"You're impossible!" Yola was close to tears. Whatever she did would be wrong, It's funny, but neither she nor I thought of releasing me. Her concern was what to believe of what she had been told. It was too preposterous to be true.
"If I go upstairs will you come too? We can talk." She asked with less belligerence.
"And leave poor little Euphemia strapped to the whipping post?" he asked reproachfully. "The dear child has quite a few more strokes to come, hasn't she?"
"She won't mind."
"But we mustn't rob her of her just desserts."
"It amuses you to be facetious. You are also being objectionable."
"Occupational hazard, I suppose. Kidnapping's not really my line. I say, Miss Harding, wouldn't like — to change your mind about selling the dear girl? Save a lot of bother. We could untie the cook and the housemaids."
"You're joking. You haven't?"
"We have. Only reason the boys haven't shown up here yet is they were considering a nice bit of crumpet with the red haired one."
"They're raping my staff?"
"Well, I don't suppose it's her first time. Doing her a favour actually. Give her something to ponder on while she's trying to get loose. I say, d'you mind if I use that whip on Euphemia for a few minutes while you sort of adjust. I mean, I may never get her in this convenient a position again."
"Surely if you kidnap her you can do as you please?"
"Not really. I'm not the principal, y'know. Just a humble instrument. You are silly, really you are, not to take Bolling's hundred thou. I mean, look at it from Euphemia's point of view. You can't say she's exactly having a ball at this moment."
"You don't understand. This is a woman thing."
"Do lesbians always lace into each other with a whip?" My Mistress flushed. I tugged helplessly at the straps on my wrists and wished most ardently I was free. James Pollard was a shrewd arguer, there was a mind behind the boyish grin. I had never felt more vulnerable or disposable in my life.
"Could I be unfastened, darling?" I asked tentatively.
"Keep quiet, Phemie. I'll deal with this." Yola was curt.
"Not a thing to worry about, Euphemia," James informed me sarcastically. "If she doesn't finish whipping you, I will."
"Maybe if you let him whip me a little he'll go away," I suggest diffidently. "It seems to be what he wants."
"You do enjoy being whipped, don't you Phemie?" His voice was shrewd and incisive. I kept silent, but my blush betrayed me. Whenever I have to explain me, I flounder. I turned my face back towards the whipping post. I was getting a crick in my neck. He could look at my whip marks all he wanted… damn him! But there were sounds. We had visitors. Fearfully, I once more looked back over a prisoned shoulder. They were an athletic looking pair. Their grins at sight of me were not as nice as James Pollard's. My fists clenched in their straps. Oh, how I longed to be free!
"Piece of cake, boys," James said brightly. "She's already parceled." It went like a drill. Each of the newcomers took one of Yola's arms. James pushed a wet wad of cloth into my mouth and produced a wide adhesive. "Lips tight clenched, Phemie, or we hurt your girl friend." It was beastly. Only Yolanda had done things like this to me. That a man should do them now… ugh! But I did what he said. I even held my head firm while he pressed hard on the tape that made me mute. My poor darling Yola! James Pollard snapped the handcuff on one of my wrists before he unfastened the straps. After that he had no trouble cuffing both my hands behind my back. I tried to fight, but I might as well have beat on a brick wall. He then produced a second pair and locked my elbows together. I was fixed for sure. I'd be no help to Yolanda whatever. For a few moments Yola was a snarling tigress fighting for her life. But she was handled with the same ease as myself. I stood, impotent, and watched my darling strapped as I had been. All three males seemed to regard what they were doing with pure amusement, but poor Yola's wrists were buckled brutally tight. We were both captive.
"We won't gag you, Miss Harding." James Pollard managed to make the concession sound munificent.
"You'll go to prison, you know that, don't you?" She glared defiantly at him over a prisoned arm. James ignored the threat. "Someone's bound to find you sooner or later," he consoled cheerfully.
"If you've made the servants helpless it could be days!" Yola was frightened, I could tell. I longed to speak. I'd have promised anything if only they would leave her free. I cursed the gag that filled and sealed my lips. I had a mental vision of my darling standing there strapped to that damn post all through the night. It would be terrible for her, much worse than for me.
"Shouldn't we undress the lady?" one of the helpers inquired brightly. "She doesn't look quite right as is."
"Nudity is implicit in her circumstance," James agreed pensively. "What are your sentiments, Miss Harding?"
"You are being beastly," Yola sniffed angrily.
"De rigueur, wouldn't you say?" Yolanda twisted uselessly in her bonds and said nothing. "I'm sure the servants deserve a treat when they release you," James said generously. "O.K. boys." It does not take long to undress a girl who is strapped helplessly. Yolanda stood, her wrists fastened to each side of the post and hands clenched 'till they showed white while she was stripped. What could not be unfastened was torn. I watched the blush envelop her. I knew what it was like.
"Lovely chassis."
"Super tits."
"Come 'round here and look at her quim. What a bush!" The boys enjoyed themselves. Yolanda stood, flushed and mute, while her naked attributes were frankly discussed.
"Shouldn't we take her along too?"
"Lovely crumpet, I bet." But it was James Pollard who dropped the bomb.
"Interrupted something, didn't we?" he recalled casually.
"Little Buttercup being swished, eh."
"Sweetie-pie getting her arse whipped."
"You're right! Hardly sporting… " I saw Yola tense, she was a frightened statue in marble, I myself was rigid with premonition.
"Only fair to carry on, wouldn't you say, Miss Harding?" It was cat and mouse. Yolanda had no chance. I think she instinctively knew that to plead would enhance their pleasure in what they were about to do. She kept silent and bowed her head between her captive arms. It was her only refuge.
"A par figure of a hundred, I believe? May we have the tally on the balance to go, Miss Harding?" He made it sound like a query at Bridge. There was complete silence. It was broken by a glib suggestion from one of the helots: "We can count the fresh stripes on Buttercup and subtract." It was a labour of love for them. Shamefully, but in an urgent need to reduce Yola's sentence, I spread my legs so that they could count any marks hidden where they might not think to look.
"Naughty, naughty! Whipped the poor girl's cunt, eh."
"And look at Flossie's things! Best way is to count the ridges with a finger." I stood while they had their fun with my whipmarks and my sex. They saw my wet and enjoyed it. Ruefully, I knew that had it not been for the agony about to befall Yolanda I would have enjoyed the piquancy of this erotic interlude. I belong to Yolanda, but I do not dislike men, not the right ones. The two sets of handcuffs so totally secured me I had little sensation of being more than a palpitating package. The shining steel and the gag divorced me from participation in anything.
"About three dozen, I'd say. Leaves sixty-four to go."
"Hard to tell — there's some overlap. I say, Miss Harding, would fifty leave honour satisfied?"
"There's no honour in what you're doing." Yola's voice was piteous.
"We're only finishing what you started, Miss." In argument Yola was lost. She had been whipping me. We all knew this. Logic would dictate that if they did not whip her they should finish whipping me. One of us would get it. But it is one thing to be whipped by a girl who loves you, it is something twice as fearful to be whipped by three vigorous men! I looked at my naked Mistress standing invitingly where I had stood, and quailed. They whipped my darling. Helplessly, I stood and watched the weals spring up and become scarlet on the innocent scented flesh I adored. Yolanda stood still for the first few, but soon she was writhing and moaning with each lash. When her first high scream pealed through the room I could endure no more. Furiously, I leaped to where she was bound and pressed my own nakedness against hers in the only protection I could offer. I glared balefully at James Pollard.
"Greater love hath no wench… " The voice was sarcastic. "Dammit, these two have a thing going!"
"Wish Flossie loved me like that." James shook his head sadly. "O.K., O.K. You've made me feel like a bastard. We'll return to the business at hand." He made a wry motion. "I'd never have believed what an erotic joy it is to whip a naked girl." He eyed his companions ruefully. "How'd it hit you?"
"I've got a simply shocking erection," one admitted.
"I couldn't have borne the fifty," said the other. "I'd have been obliged to fuck one of them if we'd continued." Men! They're nothing but a throbbing penis. They're like those metal detectors you scan the ground with. They pick up a girl's sex and go beep, beep! Absurd creatures!