"Spell it out." Dorinda said resignedly. "Maybe then I’ll believe."
"Oh, you will, ducky. You will." He was exasperatingly cheerful. "You see, darling, the crux of your situation is that it does not really matter whether you are Dave’s girl or someone else’s. If your story is true it puts you in about the same boat that Dave’s girl will be when and if she arrives. As far as Terry and I are concerned you are a simply first class bit of good fortune."
"You mean I’m kidnapped. First Mike, than you?"
"Let’s call it displaced, shall we. Sounds less mercenary."
"Either way I am a prisoner?"
"Yes."
"What about the other girl when she comes? Will you free me then?"
"No. If one is good, two might bet better."
"What will you do about Mike when he roars up here looking for me?"
"If the apocryphal Michael shows up demanding female flesh, we may hand him the extra girl. Or give him some sort of fairy tale. We think you’ll do nicely for us."
How neat it was! Dorinda knew herself trapped by circumstances no one had contrived. Taking this engaging young man at his own face value she could understand the plausibility of his thinking. Now that the truth was out she relaxed into the depth of the chair and struggled absentmindedly with her handcuffs.
"What are you going to do to me? Chain me up to see how pretty I look?"
"Oh, that’s just part of it," Mark exclaimed with boyish enthusiasm. "You’re not a natural, are you’ I mean, not like Terry and me."
"Good heavens, no!"
"That’s all right then. "He sounded relieved. "Think what a marvellous time we’ll have training you."
Dorinda groped for the right approach. "What about conscience? Do you have any? What right have you to make me a prisoner? You can’t possibly expect me to play your silly games?"
"You will, y’know," Mark sauntered over to a cupboard. When he retraced his steps he was flexing the slender length of a wicked looking riding switch. Calmly he offered it for inspection. "You’ll do whatever this tells you to, darling," he chuckled. "Terry always does."
Dorinda cringed. She was naked and afraid. She knew nothing of pain. But looking at the thing he held she knew it foolish to suppose herself impervious to what it might do to her. She was bewildered. "But… that’s cruelty! You are spoiling something good. Out on the road, there where we met, I liked you. I was glad you’d found me – even though I was… like this. With most men I’d have wanted to run away. But I didn’t with you. Please…"
Mark resumed his seat, one leg draped over its arm. The riding crop resting across his knee where she could never be unaware of it. "It’s a bit of a poser, dear girl," he admitted. "You see, we really do want you to understand. We don’t want you tot think we’re a couple of absolute bastards: we like you too. I’m in a similar position to some johnny who can play the piano by ear, or a chap who can do a long division in his head. They were born with it. They can never explain it. They can never get rid of it even if they wanted to, and they don’t want to. See what I mean?"
"You feel that just because you’re obsessed with this… This ‘gift’ shall we call it, that any inconvenience or pain I may suffer is purely incidental and should be borne gladly…" She looked at him beseechingly. "That I am… That I’m well… Sort of privileged to be chosen?"
"You put it rather well, old girl!" Mark admitted wryly. "Not fair to expect you to digest out fantasy all at one sitting… hence the handcuffs. There’s one thing I want to avoid in speaking of the fantasy and that’s to be flippant. We British… you’re American, aren’t you! We British tend to use flippancy to get us over the hurdles. But it’s not appropriate in this. Honestly it isn’t."
It was hard to be angry with him. Dorinda listened quietly. Tension dissolved.
"The word transcendental comes to mind," Mark continued thoughtfully. "Terry and I are governed by this thing I am trying to make explicable. It is the most powerful force in our lives, except perhaps our love for each other. But even there I’m not sure… The nub and essence of understanding it is to face the fact that we are driven by a force, a compulsion that gives us an extra dimension in life beyond the norm. We still move within the framework that contains others. But we have been given an additional faculty of sexual expression. Even that does not say enough, because above and behind it always is a glimpse and awareness of an ineffable beauty, something subliminal."
His voice trailed into silence as though the effort of expression had wearied him. He sat, pensive and distant.
Dorinda knew he would not break the silence. Her heart went out to this man who would always be a boy. She might fight him. But nonetheless he had managed to evoke a picture in her mind. She knew herself within the grip of something she was ill equipped to cope with. She wished the whip was not so blatantly evident. Was it only by the medium of its bite that she would fully understand?
CHAPTER 6
Mr. Rabin let go one of his finer sighs. "Is most difficult child," he pronounced, and moved back into the fray.
Pettie Corbin's legs were becoming lividly bruised. The cane upon the leg is quite wicked. She would have fared better naked. The pursuer got in another pair of stingers before. the fleeing girl considered the wisdom of an armistice. Backing away and furiously tugging at her handcuffs she kept a frightened eye on the quivering cane and demanded sulkily: "Alright then, you tell me what to say."
"Just polite sorry. no smartass." Mr. Rabin was prepared to be kind.
Petulance looked from one to the other of her audience. She unceasingly fought the handcuffs as though convinced there must surely be a way…. If she hadn't been such an absolute little vixen I might have felt sorry for her. It was easy to see that, even in pain, the idea of an apology was anathema to the panting girl. "I'm sorry I was rude, Mr. Rabin," she finally contrived in bitter humiliation.
"She'd never have said that in the good old U.S.A." Mrs. Corbin conceded. "Pettie girl, we've come to the right place. Pettie girl wept. They were tears of anger.
"Can now leave in good hands," said Mr. Rabin with satisfaction. He turned to me: "But would suggest removal of clothes. Is much best."
"You can cane her can then," said Mother.
Pettie accepted a peck on the cheek which she did not return. Her eyes were smoldering. Between the handcuffs and the cane she must have concluded her cause of lost. She did not plead. Just stood there and watched her mother go away. It was not hard to imagine het state of mind.
Returning from seeing my guests out of the house I found three pairs of youthful feminine eyes assessing each other. In Terry's and Dorinda's there was sympathy. In Pettie Corbin's only venom.
"Your best bet is to set me free and let me go," Petulance announced in grandiose disdain, doing us a favor.
Silence.
"You needn't to think I'm going to be naked whore like you two!" More tugging at the handcuffs.
No response.
"Whatever your game is, I'm not playing." Petulance planted herself in an arm chair and studied the disign in the rug. She leaned back against her chained hands as though no longer caring. Haughty indifference was to be her weapon. Right here I have to admit that, left to myself, I'd have been a bit stymied. Pettie Corbin was a very different kettle of fish to the two gorgeous creatures I had fallen in love with. But I need not have worried. Dorinda must have guessed my every thought.
"Master, may we remove our guest so that we can talk?"
Petulance did her best. But Terry grabbed one ankle and Dorinda the other. They hauled her from the room like a sack of potatoes. I need not note her comments. They were unedifying.
"We locked her in one of the rooms, Master," Dorinda's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Or would you prefer to, er, train her yourself?" She put a heavy emphasis on the word 'train'.
Once again I found myself far from my beginnings. I was now the beneficiary of a veritable cornucopia of adoring slave girls, with a hostile captive maiden tossed in for good measure. My cup did indeed 'runneth over'. Suburbia could look at its lost son and gloat or envy or mourn. Bit of all three, I expect. "Which will she respond to best?" I asked, delaying the issue.