It was dusk, approaching night. Caroline’s only disguise was the black and anonymous wraparound. It hid her dress. It hid the handcuffs. It hid the knife. It hid even the colour of her skin, making her one with the Moghata evening. The town was no metropolis, her destination was little more than half a mile.
The two girls gazed at each other in shock. The bindings upon Trudy’s nakedness were even more cruel than Caroline had expected. But she herself was an incongruity in her frock, her perfume and her handcuffs. The girl tied to the post belonged, but Caroline was not of Moghata.
“Oh, darling, you shouldn’t have come! Or did he let you?”
Caroline laughed softly and kissed the taut breasts. “He doesn’t know. Poor dear man, he thought the handcuffs would prevent—a sort of stern warning . . . !”
“You shouldn’t be here, should you?”
“Well, maybe not.” Caroline nibbled a responsive nipple. “But it’s such ages since I had you, then, when they told me what they’d done to you . . . and the reason—I had to come.”
“You’ll be whipped, won’t you!”
“If he finds out,” Caroline chuckled. “I’m going to give you six orgasms, just the way you are! Then I’m going to cut you loose, give you this awful black thing and the knife, and then I’m going to run like crazy . . . could be I’ll make it O.K.”
“But you mustn’t! The risk—!”
“Want me to stop nibbling?”
“Well no, it’s lovely. But, oh gosh, this is crazy—”
“Nuhnuh! You can easily tell ’em some cock and bull story ’bout bad men cutting you loose to screw you: and you escaping . . . ! Besides, you haven’t a thing to say about it, you’re helpless.”
“You telling me! I can’t even twitch. Oh, Caroline . . . ! Oh, darling—! Oh—oh—oh!”
“That’s right. Just keep gasping. I’ll do the work.” Caroline’s admonition was muffled by pubic hair and the nuzzling of pouting lips.
For a long time neither girl said anything articulate.
When the last gasp had died away and Caroline had explored her mouth for tenacious pubic hairs she said with firm decision: “I’ll cut the ropes now, your arms first. Then lean on me as I cut on down.”
They clung, breathing heavily, wallowing in proximity. Trudy was sobbing tears of joy and relief. The peeling away of the strictures within her flesh had been agony, but it was done . . . past! Caroline’s assurance was infectious. Somehow everything would work itself out. She would think of a story, and in the meantime she was not hurting anymore. She had been bound to the ‘T’ for four or five hours: it had punished her cruelly, but it was done! Naughty little Trudy was reprieved, reprieved, reprieved . . . ! She clung and hugged her gorgeous Caroline in an ecstasy of love. It was the elder girl who first beheld their doom.
Caroline tensed, stricken. Trudy turned in alarm.
Both gazed in trepidation at the male statue, a black silhouette in the night, silent and accusing. With a despairing sob, Caroline flung herself at the feet of judgment. “Punish me. Don’t punish Trudy. It’s all my fault—I planned it all—” She clung in frantic appeal to the male leg with her chained hands, rubbing it with her cheek and moaning penitence. Suddenly she tensed again, thrusting herself away, looking up in horror. The man was not Khalief Abhad.
It was Nicholas Nykobe. It was a tense moment: the three of them assessing what they saw. A deep rumble of amusement welled from the rebel leader’s throat. In a pure female instinct Trudy sped to take the pose the older girl had relinquished in fear. She clutched the massive legs in thankful security, she had no need of words. It was Nykobe who spoke first.
“I came as soon as I heard.” He picked up the nude trooper and cradled her possessively, shrewd fingers finding the deep weals the ropes had left in her flesh. His arms held Trudy, but his scrutiny was fastened on Caroline. “And who have we here? What’s your name, woman?”
“She has to go.” Trudy was trembling. “She came to cut me loose. She’s in danger—”
In a sweep of lithe motion, Nykobe set his love upon her feet and grasped Caroline by the arm. “I asked your name, girl?”
“It’s Jenny Smith,” Caroline said blandly, hoping he could not hear the pounding of her heart.
With both hands he held her at arm’s length, looking her up and down in growing comprehension. “And why does Jenny Smith wear handcuffs?” he asked drily.
Trudy was tugging at his arm. “It’s her husband,” she said wildly. “They do it for amusement. Let her go so she doesn’t get caught—she’s been so kind to me. Please, lord . . . ?”
Nykobe seemed not to hear. “She’s caught already, beloved child.” His teeth showed white in a pleased smile. “This is my lucky day. I get my little trooper back, and also the President’s whore. The gods are kind to Nicholas Nykobe.”
Caroline wrenched herself free and fled. He caught her easily in four leaps, pinning her to the ground with a cruel knee while he pealed a bird call into the night. When the black bulk of the Jeep slid whisperingly and without lights to stop beside the strange trio, he spoke a single demand: “Rope.”
Caroline could not fight him. He was as strong as Khalief Abhad. She knew herself captured, a helpless prey, the spoil of war. Against the battering of Trudy’s small fists and frantic demands, she uttered a gentle: “Hush, darling . . . hush! He has to take me. Don’t you see—I’m too good a prize to pass up.”
“But it’s all wrong! It’s so unfair,” Trudy wailed. “Please, lord, let her go . . . Oh, please let her go.”
Caroline gasped at a familiar pain. Strands of rope had circled her elbows and were tightening inexorably. Deft dark fingers arranged her forearms and her cuffed hands at her waist before the ruthless cinching drew her elbows close at her back and knotted them safely. She was now helpless. The bite of metal on her wrists combined with the scorch of rope on her arms made her a subservient package easily handled. She thought of Khalief and knew the bitterness of despair.
Nykobe stood erect. Chuckling, he repossessed his distraught trooper and held her nudity close. “Do I have to tie you too, love?”
“No, of course you don’t! Oh well, perhaps you’d better—! Oh damn, damn, damn, I just don’t know! Let her loose—let her loose! Oh please?”
“No, child, she’s worth more than an army—”
“You mean you’re going to hold her for ransom to try and make the President do what you want? Then, if he won’t, you’ll do things to her—horrible things . . . ?”
“It is war, little one. Get in the Jeep, in front with me. The sooner we are gone the better.”
“Help! Help—someone help . . . !”
Trudy’s desperate cry echoed eerily across the open space and was lost in darkness. In swift gentleness Nykobe pinned her down and tied her wrists and elbows behind her back, thrust rag into her protesting mouth and tied it tight. Thoughtfully he gagged Caroline too. Both girls ceased to struggle. He lifted Trudy into the Jeep while his henchman disposed Caroline into the back. He tied her ankles and tugged them up to her elbows to make her the smallest and most helpless bundle of femaleness possible. He crouched beside her, smelling heavily of sweat. The motor came to life. Caroline could not move but she could weep. If the soldier noticed her tears he gave no sign.
“The President’s spies haven’t found this place yet.” Nykobe busied himself with the checking of blinds upon the windows and the adjustment of electric lamps. They had heard the purr of the generator as they had been carried from the Jeep. “Just an isolated farmhouse,” he chuckled. . . . loaned.”
Caroline’s ankles had been freed. The two tied and gagged females stood in penitence before their lord, mute but inwardly seething. Nykobe eyed them with the paternal benevolence of a school principal to whom a pair of delinquent damsels have been sent for correction. “If I remove your gags, may I expect a reasonable silence?” he inquired drily.