There were incidents. The rear girl who shared the chores with Amrah saw herself as privileged with a status above the rest. With a naive confidence in her undoubted charms she offer her person to the partners in return for absolution from the chain and release on reaching their destination. When her offer met laughter and the explanation that what she sought to barter had not been her?s for some considerable time, she wept and at the first opportunity ran fleetly into the trees. Dragged back by an amused Mustafa, she screamed, she fought, she bit. In the chagrin of wounded pride she abandoned all docility.
Both men enjoyed the occasion and made the most of it. The delinquent maiden was made to stand facing her sisters in captivity. Her hands were tied behind her back. She was adjured not to move. By this time she was too frightened to do aught but obey. Using her as an example of a naughty girl, Mustafa delivered a lecture in voluble volleys of his native tongue illustrated by a pointing finger. When he was done, Seth Burdett carried on in English. He cocked a sardonic eye at his chained stock-in-trade, and pinpointed the obvious:
"Fact is, girls, you ain?t got nothing to sell. You just palin ain?t got nothing at all. You don?t belong to yourselves any more." He paused for effect. "What you got to understand?bout this running-away-business is that there?s more to it than just taking a powder. What you?re doing is stealing. You?re stealing a perfectly good girl from her owner. It don?t make no difference that the girl happens to be you." He guffawed cheerfully. "You ain?t no different from any other slave. When you do a bunk you?re guilty of theft. In these parts such a theft ain?t a bit popular. It gets stepped on… hard!" He winked and let it go at that.
Then the construction. A simple pedestal driven in the ground. A short crosspiece. Two stakes. Nine watching girls began to comprehend the fate of one. When a pair of phallus were strapped in place little doubt remained. Amrah was chosen to grease, to insert, and to guide. She accepted her responsibility with obvious delight.
The slim loveliness kicked wildly as she was lifted and held above her impending impalement. The runaway?s slender beauty was powerless in the hands of the male giants who held her bound arms. Amrah?s head ducked back and forth while her fingers busily ensured the safety of costly merchandise. Her expert pronouncement throbbed with pride.
"Is now in. Is much safe to lower."
The failing legs became still. Instinctively, they opened wide. For the moment the unhappy delinquent was as anxious to avoid torn membranes as were her owners. All four participants shared concern for a successful adjustment. Seth and Mustafa lowered their petrified prize slowly and with infinite care upon her punishment. The girl herself was wide eyed and stiff with apprehension. Amrah was busy with rope on captive ankles. Obviously she had done this job before. When she and the men stepped away, a sad but shapely feminine figure sat astride the crossbar, impaled deeply within both orifices of her loins, her feet roped out to either side by taut tethers to the stakes. Her weight rested on her indented crotch. Hands bound behind her back left her helpless to sit and hurt, hurt, hurt. Any motion would increase her pain. She sat very still and quietly wept.
Corey was given the honor of being the replacement to help Amrah with the chores. It was Seth Burdett who unlocked her chains. Reading his unspoken thought as he turned the key to her collar, she wrinkled her nose at him and said, flatly: "No. I refuse to run. I?m not going to sit on that damn thing to amuse Mustafa."
"It hurts a bit too, love."
"It?s a rotten way to treat a girl. Why dont you whip her and be done with it?"
"saving that for you, Corey."
Seth had led her away from the coffle. Out of earshot, Corey asked: "Mustafa didn?t take me after Audrey, he took Amrah?"
"?sright, love. Gentleman?s agreement."
"That means I belong to you, Seth?" She could not keep the excitement from her voice.
He twinkled down at her. "In a manner of speaking. And drop the Seth, I?m your Master."
Corey twinkled back. "Why don?t you take me every day, Master?"
"You?d like that, wouldn?t you?"
"Yes, I would! More than anything."
"And a whipping along with it?"
"Yes, that too!"
He smiled at her vehemence. Seth Burdett supposed himself half in love with Corey. But he was a Slaver, and it was all too easy to fall for some pitiful maiden on a coffle. They looked so damn sweet and helpless in their chains it was easy to become romantic. In a slvegirl?s anxiety for freedom he was always a prime target for wide beseeching eyes. Laughing, he shook his head. "Protocol, Miss Gibson. Bad for morale."
"Damn morale! I want you to want me. You do want me, I know you do."
"Hell, yes! But you don?t notice Mustafa taking one girl only. It?s our code. It works."
"If I do something unforgivable you?ll have to whip me. You can take me out in the trees like last time…? Master, please…!"
Seth placed an admonitory finger on pouting lips. "You?re bored with the coffle, love."
"Of course I?m tired of it. We must have walked over half Africa." Corey Gibson looked up at her Master defiantly. "I want to be your slavegirl. I?ll pay whatever the price is."
He could not forbear to tease. "How about sitting out there like that girl?s doing?"
Corey?s pause was momentary. From it, her voice sprang eagerly: "Yes! Of course! Is that a deal?"
Seth Burdett patted her bottom and pushed her toward the fire.
"You come help gather wood…?bout time!" Amrah greeted indignantly.
"See what I mean?" The slave trader laughed as he left them to their chores.
"You two want to fuck so bad it hurts." Amrah complained wisely. "Wish it was me."
It was good to bee free of restraints. Chores might demean, but Corey revelled in the unhindered movement of her limbs and neck. She was pleasantly excited about Seth Burdett. She knew herself wanton but refused to compare herself today to the girl she once had been. From time to time she spared a commiserating glance for the impaled runaway, asking herself if she would truly change places with the girl for a price! If Seth Burdett was the price she would do so gladly. Miss Corey Gibson was irritated by such self abnegation… But there it was!
In the sleeptime of the following day Corey was awakened by a knowledge of something wrong. She lay tense, listening, but heard nothing. The girls had made their own code. None would start up or attempt to rise so that the chain attaching her to the others would spring taut. They needed their sleep, and could achieve it only by a constant consideration for those to whom they were linked. Corey twisted cautiously.
She was free!
It was not a dream. Her slight motion caused her collar to fall open, as did the shackle on her wrist. In shock she pushed herself up to rest on one hip and look down stupidly at the metal circlets that no longer held her captive. She surveyed the coffle. The girls were all asleep, their chain neat between collared necks, their shackled hands resting carelessly above their heads. They were perfectly adjusted to the coffle, and slept peacefully. Strangely, she felt no exhilaration. Instead, she was conscious of fear. Mustafa might be trying to trap her into delinquency justifying some hateful punishment. But he seemed deep in slumber, his back turned upon his female inventory. Of Seth she could not be sure. If he was watching her from one sardonic eye he gave no sign. Cautiously, she got to her feet. The eight shackled beauties looked pitiful in their nakedness. Without keys she could not aid them. Silently, she stepped away from where the soil was still warm from her flesh, and tip-toed to the centre of the camp.
The free, but naked, Miss Corey Gibson had never felt at such a loss. In this eerie freedom she was a pale ghost without purpose. Whatever she did seemed likely to land her in some terrifying restriction. To steal a donkey seemed the most practical course. But she had never handled one, there would be noise. Besides, she knew not which direction she should take. She was restricted to the path. To leave it for the tangled wilderness would be folly. Naked! Unarmed! Unskilled! Corey Gibson had never been so lonely. She saw herself alone on a sterile planet for which there were no maps. Suddenly, the coffle beckoned enticingly. In its slavery lay the only comfort or safety of which she could be sure. Corey wished she had clasped the metal bands back upon herself and clicked their locks. Was it possible to do so now without discovery? Was it?