"Stop that!" The Mistress's command was peremptory.
"We take her down each night to sleep, and hang her up again each day. If you hadn't run I might have let her off with twenty strokes."
"Every day?" Ilona was aghast. "You mean, ever since I ran?"
"That's right, darling. Her attitude improves daily."
The theatrical gesture came naturally. Ilona the slave fell to her knees and clasped her mistress's thigh in locked hands. "Please, Cicely, oh please! Don't punish her any more. Oh no, no, no. .!"
"Why not?"
"Because it was all my fault. Let Nora down and put me there instead."
"Darling, that line's stereotyped, positively threadbare. Can't you do better?"
Cicely patted the bowed head. "And it might be a good idea if you stood up."
Shamed, Ilona obeyed. Looking in anguish at the whipped beauty turning slowly on her rope she understood the implacability of Cicely's justice. Here on the ranch a slave was a slave, even if much loved she would remain a slave. At first sight of Nora's whipped skin Ilona had felt unfairly privileged. But her own punishment was still to come, judging by what she now beheld it would be a thing for tears and penitence. She trembled and twisted locked wrists but was strangely glad.
"Come along, dear. Nora would sooner be alone."
The handcuffed girl allowed herself to be led from the room. The fingers on her bare arm were tender but they were the fingers of a woman who owned girls, a woman by whom she herself was owned by right of purchase. Wanly, Ilona asked:
"How long must she??"
"She'll be freed this evening, sweetheart, but I wasn't going to tell her so."
"It's such a terrible punishment. . so long!"
"Think it would fit your penance, pet?"
"If you wanted?"
"That isn't what I asked."
"Yes, I think it would punish me enough." Ilona ventured with simulated bravery.
"Oh, Cicely. .!"
"She's only had forty strokes, dear. All hard, of course."
Cicely informed equably. "None of that hundred lashes you're so fond of tossing around. D'you still want 'em?"
"Yes."
"Well, you're not sentenced yet, darling, I'm still thinking about it. You can think about it too. In the meantime we've got a little job."
As they walked to the blacksmith shop Ilona longed to plead. Every feminine instinct revolted against an iron band riveted on her neck. But sight of Nora's punishment told her clearly she could not be forever on her knees. Cicely owned her.
Cicely would use her as she wished. Ilona looked down at the black metal on her wrists but felt no wish it be taken from her.
"Hate me, darling?"
"Oh, Cicely, you know I don't." It was almost a wail of anguish. "But tell me why I love you? I do, terribly."
"I'm sort of fond of you, sweetheart." Fond fingers were once more on a bare chained arm. "If I wasn't you'd be hanging up in there with your poor devoted Nora." Cicely's laugh was a silvery acknowledgement that life was good. "Look at Josh, there in the doorway, waiting for you. He's so proud."
The captive could understand the craftsman's pride. She supposed that if a girl was obliged to wear an iron collar the object held to view was probably as good as she could expect. Its edges had been bevel ed and polished, its pendent ring would have foiled the tug of a horse.
"Josh, you do the nicest collar." Cicely's tribute was warm.
"Little lady gonna' like it, maam. I takes a lot o' trouble."
"And the rivets. .?"
"Like you said, Miz Woods, they ain't gonna' show. I'se recessed the holes so's I kin beat 'em down in and file 'em flat. Iron's heavy 'nuff to take a long drill without no flange."
"But, Josh, there's no hinge to open and close??"
"Ah aims fer smooth circle, Miz Woods. She open now and I got leverage ter close it."
"Darling, you're so lucky. Let Josh arrange you."
Miss Ilona Paisley, formerly of Paisley Publications, knelt beside the anvil and allowed a coloured blacksmith to insert her neck within a metal band and drape it across the waiting surface of brutal steel. Her handcuffed fingers clung desperately to the wooden block on which the anvil stood.
"I figger's this'un out fer meself, maam. Sure takes a lot o' pressure to close that cold iron, but I ain't usin' no hammer."
Breathlessly, the naked girl felt the slow closing of the strangest confinement a girl could know. Ilona could barely see the long and heavy bar by which the smith was exerting such relentless force, but her neck received its message like the closing of a trap.
"Look'a that, maam. Fit real good she do. Ain't no daylight showin' nowheres."
It was true. The prisoned neck felt an even contact. Josh was skilled. The kneeling girl waited passively for what she knew she would hate the most.
"I git's me one rivet in there, Miz Woods, afore I lifts the lever. Then we got her fer sure."
It was hateful, but had become strangely exciting. Perhaps royalty felt thus in their ritualistic regalia. Ilona felt the fumbles and the friction of metal within metal. Then the hammer blows that touched her not but rang in her ear as a knell of doom.
The bar was lifted, the collar remained. Josh was happy.
"The other rivet, maam, and then the little lady has herself the damnedest collar ever was."
Ilona did not move, she did not demur. She thought of the headsman's block, it was a frightening simile. But in a little while she would be allowed to stand. She winced with the second rivet and flinched from the hammer. But it was the file and the electric buffer which set the seal on her shame. She was a slave, collared! Ready always now for the chain and padlock.
"Up's-a-daisy, darling: I can't wait to see."
The weight was frightening. Lifting her neck from the anvil Ilona was sure she could never bear it. Standing, she met her mistress's eye and grinned ruefully. "You own me now for sure." She admitted, and was suddenly inflamed by lust. Never had she felt such an onrush of emotion as now when her captive fingers explored the broad band of iron she would wear forever.
"You're gorgeous darling!" Cicely was exultant. She took her collared slave within eager arms and kissed and kissed, her lips sinking to find the soft and pulsing throat above and below the black iron band in which it was imprisoned. "Come along, I must get you to a mirror."
Suddenly the iron was weightless. Ilona had never felt more happy.
The reflection staring back at Ilona from the glass was shocking. It was ugly. It was beautiful. It was wonderful and scarce to be believed. The collar changed her. It took possession of her nakedness and transformed it utterly. The flat thick band was as wide as it could be without intrusion. Its fit was snug so it would not chafe. The round iron ring hanging below the nape of her neck was of the same proportions.
The effect of the black circlet in contrast to her white nudity was exquisite.
"It's better than gold or silver, darling." Cicely was awed.
To the owner of the slender neck that bore the iron it held all the magic of a wedding ring. It was a bond indissoluble between herself and the woman she loved, the woman who owned her so totally. Ilona stared back, entranced. She was a naked slave, her wrists darkly chained, her neck banded and ringed. With a thrill of delight she saw herself more beautiful than she had ever been. Within her sex a fire was rising in sweet agony.
After such an erotic feast it was inevitable they seek their bed, lips wet and swollen, tongues avid, nipples hard and high. Satiated, they slept. When Ilona woke she was alone. Drowsily, she let her feet slide to the floor and became aware of change. Suddenly alert, her locked hands flew to her neck, knowing what they would find. The ring no longer hung empty, within it was a padlock and a chain. The chain was formidable, so was the padlock, far heavier than need be to hold a girl.