"Would you do it, Susan?"
"Me! But I'm not in love with any silly young man like Rene."
"Rene always seemed to me a neuter. Who needs him!" Ilona studied the young intent face reflectively. "Suppose I drove you to a house, handcuffed you, and told you to do exactly what 'O' did?"
Susan's sudden inhalation of breath was an answer in itself. The young eyes became bright with query. "Oh, darling, there'd be the door? and on the other side of it??"
"I can't tell you exactly. But you would find things I don't seem able to give you, things you've got an emotional need of."
"A Mistress?"
"Yes, a Mistress." Ilona laughed. "But whether she matches the picture in your mind only you can tell."
"And if she doesn't, can I come home?"
"Not at your own request. She will decide."
Again the inhalation. "I'd be. . a prisoner?"
"You're my prisoner here now, sweetheart."
"Mmmmm, I suspect I could talk myself out of it with you, darling. Could I with her?"
"I would believe not. But I've arranged for you to phone me in a week. That reassures us both."
Susan held up her joined hands. "I'm handcuffed. I'm ready?"
Ilona bent and kissed the eager young lips. "Yes, sweetheart," She whispered gently. "You're ready, you're terribly ready."
If you love something, set it free.
If it returns, it is your's.
If it does not
It never was.
The lines haunted Ilona Paisley without cessation. Her mind was filled by a vision of platinum hair, and of Susan flaunting her cuffed hands to wave good-bye before she entered the opened door. Ilona Paisley was in love.
Paisley Publications re-possessed her. She saturated herself in work, dreading to return home. She chided herself constantly for what she believed to be an erotic romanticism. But she could not delude herself into a belief she could erase the etch marks on her mind made by the three females she could not forget. She condemned herself for setting the period of a week before Susan's phone call would be made, a couple of days would have imposed far less stress. But on the other hand the prisoner might need that time in which to properly assess her new captivity. She counted the days. On the seventh day she thought only of the phone and Susan's voice, she was shivering with excitement at the call.
It did not come.
On the eighth she used the phone herself, but there was no answer. She called every hour throughout the day and on into the night. The lovely voice of Antonia Noyes did not respond.
Ilona considered the possibilities, but soon realized she was not prepared to live with any of them. On the ninth day she walked the path up which she had sent her love.
The maid was as svelte as the Mistress, her trim uniform a costly creation. She was black but only slightly. She cocked as supercilious an eyebrow as the visitor had even seen. Her whole effect was one of pert insolence. But her response was polite and instant.
"This way please, madam." The girl stood aside, opening the door wider in welcome.
Miss Ilona Paisley walked through the portal into darkness.
She awoke to darkness, a close warm stifling darkness, delaying consciousness and perception. Ilona lay in it drowsily until she realized it was not the darkness of night.
It was something else! Something was wrong, wrong, wrong. . ! She was blind.
She sat erect. But to do even that was an awkward and inhibited motion. She took a deep breath, fighting panic, and took what inventory she could of her condition.
She was hooded. Soft leather was moulded to her features and her head. She could breathe, so presumably there were orifices. But no light reached her eyes.
Lifting her hands to explore, she found them shackled. A band of metal round each wrist, a few links of chain. . From the center link another chain went down between her legs to connect with the chain between her similarly shackled ankles. If she stood she would be unable to lift her hands above her hips. But, sitting, they could find slack enough to explore the hood.
It was laced at the back. Tight! It also seemed part of a collar round her neck, a collar which contrived to hide the ends of the laces and was fastened by a padlock.
But the padlock did more. It also secured the end link of a chain which trailed down her back and beyond her reach. Presumably she was tethered.
Her tracing fingers discovered the slit for her mouth and the small round holes beneath her nostrils. Evidently she was not meant to suffocate. But, tug as she would, she could move nothing to give her sight. She was captive in darkness. Feeling foolish, she spoke aloud to herself, but the hood restricted her chin and the words came to her muffled ears as an odd distortion.
Cautiously, she stood up. The chains permitted her to do so. Hands restricted at a level below her waist, she took a tentative step which she guessed as ten or twelve inches before the links s sprang tight, four more hobbled paces and her collar was snubbed to bring her to a halt. She stood, literally at the end of her tether, feeling absurd, frightened and terribly lost. Her next discovery was surprisingly late in reaching her consciousness.
She was stark naked. Ilona fought the hood. It was her first and worst enemy.
True, the chains would hold her captive, but in this darkness it imposed she was frightened to move for fear of hurt. Crouching down to gain slack chain, she tore and scratched and sought to grasp. But the thing was a part of her, tight everywhere, locked immovably, the collar and padlock mocked her silently. On all fours she moved back. She found the wall, and in it the anchor of her chain tether. She was held by bonds it would be useless to fight. She made herself as comfortable as she could, her back resting against the wall, her knees drawn up so that she could clasp over them her shackled hands. Miss Ilona Paisley was a prisoner. Ruefully, she wondered whose prisoner she might be.
She suspected chloroform. The maid may have had a soaked pad, or perhaps a man had been hidden behind the door. Her brief struggle before unconsciousness had been against strong hands. But what had happened to Antonia Noyes! Above all, what had happened to Susan! She herself may already have been taken far away.
She thrust aside the possibility of white slavery, it was too melodramatic. But on the other hand. . ! What a haul for a brothel the four of them would make! Uneasily, she fingered the metal bands by which she was made prisoner. She had been penetrated only a few times, and had found the impalements of her sheath disagreeable and unrewarding. Miss Ilona Paisley shivered. She had been made naked, it was not a hopeful sign.
The footsteps were firm, they were female. The voice was that of the maid who had opened the front door. It was an educated supercilious voice. But, as before, it was polite.
"You are awake, Miss Paisley. Not too uncomfortable, I hope?"
"You know damn well I'm uncomfortable." Ilona was ashamed of the sound of her voice. "I am also naked, I am chained up, there's a hood locked on my head."
"That's right, Miss Paisley."
"What do I have to do or promise to get released?"
"Nothing, Miss Paisley, just nothing. You ain't going to be released."
"Then, if I'm to be kept prisoner, may I have this hood removed?"
"No, maam, you may not."
"Do you realize how frightening this is for me?"
"I'm sure it is, Miss. I'd be frightened."
"Well, can't you have a little pity on me then? Take off this infernal hood."
"No, Miss Paisley, you have to wear that hood."
"Who says that? Is there someone I can speak to?"
"Just me, Miss."
Ilona was shocked. "You mean I'm your prisoner?"
"Sort of."
"Where is Miss Noyes?"
"You want a drink of water, Miss Paisley?"
"I asked you a question."
"I'm going to put a glass of water in your right hand, Miss."