"Why? I’m sure I’ll be a coward. One good swipe and I’ll crawl." She looked at him hastily and anxiously. "Please don’t think I’m a natural crawler. Honestly, I’m not. If I could fight you and get away I would. But I’m so damn helpless. They way I’m fixed you can do anything you like with me. I’d be crazy to invite a whipping over pride… or, because of distaste for something you demand of me."
His boyish grin was back. "Thinking of good old sex?" "I suppose so." Se felt a faint blush rising. " I may as well be honest about it. I am no novice, I've used my mouth and tongue. Were you hoping for a virgin?"
"We'd be too great a shock for the poor child. As I said: for Terry and I you are perfect. But you'll still be whipped."
"But why!" It was both an expression of curiosity and rejection. "I honestly don't think it's possible to be a slave without being whipped. The whip creates a state of mind, and by continued use sustains it. I don't expect you to be pleased about getting marks on that lovely skin. But I think you'll come to recognise the truth of the precept."
"I expect you can bludgeon anyone into anything." Her eye was on the crop. Mark chuckled and held it up for a better look. "Terry and I are as curious as you. Its something new for us too. You are our first slave-girl. We think we know your mental processes and how to deal with them. After all, Terry's reactions have been a lifelong study for us both. But, admittedly, it's an experiment. We are looking forward to it." He eyed her quizzically. "I'd like you to look forward to it too….But I expect that's a lot to ask?"
"You might talk me into it." Dorinda confessed demurely. "But I'm scared to death of that whip. I wish you hadn't showed it to me."
"Well, look at it like this." Mark tried again. "You know how a snake sheds it's skin once a year. We think you are going to have to shed yours. You know, the protective veneer of custom and usage. We think you'll find that becoming a slave is more a case of forgetting rather than learning. There's bound to be an instinctive resistance: that's where the whips comes in."
"Could we talk about something else?" Dorinda's voice was apologetic. "That awful thing frightens me so I can't think straight. I have to accept that you are going to use it on me. But don't let's harp on it."
"Slaves do not direct the topic of conversation." She felt her heart miss a beat. It had started! She gazed at Mark imploringly. "You mean I'm a slave as of right now? That I have to do what Terry said:
"Mind my P's and Q's. Honest! I will try and be what you want. But please help me. I don't want to stop liking you."
Mark came and gently kissed her lips. It wasn't a brotherly kiss. "You are very sweet." He said, " I don't want to stop liking you either." Without a pause, he went to the wall and pressed a button.
The woman was trim and neat, thirtyish. Attractive in her way. A Cockney, Dorinda guessed. They had there own peculiar stamp. She evinced no surprise, simply a respectful attention. "Dorinda, this is Amity. She will be the first one to give you help." Mark's eyes twinkled at her bewilderment. "Do as she says. She's quite nice." As Dorinda left the room she turned for one last communion with the man whose possession she now presumably was. " I'm absolutely lost, you know." She confided in faint desperation. Mark was smiling pensively. He was again the rather exiting young man she had met upon the road. Amity's hand guided her gently through the door.
"Bit lost meself, Miss." Amity advised cheerfully. "This bit's me first go, like. I know what to do. I'm 'oping you knows the drill." They had advanced part way through the house when the captive planted her feet firmly and stopped. Amity seemed human. It was worth a try. "Hold on a moment." Dorinda pleaded. "You may as well know that I haven't the faintest idea about any drill or much of anything else. I feel as though I've been let lose in a lunatic asylum. I want these handcuffs off my wrists. Can you do that for me?" "I'm going to in a minute, Miss." Amity looked at her charge doubtfully. "You ain't going to give me no trouble are you?"
Dorinda plunged. "Do you realise I am being confined against my will?" "Oh yes, miss. Proper lark, ain't it?" "Its kidnapping. You could go to prison. Please let me go." "Suppose you have to try, miss. Seeing we just met, like. But I got my orders. Me and 'Islop thinks the world of the master and misses. Get up some rare tricks they do. But we wouldn't 'urt 'em for the world. You'll have to do whatever they want you to. This way please." Dorinda knew the full demoralisation of nakedness and chains. This woman, no bigger and probably no stronger than herself, could handle her with ease. Could hurt her terribly should she now essay to struggle or to run. She was close to tears as she allowed the firm fingers to guide her to where they wished to go. It could have been a pleasant room. But it was bare stone. Its only furnishing were not reassuring to a girl without clothing. They consisted of a large wooden chest in one corner and a rope hanging from a pulley in the centre of the ceiling. Dorinda's apprehensive eye followed the latter to where it ended at a small electric winch on one wall.
"Aven't really got started 'ere yet." Amity sounded apologetic. " You mean the rack and the thumbscrews haven't arrived!" The prisoner was feeling less co-operative by the minute. She knew that had Mark's smiling features been present the view would have seemed less sinister. Amity tittered. " Don't suppose they'll go that far, miss. No need really."
"Is that rope hanging there for the reason I suspect?" Dorinda asked grimly. Amity looked embarrassed. "Fraid it is, miss." She produced a key ring on which there were a number of very small keys.
"Specs one of these will do the trick…." She stepped back and looked doubtfully at the girl who wore the handcuffs. "I want to bring them 'andcuffs round in front, miss. Question is, what you going to do when I unlock them?"
It was all quite absurd! Gentility in slavery. She remembered hearing once that the English made a fetish of having things 'nice'. Their police were always frightfully polite. Here now this woman who was to all intents and purpose her wardress or jailer kept calling her miss. Everybody expected to much of a girl whose clothes had been taken from her and whose hands had been chained behind her back!
"I'm damned if I know!" She grinned ruefully at her cockney companion. "Since we are all being polite I'll tell you straight that I ever get the beastly things off my wrists. I won't want them back again!"
Amity sighed. "Must be a funny feeling, ain't it, miss? I mean, being undressed and all. And them 'andcuffs! Wouldn't like them at all, I wouldn't. But my! You d 'ave lovely breasts and nipples. Really smashing." Dorinda dealt with this verbal montage as best she could. "It's a rotten feeling to be stripped naked by force and kept that way for everybody to have a good look. And these blasted things on my wrists that hold my hands behind my back make me twice as naked. I can't cover anything. They make me as helpless as a babe in arms. I suppose I could kick you right now. But it would hurt my bare toes more than it would hurt you. But thanks, anyway, for admiring my breasts and for not calling my nipples tits. I hate that word."
"Get us back to square one." Said Amity pensively.
"Are you waiting for me to give you my word of honor that I’ll be a good girl and not fight?"
"Oh thank you miss. Would you?"
"Why the hell should I!" Dorinda was trying to come to grips with an elusive inconsistency hard to define. "it’s like asking me to help out at my own execution, or to walk out on thin ice to prove it won’t hold up."
Amity considered. "Well, look at it this way miss." She offered thoughtfully. "Don’t know how it was with you in America, but when I was a kid and I had inked my brother in school I had to go out in front of the class and ‘old my hand out to get it ‘it with a cane what ‘urt something cruel. The last thing I wanted to do was ‘old out that ‘and. But I always did."
"But you knew what you were getting." Dorinda protested. "I’ve been told I’m in something that goes on and on, and I don’t know where it goes. I’m scared. I know it sounds silly and… And sort of ungrateful. But it would be a lot easier for me if you all used force to do, or make me do whatever it is you think you have to. Where did the idea get around that I have to help and like it?"