"Name’s Mabel," Dave vouschafed. "Got more threats than a dog has fleas."
"Fuck you," Mabel dismissed him and turned her attention to Mark. "Untie my hands, you silly bastard. Don’t just stand there." She turned her back and offered her bound wrists confidently.
"He’s the bloke that bought you," Dave jeered. "Ought to be polite to him, you ought."
Mabel looked uncertainly over her shoulder. "Aren’t you going to untie me?"
"I’m in a good mood to gag you as well." Mark was amused
"Do you realise I’ve been kidnapped?"
"Of course. I placed an order for you."
Bafled Mabel turned to the two girls. "You in on this?" She examined the naked Terry’s shaved pubic hair. "Your twat alwys been like that?" she asked incredulously.
Dorinda had been ordered to resume her expensive habilment which Terry approved as making her ‘a slinky sex-pot’. She made a vivid contrast to her happily bare companion. It earned her Mabel’s puzzeld attention.
"You his wife?"
Feeling a bitch for compounding the newcomer’s bafflement, Dorinda held up handcuffed wrists and smiled sweetly. "We’re just slave girls. Same as you," she responded innocently.
"I want to go home," Mabel affirmed without dubiety.
"You’re home now, you silly bitch," Dave told her helpfully. "Proper little harem old Mark’s got. You’re a damn lucky girl if you ask me." "Nobody asked you, you grinning arsehole," the guest told him conversationally. She obviously had no confidence in her abductor, so gave her attention to her new owners. "Drugged me, he did. Two days ago I woke up on his damn boat. Now look at me. Where the hell am I?"
"You’re on an island."
"Oh gawd, and I can’t swim!" Deflation was evident. She called on her reserves. "Okay. I ain’t no bleedin’ nun. How about if you all screw me and let me go?"
The generous offer met only silence.
"Show her your bottom, Terry," Dave suggested.
Pleased to prove her virtuosity Terry placed her favorite curves on prominent display. Mabel’s eyes fixed in fascination on the purple stripe. "Whodunit?" she demanded virtuously.
"It wasn’t Agatha Christie, duckie," Dave assured her.
"Well, are you going to do it?" Mabel demanded. "I ain’t like her. You don’t have to whip my arse."
"Mark’s a gentleman, he is," Dave admonished. "He ain’t going to fuck the likes o’you here on this warf. And I ain’t going to either. I done it last night to you twice." He turned helfully to his audience. "Bit’o allright she is too," he offered informatively.
"Let’s all go to the house and have a drink," Mark suggested.
"Gawd, what I couldn’t do for one of those." Mabel’s voice was fervent.
Dorinda found herself subject to strange sensations, She loved her clothes. But being clothed felt odd. Did three days of nudity change a woman? Make her wanton? She felt guilty about her present enjoyment as a watcher of Mabel’s introduction to a new status. No doubt she should be adding het protests to the newcomer’s verbal indignation. She should appeal to Dave. Two raving females might dent his composure and invoke second thoughts about what he was doing. She knew she would not do these things. She asked herself why. Was she already so broken into slavery? She faced the fact that she would not bring herself to injure or to cross Mark and Terry. The whip was in there, too, of course. She was unsure which influence most potently dictated her decisions. She wondered if two days of slavery would have as vivid an an effect on Mabel as they had on her. She doubted it. Lastly she tried not to admit to herself that she was jealous of the attentions Mark must inevitably give his latest possession…
She held her drink easily in her chained hands. Sipping it comfortably she watched the little play unfold.
"I ain’t wearing no bleedin’ handcuffs!" Mabel seemed to have a gift for firm negatives.
"No handcuffs, no drink," Mark ruled.
"Crikey. I’m no ruddy criminal. Couldn’t you hold the glass up for me the way I am?"
Mark spoke with authotity. "We are going to untie you. You’ll hold your hands out for the cuffs or we’ll use force."
Mabel surveyed the company. She was outnumbered. She was thirsty. Sullenly she extended her hands, blushing furiously in shame as the metal bands clicked tight upon her wirsts. Dorinda deduced that, for Mabel, handcuffs invoked a stigma that rope did not. "Think I was a bloomin’ shoplifter," she complained bitterly. She held up the offending objects and examined the mechanism, by which she was confined. Distatse and revulsion exuded from every pore. Her blush deepened. She accepted her drink awkwardly, her first act with chained hands. She gulped it greedily and turned her attention to Dorinda.
"You just let ‘em put these rotten things on you?"
"Of course. What else can we do? I’m a prisoner the same as you. We can’t escape. We can do what we’re told or be whipped."
"Come off it, dearie. I wasn’t born yesterday."
An amused Mark handed Dorinda a small key. Their eyes met, mrthful. With no word uttered she knew his thought. She wished that Dave was not present. But she would obey. Awkwardly, she unlocked her own handcuffs.
Mabel watched, incredulous, as her fellow captive captive stripped. She obviously still considered herslef the victim of some unkind hoax. "I seen one bare arse already," she said huffily.
Dorinda staged her strip with artistry. It was not until her last scrap of covering had been set aside that she turned her zebra back. Had it not been for Dave’s heavy breathing and a shocked gasp from the girl with the empty glass, there would have been silence in the room. It was broken at last by a heartfelt exclamation.
"Oh, crikey!" Mabel was bemused. Blindly she held out her joined hands. "Could I have another drink?"
Everyone had another drink except Dorinda. It would have spoiled her pose. Happily she held it so that the full enormity of her master’s whip upon her person might be plain for all to consider. Mabel’s verdict was incisive and obtuse.
"You are a damn fool to put up with it."
"I’m a slave," Dorinda said simply. Then added mischieviously: "So are you."
"Must have hurt something cruel."
"You asked why I was so obedient."
"He do that to you?" A coutious finger indicated Mark.
"He’s our master. He does what he likes with us."
The proposition hung heavy in the air. The new prisoner responded to it slowly, with great emphasis but small conviction. "Not with me, he doesn’t." Then, in a much weaker voice, "Could I have another drink, please?"
Dorinda felt the word ‘please’ was a concession to her stripes. Once more she caught her master’s eye. Once more she divined the message his sardonic lips need not utter. She brought the whip, knelt before him, kissed the cruel length and proffered it humbly. She stood erect, hands clasped hebind her neck. Her eyes on infinity. The slender crop sliced and curled round her wealed body. Exploding inwardly, she said her ‘thank you’ in a pleased and eager voice.
Now it was Terry. An exact replica. A second bar across her bottom. In addition to her ‘thank you’ she kissed the man who had put it there.
Dorinda dressed. Awkwardly she managed to lock the handcuffs back on her wrists. Dutifully she ensured their grip, then offered the key to her master and her bonds for his approval.
"You lucky bastard," Dave exclaimed enviously. "How the hell d’you do it?" He winked at Mabel. "Think of it, love. Next time I come you’ll be like they are."
"Kinky lot ok kooks, if you ask me," Mabel affirmed without conviction. "Make a fortune they could, back in Soho."
"Strip!"
Mark’s voice was a pistol shot.
Terry handed the bewildered girl a pair of scissors. "There’ll be a piece or two you’ll have to cut, darling," she advised sweetly.
"Everyhting off. Just like me."
The actions of the captive girl were purely instinctive. She dropped her empty glass and the scissors on the floor. Uttered an angry ‘up your arse’ that held all the indignation in the world. Then dashed out rhough the french windows on to the terrace and out of sight. Mark restrained persuit. "Let her go." He chuckled. "After lunch we’ll have a hunt and pick her up again.. Or maybe just let her un and see what happens."