Chapter 11
THE SLAVE
It was good to be clothed again. Exquisitely and expensively clothed. Glynis recognized her own wardrobe and her own jewels. The Seigneury had her home and her belongings....It was a bitter knowledge. She faced Rolfe Campys warily.
He lolled, with affected casualness, in the armchair, the riding crop draped negligently across one thigh. He dominated the luxurious lounge, his sardonic features surveying his prize.
"I'm still in love with you, Glynis."
"I'm sure that's why I've been imprisoned, chained, whipped...." Glynis' voice trailed off into bitterness.
"It's done you a lot of good. I mean it, poppet. You're twice the woman you were."
She shrugged. "What do I do, say thank you?"
"You undress, dear girl, that's what you do."
She had known it would not be real. Just one more of his humiliations. But she had prepared herself. Glynis Woodhaye was prepared to concede defeat-to a point! She knew herself broken-to a point! No more feeble, futile girlish protests or demeaning struggles! But she was alert. Within her was still a part of the girl she had once been. As though accepting a challenge, she began to remove her clothes. Wryly, she consoled herself; they had been good to wear even for thirty minutes. One by one, she draped the things she loved across a chair.
"That's progress, beloved. You wouldn't have done that three months ago." It was a sarcastic tribute, more to himself than to her.
"The jewelry too?" she asked politely.
"No. Keep it on, poppet. I like the effect."
Naked! Miss Glynis Woodhaye extended her full frontal nudity for his approval. Masking defiance, she clasped her hands behind her neck and widened the space between her feet. If he wanted nakedness he should have it! No longer would she argue.
"You're better than magnificent," Rolfe Campys said with what appeared to be deep sincerity. "Will you marry me?"
"No, not like this."
"We can concede a few clothes at the altar, sweetness," he suggested dryly.
Glynis kept her voice even. "What I meant was that a man does not strip a girl naked as a prelude to a proposal."
"I do!"
"And I said no."
They faced each other without anger. Anger was past.
Rolfe's eyes crinkled. "You have the most lush cunt and pubic bush, dear girl."
"Thank you."
"You realize I'm going to thrash you, I suppose?"
"Yes."
"That cell get you inured to fun and games?"
"Yes."
"Don't you owe me a bit of gratitude? Dammit, girl, you've been given the most liberal education...!"
"Thank you." She raised a hand. "Rolfe, don't be angry. Some of that thank you was real."
"Help you grow up a bit?"
"I suppose so. Yes, I expect it did."
"It could continue, sweetheart. Shame to stop now."
Her flinch was slight but he saw it. "I realize that," she said slowly. "I hope it won't, of course. But I know it can."
"You haven't had your flogging yet."
"No. I wondered why."
"D'you want it?"
Glynis shrugged despondently. "No."
"Now, about this getting married. You'd be crazy not to accept, sweetheart. I promise never to whip you on Sunday."
"Rolfe, don't make a mockery...."
"Get me a drink, and present it properly." His voice was savage.
At the bar, Glynis made his favorite cocktail. Then knelt before him and presented it as might a slave.
He took it and sipped while she remained kneeling. "You did that damn well," he mused. "Would-you sooner be a slave than a wife?"
"No."
"Go and make yourself one. You may need it."
Glynis thankfully obeyed. Inwardly she was in turmoil. Perhaps her life was being decided in this room right now. There had been no cocktails in the hated cell! This one was going to be so good! She made it a double. Without asking, she knelt before the man who could use her as he wished.
"Why d'you do that, Glynis-the kneeling?"
"I thought it might please you," she admitted simply. She smiled up at him over her glass. "I suppose it's halfway appropriate."
"You tempt me," he admitted, "to keep you like that-for life."
"It would be an honest relationship. Why don't you?"
"Better than the cell, eh!"
"Don't sneer, Rolfe. That cell's a kind of death for a girl. If I have to be a slave, I'll be a good one." She glinted up at him. "I'm not denying I've been broken."
"I'm up against something female," he said in a return of good humor. "What the hell's the distinction between accepting slavery and rejecting marriage?"
"I've been whipped into slavery, Rolfe. So I can accept it with honor. But to be whipped into marriage! There would be no honor in it for either of us." Glynis' eyes were sparkling with animation. "Honest, Rolfe, I'd sooner you took me as a slave."
"And beat you daily?"
She shrugged. "If I deserved it."
"I'm going to beat you now."
"Yes, I know. Any particular position you want me in?"
"Cool as a cucumber! Supposed to be defeating, I believe."
"Sorry, Rolfe! I'm just trying too hard. Do you want to tie me?"
"On the mantle there's handcuffs. Put them on, poppet. Purely symbolic, of course."
"Of course." She did not mock. Simply agreed. Clasping the faimiliar metal round her wrists, she was annoyed by the comfort she found in them. Handcuffs absolved a girl from so much!
"Now touch your toes and stick it out."
Glynis took the five swift cuts, using every ounce of her fortitude. The pain was sickening.
"Go get yourself another drink." He handed her his glass. "Me too."
She could feel his eyes on her bottom as she walked to the bar. It would be ridged and flaming! But she was grateful for the drink. How strange they were! How absurd! How nearly wonderful! Once more she knelt.
"You're bloody marvelous," he acknowledged.
"I've come a long way, sir."
"You do everything right except one thing. Say, that little rump of yours...! I was almost ashamed to hit it on top of what's already there. That little bitch of a kid!"
"I suppose you were watching?"
"Oh, sure! Saw it all. Poor Tess-working her cunt through Hollywood! Well, anyway, her talents won't be wasted."
"Myrtle whipped her terribly."
"Don't be jealous, poppet. Your turn will come. The old fashioned cat with all the trimmings."
"It will leave me scarred for always, won't it?"
"So I believe, sweetheart. They revive you with icy water when you faint."
"Rolfe, are some of the girls who are taken to the Seigneury actually killed for-as a-show?" Glynis gulped hastily. "I was made to watch one who died...!"
"You must ask the Seigneur, poppet. I'll introduce you sometime."
She was uncertain of him, and of the topic. She let it drop. "Why must you have me flogged, Rolfe? Has it some special meaning for you?"
He nodded. "Yes, it has. Don't ask me why. Strange, eh!"
"Do you want a wife with a scarred back?"
"But you've turned me down, sweetheart! Spurned my love."
She forbore the obvious: that marriage would absolve her from the cat o' nine tails. But perhaps it would not! There had been a frightening longing in his voice.
"Rolfe, are any girls ever allowed to go? Sent home, free?"
"What's your guess, poppet?"
"What will happen to me, Rolfe?"
"Hell, why ask me! It's as much in your hands as mine."
"I want freedom." She looked up at him longingly. "Oh, Rolfe, I doubt if you can have any idea how much I want to go home and be done with prison and punishments."
"And me?"
"I didn't say that." She was suddenly vehement. "You must know damn well how easy it would be for me to marry you! Not because of being flogged-and that wretched cell. But just because...."
He looked down at her for long moments of silence. When he spoke it was with a calculated coarseness. "Go get a cushion to put under your ass. Then spread yourself to be fucked."
She was ready for this too, had glimpsed it's inevitability. She was not a virgin. It was not a milestone. Only one more defeat. Without expression, she got the cushion and settled her wounded behind upon it on the rug. She opened her thighs wide and held her cuffed hands above her head. For good measure, she smiled.
Rolfe Campys ravished her savagely. So intense was his dedication, he made her scream as she climaxed. For a long time he held down her captive arms as he lay upon her. Then ravaged her again with savage thrusts as though from some store of frustrated potency long held in check. At the end they lay together on the floor, exhausted.
"There, damn you, marry me now."
Glynis did not answer. She lay in a strange limbo, satiated. Longing only for peace. Had he put his arms around her at that moment she might have said yes. But he did not reach out. Instead, he got heavily to his feet, tidied himself, and resumed his chair.
"That was probably the best either of us will ever know," he said accusingly.
"Yes."
"But you still prefer the cell?"
"No, I don't." She shook away the sleep and the peace and the longing. "I think I'd do almost anything to avoid going back to that beastly little place behind bars." She sighed heavily. "Look, Rolfe, you know and I know: if you're mean and cruel enough to me I'll break down and say yes to anything. You could take that riding crop and do it to me now, I expect."
"I tried that once before. Right at the start."
She had actually forgotten. But it was so. Would her will be less now than it had been when he had whipped her into unconsciousness! Probably not! Then it had been shock giving her oblivion. The darkness would be harder to come by now. She might never reach it. She tried a compulsively recurring theme.
"Rolfe, take me as a slave. It's what you really want-much the best. You like seeing me kneeling here on the floor. I can tell."
"Hell, girl, what man wouldn't like it! I told you: you're magnificent."
"I'll be a good slave to you. I promise." She grinned impishly. 'There, that was a good Victorian pledge. Besides, surely this last hour or so must have proved something."
"It could prove you a consummate actress."
"You don't really believe that." She gazed up at him steadily. "And anyway, you can't lose. If I'm not a good slave to you there's always the whip and the cell. One or the other, or both, would always bring me to heel."
"Dammit, Glynis, have you got a streak of masochism?"
"You know I haven't."
"Sister Amaldis told me she thinks you get hot pants when you're thrashed. There was that classroom."
Glynis could not stem the blush. It flooded down to her neck. 'That is part of what I said thank you for," she admitted slowly. "You have taught me things. Things I didn't know about myself! Things I once would never have believed. That is one of them. I'm ashamed of the way I reacted that day. I can think of reasons but they're just surmise-all those girls...!"
"Why be ashamed?"
Glynis grinned wryly. "Okay, so I'm not ashamed. I'm not really. I suppose that's my real attitude. But don't think I get horny every time I'm thrashed. I don't. You just thrashed me and I didn't."
"Want to bet?" He was laughing at her.
"All right then! So what!"
"I'll thrash you again to test the theory."
"Thank you. Right now, sir?"
"Not immediately. Go and get us both another drink." Glynis Woodhaye took their glasses to the bar and was strangely happy.