Chapter 4
Angelique
I've been the Sensuality Club's pet prisoner more than a year, spending that bit of time with poor Connie brought that fact home and made me feel sorry for her because I know what's ahead of her. She's a lot younger than I and in some ways I think she really is innocent. She's been around but nothing she's ever done will prepare her for what she'll have to do now. You have to do these things, there's no way a girl can refuse unless she wants to get her skin all cut up. Mostly I do whatever I'm told. But sometimes I slip and act naturally and that's why there are always marks on my skin just as there are always handcuffs on my wrists.
I sometimes think the handcuffs are the worst. I've been handcuffed the whole time without a break and I feel as though I don't have hands at all. Very rare is the occasion when I can use my hands for something I want to do, but only with much struggling and wiggling. I've come to understand why the club keeps me this way, it's simply so damned convenient they can't see it any other way. I can't struggle, so I'm ever so easy to handle. And, like I said, after a while you don't even think of resisting. Your hands are behind your back to stay and that's the end of it.
It's sort of cute the way I get passed around. I'm never certain if my new mistress has me for a week or a month, and mostly they refuse to tell. I think that surely there has to be opportunities to escape in this process of rotation where the membership shares me. But even when the passing is happening there's no chance of escape, not ever. I guess this is the reason they grabbed Connie. The whole twenty-five of them insist they can never get me long enough. Now, with Connie safely chained and all, they can own a girl twice as often. The Sensuality Club has it good.
I often think back to when I was a member and when we used to talk about capturing a girl and making her prisoner. It was something to speak of in whispers and with giggles and with a terrible longing. I wish that we had done the same as they did with Connie. I mean, simply kidnapped a girl instead of drawing lots to see which of the members was to lose her liberty. I mean, with that big a membership the chances weren't very heavy. In that time when we were all breathless while making the draw. But it was a secret draw and I was as surprised as anyone when I was later "captured" by my friend Avis. The chosen girl was to be a real prisoner and the members were to pay no attention to any pleas or struggles or protests she might come up with. And when it was necessary to whip her, she's be whipped for sure. I look back at when we made those rules and remember the delight at thinking of us owning a slavegirl under such conditions. It never occurred to me that I would be the slavegirl.
How could any of us have been so crazy. But it was the thrill of wanting to own a girl. And maybe, for some, the thrill of wondering what it would be like to be that girl. I, as did many others, never really thought about being the slavegirl, it just wouldn't happen to me.
Avis was wonderful with me. I couldn't help being resentful and rebellious and feeling fate had been unkind. In those first days and weeks I passionately longed for the freedom I had lost. I still do but it doesn't hurt that bad any more. Young Connie will be going through it now. And, from the way the girls are talking, Connie won't be the last girl they will kidnap. I can see in some of their eyes a glow that says they are looking forward to having a good supply of us to pass around. Just having me this past year wasn't near enough.
I've been completely trained in lesbian lovemaking. Belonging to the Sensuality Club meant that I had to be that way. Well, I was before, but ail the new things I've had to learn since becoming a slavegirl! The girls are sweet about making sure I'm not frustrated, but for themselves it has to be just the way they want. There's been a few "or else's" and they hurt so bad I don't offend twice.
The highlights are the men, and I don't get to pick them. There's just a few of the girls who get a charge out of giving me to a boyfriend of theirs. The general reaction on the part of the man is delight. It really is something to see their faces when they discover me all naked and chained and well aware I have to do whatever they want. And they want quite a few things. In some ways they're worse than girls. I've learned a lot about that, too.
I'm going to escape and one of these men will be the tool I use to get myself free. It won't be easy because the girls have talked about this and are careful. Whenever I'm given to a man they've padlocked a chain to my silver belt. The other end is under the bed or to a ring in the wall and solid enough so that an elephant couldn't pull it loose. Without the key, no man is going to get me loose.
I really am a prisoner and it is not going to be easy. I often wonder if I should feel guilty about wanting to escape but then tell myself that there is nothing wrong with prisoner wanting to escape, it's almost the expected thing. But I also think about the damned awful punishment if you get caught trying to escape. I'm scared of that punishment, it comes in several parts. The first part is to get the letters "S" and "C" branded into my skin with a hot iron. It's the only punishment where the Sensuality Club is that rough on a girl. Regardless of that, there has been no single opportunity in the last year when I could even make a good try. I dream of escape often.
The men who get me as a gift are not all that bad. They only have me for an hour but that's long enough to talk, especially if I try and hurry things along. I've learned those tricks, too! There's only one I think has potential. He belongs to Mary Lipmann, or maybe she belongs to him, however you look at it. He listened to what I have to say and said he understood how I wanted to escape. But he had also heard of the punishment and asked if I wanted to take that risk. When I told him I was willing and pleaded him to get me free of that chain and then carry me away, he said he'd do it. And he laughed at how mad Mary was going to be. The deal was he could own me for a whole month afterwards before setting me really and truly free. He could do what he wanted to me in that time. Both of us knew he was getting a bargain. He's going to make it happen the next time Mary hands me to him as a present. The trouble is I don't know when that will be. The suspense is murder. I've blocked the thought of failure from my mind because if something goes wrong, the girls would be merciless. Especially since they've now got Connie and would want her to learn a lesson from my stupidity. But, anyway, Dorothy's just come home and we've got things to talk about.
"Hello, beautiful, had a good day? I'm pooped.
"If the TV and the book is a good day, then I've had a good day." I do not mention my search for the handcuff key which is something I do every time she's gone.
"You're so beautiful, darling." I get a kiss and a hug and then get turned around so Dorothy can examine my handcuffs and leg irons, which is something the girls are always doing. It's silly but they get a charge out of just looking at my wrists in steel circles and my ankles joined by chain. I'm sure they do it because they have the same feeling as me about how remarkable it is to keep a girl prisoner. They've admitted to me they're scared to death of me getting loose and blowing the whistle. They're sure I would but I'm not sure myself. If I could get free, I'd let it go at that. I will admit, though, to a couple of cute fantasies in which I own the girls who have been really mean, the whip-happy ones who are a lot of fun if only they can forget marking up my skin.
Dinky has served dinner but won't be feeding me tonight. Dorothy has given her permission to run off and meet her boyfriend for a heavy date. So I have to sort of bend forward and sort of lap it up off the plate like a puppy dog. I've gotten quite good at this and no longer get much of a mess on me. Dorothy tried out the idea of putting my coffee in a dish for me to lap up but it got cold right quick and made slurping noises and she stopped that. Through this whole business of eating my hands are busy tugging and pulling at the handcuffs which is something instinctive. A girl needs her hands at times that it seems impossible you can't get them free.
As far as escape goes, Dinky is a lost cause. I repeatedly tempted her with all sort of offers but she just listened and then talks about something else. I think she tells Dorothy about these but Dorothy is a sweetheart and doesn't punish me.
I ask about Connie and Dorothy tells me Connie's been given to Avis the same as I was. She says Connie is doing nicely and they're pleased with her but she'll never be as good as me. When I ask what's so special about me, I'm not so sure the answer is a compliment or not.
"Angelique, my sweet, there are some girls born to be handcuffed and you're one of them. Don't ask me why but handcuffs are as natural on you as that glorious golden head of hair."
I said a polite thank you and add how nice it would be if I could comb my lovely golden hair, but all I get out of that is agreement that it would be nice but Dinky and she would comb and brush it for me.
"Yeah, I sure am!" I go heavy on the sarcasm.
"Well, cheer up, darling, we're having company this evening. It's Nancy Turpin, you like Nancy, don't you?"
"I like her here with you but I'm glad she doesn't get to own me. Sometimes I catch her looking at me in a hungry sort of way and I know she adores my handcuffs."
"Well, what's wrong with that? I adore them, too. I'm sure I often look at you as if I'm starving."
"It's not the same. I feel safe with you, but I'd never feel safe alone with Nancy. You know the kind of things she loves doing."
"We shouldn't begrudge the poor dear a little bit of fun. If she joins the club, you'll belong to her sometime."
"She'd make me scream."
"That's all in your mind, dear. Come on, let's clear the table."
I can actually help so long as I stay away from anything that spills. handcuffs are wonderful but they keep a girl helpless. We did try out my washing and drying the dishes but I'm too slow at that and usually break something. So Dorothy stacks them and leaves them for Dinky.
Nancy Turpin looks good and I'm surprised the club hasn't thought to take her prisoner. I make a mental note to suggest that to Dorothy after Nancy's gone. I'd love to see Nancy fighting handcuffs and kicking at leg irons. Slavegirls get a lot of fantasies like this.
Nancy exudes an air of conscious virtue when she arrives exactly on time. I pick up the usual vibes and shiver inwardly. But we are three girls who love each other so she and Dorothy sit on the couch and I'm told to kneel before them on the rug. That is after I'm stood a while with my feet wide apart so Nancy can get a good look. Dorothy loves showing me off.
"You haven't painted Angelique's nipples," Nancy complains right off. "You know I like them painted."
"We thought we would let you decide the color, Nancy."
Nancy pretends to think about it, "Let's paint her black this time, I think black would be nice."
This is one more thing a handcuffed girl can do. I clink my chained steps to get the things by which our visitor will paint my nipples a color she knows I detest. What girl wants black tits—good gosh!
I don't expect to enjoy the evening. After I back up to hand Nancy the things she wants, I once more kneeled submissively for their approval and I'm told me to move up against Nancy's knees so my breasts almost pressed against her legs and were easy for her to handle. From some place she has produced a soft brush and black paint. I even manage a smile as the brush tickled my nipples, painting them a deep indigo. Then I am told to resume my submissive pose, and allow the paint to dry while Nancy thinks up something else. I'm pretty sure she'll think of something because just having black nipples is fun and doesn't hurt a bit. My two mistresses chat about this and that and Dorothy deliberately includes me in the conversation whenever she thinks I've got something to say. It does not last.
"Dorothy, we're forgetting something," Nancy says. "I like this black on her nipples but don't you think they deserve something more. Would you mind, just to please me?'
Dorothy's glance is a message. Once more I get to my feet for an errand easily accomplished. The spring clips by which a girl's nipples can be hurt can be carried in one hand. Once more I back up to our guest to deliver the beastly little things I wish she hadn't thought of. I then kneel close to offer my black nipples. Even Dorothy's eyes glow while I wish it was Nancy's tits getting the clips instead of mine. I don't struggle or complain because I don't want any more pain than I have to get.
"You have the darling trained so beautifully, Dorothy," Nancy says breathlessly as she rubs my nipples to make them rise. "Angelique is heart-breakingly beautiful the way she obeys and now kneels here without a single peep, even though she knows what I'm going to do. You do know, don't you, Angelique?"
"Yes, Nancy, I know. I'll try and keep still."
Nancy makes a great fuss over doing the job properly, getting the clips so they point up while biting my flesh. It's just a matter of practice and she actually does it very well. With the first bite I can't suppress a gasp and flinch, but I know what's good for me so I now turn enough to invite clip number two and do my gasp and winch all over again. When both my breasts are thus adorned and burning with a fire, I'm told to resume position. The clips bob merrily as I edge back the way I was. My breathing has quickened and I wonder how long Nancy will make me wear the tiny instruments of torture.
I am much admired as I kneel for their enjoyment. I have painted nipples and two burning breasts and am trying hard to make no complaint. I even try to smile when I meet their eyes. There is nothing unusual about this, Nancy does it every time. Now I notice her looking repeatedly at the pubic hair on display, especially so because the approved submissive position includes having my knees spread wide, leaving my sex open. She comes up with what I've been nervous about.
"Dorothy, dear, the girl's got a lovely pussy and it's sort of staring me in the face. What about two more clips, on her pussy lips? She can stand it."
"No! Nancy, you're being greedy."
"It's you who's being stingy," Nancy pouts. "Look how much lovelier I've made her, and she'd be lovelier still with a couple more below."
"No. Nancy, you're a sadist. If you want to go in for torture, get a slavegirl of your own."
"Okay, lend me Angelique for a week. Darling, I wish you would."
"It's against club rules. Nancy, if you love doing things to girls, why don't you join the club?"
"You know perfectly well why, it's too expensive, I can't afford it."
"You could if you saved up like some of the others did."
"Sure, sure, tell me about it! Dorothy, I can't possibly wait that long. Right now if the furnace in my belly gets any hotter, you'll have to call the fire department."
"Don't be silly, Nancy, you know ever well we'll look after that for you, but right now."
Dorothy is not really as upset as she seems.
"How about letting me whip Angelique while I'm waiting?"
Dorothy laughs. "That's forbidden, too, and the poor darling has got quite a few marks on her already."
"Don't be mean!" Nancy really thinks she's being reasonable. "Give me your mildest whip and let me use it on her just a tiny, little bit. Maybe twenty strokes?" Nancy sounds heart-breakingly sincere.
"How would it be you take your clothes off, Nancy, my pet, and let me whip you with your twenty tiny, little strokes. You'd be howling before you'd have the first five."
Nancy relapses into a hurt silence. It won't last long but conveys a strong impression of an ill-used girl. Boy, am I glad I don't belong to her! No matter how still I try to be, the little clips on my nipples jiggle merrily. I love Dorothy for her determination to whip me herself without making my skin available to our guest, who clearly thinks herself hard done by and demands, "Gosh, surely there is something else I can do to this beautiful creature. I'm not hard to please, I'll be quite satisfied with the rack, or caning the soles of her feet, or something. You name it."
"Nancy, you know damned well I don't have a rack, and no one is going to cane the soles of Angelique's feet while I'm around. Caning a girl's soles is bloody awful. How about I do it to you?"
"Funny, funny! Well, seeing as how you're such a skinflint with the dear girl, can I leave her nipples black while she services me? And right now, why don't I rum the clamps to insure they give maximum pain? I think her tits are getting numb."
Well, so much for Nancy!
Dorothy and I laugh about Nancy afterwards. My nipples will remember her for quite a few hours but Dorothy has put the clips away, until next time, and has washed them tenderly to get rid of the black. Because I've had a painful evening, and because Nancy kept me working between her thighs a long time, I'm told my duties are over for the day. Then my mistress services me instead of my servicing her. Dorothy is one of the best of the twenty-five members, and I wish she had me more often. Or always. Maybe putting Connie into circulation will help me. But that is something a slavegirl never knows.
The next afternoon Dorothy is not busy so she takes me visiting.
I've become accustomed to being driven all over the city and country side while sitting in the front seat beside whoever owns me at that time. I no longer see it as a possible escape route, I am fastened far too helplessly for that. And since I start out in my owner's garage and end up inside the garage of whoever we're going to, no one ever sees me. I don't have to even be gagged because with the car windows shut I can yell my head off and no one even looks at me. It's become routine.
Dorothy is having fun with me, we are visiting a man. Despite a few other similar exposures, I blush furiously and try and cover my most female parts with hands I do not have. This is not the first time, but up to now the effect on me has always been the same, I wish the floor would open and swallow me up.
He is personable and no longer a boy. He is taking a full frontal assessment of the things I have and he is interested in. Dorothy introduces him as Tom Fredrick's. He is told I'm available but not for whipping. Tom Fredrick's shrugs as if it does not matter. And I can tell he's seen a lot of naked girls. My blush recedes. Tom Fredrick's is dark, almost Arabic. His voice is very, very male.
"If I can't whip her, then I won't fuck her. I'll do it to you instead. Damn it, Dorothy, you get away with murder."
"Tom, you're dreaming. I'm not available. I'm her to talk investments." Dorothy is not the least bit fazed by the promise and the four letter word.
"Okay, we can go to my office. Do you want this girl kneeling on the floor with us, or do you want we should put her in the cage with Jennifer? Gets her out of the way."
I longed to kick the son of a bitch but girls leg-ironed the way I was never kick anyone. I stood there like a piece of property while they made up their minds the cage would be a nice disposal of a female body Tom Fredrick's said he did not want. We all went down stairs.
The cage was about a third of a largest bare room, partitioned by iron bars from wall to wall. The bars were sturdy enough but were also reinforced by horizontal metal braces about every four feet. There was also a door of bars and braces I wouldn't want to try and open without a key. Jennifer was as naked as I but without restraints. She was clutching a couple of bars and leaning forward against them in a pose I suspected she had been holding a long time. I could tell right away that our arrival was a bright spot in a dull day. Tom Fredrick's unlocked the door and pushed me inside and that was that. Tom Fredrick's and my owner lost no time in leaving us alone, so Jennifer and I stood there inside the cage to stare in curious surmise.
"Has Tom bought you?" For Jennifer the question sounded ominous.
"No, I'm parked while they talk upstairs. You mean Tom Fredrick's bought and paid for you?"
"He gave me five thousand dollars for a month, I mean a month in which he can do anything he wants with me. I've sort of lost track but I think I've been here ten days."
Tom Fredrick's was getting his money's worth in this girl. Jennifer's skin bore whip marks everywhere. When we swapped stories, our captivities proved similar except Jennifer's would end in thirty days while mine went on forever. When I told of the handcuffs and leg irons, Jennifer explained that Tom Fredrick's was a purist who used a special kind of cord only and kept her well tied with it about half the time.
"He always ties me spread-eagle on the bed when he's going to rape me. I guess it does something for him," Jennifer explained. "But he'll tie me to almost anything when he's in the mood and the rest of the time I'm locked in here. If I had only known what I was getting into ... !"
I wanted to hug the poor kid. I could well see how five thousand dollars as bait could get a girl into such a spot.
"The way you've been whipped!" I was shocked. She bore many more marks than I did. "Didn't the bastard tell you about the way men love whipping girls? You can almost figure on it the same as being raped."
"Well, yes he did, and that's what helped me make up my mind," Jennifer said apologetically. "I get five dollars for each streak the cane or the whip puts on my skin. I figured that along with the five thousand I'd be doing real good." Once more the tone of apology. "You see, I'd never been whipped in my life and I hadn't the faintest idea it hurt the way it does. I thought that maybe it would smart or burn a bit but I could easy get an extra hundred a day." She looked at me in search of sympathy. "I was dumb!"
"Is he going to continue whipping you even though you're marked up so bad?"
"I don't know. He never tells me anything."
Damsels in distress have a lot in common besides the marks of whips. I gathered Jennifer had never made a lot of money and the offer seemed real good. Now she was trying to find consolation in Tom Fredrick's promise to tie her up a lot from now on. I had to envy the poor kid because her agony would come to an end in what seemed to me a very short time. But I had to ask, "You sure he'll let you go at the end of thirty days? Is there is chance he'll decide to keep you? Did you leave word with anyone?"
"No, I didn't. I was so ashamed I didn't want anyone to know."
I hadn't the heart to berate the poor girl. And, anyway, behind those bars there was no changing of her mind or going back on the deal any more than my handcuffs or leg irons allowed me. But there was no use getting her upset, and anyway, I had just had an inspiration. "When you get turned loose at the end of your thirty days, will you tell some friends of mine where I am and that I'm being held prisoner?"
"Of course, but what about the police? If you've been kept prisoner the way I see you now for over a year, the police ought to know. Gosh, that club of yours could just as easily kidnap me!"
"Okay, then tell the police. If this Fredrick's guy keeps on whipping you the way he's done, I'd tell the police about him, too."
"I wonder if I should. He's paid me the five thousand and I've put it safe away. If he lets me loose on time and pays for the whippings, I don't really want to get him in trouble. I expect they'd put him in prison for a long time. I did make a deal with him and I haven't been able to break it because he keeps me locked up in this cage or tied on the bed. I just feel guilty about it because I was so silly."
Jennifer puts her arms around me in a sisterly hug. "You can rely on me to do everything possible to get back your freedom. Gosh, to be handcuffed with your feet chained all the rest of your life, it's unreal!"
We left it at that. Two girls locked inside a cage couldn't do anything else.
That evening after she got me home, Dorothy played me the tape.
In pure horror I listened to my voice talking to Jennifer and Jennifer talking to me. That bastard Fredrick's had the cage bugged, and I'd fallen right into the most obvious trap in the world. As the two girlish voices dug our graves deeper and deeper, I felt myself going apart at the seams. I had tried to escape and everyone knew the penalty for that!
When the last words died and Dorothy turned off the recorder my actions were involuntary. I slid to my knees beside her to bury my head in her lap and sob, "I can't bear it, I can't possibly stand that awful punishment." I shed tears shamefully.
"I don't suppose you can, Angelique." Dorothy's voice was saddened. "I would have thought you would have had more sense. Tom told me what he was doing and bet me you'd fall for it. I never dreamed ... ."
Between sobs I asked, "Will Jennifer be branded and all those other things?"
"No, why should she? Jennifer wasn't trying to escape. In fact she came across as a really honorable innocent in abiding by her contract. It was you who wanted out."
"Can you blame me?" I was sniffing and feeling terrible about how I'd gone and wet Dorothy's dress with all that flood of tears.
"No, I suppose I don't. The girls have talked about this very thing and most feel it is unreasonable to expect a prison to not want to escape. That's why the punishment is so server. We don't want a slavegirl to even think of it."
The compassionate fingers were tender in my hair as I sobbed, "It is. it is ... but, Dorothy dear, don't have me branded. Don't let the girls brand me, I couldn't handle it!" I buried my fact deeper into a familiar refuge.
"Tell me why I shouldn't, Angelique?"
"Because I'm frightened and because I couldn't bear that awful pain. I know I'm guilty, I know I did what I'm not supposed to. I know the rules say I'm to be punished." In as absurd and inconsistent wail, I implored, "Please don't punish me, please don't punish me."
We stayed like that a long time, the slavegirl on the rug, her mistress on the couch. One of the old masters would have found inspiration in the picture of a naked slavegirl seeking absolution for her sins. I couldn't fail to note what a tax I was putting on Dorothy in asking her to betray the Sensuality Club. I realized full well I deserved some sort of punishment by that fatal Sensuality Club Code. I muttered, "Couldn't you whip me instead? Dorothy, please whip me. I think I could stand that." I dared not raise my head.
"I won't whip you and I won't brand you," Dorothy said decisively. "I think you've just been a silly girl and acted without thinking. No one but the two of us need hear this tape, and I won't tell. You'd better keep quiet yourself." She chuckled to herself. "I expect you will."
I loved Dorothy to distraction, and, as usual, longed for hands to show that love. Bitterly I condemned myself over and over until Dorothy closed my lips with a gentle hand. "Hush. That's not the Angelique I know, babbling away like a frightened child. You can think yourself lucky for belonging to me when it happened. Some of the others would have had you up on a trial. I don't know if they would have branded you or not but the best you could expect was a ritual whipping on the stage. Connie would have been dragged in to see your punishment. Angelique, darling, it's over, I've forgiven you. Let's not talk of it again. Just tell me that as long as you're my prisoner you'll be a good girl."
"I'll be a good girl."
I now dared raise my tear-stained face to gaze at a girl so merciful I could scarce believe.
We thought it was over but it was not.
The following day Dorothy decided to be busy. She has all these financial affairs I don't know anything about. Mostly she left me to my own devices because handcuffed and ironed the way I am I can't get into any trouble or even dream of escaping. Dinky has been trained so well to rebuff my pleas for help that I'm quite safe. However there are days when Dorothy feels I ought to suffer a little. On those days I get tied up. It happens to me now.
In one of the downstairs rooms, and this isn't a dungeon but just a plain old bare room, there's a metal pole dead center which runs from floor to ceiling and is four inches in diameter. It makes a perfect way to park me for the day. It's already been equipped with two snaps which latch on to my belt and my collar. All Dorothy has to do is back me up and I hear a couple of clicks. That's the end of Angelique until someone comes to unlock me. When my belt is clicked it happens between my forearms and holds my hands a prison even more than they usually are. The click on my neck makes me stand very straight. I can't do much of anything except stand. And what girl wants to stand up for nine hours at a time! Boy, do I ever know what it means to be a nine to fiver, gee whiz!
That's the way I get fixed, beautifully simple and safe. And that's the way I'm going to stand until Dorothy comes home. She acknowledges it as a punishment and says that maybe that it is some sort of punishment for my attempt at escape. I say, "Thank you, darling," and brace myself to suffer.
Having done her worse, Dorothy goes about her own affairs and leaves me wishing I hadn't done whatever it was that got me in this fix. It's terribly lonely and Dinky checking in every couple of hours isn't all that much help. Dinky doesn't linger and doesn't show any sign of letting me loose. Sometimes she brings me a glass of water, but that's the only comfort.
I get so damned tired and so utterly bored. I fought all day the first time, trying to get loose. I still try each time I'm put on the pole but I haven't made any progress. I sometimes cry but there's no one there to see and afterwards I cannot dry my tears. Being a slavegirl isn't all that good a deal.
I don't know what else to call this except punishment. I am bound and can't even see the snaps that hold me. In way of adding punishment, Dinky shows up with a gag she says I have to wear for the rest of the afternoon. I point out there is no one to talk to and I'm not screaming, so why bother? But I might as well save my breath, Dinky makes me open my mouth and clamps the horrible thing on my tongue. It's not one of the balls, it's some kind of metal clamp that fills my mouth and holds my lips closed tight. The metal inside even holds my tongue! It's horrible! The only sounds I can made are sad moans. Four hours later Dinky checks on me. I moan at her but she ignores it. I would have promised to get down on my knees and lick her sex feverishly if she would only get that damned gag out of my mouth. But I can't tell her that and she pats my left breast with her wonderfully free hand and goes away.
I long to scream.
When Dorothy comes to unfasten me, I go into a act I'm always ashamed of afterwards. I fall to my knees in outrageous gratitude. After all, it was this woman who put me there in the first place. Then I thrust my face into the legs, my mouth just about where it could offer tribute to this woman if she had her clothes off. Afterwards we go to dinner.
Dorothy, I think, loves that little scene where I get very humble.
The days pass by, bringing boredom, discomfort and occasional pleasure in my mistress' bed. Sometimes the discomfort is really much more. There is the Pit. The Pit is very simple. It is simply a hole in the floor in which a girl is lowered so that her chin is just above the surface. There is a wooden plank in two parts, like a stock, which encloses my neck. There is a lock that holds the halves together and the whole thing to the floor. There I stand, my naked body below and out of sight, and my head above the floor level. What a strange perspective one gets looking up at the world from the floor! How helpless it makes one feel! It's horrible.
I asked Dorothy what happens with any girl who is not a slave and isn't handcuffed and leg-ironed when she's put in this hole. She says sometimes she's just left free but naked under the wood, she can't get out, and sometimes she is tied so very tight that it is a punishment. I don't know the gleam in her eyes as she says that. This is a punishment but I guess it could be worse. I could be one of those girls who is tied tightly with cord and left in the Pit for hours. Since the Pit is in the basement, any cries or screams would not get out of the house. I can imagine how horrible it would be to be so bound and left alone. Perhaps in the dark. Perhaps even gagged. I shutter at the helplessness.
You get so terribly tired and there's not a thing you can do. You can't move enough to ease the aches. After a while the wood chaffs your neck. It's one of those cases where a girl would like to play with herself simply as an act of desperation to fight the endless hours. But I can't do that, I can't do anything. I've tried pulling one hand around to my front, straining the fingers towards my sex, hoping that I can perhaps reach it just enough to tease the right spot. But I fail. I can't even reach my breasts. The only stimulation I can generate is to grab my own ass and squeeze. That helps some but is not enough to bring a blessed orgasm, it only makes my hornier.
Dinky does sometimes stay a little while when I'm in the Pit. She goes to the wall and pulls a lever. The first time I stood in fear of water filling the pit or an electric shock or some other painful occurrence. None of them happened. But suddenly my foot was aware of motion. Something was on my foot, something alive.
"It's mice," Dinky explains kindly. "There's seven of them. You'll have so much fun."
She leaves. Perhaps my screams and pleas were bothering her ears. Every girl knows the reason she's so scared of the little furry animals. We're scared they'll run up our legs and then into our sex. I don't suppose that's even possible but the fear is there. Our imaginations tell us we've got a wide open part of us that attracts mice. We know it can't be true but it's still terrible.
I stand there, frozen with fear, as the small rodents tease and tickle my skin with their tiny whiskers. I dare not stamp on the creatures for fear that I wouldn't kill them and they would attack. For a long time they content themselves with crawling over my feet and terrifying me. After a long while I realize that there has been no contact with them. Perhaps they have grown bored and escaped back up the passage that Dinky opened. Dorothy and Dinky finally come to hoist me up to a world that has no mice.
Dorothy laughed the whole thing off, saying mice never ate girls, so what was I worrying about. I didn't argue because I was so grateful to be out of the Pit.
For Dorothy I was a delightful pet, in the true manner of the Sensuality Club's concept of the girl they would pass from hand to hand. Mostly we loved each other the way girls do. But now and then her conscious would bother her and she would feel that she had to punish me somehow to keep a proper balance. We talked and laughed about it but couldn't think of a better way for a mistress to treat her slave so that's the way it was. I never enjoyed the punishments she imposed but I knew they could be one hell of a lot worse. I simply put up with them. I wished Dorothy could have kept me always.
After the Pit and Mouse affair, Dorothy and I had several days of girl-girl stuff without any problem. It was wonderful until she thoughtfully said one evening, "I really should do something to you, darling. I'm spoiling you rotten. I'd like to clip you to the post again, you look so sweet standing like that. Would you like that?"
"I don't want anything," I say firmly. "But I know I'm going to get something. What's it going to be? Standing at the post all day is a drag."
"I'm not suppose to let you have a thing to say about it, Angelique my sweet. But suppose I let you stay in the pillory. I can't put your head and hands in the way they ought to be because your hands are behind your back. But you can certainly stand there with your head in the yoke." She giggled, "You'd stand and stand and stand."
"Thanks. I'd prefer the cage."
I knew half of this was a tease and the other half deadly serious. Dorothy was enjoying every moment and studying my face for reactions. "It's so difficult," she said, "coming up with something different every time. Don't you have some ideas?"
"How about locking the long leash under my bed on my collar and letting me sleep?"
"That's impertinence and I'll remember it. Look, darling, I just had the cutest notion. How would it be I put a knock in that hair of yours and ran a rope from it up to the ceiling so you just simply stand? I'll give Dinky orders to give your bottom a good, hard spank every hour just so you won't be bored. I think this one's rather sweet."
I hate having my hair mussed up but I have to agree with Dorothy. I'm going to get tired and ticked off with anything she does to me but standing isn't too bad and I guess I can put up with Dinky's swatting my bottom now and then. The most I could get that way would be eight strokes. Even with a whip, that wouldn't be too bad. Not compared to a regular whipping. I catch Dorothy's amused eye and say simply, "Thank you very much."
I stood still while my hair was tied into a knot with the rope inside. Dorothy then hoisted it up to tug at my scalp. She then kissed me and off she went.
I stood there feeling untidy. Standing is bad any way you look at it. If you're tied up, the ropes give a bit of support but with my hands in handcuffs all I could do was stand.
I could move my arms and legs as much as ever. Not to any purpose but enough to stop being cramped and aching. I would suffer fatigue and Dinky's hourly visit which turned out to be with a cane in hand. Gloomily I was looking forward to each visit just to break the terrible boredom. She had me strung up taut enough so I couldn't take a step in any direction without my scalp crying out. After a while I just stood there, meekly and passively but not with my head bowed. There was no way I was going to bow my head!
Dinky seemed very slow in coming. Dinky was always bright and cheery, "You ready for me to cut your pretty ass with this cane, Miss Angelique? I aims to give it all I got."
Under Dinky's watching eyes I stuck out my bottom as best I could. Not that I wanted to, but she insisted. It didn't go any good to the pain in my head from pulled hair but that didn't seem to matter to her. Dinky was very happy and I suspected she had been wanting to do this a very long time. I heard a swish before everything below my waist was consumed by flame. When the fire died down, I stood up and said a meek, "Thank you. Dinky."
"You're very welcome, Miss Angelique." Dinky patted my sore bottom then went away to leave me standing unhappily and trying to reach the strip I had just acquired.
That was my day, weariness and frustration and boredom to a point where I was actually grateful for the mark Dinky placed on my skin once an hour. I got my eighth stroke just minutes before Dorothy's return and was striving to massage my pain when she burst in upon her punished prisoner and I knew right away something bad had happened. Without releasing me she kissed and clutched as though she was the victim and not I. Her arms felt so good, so very good.
"Angelique, darling, something's happened. The club's got itself a new member and she's been given permission to possess you for the next two weeks. She's coming to take delivery after dinner tonight. Oh, darling, I'm so terribly sorry!"
"I suppose I was about due to be passed on," I say unhappily. "What's her name?"
"It's Nancy Turpin!"