Chapter 6
Fetters in Fragments
From the first moment I was locked in the little cage Nancy and I did everything wrong. Boy, did we ever! It didn't take me very long to get good and mad with that little prison in which I had to sit all hunched up and unable to stretch anything. By evening I would be a sad little slavegirl indeed. I was pretty sure Nancy hadn't the faintest idea how terrible these punishments can be. For her they were a fun thing and I was a pretty prisoner, or more likely a pet who had nothing to say about anything.
I was feeling really sorry for myself by the time I heard the heavy footsteps and the policeman walked in.
He stared at me in disbelief. I think I stared back, also in disbelief. It was a minute before either of us said a thing.
My first reaction was relief. Here was the Law and freedom was ahead. But that feeling turned to horror when I realized I was naked in a cage before this male. Perhaps he thought I was crazy. But most of all I was thinking of Nancy and how the two of us could possibly wiggle out of this.
"You are Miss Angelique Martin?" he finally found his voice.
"Yes, I am. Would you please get me out of here?"
"I am acting on a complaint made by a Miss Jennifer Seabright. She states you have been kidnapped?"
He is staring at me in a fearful manner. He have to realize how queer this whole thing must look. I mumbled, "I suppose you could call it that. Would you mind getting me out of here?"
I then experienced a miracle. He had a bunch of keys and I was soon standing up. For a girl used to being naked, I was generating a fine blush. He then turned his attention to the keys and unlocked the handcuffs I'd worn for more than a year. I didn't tell him that because I wasn't sure what was best. The uniform seemed doubtful. My policeman was reserving judgment. He also removed my leg irons.
My spirits danced to a tune of "Free, free, free!"
For brief moments I was happy as I stretched all of my limbs. Then his comment brought me back to earth.
"You've been restrained a long time?"
"Well, yes, quite a while."
"Against your will?"
"Well, in a way."
"You are being evasive, Miss Martin."
"I'm not accustomed to being naked with a policeman. Would you mind if I found some covering?"
"There's a female officer upstairs, she will deal with you. Do you wish to sign a complaint against Miss Nancy Turpin?"
"Good gosh, no! Why would I do that!"
"She has been keeping you prisoner, isn't that reason enough?"
I was mixed up and sure the poor guy had to think me nuts over the way I was using and stretching my legs and arms. But the way the cop was acting told me of dangerous ground either for Nancy or myself, or both of us. Stupidly, I told him, "Nancy is my friend and this isn't what you think is it. Thanks for getting me out of that cage, but if you'll now just run along ... ."
He did not run along. He took my arm and led me upstairs.
The first thing I saw upstairs was Nancy's anguished eyes. I realized the poor darling was seeing her future in the context of fifteen years behind bars. The policewoman all too obviously disapproved of both of us and barked at her sidekick, "Damn it, O'Brien, did you find her in bed?"
"No, in a cage. Cuffed and leg-ironed." He turned to Nancy. "Are there any clothes around?"
"She doesn't need any, she's not going out." Nancy wasn't thinking too quickly.
"That's what you think. I'm arresting you on a charge of kidnapping and taking Miss Martin along to straighten out her story, it's full of holes."
It was all unreal. I heard the girl reading out all that silly stuff about rights. Nancy kept trying to say something but the words wouldn't come out. But the worse thing was when Nancy was turned around she was handcuffed behind' her back, I could see she was scared out of her wits. And I wasn't feeling all that secure myself.
"Nancy is my friend," I blurted out. "I won't sign a complaint."
"In that case we'll take you along, too, as an accomplice."
"You have no right to take me anywhere, I haven't done anything."
They read me my rights and I knew the woman enjoyed every moment. In her eyes my being naked damned me utterly. The real heart-break was when they produced another pair of handcuffs and locked my wrists behind my back! I was so anguished I could cry.
The policeman insisted that I should be clothed before being taken to the station house. When I admitted I didn't have any clothes to put on, my credibility sank even lower. They found a blanket they draped around my neck and marched to two of us to their car, leaving Nancy's home unoccupied worried them not at all.
The station staff absorbed Nancy and she disappeared from my sight. A kidnap charge was nothing much but a naked girl was great news. I kept losing my blanket to the delight of my fans. We didn't lose our handcuffs until the desk sergeant was through with us.
I made such a fuss about the way I was being treated that I was allowed to occupy the same cell as Nancy. Then they took us to make that one phone call that prisoners are allowed. I phoned Dorothy and when it came her turn, Nancy phoned Avis.
Then we sat on the silly little cot inside the cell and went to pieces, clutching each other for security. It was a bad moment and I wouldn't want to live it over.
Wealth is wonderful! It is doubly wonderful if it also carries a respected name. Dorothy and Avis, and in fact the whole Sensuality Club, descended upon that station in an avalanche of feminine fury. We were extracted from our cell: Once more I knew the very acme of happiness as forms were signed. Nancy was probably more relieved than I when we were escorted out in public by a huge crowd of friends. I was still clothed in a blanket but didn't mind.
It was at this point I should have had more sense but I loved everyone and everything, and was so damned glad to be back among loving arms and hot lips that I wasn't thinking straight. I allowed myself to be ushered into one of the cars and shared an excitement at the prospect of a steak dinner the girls had arranged at Sardo's Restaurant. I couldn't feel more loved. With all this wonder I simply stopped thinking.
The girls brought me clothes which I donned in the car. They also did their best with my hair. Hair is important to a girl. When we marched into Sardo's I was one of the bunch and happier than I had ever been.
There were cocktails and I knew the pure glory of raising the glass to my lips with my own hands. Filled with love of life, I gulped whatever drinks were put before me without thinking. The food was wonderful, and I think my happiness must have been infectious for I was treated as royalty.
I think I was more than a little drunk.
I think I told them how I loved Jennifer. And Nancy Turpin. And Dorothy. And Avis. And ... and ... .
I might have noticed shrewd glances between Sensuality Club members had I been more under control. There was wine with dinner. There were after dinner drinks. And then we were finished and I couldn't care less about anything.
You know how it is when you've had one too many. The world doesn't quite right and you see life as fragmented scenes, like switching channels on a TV. The next thing I remember is a continuation of our party in the home of Isabel Travis. It all built up to a climax in which Avis held up a pair of handcuff of a beautiful gold color.
"These are for you, Angelique darling, we want to show our appreciation for everything you've been to us. Come here and turn around."
It was as if someone had poured cold water over me. I had been so happy but was now looking at a pair of metal cuffs that spelled imprisonment. I wanted no part of it and told them so in no uncertain way. "You know what you can do with those," I said. "I'm a free girl and I'm going to stay free."
There was a shocked silence. I don't know why, what else could they expect. But I had to realize almost every girl in the place had owned me at one time or another and would forever see me in handcuffs and a pet for their pleasure.
They stared at me. I stared at them.
"But you're a slavegirl, darling, don't be difficult." It was Avis.
"That's all behind me. You've got Connie and I'm sure you can get someone else. I've had enough."
It was now Betty Harmon who held the golden handcuffs and mounted the little platform to hold them out invitingly. "Come, Angelique, darling, we want to make a little ceremony out of giving you these, you know, the return of the lost sheep to the fold, to the arms of those who love her very much."
The love was there, true, I loved every one of them, even those who had been unkind to me with the whip. But freedom was a drug, a need I could not deny. The thought of returning to slavery was something I simply could not contemplate. I looked toward the door and could not fail to see the three girls standing firmly before it. Falling back upon basics, I said simply, "I won't do it. Let me go free."
I don't know at just what moment I made my lunge towards the door. But it was too little, too late. Frantically I punched and clawed and kicked. Within a minute I was flat on my face with enough girls standing on my back to crush an elephant. Someone gathered up my arms and called for the handcuffs. Then there was clicks and I was a prisoner again. A slave. A slavegirl in the hands of twenty-six owners. When they got off me I lay upon the rug, sobbing my heart out. I knew my wrists were handcuffed behind my back forever.
When I ceased to cry, I was escorted to the stage and turned around and around for everyone to witness the repossession of the slavegirl they adored. By that time I had ceased to care and all I wanted was to die.
Regardless of my feelings, the club was determined to have its ritual occasion. One of them stood beside me to tell the audience that I would not suffer the normal punishment for attempted escape because I had been taken from Nancy by a policeman, and hadn't had much to say about any of it.
While I stood there, disgusted with myself and the world, she hammered home the point that I had been a willing participant in the drawing in which my name had been picked to be a prisoner of the Sensuality Club for life. I had done this with my eyes open and with full knowledge of all entailed.
I looked down at the membership without hope.
Perhaps my new golden handcuffs were more pleasing to the eye but they felt the same as had the old pair I wore for a year. That pair was probably still at the police station. I didn't think anyone would walk in to claim them.
I was bitter and sad and hopeless. But what could I do? This was the same as I had been in before my all too brief freedom. I knew I could do nothing.
The ritual was only half complete. I looked at the lovely golden shackles in delight. I know that sounds silly but they were beautiful. I listened as we were all told how this gorgeous replacement for my lost leg irons had been created especially for a slavegirl they all loved. There were none of the adjustments needed, these bands were made for my ankles only and fit snugly. I thought that perhaps the span of links joining the golden bands was a little shorter than my original ones but dared not protest. They were truly beautiful and I was told that once locked on my ankles they could not be removed with a key but needed a slender piece of steel to insert in a tiny slit. The snap that closed each band around my ankle could be heard around the silent room.
It was at that point Nancy Turpin chose to raise her hand to propose a motion, a motion to amend the rules to allow any mistress to removing the handcuffs from a slavegirl if it was necessary to have her hands before her for a certain punishment. The motion passed.
I thought that was the end of it but one more announcement was to be made to the effect that the slavegirl known as Angelique was hereby removed from the cared of Miss Nancy Turpin and placed in the care of Miss Mary Lippman for an indefinite period pending the obtaining of a fresh girl to bring the Sensuality Club's inventory of slaves up to three. I heard this piece of news without interest, knowing their use of the word "obtaining" meant kidnapping. My main concern was with Mary Lippman and her presenting me as a gift to Tom Fredrick's, who would really and truly take me into freedom. With that fresh hope I clattered my steps back and forth across the stage. Everything was back to normal.
"That new girl, Nancy Turpin, had the right idea. I'd thought of it long ago but never figured it would pass," Mary said as she stood back to view me with approval. "It's a lovely pose and you can stay that way all day, darling. I'm not going to be too mean but you do deserve something. I don't think you realize how lucky you are. We've let you off the main penalty for an escape attempt."
I sniffed and wrinkled my nose at my new mistress before looking up at the golden handcuffs with my wrists inside tethered above my head from a chain from the ceiling. As usual there was nothing I could do about anything and I would spend this first day of a long imprisonment standing up. "I didn't try to escape," I retorted. "Everything just happened and I never did get free."
"Yes you did, you were free all through dinner and then again at the party. We'll all been kind and then you go and do that dash for the door. It took six of us to hold you down."
"It was only four, it wasn't six, and I've got as much right to freedom as anyone. Now I'm a prisoner all over again and it just isn't fair. Do you have to hoist my arms like this?"
"Don't beef, it's a nice little punishment that won't do you a bit of harm. Tomorrow I'll give you something else. After that I may be nice. Maybe. I just love to hug and kiss and play with you but you don't deserve it so you can just stand like that and think about how lucky you are."
"Lucky?"
"Dear," she purred, "I should be whipping the hell out of you. And branding your skin, too!"
I gulp and shut up. Mary leaves me alone.
I'm always watching someone go and leave me in some sort of jackpot. It seems strange to be able to see the handcuffs that hold my wrists prisoner. I'm so used to having my hands behind my back.
All I can think of is that I should have made my escape when I was allowed to walk out of the police station. Or in the restaurant. None of the girls had thought to handcuff me and I was totally free to fight or run. I suppose it shows how much of a hold the club has on me. How much affection flows back and forth. I guess I never made a break because I really loved all the girls and was feeling such gratitude for them rescuing them from jail. Being the prisoner of the club is one thing, but that horrible jail cell and the cold, impersonal way they handle you is another.
Jennifer Seabright is the real heroine of the whole piece. And nobody even knows her except me. I wish she'd phoned those names I gave her instead of going to the police. Then my freedom might have lasted more than a few hours. I guess it was easier to phone the cops. If the policeman hadn't found me in that awful little cage, that might have helped, too. The poor guy looked so shocked to see me all curled up inside that wire mesh, far worse than if he simply found me walking around the house with Nancy and my arms behind my back. It's hard not to rehash the events over in my mind, but what's the use. I wish I could ask Mary about Tom Fredrick's. What I have to do now is wait for something that may never happen. In a way I'm back to square one.
This punishment isn't so bad. But, of course, I'm not tired yet and I'm sure to get good and tired before Mary lets me loose. There's one thing about this new idea of unlocking my hands for punishment, it gives me a few moments of a sort of half freedom which, if I pluck up enough courage, I might use to get the best of whatever girl owns me at the time. I can't really see this happening because the punishment would be really bad. But it's an intriguing thought and this evening when Mary lowers my hands and changes my handcuffs from front to back there'll be another chance. Oh, shit! I'll never, never dare!
I wonder if I'll ever get to say thank you to Jennifer Seabright. I may never see her again but she really did try to help and I have to be grateful for that even if it didn't work out. Poor Jennifer, I wonder how many whip marks she collected and if she's happy spending the money.
It's noon before Mary comes by with a cup of coffee. I'm so tired standing with my arms up in the air, and so glad of her company I forget all the lovely sarcasms I've planned all morning. But my suggestion of a coffee break in which I get to use my hands for a few minutes is ignored. She lifts the cup to my lips and I drink which she says how nice it is to have me back in all my nakedness and she's wondering if she should whip me just a little or is my skin marked up enough already. I keep silent. I'm a slave.
There's a wooden box in the bare room where Mary makes me stand. She sits down and chats about club affairs but it's hard for me to remember that I'm a member and would have a vote if I weren't always a prisoner. She goes on excitedly about having a third slavegirl along with Connie and me. Not that she needs another slavegirl but all the girls get a thrill out of snatching the chosen one from her life and into their possession. We debate as to whether this unique concept goes on anywhere else in the world.
Standing like this is horrible when Mary leaves me alone. I can't ease any part of myself beyond standing first on one leg and then the other. I can take some of the weight with my hands on the chain but the handcuffs hurt and I have to cease. I just stand and stand and stand. If only I'd run away when I had the chance.
Mary visits me more and more in the afternoon. I expect that's to check how I'm holding up under the strain. I know she wouldn't want me to lose consciousness and hang by my handcuffs. I repeat to myself regrets over not taking the chance and running when I had the chance.
But then, if I failed, I'd get the letters "SC" branded into my skin! And that idea scares the hell out of me.
I wished Mary loved me enough to let down my arms. She claimed openly that she and all the other girls loved me. But my arms remained over my head and I hurt. All I could do was try to look sad enough to touch her heart. But Mary had owned me before and knew my standard tricks. I was ignored except for one look that clearly said tricks like that would do me no good and might even get me additional punishment.
I stood out my day until dinner but for the last hour of what I could only see as a punishment but Mary says is not bad enough to be a punishment. For a while she sat on the box and talked of many subject, not the least of was what she should do with me the following day. I was invited to offer ideas on suitable punishments, just as though we were talking about some third party.
"I had doing the same old things over and over, you know. All I really want is a nice humiliating discomfort like you're suffering today. Is that too much to ask? Just a playful little game to keep you wishing you hadn't done what you did. See what I mean?"
"How about just tying me in a cage so I could sit down. You could tie me tight so I'd be uncomfortable?"
"And with clips on your nipples?"
"I don't remember mentioning that."
"Well, I suppose we could forego the clips. At least for all day. Perhaps now and then for ten or twenty minutes, just to give you a change of pace. But, goodness knows, you're experienced enough to take them all day. Come on, help me out."
"How about the Chinese Water Torture?"
"I know that one but it takes too long to become effective. What on earth made you think of that?'
"I suppose it is because water doesn't leave marks. How about that one arm and one leg stand?"
"That's too severe, darling, go easier on yourself. Good gosh, if I go on like this I'll be letting you spend the day in bed."
"I think that would be nice if you were with me."
"With you doing all the work?"
"Sure, I'll do all the work. I know you think I've been a bad girl and deserve the frustration. I'll make you happy."
"With the chain around your middle so you can't wander off while I'm asleep?"
"I don't mind. Whatever you wish."
"That reminds me, do you remember that guy I gave you to that other time, Tom Fredrick's?"
"I remember all my punishments."
"I wouldn't exactly call Tom Fredrick's a punishment. He's never a punishment with me and you look damned good and starry eyed after he left. If you ask me nicely perhaps I'll let him have you for two hours instead of one."
"You mean he's coming again?"
"I think he'll be here next week. I've a good mind to tell him to give you a really bad time. Would you like that?"
"Yes!"
I hoped the single word kept my secret. What Mary told me set my heart to thumbing and my hopes to soar. I hadn't achieved freedom at the party but perhaps fate was giving me another chance! Carelessly I said, "Please don't let him whip me. I only want to be whipped by girls, I hate getting myself marked up by a man."
Before lowering my arms, Mary went behind me. I don't know where she got that whip from but suddenly my bottom blazed into flames and a startled gasp escaped from my mouth. It was only a single stroke but it hurt. She must have swung with all her strength.
It was a silly game but at least we were loving each other. A single stroke, even a hard one, is tolerable. I did not protest. In fact, I thanked her as sincerely as I could.
That's what it's like to be a slavegirl.
"Feel better Angelique?"
"Yes, Mary, thanks a lot. That bit of freedom got me spoiled and I'm glad it's you who is putting me back into my place. That really hurt."
"I'm so glad, dear. Would you like another?"
"Oh no, oh please no!" I wailed. Then I realized I was being teased. Looked up at the golden handcuffs that kept me standing where I was and wondered if Tom Fredrick's would free me from them.
Mary seemed to have decided tomorrow. "You might have been a new experience for Nancy Turpin, darling," she said, "how was she as a mistress?"
I had to think about that one but did the best I could. "It's like that old proverb about the month of March, she came in like a loin and went out like a lamb. Poor Nancy wanted very much to hurt me but felt guilty about it. She was like someone who constantly reaches out then pulls back. Putting me in that tiny cage was one of the worse things she did. But that policeman rescued me after I'd only been there an hour or so. I think she's one of those cases who needs to whip a girl half to death at the start and then they would be friends forever every afterwards. Does that make any sense?'
"Anything that gets you good and properly whipped make good sense, darling. I'm not nearly as severe as I should be, darling, and all the other girls would be disappointed with me if they knew how kind I was with you. Suppose I stop pussy-footing and really give you a good thrashing tomorrow? That's a good idea."
It's an idea I want her to forget so I quickly offer the first thing that comes into mind, "Wouldn't you sooner tie me tight into a kitchen chair and put the clips on my nipples? I'd look ever so pretty but I wouldn't enjoy it the least. I hate my nipples being hurt."
Mary let the subject drop to return to Nancy Turpin. "I never really felt sure about Nancy," she confessed slowly. 'To begin with, she really doesn't have all that much money. I think money is important when it comes to owning a girl. What I mean is that, if you've never had much money, you feel sorry for the poor creature. Because we took you away from her, we're presenting her with young Connie for a week, and I'm wondering if she'll kill the poor girl or spend the entire week with her in bed. What do you think?"
"Somewhere between the two, Nancy is a compromiser."
Our conversations drifted on to other subjects. I constantly looked up in longing at the hands chained up above my head. But my mistress refused to bit. In fact, she told me at one point to stop it or she would get the cane. She expressed the idea that I needed a good caning just on general principles. "How does it feel when you sit down, darling?"
"Just normal, I don't feel anything."
"In that case you need the cane. I should always keep you tender where you sit, you need it."
I didn't argue, I was getting terribly tired and knew if Mary caned me one more time I'd be in tears. Finally she announced it was five o'clock and let down my arms to allow me to slump to the floor. It was gorgeous to let the arms down. I thanked her.
I was handcuffed in front and Mary said I could stay that way through dinner so I wouldn't have to be fed. It was wonderful. Once more my gratitude was sincere. It was one of the nicest dinners I have ever had, and the girl who owned me and I laughed every time I clinked the golden handcuffs as I plied a knife and fork or raised a glass.
But I pressed my luck. "Wouldn't it be nice," I suggested, "if my hands were always in front? Then I could do much more. I mean, it saves you so much trouble."
"That questions," she replied sweetly, "evokes visions of an Angelique being punished."
"Well, I was just trying to be helpful." I felt my skin crawling in slavegirl fear. "I'm sorry if I offended, I didn't mean to."
"All right, all right! Tell me where your hands do belong."
I know Mary is too lazy to punish me this time. Obediently I respond, "My hands belong behind my back, Mary."
That was that. After coffee my hands were changed to behind me, and I was once more at square one. I wished the lovely chains on my ankles were not so beautiful so I could hate them but they were very beautiful indeed. Damn it! I couldn't hate anything!
That night Mary was extra special nice to me in bed.
As is common with mistresses, Mary ignored my suggestions of punishments for the next and chose one of her own for me to put up with. It was that deal where a girl stands on a box with her back against a low partition of plywood and gets her hands and arms thrust over the top and tied down tight so the edge of the thick plywood sticks into her armpits. When the box is removed the girl's weight is almost totally on her armpits. Except whatever she might find if her toes can reach the floor. It was much worse than yesterday. When she yanked the box from under me I know I was in for a bad, bad day.
"You look too beautiful for words, standing there like that, darling," she sighed.
"I'm not really standing, I'm hung up here and it hurts."
"Don't be picky, Angelique. Your armpits are being hurt today because it's a part of you that usually gets away scot free. Be thankful it's not your pussy on that wooden edge. Would you rather that?" I am not thankful for anything but do not say so. I can't move at all except to kick chained feet and that hurts. I hope I look as nice as Mary says but I doubt it
Mary's fingers tease my nipples as she explains, "I absolutely have to do something to you, Angelique, my pet. I don't think you've been decently punished for a long time and I'm concerned with that attempted escape of yours. Have a nice day."
The last thing I want is to see Mary go. I want to explain how. terrible this is and that I can't possibly bear it, but my words die in my throat as she disappears. I think this is a punishment a girl would have to experience to judge it's awfulness as my armpits settle onto the edge. My shoulders are quickly aching and I know it will grow only worse. I try not to move, it hurts too much.
My pussy gets in on the act. Damn thing warms up and send tingles into my body. I don't know why that is when the rest of me is aching, but there it is. Maybe it's because I haven't have this punishment before and my sex considers me attractive female as I hung plastered to the board over which my arms are drawn. My wrists are still handcuffed and make their own complaint. I feel sure it will be an interesting day.
This punishment causes my breasts to stick out. Looking down at them, I am stricken by a terrible fear that Mary will succumb to the obvious and put clips on the nipples. That's the trouble with being a slavegirl, you see everything that's negative and likely to hurt. Mary is a sweetheart and I excuse her giving me this agony because she probably doesn't know just how bad it is. When she comes back, if she ever does, I'll tell her for sure.
A punished slavegirl has so much time to think she tends to envision horrors that never will really come to pass. But the horrors are really possible and she hopes her mistress won't think of them and make them real. The clips upon my nipples, for example, When Mary returns I try to tell her graphically how awful this position is, but I can tell she doesn't agree and finds me inviting without my arms being usable or even in sight. Instead of putting the clips on my nipples she kisses them both and goes away to leave me still hanging against the plank. This is the worst possible torture she could impose. I wonder if she know!
I don't get the clips, I don't get anything except occasional visits from Mary who thinks I am putting on a show of pretend agony for her benefit. She finds me a beautiful creation as I hang against that board with my toes reaching for the floor. I can't really blame Mary but it is not one of my better days. When she frees me in late afternoon, I slump helplessly to the floor and shed enough tears to float a battleship.
The next day I revert to being only a companion to a rich and pampered young woman who keeps my arms handcuffed behind my back. All is as it should be and I'm sure the Sensuality Club would bestow their seal of approval on a punished slave and her benevolent mistress.
As yet Mary has not whipped me. The days slip by and I am as happy as a handcuffed girl can be. Mary forgets punishment and I carefully avoid them by being as good a slavegirl as I can be. I am aware that somewhere forces are at work to affect my future. But for now I can only cherish them and hope. Tom Fredrick's is out there somewhere. And Jennifer is there, too. I have to wonder if perhaps she might try against to free me. Ah, the fantasies by which slavegirls pass the time.
Finally there comes the day when Mary tells me that tomorrow Tom Fredrick's will visit and that she will present me to him. She thinks it is a punishment but I know better!
When events are favorable they move swiftly. When agony is in the cards they move slowly. It is as though for a gala event that Mary takes me to the chosen room with its waiting bed and chains my middle with an impressive padlock.
"Just so he can't steal you away, darling. Never trust a man."
I stand there, trembling, fearfully secured. This is the moment I have cherished for a long, long time.
The moments lengthen and I stand there trembling, the chain padlocked around my waist, to await The Male. I wonder what Tom Fredrick's will do to me in those thirty days which are his reward for my freedom. I finger the chain and padlock doubtfully, they are heavy and very strong. Will the tools he brings be enough? Poor, darling Mary, she will be devastated when he carries me downstairs.
Enough time passed that I have to wonder. It is not long before Mary bursts in to bring me up to date.
"Something's gone wrong, Angelique, darling. I don't know what it is. I've had to cancel Tom Fredrick's because the Sensuality Club wants me to deliver you right now to Dorothy's place." She looks at me with anguished eyes. "Don't ask me what's happened, darling, because I simply don't know. But I feel it's bad. They picked Dorothy's place because she's got that room with the little stage. Come along, I'm curious."
My chain and padlock are swiftly dealt with. I do not ask about Tom Fredrick's because it is possible Mary already knows, and this is the cause of the flap. Even as I sit beside Mary on the car ride, my ankles tied tight enough to hurt, we can only debate possibilities, we do not know. I wish I could stop trembling.
Dorothy's place evokes a lot of tender memories. But the Sensuality Club's pretty well taken it over and the place seems filled with excited girls who look at me in a way I can't read. They are warm in their greetings to Mary. I am swiftly put up on the little stage and told to stand her, facing the audience. Dorothy is nowhere to be seen.
My ankles were untied so I am able to shuffle my feet as I stand there awkwardly. I do not try to talk to anyone. I feel very naked. I get a bad, bad feeling about this.
It is not long before the little theater fills. The membership is all there and I see familiar faces, none of which smile back. It soon turned out that a couple of the huskier girls have been appointed as guards and they come up on the platform with a gag, the sort of gag I detest. When it is firmly strapped in my mouth I won't be making any speeches so I wonder why I'm on the platform. They leave me alone up there.
With a shock to stop my heart, I see a naked girl coming towards the platform. This is Dorothy's house but here is Dorothy herself, stark naked between two large girls, with her wrists handcuffed behind her back. She is also gagged the way I'm gagged so when they march her up the stairs and stand her by my side we can't communicate. We only exchange looks of agony with our eyes.
I am eaten with curiosity and Dorothy obviously wants to tell me something. But the tight straps in our mouths keep us silent. I am not kept in doubt for long—it is now a courtroom with one of the club's favorite members standing trial. And their favorite slavegirl! Each of us is represented by one of the members who carries up a chair to stand behind while she espouses our cause. These two actually have notes they refer to while the atmosphere becomes tenser. It is a gala day for the Sensuality Club! The crime is treason and even though we seem to be already convicted our console will pled our case while we stand mute. If is all very official and I'm sure they are loving every minute of it.
Dorothy and I keep looking at each other in bleak distress and I have to wonder at her sensations at standing naked before an audience. For all I know this could be the first time she's ever been handcuffed. Poor darling, the girls are being mean.
Everything well planned, disaster moves swiftly. One of the girls adjusts a little table on the platform and places thereon a small tape recorder. The tape plays. In the hushed stillness I hear my voice.
It is the tape that son of a bitch made the time he had me in that little cage with Jennifer. It comes through beautifully and the Sensuality Club gives every word their undivided attention. I want to die. I dare not look at Dorothy. I am positive she did not give the girls the tape. But how they got it does not matter, they have it now and it condemns me for sure and shows Dorothy as aiding and abetting my escape from punishment. Oh, shit!
When the tape is over our consoles take up the battle. It was a good defense but woefully inadequate when placed against the evidence. There was never a chance.
Dorothy is sentenced to one year imprisonment to serve as a slavegirl for the club, while I am to bear the letters "S" and "C" upon my skin forever.
They have forgotten Dorothy's feet and she uses them to leap into the wings and head for an exit. I don't know what the poor girl planned to do in the street, naked, handcuffed and gagged, but it doesn't matter. She was almost brought to the floor by two large girls who must have been expecting just such an action. Quickly she is standing beside me again.
From somewhere the product leg irons and clamp her ankles so she will not be running for a long, long time. She tugs at her wrists and ankles as if not believing that they are ironed. Both of us have had the course.
The club is compassionate. They will administer Dorothy's estate while she serves her time in slavery. They have also taken over house and demonstration good will by taking Dorothy downstairs and locking us as we are in the cell Dorothy had intended for slavegirls only. But she is now a slave and it is only fitting she gaze through iron bars from within. Their sympathy for a fallen angel runs far enough to unbuckling our gags.
We made an instinctive motion to clasp each other but we have no arms. For Dorothy this is something new and she fights savagely at the restraints.
"Oh, Angelique, I am so terribly sorry! It's all my fault, I should have burned that terrible tape."
I silence her with my lips. Two naked girls can easily find comfort in each other's naked bodies and that we do. Our passions are intense and we find our hands being behind our backs little determent to lovemaking.
Later, we lay on hard benches and talk.
"They can really do what they say," says Dorothy. "They can easily handle my affairs and take over this house. Darling, is it very bad?"
I gently explain the worst of it is the handcuffed wrists and shackled feet. It is easy to remind the shackled girl of how she treated me and that is the worst of it. I do not speak of the two girls who are really mean. Nor do I remind her that a year will soon pass. Compared to a lifetime.
"I'm going to feel so silly about kneeling down and being humble. I mean, I've know these girls so well and so long. Now I'm their prisoner and they'll whip me. They'll probably be a lot harder on me than they've been on you. Oh, darling, I'm scared!"
That makes two of us. I try not to think of it but my quivering flesh feels the glowing iron.
Dorothy suddenly remembers. "I'm being a selfish beasts, just thinking about myself," she moans. "I've only got a year's imprisonment but you'll be marked for life. Darling, if they give me half the chance I'll try and talk them out of branding you. Damn it, you don't deserve to be branded, you're too sweet and lovable. Damn it!"
We are terrible grateful for each other. I wouldn't have wanted to be locked in here alone to await the red hot iron.
Dorothy tells me that I'll be Mary Lippman's prisoner for the next two weeks while she is going to belong to Avis for the same time. It seems my branding is to be turned into a ritual for another occasion as if the girls are little children, keeping the real goodies to last.
We get a sad little laugh or two over Dorothy leaning to walk. The poor dear cautiously explores the tiny steps allowed her and snubs her ankles constantly. I cannot ease her falls.
We face each other on the hard bench and talk. As ask if the club will bother to kidnap another girl now that they have her. How many slaves do they need? Dorothy tells me this is something she does not know. But owning a slavegirl is like a drug, the more you get of it, the more you want it. And even with three slavegirls, there is still twenty-five club members. While we talk there hovers in the back of my mind the awareness of Tom Fredrick's still being in my future. If Mary is to own me for the next two weeks, I have to suppose he may visit yet and steal me away from slavery. I would like to confide in Dorothy but I'm afraid the cell maybe bugged and hold my tongue. It's best she does not know and thus cannot tell my secret beneath the whip.
Dorothy tells me that business of Mary and me being hauled off to jail made a deep impression of the Sensuality Club. From on they will make very sure we have no chance of escape. I hug my secret and resolve that should I soon find freedom I will somehow rescue Dorothy from slavery. I'm not sure about Connie, I think she probably enjoy the luxury and accepts her whip marks as just one of those things.
Poor Dorothy, she will find out so many new things. Just imagine being whipped by one of your best friends. When that happened to me I felt as if the world had ended. Slavery is not the least bit easy.
I have to smile at the way Dorothy fights her handcuffs. She doesn't know she's doing it but never stops. When she sees me watching her, she says, "Well I can't just do nothing, can I? There's always the chance that something isn't quite right or something will break." She gives me a faint smile. "So, okay, I'm being silly, handcuffs never break, handcuffs never come loose. I'll try and remember."
It gives my poor, sad companion amusement to tell me the cost of the lovely collar and belt, and my golden shackles. The amount is staggering and for several moments I feel gratitude and pride. Ruefully she explains that not only was the craftsmanship costly, but since they were made to fit me alone, they are a one of a kind deal. She tells me frankly I'm never likely to get them off. She laughs bitterly when I suggest the girls may love her enough to do the same for her.
Woefully, we realize that with me going to Mary and she to Avis we will not see each other again until after Dorothy has served her sentence. Since that first time I have not seen Connie and have only heard about her. Dorothy vows that she will demand my services upon release. But the club does not have to grant her wish and we can only hope. When night falls we do on that hard bench all we have ever done before. Since both of us are helpless we could have done it better but the end result is marvelous and we assure each other that after Dorothy's year has passed we will simulate our mutual helplessness and do it again. I mentally compute my age, I will be twenty-nine.
Mary Lippman is grateful to get me back. Because of the clubs new concern with security she has to transport me from Dorothy's place in the trunk with both my ankles and elbows tightly bound, and joined in a hogtie to assure I make no disturbance. I'm also gagged. I hate the whole damned thing.
Mary is a sweetheart, as soon as she dares she frees me from the biting cords and gag. It is like old times when she takes me to the kitchen and makes coffee. She is bursting to talk but she is Mary Lippman and her talk is sometimes quaint.
"Would you like me to whip you just a little, darling?" she inquires anxiously. "I mean, sort of counter-irritant to get the bad taste out of your mouth over everything that's happened. I'd love to whip you."
I ask to be excused and the request is granted. I'm sure that Mary will whip me pretty soon but if I can delay it, I will. We both talk about poor, darling Dorothy. And then about my brand. It appears I am to be branded at the end of Mary's ownership when I am passed on. It is to be a gala event and take place on the stage. Mary explains that so large a room will absorb my screams. She adds that she, too, will try and talk the girls out of this awful punishment but doesn't hold much hope. They are all getting damndest erotic charge out of the thought of my flesh branded with "Sensuality Club".
Naturally I do not mention my hope that Tom Fredrick's will extract me first. I long to know his arrival but dare not ask. Never in my whole life has so much hung in the balance so simple as a man visiting a girl. Without thinking what I say, I agree with Mary that it would be nice for me to finish out my time in her tiny cage.
We sip our coffee and Mary admits she is longing to possess Dorothy, not with any special intent but simply to experience to the thrill of having a onetime equal on her knees, fearful of being whipped. I point out that she now has me and that is really my circumstance. I was once a member and still am. She says this is not the same thing at all because Dorothy was one of the founding members and the very last girl any of them expected to have a chance to whip or put behind bars. She says that even thinking about it makes her horny as hell. It is a time of laughter and Mary is good for me, so long as I do not think of her beastly little cage. The night in bed with her is wonderful.
In the morning Mary decides I should have my hands in front instead of behind my back. This will make it easier to put me in the cage and make my time in there a little less weary. The cage is a soundly constructed little prison. The wire mesh is solid and the corners made from steel, and the lock a solid padlock. I hate the whole idea now and wished I hadn't been so agreeable yesterday. Slavegirls should never say yes to anything.
Entrance to the cage is by a door at one end which opens up and over to admit me. I crawl inside and arrange my chained nakedness as best I can. It takes a lot of compression, even the crinkling of toes, to make it possible for the door to close. Mary almost has to push the door to get it to close. And the snap of the padlock is an evil sound. I can move my hands a little and turn my head from side to side but can't move, my legs or body. Mary loves the thing; I do not.
I have to admit it is a lot easier to crawl inside than last time. Having my hands in front is wonderful and I wonder if I can talk Mary into letting me leave them there after my time is up. Anyway, I can now do a decent crawl into the cage. I grin back at Mary and accept her assurance that she won't leave me a compact bundle of female all night. Slavegirls must be ready to accept whatever their mistresses think is good for them.
After about an hour Mary visits to make sure I'm all right. I consider asking her to let me out but know within that it has been far too short a period to ask for such a boon. I would probably earn a few strokes of the cane. In spite of cramps and hating the whole thing I say everything is okay and I'm not dying. She blows me a kiss and there isn't room for me to return it. She leaves me to wonder when she will come again.
When she returns after only thirty minutes, my world is changed.
Tom Fredrick's has phoned to say he will be there right away. I am in the damndest dither as the cage door is unlocked and I edge my way to freedom with no more than a few nicks and chafings on my skin. I am trembling in excitement but Mary will attribute this to the knowledge that I will soon be the hapless victim of a male rape. For one hour I am to be given to Tom Fredrick's for his sole delight. And whatever punishments he may chose to inflict should he so desire. I am so thankful I want to sing but dare and try to mold my features to those of a maiden about to be sacrificed to male lust.
I love Mary very much and wished I did not have to deceive her I love her more when she forgets to padlock the chain around my tummy as she hurried to greet the visitor. I stand there with my hands in front instead of behind my back. Boy, how lucky can I get!
The wait is long but the action, when it comes, is swift. Tom has his bag of tools which may or may not have dealt with the chain had it been locked around my middle. After picking me up an kissing me most ardently, Tom Fredrick's grunts, "Didn't bother to chain you, eh? Mary's a real honey of a girl and I hate to steal her property but here we go."
He picked up his bag in one hand and me in the other as if I weighed nothing. I will be forever grateful to the kindness of Fate that between the bedroom and Tom's car we did not find Mary or anyone else. My mistress was somewhere behind a closed door and considered me safely prisoner. Tom was taking no chances, he dumped me in the trunk and slammed the lid. I lay there in the dark and was overflowing with happiness.
Every girl thinks about the bridal night and a confrontation from which she cannot escape. I know most couples have done it before but in those cases where they've held off until the vows have been spoken, it must be an ordeal to tax endurance. That's the way it was with me and Tom. We simply stood and stared until he said roughly, "The hell with this," and laid me on the floor and fucked me until I was I crazy with lust. His thrusts were hard and had no end. But after he was finished inside me, he sat me on a couch and gave me the biggest sniffer of brandy I had ever had. I was still panting and sweating but it was wonderful to hold that sniffer in my hands.
Tom was accustomed to girl, he was not afraid of us. From the first I was aware of him as the Master. He accepted a girl as a creature who's function was to serve her male. He noted my golden chains and informed that he was inclined to leave them on me. "They won't stop me from doing most things and they're damned becoming. But I have to wonder if I can get them off if I have to."
He rummaged in a draw while I sat, demure and worshipful, and sipping the brandy which was getting me back to normal. After all, I had just been stolen from one owner and introduced to another with a violent, hard and wonderful screwing. What I mean was Tom Fredrick's had a male weapon out of this world!
He turned with a couple of key rings and an assortment of bits of metal which he used to probe at my ankle bands. He actually found one that slid home and turned the lock. The anklet fell away. For a few seconds we stared at the bare ankles. Then he put the band back on. It was the same with the handcuffs.
But this time the handcuffs went on behind my back. When I pouted he laughed and explained that he completely approved of the club's concept of the handcuffed maiden who had lost her hands for life. It intrigued, there was a thrill in it. He was positive the attitude of the girl had to be affected by the knowledge that everything she had in front was open and available, she could deny no use of her body.
Tom Fredrick's found a vast amusement in what he called the antics of the SC. He had been intimate enough with Mary to learn the whole story which he found endlessly intriguing. He had experimented with slavegirls of his own but had always been too busy to get the proper girl or give her enough attention after he had her a prisoner. He's given girl after girl money and sent her on her way with an apology for his lack of interest. He frankly admitted with me it would be different because I was a trained slave, well seasoned and experienced. He went on to say, without apology, that he would leave me alone most of every day, and would keep me securely enough chained so I could forget escape. Until my thirty days were up, that is. Had Tom Fredrick's been other than he was, or my new servitude indefinite, I might have been less happy than I was.
I resolved to find out why he had never married. I was also curious about his addiction to the whip. I would be a lucky girl indeed if he had no interest in marking up my skin. If what he did to me last night was repeated, it might well be enough to keep him happy. I hated to admit that it would keep me happy, too.
Tom Fredrick's was positively enthralled by the story of Dorothy and of me begin sentenced to the hot iron. He had me relate Dorothy's story over and over, and admitted it was a real erector in its implications of pride brought low and of a beauty who had possessed a slave now forced to serve a sentence as one. Being a man, he found the thought of all that girl flesh being passed around as something much to his liking. It was the reason he had taken the trouble to possess me.
The story of Connie held less appeal. He had found younger girls a bore, and kidnapping as a prelude to enslavement unlikely to provide the same stimulation as my enslavement by lottery. Casually he brought out conversation to a close by saying, "It's time I whipped you, Angelique."
I felt no shock, only disappoint. But I'd been whipped all over the place by so many that I mustn't take this too seriously. But I shouldn't take it lightly, either. I asked, "Even if I haven't done anything?"
"That's right, it's for my own pleasure. You're not too badly marked right now."
"You're right, but I'd sort of hoped ... ." I shrugged. "You can't blame me for hoping you might be someone who would enjoy my body for the pleasure it can give, not for the pain you can cause it."
"Your pain gives me pleasure," he said simply and that was that.
I'd been taught not to complain. All I said was, "Please don't whip me every day."
Tom Fredrick's laughed at my doleful face and pathetic voice. He picked me up and kissed away my gloom. "Forget the blues, honey, I've said I'll whip you so I will. I refuse to be influenced by what you say or the way you look. But you've had more whippings than one. Come on, smile."
There was something about Tom that made smiling easy. With his hand on my bare arm, I was led to where I would be shown pain.
"What part of me gets whipped," I asked, trying to sound casual.
He evidently found that amusing, once more there was the fine masculine laugh. "Just your pretty little ass this time, sweetheart."
I was surprised when he unlocked my handcuffs. I had supposed he would simply raise them up behind so I would have to bend over. But while he was unlocking them I realized the unbroken tradition no longer applied, the club no longer owned me, I belonged to Tom. He slipped my golden cuffs into his pocket, along with the key. He looked down at my feet. "I'll leave them as they are right now. They allow you just enough room to kick, and I do like a girl to kick. See those parallel bars? Stand here and stick your wrists up on that one about two feet apart. I'm using a couple of pieces of nice, thin rope that should be a change for you. Rope is beautiful and I love to see a girl wearing ropes tightly pressing into their skin."
He was right about the rope sinking into my skin, he wrapped it tightly around my wrists and the bar. I found myself breathless as I watched the cords possess my wrists, I felt pretty sure Tom had tied one or more girls before in just this way. My heart was beating away like a bass drum as I watched. Tom was tying tight enough to hurt.
"If you're going to tie a girl at all, you'd best tie her tight," he informed. He cinched savagely. "That hurt?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now we'll do the other."
"I'm not accustomed to being whipped by a man."
"You were in a rut, sweetheart. Thirty days with me will do you a world of good."
I didn't believe a word. Thirty days with Tom was going to hurt. But he was a nice man, and boy could he screw a girl! I was finding the most extraordinary fascination in looking at my bound wrists held on the bar. I felt very bare and helpless.
There was more to come. It was a bench Tom thrust below the bars and against my pubic curls to compel me to back away until I was bending over with my arms rigidly out thrust. My master next walked around to feel with a hand up my thighs. He cupped my puss and used that to raise my hips and pull the bench back. When he released me, my belly was on the bench and my bottom nicely curved. The bench now hurt because my chained feet were lifted from the floor. I felt certain I looked ridiculous but perhaps that was what Tom wanted.
His "How's that grab you, honey?" told me I was in the hands of a Master.
"It's horrible. And it makes me look horrible. I wish you'd forget it. Please, Tom, don't whip me in this horrid position."
"You don't like it!" He contrived to sound hurt. "It's got your pretty ass positioned just right."
"I don't care! Look, Tom, if you'll take me off this damned bench and take it away so I can stand, I promise I'll stick my bottom out every bit as good. Or as bad?"
"Yeah, I bet. You'd handle the first one or two okay but then try to hide your bottom."
"I wouldn't! Oh, Tom, really I wouldn't! I'd stick it out there for you every time." I was hating that damned bench more and more. "Don't forget I've been whipped an awful lot and I really do have some control. I won't like it but I'll do it."
That gained my master's attention. He walked around me a couple of time. "Okay, Angelique. You asked for it. I'll take away the bench. But if you don't deliver, I'll make you a very sorry girl."
"I'll deliver." Getting rid of that bench and being allowed to stand, even with tied hands, felt almost as good as if I'd had the whipping and done with it. All I had to do now was pretend it wouldn't hurt any more if I stuck it out than if I tried to hide my bottom. To demonstrate good faith I bend as best I could, depressed my waist, straightened my knees, and stuck out my behind. Tom's tribute didn't help much.
"Angelique, you're really beautiful! You really think you can stick it out that way for every stroke of the whip?"
"I'll give it my best try, I really will."
His words suddenly registered. "What do you mean, the whip? I thought you were going to cane me? You'll cut my bottom to pieces with a whip. A girl's bottom always gets caned or cropped."
"Not this time! There's a swing and a sound to the whip I enjoy. Don't worry, I'm not going to cut up your hips. Hold still."
That has to be the most awful moment. But I had learned the trick of putting myself in neutral until my skin got the impact of whatever instrument was being used to give me pain. I did that now but it was only a couple of seconds until the thong kissed my tender flesh. I let out one of those awful sound I'm always ashamed of and tried to jump away. Of course, my hands were held rigid and I could not escape. It was not easy to force my sore bottom to stick out for stroke number two. My mind kept telling me that none of the girls hit this hard or painful. Why did I ever let a man whip me?
"Bravo!" I knew his tribute was sincere but it didn't stop my hurt. "See how you make out with this one."
I didn't do so good. The pain was bloody awful. My knees grew week and I jerked like a puppet on a string.
"Want me to gag you, Angelique? I'm not too keep on screams."
"Thanks, but I'll try to keep them down. Please don't hit me so hard."
"Hard? I'm going easy on you."
The next one was the same. Hard and painful. My inflamed flesh registered an explosion of pain. I was learning what it was like to be owned by a master.
I knew that after each stroke I was becoming less brave, that my knees bend and I was wiggling ass around. But at the same time I was more ardently anxious to prove I could really deliver myself to his whip without complaint. I felt certain Tom Fredrick's would show little sympathy to a loser. I pulled by back down to thrust my bottom far out. After the sixth stroke, which isn't that many, Tom told me I could stand up.
Standing straight had ever felt so good!
He brought his face near mine. I smiled back, probably faintly, and spread my fingers to demonstrate how tightly I was tied. Below my bottom blazed.
"I've decided not to give you more than ten, sweetheart," he said. "Feel better?"
I didn't dare say how much better I felt. The four strokes I had to endure would be bad but I was resolved to pay my dues. "Thank you, Tom, Master. I'll try to be a good slavegirl."
I was sincere but didn't know why I talked like that. He was my owner for only thirty days, not life.
We stared at each other. He smiled. I smiled, too. Strangely we both broke into laughter.
"The final four are going to be bad but see what you can do with them," I was told.
They were bad. The sort of pain that curls your stomach into knots. I clenched my teeth against the screams he did not want and pulled uselessly against my wrists. When it was over I made no demure when he clasp my nakedness from behind, frictioned his rod against my flaming seat and cupped my breasts into male hands.
"You're all right, Angelique. You're good. You and I are going places. Let's go get ourselves a drink.
The impossible was made possible by the untying of my wrists. Of course the bands of gold were replaced but they were in front and not behind my back. I was grateful for this just as I was thankful for the ten strokes. I had, after all, expected twenty of more.
I had been whipped by my new master but Tom was not yet through with my tender flesh. Disposing ourselves on the couch for the drinks, he placed thereon a circular board with a surface of the roughest looking sandpaper I've ever seen. Then, as if proud of what he had done, "There you are sweetheart, it on it."
There are worse things than sitting on sandpaper. But with my bottom whipped the way it was, I'm not sure what they are. I obeyed my master's command carefully and wishing he hadn't thought of this. When I had settled my full weight, I couldn't hold back a gasp and looked up into his eyes with a plea in mine.
"Oh, Tom, this is going to be horrible."
"Discipline, my pet. Think of it as building character. Brandy okay?"
I was being beautifully managed and controlled. Just when I was thinking that at least I had my hands in front of me, Tom casually unlocked one cuff and refixed my hands behind me.
"This is one thing I have to admire about that SC. Their concept of keeping your hands behind your back is quite something."
"But how can I drink?" I exclaimed unhappily. "You seem to forget that when you put my hands behind my back I'm helpless."
"That's the way you should be, darling. I want you helpless and that's the way it is going to be. I'll lift your glass. Was ever a maiden more richly blessed?"
"You seem to forget I'm sitting on sandpaper and I'm not enjoying it one bit."
"We mustn't quibble, darling, life's full of minor tribulations. Be thankful you bottom was properly tenderize. I trust it chaffs?"
"It's worse than that. It's like sitting on a hot stove."
"Excellent. That tells me where you're coming from. Just a minute and I'll be back with the drinks."
While he was gone I wondered what he would do if I got up and sat somewhere else. Probably ten more strokes. That would be just too much. If Tom Fredrick's wanted to sandpaper my bottom I would just have to put up with it.
One thing about Tom, he was generous with the drinks, I eyed the sniffer of brandy and drank deep before it was taken from my lips.
The fiery drink helped.
I wanted to protest the sandpaper as it seemed to grow worse. When I could no longer hold it in, I blurted out, "Oh, please, Master, this hurts so!"
Tom surprised me by picking me up with strong hands. He sat me to one side and pushed the board away. "There, sweetheart, that better?"
"I can tell you how much better it was if I had my hands. But, anyway, Tom, thanks a million. Thank you."
"Don't mention it. My mercy has a selfish motive—I wish to talk."
I wondered if he always tenderized a girl's bottom before starting a conversation.
"I've got you for thirty days, Angelique. What will you do then?"
"Pick up my life where I left it."
"Think you can do that, sweetheart?" Tom's voice was serious.
"I don't see why not. I'm not dependent on a job, I've got an income." I chuckled at the thought. "What I'll do is visit all the girls one by one and tell them what it is like to be free. I'll stay away from their meetings because there's too many of them there, I'd get jumped. But I can handle one by one."
"I don't think you'll ever be safe, sweetheart. The club hasn't raided my home because I know too much about them. But once you're out on your own they'll repossess you just like a finance company on a delinquent car. Haven't you thought of that?"
I hadn't thought of it but did so now. "They wouldn't dare," I said with fine assurance. "They're not going to walk into my house and drag a screaming girl out to the car."
"You know damned well that isn't how they'll do it. They'll employ a couple of the boys to handle it easily, or there will be something in your coffee sometime and you'll wake up with your hands and feet in irons."
"Like now?"
"Like now. That's what will happen." Tom was regarding me soberly. With the sandpaper gone I was paying attention.
"That SC bunch will be hoping mad and thinking up things to do to you when you're once more their prisoner. What I'm saying is, it is shockingly to make any girl a prisoner any time. If I were to turn you loose on the street, I could repossess you again within a day. Honey, you're on the spot."
Tom was so serious I had to think about what he was saying. I had a feeling he was looking after me and didn't want me to fall back into the clutches of the SC. Without much thought I challenged, "I don't have a future, do I? But suppose you don't let me loose at the end of my thirty days? Suppose you keep me chained as your slave. What about that?"
"It would be easy, do you want me to do it?"
"No, of course not. I want to be free so bad. Oh, Tom, is my situation that bad?"
"Every bit. Angelique, you're an exquisite creature ideally designed for chains and slavery. I don't think you realize it yet but you enjoy most of it, too. Am I right?"
"No!" I found myself panting and a little comer of my mind said that he was right. There wasn't much those girls did that you really hated, it told me. I found myself on the defensive.
"Well, all right then, I suppose there was a thrill in most of it, even the handcuffs forever bit. But never enough to compensate for loss of liberty."
Tom was laughing at me. With a quick switch she demanded, "How's your seat?"
"It's terrible. May I stand up?"
"No, keep sitting on it. I've never seen you so well behaved."
"It burns and hurts something awful. Please let me stand a little bit."
"You've been taught not to complain." He reached down and replaced the sandpaper circle on the couch. "Sit on this again until you're ready to make an apology."
"I'll make an apology now."
"You're not getting off that easy. Sit!"
I sat. And hurt.
"You're a smart girl but I can see that you don't believe me about how easy it is to pick up a girl." He sighed then glanced at his watch. "Well, I have some business to attend to in the town. I'm sure you won't mind waiting right her for me?"
I didn't answer as it didn't really seem to be a question. He helped me to my feet and walked me over to a wall. There was a ring set solidly in it with about a foot of chain dangling from that. The end of that chain just reached my neck collar where he padlocked it. Then he left, I could stand with my face looking at a blank wall a few inches away or I could awkwardly turn around and stand with my back against the wall and stare out into the room. I sighed and felt my tender bottom gently with my fingertips.
It was most of the afternoon before he returned. My bottom was still sensitive but no longer burning when I heard the sounds of his return. I gazed expectantly towards the door but it was not Tom who walked in.
It was Dorothy Dawson.