Reason dictated that she risk all in one quick dash immediately. In the end she would have to. Why spend miserable hours waiting and hiping that the exuberant moppet would return and set her free as the finale of a big tease? But did they tease? They had not done so yet.
Frantically Dorinda plunged.
The pain was sickening. The shock devastating. Instead of freedom the tether swung sideways and held. A foot raised in flight was all that saved her from an agonising fall. Looking down at the intimate bond she saw that not a single hair had yielded. The tuft of shining, wirey stuff stuff so cleverly woven was too alrge to be plcuked in one piece. The beautiful black bush, of which she had always been so proud, had been her downfall. Most girls could not have provided so hirsute a fetter for their own containment. Leaning against a rotting pole she gave herself to tears.
She was knee deep in water by the time Mark came and cut her loose. Thankfully she padded him back to the house, answerring his curt questions, sensing a storm. Terry was clasping her pillar naked faing the stone, arms chained high so that she seemed to embrace the column against which she normally leaned. Looking past the raised arm she viewed them with an apprehensive eye.
"Did you you do that?" Mark pointed to the purple line on his sister’s seat.
"Yes."
"She tell you to?"
"Yes, I told her to," Terry broke in hotly.
He looked from one to the other of them. The intensity of his scrutiny was such that each girl sensed his probing. Dorinda blushed. Terry blushed. Without a word spoken their blood had confessed their guilt.
"Whose idea was it?" he demanded grimly
"Mine," Terry ackowledged bravely.
"Don’t punish her, master. It was my fault too. I didn’t fight… Or run. She didn’t even whip me."
"Kind of her, I must say."
"It was sort of an experiment, master. It was my fault too."
"Nobility, nobility! Well, let’s get it over with. Or at least let’s get started," he amended.
Dorinda felt sure Mark was enjoying his mastery over two girls delinquent by his own code. There was that in his eyes when he looked at her that left her uncertain.
Without pause he removed the bit of cord round her waist and unlocked one cuff. Raising her hand he locked it again to one of the rings by which his sister was chained, so that now she, too, was fastened to the stone, but with one hand free. She felt foolish and uncertain of what pose was required of her. She had little doubt she would be whipped. He walked into the house, leaving them alone.
"Scratch my nose, darling." Terry sounded contrite.
Dorinda obliged. "I ought to scratch more than your nose," she chided irritably. "That was a rotten thing to do to me." She described her debacle in detail.
Her erstwhile mistress wept. "I’m a bratty little beast and I deserve what I’m going to get." She cocked a damp eye at her companion in distress. "I0m really in for it. Mark’s angry ‘bout what I did to you. Said it could have scared you scilly. Did it?"
"Yes. And it hurt horribly."
"I’m sorry draling, honestly I am. I made a mess of my day. I was supposed to train you in obedience and bring you home a well whipped but good little girl." She smiled wanly. "Y’know, love, I don’t think I can ever be the sort of mistress Mark would approve of," she considered soberly. "’Spose actually I don’t want to be."
Mark returned. He carried a whip. Tapered leather.
"Oh Mark, not that one," Terry wailed in genuine anguish. Catching Dorinda’s eye she added: "It’s simply awful. You can’t bear it."
"You’ve borne it before, kitten."
"Oh, but only when I’ve been very, very bad. I’ll howl terribly."
"I don’t mind," said Mark simply. "You can howl too if you want," he added for the benefit of his new slave girl.
"Thank you, master," Dorinda felt inadequate to the whole situation.
His sister wept reproachfully. "You could cane my bottom," she suggested.
"You’ll like it."
Fresh tears. "It still hurts like billy-o."
"So does this one."
"Couldn’t I be locked up?"
"With your slave girl, I suppose. Nice."
"All right then, you horrid thing. Alone." It was the ultimate concession.
"For how long?" Mark sounded interested.
His sister tensed hopefully. "All night?" she tried tentatively.
"I was thinking more in terms of weeks. Say four?"
"Oh Mark, you’re teasing."
"With really heavy chains. I’ll go and get the cell ready."
Once more they were alone. The new whip had been left where both could see it. Dorinda shivered. Not after yesterday. She prayed. Not the whip again…
"I think he’s up to something," Terry observed sagely. Her tears had disappeared. She was able to wipe her wet cheeks on her raised arms.
"Sounds awful," Dorinda mourned. "Do you think it’s better than being whipped?"
"Not four weeks in chains! He never kept me in a cell that long. A week at the most. If he hadn’t come in and whipped me often I’d have gone crazy even with that. It’s awful just to sit or stand with nothing to do. I was sort of hoping he’d toss us in together for maybe a couple of days. Even if he did put some chains on us it would still be fun."
Mark came back and released them. They were quivering and anxious to please. "Stand back to back!"
They obeyed, wondering.
He passed a chain round their middles and heaved it very, very tight so that they both gasped at the conrtiction that welded them as one. A padlock snapped. They would not release themselves.
"There you are, ladies. I couldn’t bear to part you." He picked up his whip, the handcuffs and the bits of rope and disappeared into the house.
"The absolute rotter!" Terry’s vehemence held both relief and anger.
Two pais of hands sought the chain that joined them. They found it unsympathetic. "I suppose it’s better than being whipped?" Dorinda vertured doubtfully.
"It’s because of what I made you do," the youthful captive wailed. "I know him! Thinks of all your wek point. Then that’s where you get it. He’s done a bit of thinking here. I suppose you realise we can’t do anything… for fun, I mean."
"The thought had occurred," Dorinda admitted dryly. "But I’m also wondering what happens now."
Nothing happened. That was their punishment. With a bit of practise they managed slow and cautious motion. They were not denied their hands. If they came upon Mark in their handicapped perambulations, he affected to notice nothing wrong, passed a polite word ot two and left them to their own devices. Neither girl dared utter a word of complaint. Their motto was ‘leave well enough alone’. Both remembered the whip. It was still around somewhere.
Dinner was formal at the appointed time. They ate it standing, taking turns to twist this way or that as their need arose. Amity did not raise an eyebrow. Mark maintained a politie conversation to which they responded woth equal gentility. She was sure the servants guessed their sin.
Their night was pure frustration.
"Cute bit o’stuff, ain’t she?" Dave enthused. "Nice clean lines, but a bit foul in the mouth."
He was a young man, cheerful of mien with a sly eye. The female to whom he made reference was an angry damsel partly attired in a torn and dishevelled pant suit
Her hands were tied on her back. She glared furiously at the small welcoming committee. "I’m going to make trouble over this," she informed them darkly.