Ilona watched him go, feeling small and childish and silly standing there with one hand raised as though in greeting to someone who was not visible. Her shackled wrist imposed a demeaning loneliness as if she was a domestic creature of small account, securely fastened while its owner was elsewhere and had forgotten. She had seen dogs in this forlorn plight. But dogs were allowed to lay down and sleep away their tethered captivity. For her there was standing only. Suppose Cicely left her to stand there through the night! It was by no means improbable.
But in a couple of hours Cicely returned, so did the crop! The greeting was loaded with intent. "Hold out your hand, darling."
"Oh, Cicely, no. .! Please not my hand?"
"Five on your little palm, or ten on each breast, darling?"
Ilona held out her hand.
Unbelievable pain! A hand numb, throbbing and useless!
Its owner, in silent misery, watched her shackles unlocked from wrist and ankles.
Cicely radiated affection. "There you are, dear, a free girl!"
"Oh, Cicely, what's the catch?"
"None, darling. Run. You're free as air. Or do you wish to assault me?"
"You've just made one of my hands useless, and I'm naked, and you've got that damn crop waiting."
"Honey, think of it? freedom!"
But Honey hugged her hand. All she felt was pain.
Chapter Six
"I'm an absolute bitch, aren't I?" Cicely Woods suggested blithely. "I've popped a real psychological test at you, darling. What does a girl do with freedom? You tell me."
Ilona was still nursing her whipped hand. She was in no mood for anything except tears or hysterics. But it was true, there was not a restraint upon her! Why? "If I run I'll be caught and punished: that's it, isn't it?"
"Who's to catch you, darling, 'cept me?"
"And you would. My feet are bare, and you can get the best of me in a tussle.
This hand won't work for a week."
"Yes it will. Remember schooldays?"
"No kid ever got her hands punished with an awful thing like you're holding, or anywhere near as hard."
"Ilona, dear, I'm not getting through to you. I actually do want you to go out there and see how you make out. Look, I'll stand right here so you can look back and see me until you're out of sight."
"You'll come after me on a horse."
"Don't quibble so."
"I just know I can't escape? and there'l be some damn awful punishment waiting."
"Hmmmm, don't trust me, eh? Can't say I blame you. Tell you what, darling, I'l give you an incentive. You run along like a good little girl, or else stick your other hand out for another five."
The whipped hand of a girl was a beastly stomach turning kind of pain to which her sex glands made no response. Ilona wanted no more of it. Without volition, she fell to her knees and clasped her mistress's jodhpurs with bare arms she did not control, and frictioned the expensive cloth with a desperate cheek. She heard her voice from far away. "Please no, oh, no. .! Cicely. . please!"
The Mistress was surprised. The surprise was pleasant. It encompassed a new dimension of Ilona Paisley. Cicely stood quite still and gazed down at a whipmarked bare back with speculative eyes. Her tone was interested.
"Darling, what are you doing down there?"
"I? I? I don't know. It just happened."
"I like it. Ever done this act before?"
"No. And it's not an act."
"What is it then?"
Ilona could not answer. She did not know what it was. The impulse had been basic and beyond her control. But she did know for sure her arms did not wish to leave the pulsing safety of the woman they embraced. Lamely, she pleaded: "Don't hurt me any more, Cicely, you don't need to."
"No fight left? Is that it?"
"I suppose so. . I couldn't possibly win."
"But if you could, you would?"
"I'm not sure. This is all so. . impossible."
Cicely Woods was intrigued. "I really do want you to run." She admitted disappointedly. "And I'll still whip your hand if you don't. But you've just made a discovery about yourself. . You have, haven't you?"
"Cicely, would you consider keeping me enslaved without whipping me all the time? The chains make me obedient."
"Well, well! Is that Miss Ilona Paisley speaking! The one who wrote that unforgivable article about the Texas Tycoon?"
"Alright, so I gave you a bad Press. Whip me for that."
"My goodness, sweetheart, we seem to have come a long way."
The same thought was in the mind of the naked girl. She was bemused by pain and hopelessness. But she could not hold on to the aristocratic jodhpurs forever.
Reluctantly, she loosed her bare arms and knelt back on her heels. "You only bought me yesterday." She said listlessly. "So far today you've chained me and whipped me. . I'm just plain lost, and frightened, and unsure. I'm even scared of your escape offer. Cicely, please, give me a little time to catch up?"
"Poor darling, I think I'm seeing a changed girl? But I can't have you telling me what to do, y'know."
"No, I suppose not."
"I won't whip you for that article today, but thanks for the offer. I'll certainly whip you for it within a week or two. But right now I must insist you either walk or run off across the prairie or else place your whipped hand up there on the post."
The shackle was hanging open. Compelled by a force she could not control, Ilona rose and placed her hurt hand within its jaws. Pulse accelerating, she watched Cicely prison her wrist in metal.
"I like the way you did that." Cicely said thoughtfully. "You're giving me ideas.
Does that feel good to you? back on the chain? no decisions?"
". . Yes."
"You know what comes next?"
"You're going to whip my hand. I'll have to hold it out."
"Matter of principle, darling."
"I understand. Is it. . now?"
"Want to get it over with, eh! Poor kid! You make me feel a real bitch. But I'm still going to do it. Being a girl owner isn't all that easy, y'know."
"Well, not really. It's something I'll never know about."
Ilona felt hypnotized. She held out her hand, palm taut. "There, is that the way you want me?"
"Darling, you're adorable!"
The thin cruel crop cut the air with a snickering swish. Ilona Paisley was ashamed of her tears, she was ashamed of hands that could only fumble, she was ashamed of all her contortions and her cries as her hand accepted each cut of the crop, and then fought for the control by which it would once again offer itself to agony. She stood with her back to the post and used a forearm to try and cope with the salt drops on her cheeks. Her shackled wrist was close before her eyes, mocking her return to its grasp.
"I'm. . I'm sorry, Cicely, I didn't behave very well." Her voice was choked and colourless.
"You were beautiful."
"Do I have to stand here now, with my wrist up?"
For answer, the mistress unlocked the shackle and took her whipped purchase by the arm. "You know where we're going, don't you?" She demanded firmly.
Ilona knew.
Ilona knew she could not have borne it the first day, she would have become hysterical. But several days had passed and several nights. . ! The metal blinds on her eyes were still hateful, and the spreadeagle tie to the four stakes was a frightening and shaming obscenity. But she had not yet screamed. She could not tell how long she had been tied thus, exposed and spread, and very, very naked, but she judged it an hour. Her wrists hurt, her ankles hurt where Nora's ropes bit tight, her shoulders ached. . ! And this was just the beginning of what Cicely laughingly called her