Slave girls have no illusions. When our wrists and elbows are untied we are not surprised by the bit of wood and the loops round our thumbs. We do not fight. We do not want the cuffs and the blows. A girl hates the fist upon her face. She will do much to avoid it. We stand passive. But, oh, how bitter it is to watch our hands being drawn up and up by the rope that treats the bit of wood as a trapeze upon our toes only to find it is not enough. We stretch and strain and implore with our eyes as our toes leave the floor and our poor slender thumbs accept the punishment of our weight. We gasp ans moan. Our tortures are happy with our acknowledgement. We hang.
They gathered up their gear and went away. No backward glance of pity or of gratitude. We had served them. We were now litter upon the desert?s dusty face. We do not matter.
But we matter to us. We are still alive. The four men have had their sport. It pleases them to leave us hanging by our thumbs in agony. Their maleness is thus proclaimed. We will remember them! Terry and I realize we may remember them all our lives. Our lives may be close to an end. How long can a naked girl live, hanging by her thumbs? A couple of days….?
As usual in torture, time does not exist. We do not know the hours by which we die. We hang, limp, helpless, in great pain. We do not struggle or strive to escape our fate. We are too utterly lost. Too totally delivered to pain and eventual death. The four are probably laughing at their final joke as they jolt across the desert road. They used us. We will remember them by the loops upon our thumbs. The hours pass slowly, but they pass. The darkness comes and goes. We do not sleep. I suppose it is unconsciousness. Nature is kind. But we may live a long while yet. We wish that we could die.
…quickly… quickly!
Rabin and Thalia walk through the door. We do not believe. We scorn reality. In the phantasmagoria of the night we have seen many things. They are but one more, their concerned and anxious faces almost real. They cut the rope. We fall on the ground. We cannot stand. Thalia hurried to their car for brandy while her father cautiously saws at the strictures round our thumbs. We begin to believe that death has slinked away.
How pathetic we are. Our hands and arms are almost useless. But we throw them round the shoulders of those who have rescued us. The brandy is potent. Terry weeps on Thalia. I weep on the senior Rabin. They pat our naked backs in a tenderness of possession. Our gratitude is infinite. We tell our poor sad tale. They listen with sympathy.
Rabin says something in their own tongue. Thalia goes to the car again. When she returns she carries chains. e do not mind. We stick out our legs thankfully and watch as the metal bands are locked about our ankles. It is like coming home. Rabin will protect us. The chains will keep up from being foolish. When Thalia produced handcuffs we hold out our hands. But are turned around and our wrists are handcuffed behind our backs. We are slave girls far from home. Mr. Rabin will take no chances. We are thankful for his irons. In them we are secure. Thalia kisses us. She understands better than het father can. With tenderness and sorrow she tells us we are slaves. That, once more, her fathet owns us. We nod happily enough. We had not wanted to hang by our thumbs until we died. Even a slave girl does not want to die. We tell her we will obey. She hugs us hungrily. Her father smiles. It is not until we are in the car and speeding back to slavery that we wonder. Is such coincidence likely! The pieces all fit. Had Rabin planned it all?
We will never know.
"Is most happy ending." The rustle of paper money could be detected in Mr. Rabin?s voice.
"Damn right, old timer," Mike approved. "Hands clipped tight behind?"
"Are most tight. Dear girls will not escape." Mr. Rabin beamed on all.
Dorinda wondered if two girls had ever faced so great a quandary. It was in her mind to plead with Rabin not to sell them back to the coarse oaf who had been the instigator of their distress. She had never felt more like a piece of merchandise that at this moment standing with Terry. The two of them blatantly sold by one man to another.
"Got the?Quest? a clean bill of health," Mike assured them genially.
"Been searched, been checked, been questioned. Everything on the up and up. Safe to have you back aboard. The heat?s off."
"What doe you want us for?" Terry demanded glumly.
"Oh sweetheart! What doe you think?"
"To screw us, I suppose. Perks for your crew. So much a month and free tail. That the only way you can get help?"
"Mr. Sandos most kind man," Rabin rebuked. "He will give large party. Such lucky girls."
"Where?s that handsome daughter of yours?" Mike inquired.
"Alas. Is visiting today and tomorrow with Aunt. You had thought to invite to party?" Mr. Rabin seemed flattered. Perhaps he scented a rental.
"Too bad. Give her my regards." He looked at his watch.
"Should get going. Let?s get these two little treasures fixed up."
The fixing up was both painful and humiliating. Two Ping-Pong balls. Two wide strips of tape muted two pairs of pouting lips. A black band tight round the eyes. A strap joining the elbows. Ankles tightly corded. Dorinda knew herself no more than a package. When she was placed on the floor of the vehicle, her bound ankles were crossed over Terry?s and tied again so that they were trussed together in their silent darkness.
"I am much hoping we will meet him again," said Mr. Rabin. The door of the truck slammed.
Dorinda?s elbows hurt. The motion of the truck was uncomfortable. So was the position they were forced to sit in. With all four legs tied together neither could move without affecting the other. The van was warm and stuffy. They drove for an hour before they stopped, the door opened, and Mike?s heavy jokularity broke their silence.
"Howl all you like now, sweethearts. No one to hear. May as well have a look at each other too. Got a little ways to go yet."
There came the sound of tearing tapes and gasps. Gratefully, Dorinda raised her lips for release and spit out the Ping-Pong ball joyfully. When the band was whisked away from her eyes she found herself blinking in astonishment at Thalia. The door slammed. The truck resumed its journey to their new establishment.
"I have been kidnapped," said Thalia equably.
She was bound as they were bound. She had been mute and blind as they had been. She was still partly clothed. But what she wore was torn as from a struggle.
"On my way to my aunt?s, they grabbed me." Her eyes omplored them to share her astonishment. "I have never beenn so tightly tied. It hurts. I suppose he takes us to his ship?"
Dorinda could have laughed. The Arab girl seemed unconcerned, only curious. Thalia was not easily ruffled.
"What on earth does he want you for?" Terry broke in. Thalia grimaced.
"I expect he wishes to fuck me. Or perhaps to get money from my poor father. But I do not think it is for money." Her eyes widened in memory.
"But you were telling me: He likes to whip pretty girls, does he not?"
"I?m afraid he does."
"Then I will be whipped."
"Darling?" Dorinda was puzzled, "doesn?t this bother you?"
Thalia laughed gaily. "I find it exciting. To be bound. To be the captive of bad men. To know that things will happen…If it were not for my poor father…. He will worry."
She saw their incredulity and was contrite. "Forgive me. Life has not been exciting. I will be expected to marry. Then it will be even less. This is an adventure. Your Mike, he will tire of me finally and let me go. I will return to Daddy. Will I look as much like a zebra as you did when you came to us?"
"Almost certainly. Oh, darling, I?m sorry!"
"Do not be." The Arab girl laughed at Dorinda?s concern. "Poetic justice, is it not? I punished you. Now it is I who will feel the whip."
"He won?t just give us a medaleither, y?know," said Terry glumly.
"So we are all whipped! Darlings, don?t be sad. I am not."
She looked at them ahrewdly. "I do not suppose your Mr. Sandos will be more cruel than some of Daddy?s customers? Or me?"