhhh!"
"You may resume her whipping, Wardress." Five more! In a dim haze of agony I hear myself plead and scream and scream. A bit of me is terribly ashamed, I wanted Jollie to think well of me, but who thinks well of a howling sweating nakedness! The rest of me does not care. My wrists and ankles are becoming chafed from my contortions. Up to now it has been my back on which the strokes are etched, this five is across my bottom, each laps a hip and hurts double. I will be marked for ages.
"A rest, Wardress. You may caress her nipples."
What the hell, he's wiser than I thought-or has he guessed! Willingly I back up, gloriously Jollie's fingers find my tits. I flare into pure lust. She palms my puss and laughs. Within seconds I climax transcendently, crying out with a joyous agony, it is the harvest of the whip.
"I like that." Bill says dreamily and in a normal voice. The girl is wonderful. Give her only ten more strokes, but give them hard and without pause." I bear the ten. When I can see a limit I can bear a lot. I scream over each one, screaming makes pain easier, it really does. I have only a hazy awareness of fighting my shackles, I know I am doing it but there is too much pain.
"An excellent whipping, Wardress. Congratulations."
"Thank you, suh."
"Just look at her, isn't she exquisite'?"
"Sho' is, suh. You want I let her loose?"
"No, she should stand awhile. It is a very lovely pose." I drift back into their world. I am not going to die, but I sure don't want to go back into that cage. I don't want any part of Bill Coro, I want to go home. This asshole is quite capable of having me whipped like this, again tomorrow. But for the moment I am a piece of decorative furniture, the 'Warden' is engrossed with his lousy Jail.
"You must examine everything in this room, Jollie, it will either be an original or an authentic reproduction. As time goes by we will use everything on our little lady, favourites will emerge."
Jollie is curious and amused, her eye roves. "Doggone it, suh, we uses all this here on that gal we's gonna' wear her out."
"It's only the whippings and the suspensions that's hard on her, Jollie, the rest is mostly to immobilize."
"Yeah, I guess so." She appears to be thinking deeply. "But this here set o' stocks for her feet ... ? There's sandpaper on the bench and lining each hole where her ankles go?"
"A small innovation of my own." He sounds real proud. "I do feel some element of punishment was always intended. That sandpaper will make sitting there less of a bore."
"Rough on her little ass."
"Indeed yes." Bill is well away on his hobby. "And these wooden contraptions, they're hard to figure, but they hold a girl in various positions. Damned ingenious."
"Sho' is. I'll try 'em out on Honeybunch. But, Mr. Coro suh, this here collection of irons ... ? They ain't goin' ter look all that pretty on yo' little sweetheart? I thinks they's ugly."
"Yes, they're a bit crude. But you'll notice they're new, I've had 'em specially made girl size. Try the locks, they don't have a range of size like modern handcuffs, but they're effective and, since they'll fit snugly, won't spoil the femininity of Carrie's bondage. Try one, you'll see what I mean."
I stand and hurt, but I also watch and listen. Bill's pomposities are preferable to that blasted cage and loneliness. I'm not sure about Jollie, I suspect she's bored and just being polite. Probably she couldn't care less about nineteenth century gyves. Absently, she fits one round her wrist and clasps it shut. Laughing, she asks, "Yo' got a key to this here?"
"Of course, all brand new."
"You're right, suh, looks better on than off. But it's heavy, a gal' 'ud know what she's wearin'." With the same air of suppressed boredom, Jollie locks her other wrist too. She pulls her hands apart to tighten six inches of tether. "Give 'em more leeway, eh?"
"Likely used mostly to link a girl to an officer. The leg irons aren't that generous. I haven't yet figured their application."
Who cares! I wish his rotten irons were at the bottom of a lake instead of waiting there for me. It's going to be real great sitting in a cell with nothing else to do but wear the beastly chunks of metal. They'd look better if I was dressed, but on me naked ... ! Oh, shit! Jollie is looking at the leg irons speculatively. "Sho' seems a bit short, mistah Coro suh." She bends down and snaps them on her ankles.
I think all three of us realised the same thing at the same moment, and I'm willing to believe Bill didn't plan it. Because of Jollie's wish to show an interest, it happened. There is an awkward silence before she ask's, "Yo' got the key here, mistah Coro?"
"Ah, yes." He is looking at Jollie as though seeing her for the first time, and he's still a bit dreamy eyed with the lust of watching me whipped. He makes no move.
Giggling, Jollie takes hobbled steps, they are short. She is not yet willing to believe ... ! "A gal' sure ain't goin' far in these, mistah Coro." She holds out two joined hands. "Guess I bettah have the key, suh?"
Dazed in a stupendous discovery, Bill Coro says slowly. "I'm not going to give you the key, Jollie."
Another of those silences until Jollie says: "Yo's joking, suh."
"No ... no I'm not." Bill is still wallowing in this superabundance of female flesh Fate has bestowed. "I'd be silly to unlock you, Jollie, you're helpless."
"Sho' is. I wants out."
"You're a very beautiful body under that uniform, Jollie."
Jollie knows, just as I know. Steel on wrist and ankle is lucidly informative. She looks at her self imposed chains and says, uncertainly. "This ain't in our deal, Mistah Coro."
"I'll make it right with you, Jollie, I'll be generous."
"What yo' generous about?" She has dropped the 'sir'.
"Well ..." Bill seems surprised she doesn't know. "About whipping and fucking you - it's something I have to do."
She is a dark Amazon, magnificent in her fury. But Bill is a big heavy man, and Jollie is chained. There is a good deal of torn clothing, but my wardress ends up half suspended on her toes, the gyves on her wrists must be hurting cruelly. Her dark eyes flash at the male. "Yo' don' do this - yo' better not!" Bill seems not to hear. He is undressing her, cutting or tearing where he must.
"Yo' let's me loose, Mistah Coro, and we talks turkey 'bout this here."
Bill continues to strip her, she is emerging as magnificently female. She is as helpless as I am. "Oh, you mean the price." He says offhandedly. "Don't worry, I'll look after it."
"Ah don' want no whippin'; ah don' want this bare nekked bit; an ah don' wanna' be tied up." Jollie almost growls her denials. "Yo' best let me loose right now."
Bill is happy, he's gone overboard in a world all his own. Maybe he's nuts but so what! He's got himself two girls, hasn't he! A light and a dark. Girls are what Bill wants: girl, girls and more girls! If his luck lasts he can fill this jail with naked wenches and wear himself out whipping us. He suddenly notices me.
"Carrie, sweetheart, let's make you more comfortable, and you'll be wanting to watch." He releases my arms from above, then handcuffs my wrists behind my back before he frees my feet. There isn't going to be any escape from Bill, not ever. But this feels better. I tell him a thank you, and then let him have it:
"Bill, this is kidnapping ... and on two counts. You could get a life sentence."
"Well worth it, honey."
"With Jollie and me both covered in whipmarks they'd put you in an asylum. Bill, cool it!"
"You want to be whipped some more, Carrie?"
I shut up. What the hell's the use. I don't want to be whipped any more. I turn to the angry woman in her chains, she is a coffee coloured Juno, impressively sculptured. She is as helpless as I am. We both of us watch Bill Coro select the whip Jollie had used on me. "Won't kill you, sweetheart." He says jovially, "But it makes lovely marks. How about a hundred? You're a big girl.... !"
"Yo' whips me, ah kills ,yo'."
"Don't be silly, you couldn't kill a butterfly the way I've got you fixed." Bill shakes an admonishing finger. "Let me enjoy whipping you - you won't be sorry. I've never seen a female figure better shaped to be whipped."
"Yo' rotten bastard, this ain't what yo' said."
"And no bad mouthing. I don't have to stop at a hundred, y'know."
Poor Jollie, she is glimpsing the infinity of pain and the omnipotence of men. Powerful as she may be, for a woman, she cannot claw her way to freedom through the combination of Bill Coro and his implacable chains. Wanly, she makes an offer.
"Yo' set me free, Mistah Coro, and I don' say nothin' to no one. We pretend it don' happen. Ah take up lookin' after Miss Carrie where I left off."
Bill whips Jollie: He is besotted with the whip and its effect on a girl. Our striped and scarlet skin is, for him, the most exquisite artistry. If only the silly bastard would fuck us and get some of the lust out of his system we'd be better off all around. But he cherishes that lust, it keeps him in a constant arousal in which he can whip us without the nag of conscience. With men, conscience begins when the erection dies. Jason fucked me constantly and was never more cruel than I could bear: or should I say than I wanted him to be! A girl is not always without her own lust and her own guilt.
Jollie's danger is her own magnificence. She would make two of me, but without an ounce of fat. Her breasts are huge but do not sag, she has the most amazing thicket of black hair above her sex, her nipples are darkly demanding. Jollie is a large size Amazon, modern Juno. The hell of it is, Bill will whip her accordingly. His casual mention of a hundred lashes ... ! I suspect a hundred lashes would kill me. The weals are quickening on her rich skin but she has not screamed.
Bill whips Jollie in bursts and crescendos, then pauses, panting, to watch the blossoming of his work, the lovely, lovely weals on the lovely, lovely woman-flesh. The chained woman does not stand still, she writhes gorgeously, lifting herself from the floor by her gyved wrists to kick ineffectually at nothing with guyved feet. I suppose she has some sort of nobility about screaming, an inhibition I do not possess. It is a long time and many lashes before she screams. But, sooner or later, a girl must always scream. After all, why not!
My feet are free, it is an oversight Bill is too preoccupied to notice. Silently, I tip- toe on my bare feet around the terrible tableau I am forced to watch. Forced! Shit, let's be honest. I want to watch. At this moment Jollie is the most beautiful thing in the world. Not long ago it was I .... ! A whipped girl is the most powerful aphrodisiac there is. My loins are flaming. My handcuffs inhibit silly notions, so too do the weals on my breasts, one vivid stripe on each. These two cuts I bear make me Bill's slave as potently as do my bonds, they make me fear his displeasure, this is the way slaves are supposed to be. Gosh, to have my breasts deliberately whipped with that whip, so many lashes on each one! Oh no, no, oh please don't let it ever happen!
"Please, mistah Coro suh, not no more. I'se had all I kin take."
It is Jollie's first plea. It is tremendously sincere. Bill counters it with the ancient chestnut of: "Only just got started, Jollie. You're doing fine."
"Ah ain't doin' fine. Yo's killin' me."
"I'd say you were as fine a woman to whip as exists anywhere, Jollie. When it's over you'll be real proud."
"When'll that be, mistah Coro?"
"Never you mind." Thoughtfully, he slashes the ripe contours of Jollie's rump, flicking her hip. "Hell, you'd last out a couple of days the way I'm whipping you. It's not a real flogging."
Ridiculously, I fall to my knees in front of him, pleading for this woman who had whipped me. "Please, Bill, she's had enough. I can tell she's had enough. You shouldn't whip her any more."
"Who gave you leave to tell me what to do? You want to take the rest of her hundred for her?"
I hang my head. I am afraid. But I whisper. "Yes, yes, I'll take them. Please set her free."
"Carrie, you're just being silly. You've had your's. Let me enjoy whipping this superlative ass; just look at it!"
I look. It is indeed a glorious bottom. It is well streaked by thin weals but there is much space for more. Bill proceeds to fill them in ....
I get up, feeling foolish. Besides, I am in his way as he plies his whip, following the revolving flesh as his blows cause Jollie to swing and sway in ceaseless motion. To be suspended as she is makes a naked girl an absolute nothing.
"Don' you worry none, gal, we's both of us up the cri k!"
My wardress is cut short by the whip. She screams. She goes on screaming for a long time.
Bill is very happy, the splat and thunk of his thong across Jollie's firm but resilient flesh is sickeningly steady.
In one of his pauses he assures me, generously, I will be whipped again quite soon. He seems to think girls enjoy it. Aren't I lucky?