"We have her ready for you, master."
Dorinda's words brought me back from far away. My naked slave with her chained feet was smiling at me from the doorway. "We have performed our task, master. We would not presume upon yours."
I went to see what they had done.
Petulance lay upon a bench. Her handcuffed wrists were drawn back over her head and tied. Her shoulders were also bound. Her feet were pulled asunder but not rigidly fastened. She could do much with them and her legs save bring them together. They were held open. Pettie was an invitation. She looked up at me malevolently but dared not speak. The lines of salacity were still upon her face. I knew why. Pettie knew I was aware. Her face flamed. She tugged at her pinioned ankles, seeking to close her legs and deny me entry. But she was beautifully tied. My girls had served their master well. I entered into my kingdom. Pettie Corbin moaned and moaned. I could not tell whether in pleasure or in pain.
Perhaps there is no difference.
"Should we punish her more?" I asked.
It was the next day.
"She has not been punished, master," Dorinda affirmed.
"She has been made aware of womanhood. That is all. She will instantly revert."
"The whip?"
"In training, master. She must be made to speak the words. She must want to speak them."
"Bring her forth."
Twenty-four hours. For pettie Corbin it had been life. Now her ankles were chained. She wore her handcuffs like bracelets. For her, escape had become a pretty dream. She looked at me without adoration. "I suppose you are going to fuck me," she said listlessly. "Which of the thirty six positions?"
Terry whips her. When it is over she is more humble. "Tell me what to do, master."
I tell her what to do.
Terry and I hang by our thumbs. It is one of the cruelest punishments. It goes on and on. We hang that we may see each other?s tears and share our moans. Our searching toes cannot find the floor, but the chain between our ankles loops down so that a couple of links find the contact we are denied. We are exhausted and without hope. We may hang like this for hours or for days. When we are lowered there will be something else…. I suppose I deserve it. But poor Terry does not. Darling Terry…
It?s all my fault. They trusted me. They looked to me. I don?t know why. I?m no stronger willed than Terry, no wiser than poor Cedric. But he fell in love with us both: with Terry as a girl and with me as some remotely beautiful Goddess from his dream world. He was all wrong. I?m only a girl too. A girl who sheds tears and hurts the same as Terry does.
I?d seen the danger signals from the moment old Rabin rented me to poor bewildered Cedric. He was just a boy from some stuffy little nothing place in London. A little boy lost. I don?t think poor Cedric really knew what he was searching for. But he believed he had found it in us. Perhaps he actually did. Certainly Terry and I possessed a power to give him tremendous happiness. He?d been so lonely. Suddenly we filled his life. He fell in love.
It was the day Mrs. Corbin retrieved her chastened daughter that we all made the awful mistake. We were suddenly alone and intimate. Two naked chained slave girls and a man who adored them. That word does not fit him. Cedric was a boy. A boy who was ashamed to whip us any more and wanted to take us back to England.
“I?ll never know our price. It must have been right. The poor boy looked a bit white and strained when he came back from the battle of wits with Rabin in which h purchased us. You can be sure the old Shylock would try and drain him dry.
I should never have let him go. But think of it! I?m only human. All of a sudden freedom was dangled in front of my eyes. Cedric wanted us. He would pay Rabin: Not only for two girls but for the sure passage of all three of us back to somewhere safe. Somewhere outside this desert society of you scrach my back and I?ll scratch yours! Even in this weird part of the world there exists the banking and wire services by which money can be made available. If you have it, poor dead Cedric evidently had enough.
The way he explained it, I couldn?t pick holes. There seemed no reason it would not work. Rabin was the key. Money would buy Rabin. Simple! There was an awkwardness when I asked Cedric what he?d do with us in England.
“I don?t know,” he laughed ruefully. “Can?t take you there in chains,” he grinned at us frankly. “But I want to. May as well admit it. I never want to let you go. But when we get out of the plane you?ll be free. You can kiss me good-bye and go.”
Terry and I cried. It was too much emotion. After slavery it just did not seem possible. No more chains or whips or cords that cut our skin. No more rotten little cells or dungeons. No more men using our bodies…. We looked at each other through our tears. Terry knew what to say.
“ We?ll stay with you, master. We?ll be your slave girls there for as long as you want. We know you?ll let us go sometime. That?s what matters…” Her eyes lit up in mischief.
“Make old Rabin throw in all the handcuffs and the chains. You?ll need?em.”
Cedric was close to tears himself.
So I let him go. Why, oh why, oh why?
Sudden entry into freedom takes about the same adjustment as being thrust into slavery. When Cedric came back with Rabin?s blessing and all the papers and clothes for us to wear, it was an almost frightening moment when the chains were unlocked from our ankles and we could take a normal step. Talk about feeling naked…! Cedric watched and shared our laughter at our exploratory steps. Then blushed with us when we dressed. Crazy, I suppose, bur putting on a pair of briefs was about as obscene an act as I had ever performed. It was as though I was suddenly ashamed of something I?d been carrying around all my life.
We made such a holiday, such an occasion. We were so happy loading Cedric?s car. It was like being born again. On the road we were tourists seeing the country. Each town or village we passed was a milestone back into life. Terry and I found it hard to express our gratitude. Cedric had given us something so precious there were no words. Only acts could tell him. We were glowingly resolved to perform those acts. We both wanted nothing more than to make him very happy.
Terry and I were busy with the road map. We could tell we were getting close to safety. All we needed was an American or British Consulate. We would soon be free… free…. free!
The two trucks converged on us from either side. Directly we saw them we knew. There was no exciting race. One behind and one in front at a place where we could not turn. There were not even any arguments. There were eight men. They dragged us out of our car. One of them immediately drove away in it after tossing out our laggage. It was thrown into a truck, our hands were tied behind our backs and we were pitched after it. The truck sped away. We knew not where.
Poor Cedric! To him it was unreality. He tried to talk, to bargain, to promise and to threaten. The mahogany faces listened impassively. One of them struck him across the face and said gruffly: “No talk.” To Terry and I it was all so familiar. The cords cutting our wrists. The knowledge of helplessness. Of being pawns in someone else?s game. When they tied our elbows, savagely and tightly together, we knew there was no hope. When they do that to you they want to hurt. They want you to know you are a nothing. They want you obedient.
After a long time they stopped and pushed us out on the sand. Just the one truck and four men. We were in a quiet sad little gully with a dubious-looking water-hole and a scattering of dejected vegetation. The four were hungry. One started preparations for a meal. The other three made arrangements for the floor show. Terry and I were the star performers. They were very confident. They untied us, even Cedric.