Excited and filled with laughter, Ilona lifted the trailing links and traced them to a ringbolt in the floor. This anchorage was as solid as the rest. Delighted with her mistress's whimsey she stepped out the radius of her tether. It gave her the freedom of the bed and a few paces to one side only, then snubbed her hard. For moments she stood, savouring the new sensation, knowing she would be chained thus every night, glimpsing the stern utility of Josh's creation. It was not a punishment, it was a facility every slavegirl needed. Alight with longing for her mistress she threw her constrained nudity back upon the sheets.
It was delicious to dream. In slavery Ilona discovered a narcotic by which all things were dreamable and nothing real. Slaves lived vividly in the moment, the rest did not matter, they could not influence it so why treat it seriously! Their life was not their own, it belonged to someone else. In the punishment room Nora was suffering the last hours of her penalty. Nothing Nora or Ilona could do would change that one iota. At some moment in the future she herself would suffer for her truancy. She was sure her penance would be dire. But that, too, she could not change. It was in the realm of fantasy. Ilona envisioned herself screaming beneath the lash, moaning away the hours in nude suspension, or perhaps to have her ankles locked in the stocks to sit day after day in lonely longing to be free.
The weight on her neck had changed her life. Ilona was sure of it. Miss Paisley was gone. She could not but wonder on the potency of what had been done to her. It had changed her image of herself and all her thinking. Its effect was exquisitely erotic, no matter how she sought to close her mind to it, the iron collar imposed a constant titillation of her senses. Her fingers played with it constantly so that her handcuffs became an erotic presence on her wrists. She was ashamed of her female responses, her abject but glorious submissions to Cicely. But she would change nothing, not even if she could.
In a contentment such as she had never known Ilona went back to sleep.
Chapter Eight
"You're going to shock them out of their socks, darling." Cicely was excited and pleased. "You're a perfect package of contradictions. Look at yourself."
Ilona was already doing so. The big mirror was sending her pulse into a galloping race. She was not believable. "They can't possibly accept me like this." She said breathlessly. "Someone will call the police. . or the men will want to rape me."
"Of course they will, darling! The rape, I mean. Not the police! These people are my friends, hand picked. They'll be expecting something. .! You're my answer."
"I can't possibly! Oh, Cicely, I just can't. . like this with all those people!"
"The alternative is the dungeon and a hundred strokes, darling. You don't want that, do you?"
"Oh, Cicely, you wouldn't?"
"Yes I will, and you know I will." Cicely's voice was loving but incisive. "Smarten up, my little chicken. After the first five minutes you're going to love it."
"They won't. . just look at me!" Ilona wailed. "A Stetson hat, an iron collar, and a pair of riding boots. The rest of me's naked. Everybody will laugh."
"Like hell they will!" Cicely's affirmation was positive.
"You're forgetting your breasts and your gorgeous pubic hair. . and all the rest of you. To say nothing of all our work fixing your face and doing your hair."
"I look like a cowgirl after a cyclone."
"Nonsense! Look, darling, are you going to be awkward?"
"No, I suppose not. I don't want to go in the dungeon. But, oh, Cicely. .!
Oh. . wow!"
"That's my girl! Be nonchalant. They'll adore you."
"And I won't know what to do with my hands?"
"You may not, darling, but I do. Turn around."
"No. . Nooooo! Oh, Cicely, please! Not behind my back, I won't be able to cover anything." Ilona wailed.
"You're not supposed to cover anything, pet. Especially the kind of 'any things'
you've got."
Ilona passively allowed her arms to be taken from her.
She knew herself once more prey to the conflicting emotions she had come to expect: Horror at what she was going to be compelled to do but a delicious excitation at the touch of her mistress's hands. She look a deep, deep breath as her wrists were captured and linked by the familiar sounds and bite of steel, consoling her by the loss of decision in obedience to the woman who held the key. Over all was a radiant joy between her legs.
"There you are, pet." Cicely patted a bare and helpless arm. "Nice and tight. I've used the black one's to match your collar. You look scrumptious."
"I feel beautiful and I feel ridiculous." Ilona tugged fretfully at the newly locked handcuffs. "Cicely, darling, what am I supposed to dooooo!"
"Just circulate, sweetheart. Make all the women green with envy of me and give all the men erections."
"Cicely, will I? have to??"
"No, dear, you don't have to go in a room and let the men fuck you." Cicely assured sweetly. "It's a cute idea, and maybe we'l use it at another party. But that lovely cunt of yours is mine, I'm getting more and more jealous of it."
"Thank you. But I'm still scared? all those people!"
"Only one plane, pet. Maybe twenty guests. They can taxi right into this big yard.
Anyway, you won't be mauled by a multitude. I still think you'll enjoy yourself."
"Can I have a drink, please?"
"No, you're going in there cold. There'll be no shortage of men anxious to offer you sips." The mistress patted a cool bottom. "But let me warn you, darling: Get tipsy and you'l end up in the dungeon, and with a tender rump to boot. So smarten up, you delectable slave. I think I can hear the plane."
Ilona's first reaction to the large and splendid room was chagrin. Her entry did not stop the buzz of conversation, it did not even give it pause. She was briefly noticed by couples by the door, but they nodded approvingly and returned to their talk.
Perhaps they thought her an eccentric guest! The idea was exciting. Obedient to instructions, she advanced and mingled, blushing under repeated scrutiny and bright wise smiles.
"May I get you a drink?"
He was tall, dark and handsome for sure, eyes friendly and admiring, not dwelling unduly on any part of her exposed nudity. Ilona found herself unexpectedly grateful for attention. "I'd love a drink." She admitted. "But I? I don't have any hands."
"No problem." He patted her shoulder in big brotherly assurance. "Don't go away."
He was nice. Ilona lost some of her blush. His regard was intent and amused, and he held the glass to her lips at just the right tilt. His voice was masculine and intimate, reminding her of how little she had seen of such men for so long.
"Guest, or one of Cicely's purchases?" He enquired blandly.
Ilona cocked an eyebrow. "You know all about her, then? I'm a purchase. I never did find out how much she paid for me."
"Cicely Woods is an Institution in Texas." He said thoughtfully. "These affairs of hers are a privilege. She always has a surprise for us. I'd imagine you're today's little bomb."
"I think I'm fizzling. No one notices."
"Don't kid yourself. Right now I can see a Senator, an arab sheik, and a stockbroker assessing your contours. Al the women hate you already, except for Cicely, you're the most beautiful female present."
"My name's Ilona, and can I have another drink?"
"Bruce." He winked. "You've been rationed?"
"I sure have! I could have used a drink, walking in here like this."
"Change nothing, you're perfect." He was back with the drink almost instantly.